Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
SAVANNAH
I grip Brodie’s hand so hard it’s possible his fingers will need to be reset. He doesn’t seem to care though, squeezing mine back.
He’s been like this all morning. From the moment we were up and dressed, throughout the car journey back to the West End, and now, on our way to Frank’s coffee shop.
He’s held me close. His arm or his hand or his leg in constant contact, reminding me he’s right by my side through all of this. That he’s not going anywhere.
As if my saying I love him has somehow unlocked a new level for us.
And it’s all the more meaningful when I can tell deep down he’s as edgy as me over what we’re about to do.
Neither of us knows how this coffee with Dad will go. The only thing I’m clear on is that despite all the puppet strings Dad’s clearly been pulling, something has changed for me. He knows the truth. All of it. I don’t have to hide who I am anymore.
Coming to a stop a block from Frank’s, I grab hold of Brodie’s shirt, pulling him against me. Loving the feel of my body snug against his, warm and strong. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Coming with me.” I hold him a little tighter. “And I want you to remember that I choose you. I will always choose you. Whatever Dad says or does, you come first. He’s never coming between us again.”
He frowns, his eyes scanning my face. “Are you saying this because you think it’s what I need to hear, or because you’re reminding yourself?”
“I’m saying it because it’s the truth.”
His fingers toy with my hair, smoothing it behind my ears, and then he presses one of his heart-stopping kisses to my mouth. Searingly hot. Deeply intimate.
I wobble on my feet. “What was that for?”
He reaches out to steady me. “Showing you that I feel all the same things.” He dazzles me with a knockout grin. “Come on, let’s do this. It’s not like your dad’s the Godfather. If he was, he’d have murdered me yesterday.”
He takes my hand and we round the corner.
I immediately spot the black town car parked along the street from Frank’s, and then my dad steps from the back.
I gasp. Because he doesn’t look like my dad. At least, not the dad I know.
He crosses the road, shoulders knotted. He hasn’t shaved, gray stubble shadowing his jaw.
He’s still wearing a signature suit, but the pants are crumpled, the top button of the shirt is undone, and the knot of his navy tie is pulled taut and low.
For want of a better description, he looks a fucking mess.
My heart squeezes as we come face to face, throwing me off kilter.
Close up, his eyes are bloodshot. Like he’s been crying.
Or drinking. Or not sleeping. Maybe all three.
And I have such an intense urge to hug him that I literally have to step back, because despite how rough he looks, I’m also acutely aware this could all be a tactic.
A strategy to get me to feel sorry for him.
To reel me back in and redress the power back in his favor. And I hate that that’s the case.
“Savannah…” My name falls from his lips, hoarse and desperate. “I’m so glad you wanted to talk.” He then looks at Brodie. Something colder flits across his face, blanching his skin as if looking at Brodie causes him physical pain. “Brodie.”
“Sir.”
I falter. My brain turning to mush.
What was I thinking? I can’t possibly sit in a coffee shop with Dad. Not with him like this. It’s too confusing. Messing with my head. And making the possibility of a reasonable, civilized conversation feel utterly inconceivable. His hold over me is still too skewed.
“I don’t…” I look at Brodie, willing him to read my mind. To know what I need when I’m not even sure myself. “This was a mistake. I can’t…”
And I don’t know what else to say.
So I don’t.
Instead, I take off down the street.
Everything around me blurs. Within two blocks I hit the bustle of Davie. People out shopping, their lives continuing as normal while mine catastrophically implodes.
I reach a pedestrian crossing as the lights change to red, stopping the traffic. I stagger across the road, the ocean in view at the bottom of the hill.
The sunlight sparkles bright against the water and I chase it, Sunset Beach resplendent. Lively with dog walkers and joggers. The fresh wind licking my hair.
The whole experience grates against me, twisting and churning. I’m not ready to face Dad. Maybe I’ll never be ready.
“Savannah.” Brodie whips me into his arms. “It’s okay. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
I snatch at the air, but it’s not enough. “I…”
“Don’t speak. Breathe. Come on. In with me and out. In and out.” He strokes my back, taking long breaths, encouraging me to do the same. “In. Out. There you go. And again.”
