Chapter 29 #2
In his defense, it was hard to see the forest for the trees with his head up his own ass.
“Fuck.” He hated hindsight.
He’d spent years supporting everyone else, but when it came to him and Honesty, he dropped the ball. It was like there was too much good for him to accept. Instead, he’d denied it was ever there to begin with.
Worse, Honesty had been trying to tell him, but he hadn’t given her a safe space to share her feelings. He’d hidden behind duty.
God. He hated that his father had made such a valid point.
He had thought it was too late for him and Honesty. But was it? Was a late realization better than none at all? He’d never know unless he tried. But he’d have to prove to her that this was real—that she mattered most. And that required a drastic move.
He had to show her that she was more important than any reason he’d left for LA. Twice. Which left one obvious option.
He took his phone out of his pocket and pressed a button. Jennifer picked up on the second ring. “Are you back?”
“I am. I have news.” She didn’t interrupt. “I’m stepping down as head of the foundation immediately. I need you to look for someone else. Someone invested in growth.”
To her credit, Jennifer didn’t argue or ask questions. She simply began working on the task at hand, rattling off names of board members who might make good replacements. “I’ll compile a list,” she said. “And then I will spearhead the changes as soon as I have your approval.”
The thousand-pound elephant climbed off his back. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. So, what will you do instead of run the Moretti Foundation? Let me guess. Does Long Live Food need saving?”
He laughed in spite of himself. “Ironically, Jennifer, it’s me who needs saving.”
He promised to be in touch and said goodbye. The Moretti Foundation had been his leaping-off point, but it wasn’t his legacy. It never had been.
Phone in hand, his blurry reflection stared back at him from the blank screen. His hands were shaking.
He’d taken over the foundation out of a need to prove himself. No one questioned his motives—he had sacrificed for his family. He couldn’t have asked for more noble reasoning. But in the process he’d not only thrown Honesty’s heart into the incinerator. He’d tossed in his own.
Handing the foundation off after that would have left him with nothing. Or so he’d feared. Who had he been trying to impress? Himself? His father? Had he been chasing ghosts or running from them? Could he accept that he was worthy just because he existed?
He didn’t know. But he’d like to try.
He texted Jennifer. One more favor. I need to be in Chicago tomorrow. Can you book a flight asap?
On it, she texted back.
Give yourself a raise.
On it, came her response, this time with a rare smiley face emoji after it.
He almost smiled. Almost.
There was no guarantee Honesty wouldn’t slam the door in his face when he showed up. She had told him plainly that she didn’t need him. She might tell him to go to hell and that she never wanted to see him again.
Had his Hail-Mary epiphany come too late?
But it didn’t matter. He couldn’t lie to himself any longer about being the only person alive that could put out fires. The only fire that mattered was the one in his heart that burned for Honesty.
The woman he had never stopped loving.
Three heavy-handed raps pulled his attention to the front door. He approached the oversized wooden door, his head a tangle of confusion. No one knew he was home save his mother and Jennifer. Unless Jaylyn had taken a jetpack here, it wasn’t her either.
He opened the door, shocked to see his father and…a skinny guy wearing a bike helmet?
“Courier.” Octavius shot his thumb over his shoulder to the guy in the tight pants.
The courier held out an envelope. “Dante Crane?”
“Yes.”
“This is for you.” He thrust the envelope into Dante’s hands and then jumped onto his bicycle and rode off.
Dante held up the envelope. “This is dramatic. Even for you.”
“That’s not from me.” His father held up his hands innocently. “I swear I don’t know what it is.”
A mysterious envelope from a courier Dante could handle. His father materializing on his front porch was another matter altogether. Octavius Crane had never visited Dante in LA. Not once. And now, here he stood.
“This is a surprise,” Dante muttered.
“I know,” O said. “And from the monotone sound of your voice, it’s not a good one. Look, I hate how we ended things, and I want to make amends. Most of the shit I do has nothing to do with you, anyway. I’d like to come in and talk about it. Unless you would rather go out somewhere.”
Dante shook his head. What a surreal fucking day. “No, here is fine. I can make you a coffee or a—”
“Bourbon. Thanks.”
“Bourbon. Right.” Dante moved aside while Octavius stepped into his house. He was as misplaced here as Dante.
“How about a tour?” His father gestured to the house in general. “Weird statue.”
“On that we agree.” Dante scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t think I have bourbon. I have scotch and that case of wine you sent a while back.”
“The Big O?” He grinned, proud of the name.
“Malbec, if memory serves.”