Secrets of Sandpiper Shores: Forever Flame (Cedar Key #6)

1. Holt

HOLT

The ceiling of his bedroom had nothing useful to offer Holt.

He lay on his back with his arms at his sides and stared at it anyway.

The way he’d been staring at it for the better part of the night, and let the previous evening run through his mind for what felt like the fortieth time since he’d walked out of Willa’s house, into the dark street, and kept walking.

The look on June’s face when she’d said it.

Holt is your father. He’s your biological father.

Holt closed his eyes.

He opened them again.

The ceiling continued to offer nothing, and he let his mind wander back to the previous night.

Holt stood in Willa’s living room for approximately four seconds after June said the words framing him as Willa’s biological father.

Long enough to register the full, irreversible weight of them.

Long enough to look at June’s face and understand that she was not uncertain about what she’d just said.

That there was no misunderstanding to be unpacked, no context that would soften the landing.

“June.” Holt’s own voice sounded strange to him. Stripped of everything except the single question underneath it. “Is this true?”

June met his eyes, and the guilt written across her face told him everything.

“I...” she’d started.

Something moved through him that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Not grief. Not shock. Something older and rawer than either of those things.

It was a specific, scalding fury of discovering that the ground he thought he was standing on had been replaced with something else entirely without his knowledge or consent.

Then Holt turned and walked out.

He hadn’t trusted himself to stay or to speak at that moment. There was just too much to be answered, but Holt knew if he’d spoken, there would be no answers or coming back from what he’d say.

The street outside was that small-town quiet of residential streets in the evenings, the sound of insects chirping out a night symphony to the distant rhythm of the ocean, illuminated by the occasional light in a window.

But all the sounds and surroundings faded as Holt walked down the street with his hands shoved in his pockets, his jaw set, and his mind trying to process things in the methodical, sequential order that he’d been trained to do.

But there was no order to this as his thoughts just tumbled through the reality of it.

He had a daughter.

He had a thirty-eight-year-old daughter. With three grandchildren who were nearly all grown. He’d missed so many years.

Holt swallowed as his mind reeled over that revelation, the thought churning over and over.

He had a thirty-eight-year-old daughter who had spent the past several weeks working alongside him on a case.

Who had sat across from him in meetings.

Who had looked at him with the direct, clear-eyed honesty of someone who operated on the same frequency he did and had always seemed to, without either of them having a clear explanation for why that was.

Holt stopped for a moment and squeezed the bridge of his nose. Is this real? Or am I having some sick nightmare brought on by me wishing June and I had our families together?

He pinched himself, winced, and took a breath. Nope. Not dreaming.

He had a daughter.

He had a daughter, who had three children, and he hadn’t known.

Holt walked the twenty-five minutes home at a pace that suggested he was trying to outrun something, which he was.

When he finally got to the lighthouse, he thought about going for another long walk along the beach.

But decided against it, then went inside, where he found his mother sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of her.

Her expression immediately told Holt two things.

His mother had been expecting him, and she already knew exactly what had happened.

“Hello, son,” Mina greeted him and indicated to a chair in front of her. “Sit down. It seems we need to talk.”

He’d looked at her—yes, she definitely knew what had happened.

But there was something else he realized as his mind ticked over conversations he’d had with her through the years and then here over this summer. His mother knew more than just about what had happened at Willa’s house—she knew about Willa and had all along.

“You knew,” Holt accused.

Mina’s expression didn’t change.

“I had a strong suspicion,” she replied carefully. “From very early on, yes.” She raised her chin slightly. “But, I never confirmed it.”

“How early?” Holt asked, keeping his voice level with the effort that required. “When was the first time you suspected?”

“Willa is named after me,” Mina said simply.

“That was the first clue.” She raised her eyebrows slowly.

“Then there is Willa’s age and the gap from when she was born to when June married Trevor.