I blink open my eyes, turning my head to the side as the view comes back into focus. The grassy bank. The rocks. The sandy beach. The sea gently rolling to the shore.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“Savannah.”
I glance past Brodie to see my father. Still looking rough as hell.
I fight the urge to run again. Maybe it’s a little easier with the expanse of blue in front of me. Outside. Not trapped in a residential street, the condos closing in around us.
Dad steps closer. But not too close. Like he knows at any moment I could bolt. “I understand if you’ve changed your mind, but maybe just a few minutes? There’s some things I want to share with you. With both of you. It might help.”
Brodie peers at me. “How about we sit on a bench by the seawall?”
I look to where he’s pointing. The place where the land juts out and the inukshuk stands guard.
I nod and the three of us weave over the daffodil-covered grass to the water’s edge.
Brodie sits at the far end of the only vacant bench and tucks me in next to him, facing my father, who sits opposite.
His body language is unusually malleable.
Where he’s normally so unrelenting, he slouches over, leaning into the bench as if the weight of the world rests on his back.
I grip my hands and remind myself that he did this. He’s the one who brought us here.
As if that realization gives me the strength I need, I launch in before he can speak. “Would you really have destroyed my career like you threatened?”
Brodie tenses, holding me closer as if trying to wrap me in a protective cocoon.
My father withers further into the bench, his jaw locked as he meets my eyes. “In that moment, when I spoke to Brodie, yes, I meant it.”
An animalistic sound escapes me. At the very least I expected him to lie. “So is that what you’re going to do? All because Brodie and I are still—”
“No. I would have done. Yesterday. But I was angry when Brodie didn’t take the deal I felt sure he would.
” He sighs, his forehead crumpled. “When you left the restaurant, I…” His throat works as he swallows.
“Your mother’s death tore me in two, Savannah.
I can’t lose you as well.” His eyes bore into mine, his voice as broken as his words.
Brodie’s knee shakes. “I want you to know that this isn’t some fling, sir. I didn’t track Savannah down out of spite for you. I’m with her because she’s my world. I love her. Deeply.”
I watch as my father raises his head, studying Brodie. The pain is still there, etched in the lines around his temples, but there’s also something else. A wisp of recognition, maybe.
He nods. Slow and steady. “Savannah’s mother was my whole world.”
Brodie’s heart beats against me. “I’m so sorry she died.”
Dad nods again, this time with a finite edge. A flicker of something more businesslike in the gesture. He sits taller. His composure returning. “I’ve cut the fake article about Hall Eight. Simone is expecting your edit, Brodie. Stat. I trust it’s not some puff piece?”
“No, sir. But I also don’t think it’s what Simone wanted me to write.”
He rubs at his jaw. “She wants the same as any decent editor. A well-written story that will sell papers. Is that what you’ve produced?”
“Of course.”
“Then you’ll be going to print Sunday and the promotion will be yours.
” He takes a breath. Resolute. “At the gala tomorrow, Arch Holdings will be naming its annual charitable recipient. I’d love to have you there by my side, Savannah, along with you, Brodie, and any crew from the fire hall who can come.
And lastly, if you’re willing, I’d like to work at rebuilding our relationship long term.
The taps have been withdrawn from your phones.
The people who were tailing you both have been reassigned.
” He glances at his Rolex and then straightens his cuffs.
“I have another meeting now. I know it will take time and a lot of work on my part to restore trust. Please know I’m prepared to do whatever it takes. ”
He stands and Brodie follows, like it’s a reflex. Reaching out his hand, Dad shakes it.
I’m still sitting on the bench, looking between the two of them. Dad’s words filtering into the tangled pulp that is the current state of my brain.
And then Dad’s turning away, skirting past a flock of Canada geese, his black car idling at the curb ahead.
I find myself chasing after him before realizing what I’m doing. “Dad.”
He stops and turns, eyebrows raised.
I pause a couple of meters away and open my mouth. No words come.
We stare at each other for a long moment. I so want to reach out. To feel him comfort me and show he means everything he’s just said. But it’s too soon. I’m too raw. And as if he knows that’s the case, he simply nods and climbs into his car.
Once again, tears fall. This time though, the tears are mixed with something more than pain.
Relief.
I turn and fall into the warmth of Brodie’s open arms.