” She stared at him with a blank look. “Frankly, anyone with a brain that wanted to see would’ve seen that. ”

He’d stared at his mother and felt the fury press against his ribs from the inside with a force that required everything he had to contain. He chose to ignore the jab at his detective skills and refusal to see the obvious.

“You had a suspicion,” Holt said, his voice dropping to the register it reached when he was holding something back by force, “that Willa Parker was my daughter. And you said nothing. For thirty-eight years.”

“It wasn’t my story to tell,” Mina replied, in the composed, measured tone that meant she was angry.

She just wasn’t going to show it. “That is between you and June.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, and a flash of anger burst through them, but her composure didn’t change.

“Maybe if you’d done as I’d advised you to a few months after you walked out of your marriage… ”

“This is my fault?” Holt looked at her, astounded. “June keeps my child a secret, and this is my fault?” He had to swallow the rage that was close to boiling over. “She had thirty-eight years to come clean.” He breathed. “She didn’t even have the decency to tell Willa.”

“Maybe if you’d stuck around…” Mina’s expression turned haughty and slightly smug as she raised a single brow.

“Both times, you’d have allowed June to explain why she didn’t tell you.

” She put her tea cup down and took a breath.

Holt could see that, like him, his mother was holding back her anger.

Anger that was directed at him, which confused him.

“I’m going to tell you this as your mother who loves you, but son, June’s not the only one at fault here. ”

“Are you taking her side over mine?” Holt knew it was childish, but that hurt. “Thanks a lot for everything, mother. ”

“I’m not taking sides. Both of you were in a bad place back then,” Mina continued, her voice steady and her eyes holding his with the same immovable quality she’d had since he was a child, “so don’t take your anger and I suspect your own guilt, out on me.”

“What do I have to feel guilty for?” Holt seethed. “I wasn’t the one who hid my child and grandchildren from anyone.”

Mina sighed. “I suggest, son, that when you’ve sufficiently calmed down, you go and have a proper conversation with June.” She paused. “And before you direct any of what you’re currently feeling at me again, or for that matter at June, might I remind you of something?” She held his gaze.

“What would that be, mother?” Holt blew out a breath, knowing his mother was right, but that just fueled the raging fire inside him.

“When you point a finger at someone, there are usually three pointing right back at you.” Mina pushed back her chair and stood looking at him knowingly for a few seconds.

“Maybe those three fingers pointing back at you should remind you that you have your own confession to make.” She tilted her head slightly and gave him a tight smile. “Don’t you?”

They’d stared at each other across the kitchen.

“I…” Holt opened his mouth as his mother’s words resonated with him, and the guilt hit him like a tidal wave, partly putting out some of the rage.

“Goodnight, son,” Mina said, walking over to him and kissing his cheek. “Things will be a bit better when the sun is up.”

Then Mina turned and left the room, leaving Holt standing alone in the kitchen for a long time.

Holt suddenly sat up in bed, put his feet on the floor, looked at the morning light coming through the curtains, and thought about what his mother had said.

You have your own confession to make.

He pressed his jaw together and shook off those thoughts, pushing the guilt away as he focused on the present situation.

Holt had gone over the last few days before he’d left June thirty-eight years ago more times than he could count in the hours since he’d walked out of Willa’s house.

Looking for the thing he’d missed. Looking for the moment that, with the clarity of hindsight, should have told him something was different.

June had been excited about the job offer she’d gotten that day. Holt had news as well; he was going to Virginia. It had been confirmed. Then another part of their conversation from that night flashed through his mind.

We can’t have children right now, June. There’s no possible way we could manage a family. Maybe in five years’ time.

Holt had said that. He remembered saying something like that the night everything between them had changed. The night their marriage broke apart.

He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at his hands.

Had she thought he wouldn’t want the child?

The fury was still there, but another reality started to settle over him as he went through that night their marriage had ended.

It was smaller in the morning than the previous night, but it was still simmering.

Holt got up, showered, dressed, and went downstairs.

Rad was at the kitchen counter, moving with the quiet efficiency of someone who’d been up for a while and had already made several decisions about how the morning would go.