One Hot Secret: A Second Chance Romance (Love on Fire)

by Sarah J. Brooks

I place a restraining hand on her knee. “No, please stay. It’s okay, Sebastian. You can tell me when she’s here.” I don’t have any secrets from Grace, and I trust her implicitly.

  “Okay,” Sebastian says. “Your mother called this morning. Your dad had a stroke, and he’s in the hospital.”

  A sudden coldness hits my core. I ask Sebastian all the right questions, is it serious, when did it happen, but inside, I’m conflicted. The one thing I worried would happen has come to pass. Since cutting my parents out of my life all those years ago, I’ve asked myself several times what would happen if one of them got sick. I never came up with an answer, and now I don’t know what to do. I try to imagine my father sick and frail in a hospital bed and fail.

  Grace takes my hand and squeezes it.

  “He’s at the New Life Hospital. I’ve written down all the details here. If you decide to go, I’ve already informed the hospital.” Sebastian slides a sheet of paper across the island.

  “Thank you.”

  He leaves shortly after leaving me and Grace alone.

  “Are you going to go?” Grace says.

  “I don’t know to be honest. It seems hypocritical to go now when we haven’t spoken in years.” That’s not the only reason I don’t want to go. It’s selfish of me, but I don’t want my parents back in my life, and by going to see my father, it will be a signal that I do.

  “You won’t forgive yourself if you don’t go and something happens to him,” Grace says. “He’s your father, after all.”

  “He never behaved like my father, Grace,” I tell her. It’s difficult for another person to understand the betrayal that you feel when your loved ones treat you like a money-making machine. I know my mother felt guilty whenever a story they had sold to the press about me appeared in the tabloids. She would attempt to pass it off as no big deal, and when it didn’t work, she would apologize and promise it wouldn’t happen again. But my father held no remorse. He would stare at me defiantly, daring me to do something. I don’t want to go back to that way of life. It was toxic, and it affected my work and my general happiness.

  I meet Grace’s gaze. “Okay, I’ll go.” I’m only doing it for Grace. My conscience will be clear even if something does happen to my father, but I don’t tell Grace that. She’s a good, loving person, and voicing something like that about my own father would horrify her.

  “I can come with you if you like,” she says.

  “I’ll be fine. I need to do this one on my own.” I slide off the stool. “So much for a fun Saturday.”

  “We’ll have many more weekends,” Grace says.

  Upstairs, I text Ethan to get ready for the drive to the hospital. I try to coax Grace into the shower with me, but it’s a firm no.

  “You don’t have time to waste,” she says.

  “Showering with you is not wasting time,” I mumble as I enter the shower.

  Thoughts of my parents fill my brain as I shower. I always felt like an outsider in my own family. Even growing up, I felt different from them. I loved reading while neither of my parents did. My father liked to make fun of my nerdiness, and when I had to switch to home tutoring because of my work, he pushed up the teasing a notch. My mom would glare at him when he went too far. I didn’t understand why he saw my education as a threat until later. I’d become the breadwinner of our household at a young age, and he’d come to see my education as a threat to that income.

  It was silly to think that way because I loved acting, and if he knew me at all, he would have known that. I never did establish a good relationship with him, and that saddened me. I’d paid a high price for my career, but now that I had Grace in my life, it didn’t matter. You don’t need a lot of people in your life to feel loved. Just one person who loves you for yourself and not for what you have is enough.

  I finish getting ready, and Grace walks me to the door. “Call me if you need me,” she says, creases of worry on her forehead.

  “I will.” I kiss her forehead. “Don’t worry; everything will be just fine.”

  Outside, Ethan holds the back passenger door open for me, and I enter. He drives us out of the compound and onto the road.

  “Sorry about your father,” Ethan says, catching my gaze through the rearview mirror.

  I nod. “Thanks.”

  “My father had a stroke several three years ago, and now he’s fully recovered. All he had to do was to follow the doctor’s instructions,” Ethan continues. “Your father will pull through too.”

  “I’m sure he will.” My father has never listened to anyone’s instructions in his life. But maybe he has changed. Time changes people.

  It takes us half an hour to get to the hospital. I pull my cap lower and slip on my sunglasses. Ethan parks the car and talks on his cell phone. We leave the car and head to the entrance. I’ve learned that walking fast usually does the trick, and people rarely recognize you. In the elevator, Ethan presses the button for the seventh floor, which is where the VIP rooms are located. That side of my father has not changed. He would not be caught dead in a normal room. The reception nurses wave us through, and we walk down the wide hallway until we come to his room.

  “I’ll be here,” Ethan says, standing guard outside the door.

  I push the door open and step in. My mother turns around, and our gazes meet. Her eyes fill up on seeing me. She clasps her hand over her mouth, then she stands and runs to me. I open my arms, and we hug as if it’s not been years since the last time we met.

  “You came,” she says, her voice muffled by my shirt.

  I kiss the top of her head and almost gag from the strong perfumes coming from her hair. My mother loves everything in doubles doses, whether it be perfume or makeup.

  She draws back to stare at me. “You look so different in person.” She strokes my scars, and it dawns on me that she and my father have never seen my new look in person. “You look handsome, though.”

  I study her too. The years have not been very kind to her, and she has tons of wrinkles that she did not have before. I guess that is a result of the kind of lifestyle they live. Drinking and partying takes their toll over the years.

  “Come and talk to your father. He’s been asking for you.” She takes my hand and leads me to the side of the bed.

  My father’s eyes are on me. “I didn’t think you’d come.” He looks frail, but his eyes are bright and alert. His mouth and left eye are drooping a little bit.

  “How are you doing?” I ask him.

  He shrugs. “I keep telling them that I feel better, but that doctor won’t let me go home just yet.”

  My mom shakes her head. “Don’t believe him. He has a long way to go. His left hand and leg are not working very well.”

  “They’re fine,” my father mumbles. He looks at me. “You’re really into the cash now, aren’t you? How come you haven’t increased our share? It’s been the same for years, and it’s not quite enough.”

  I’m disappointed but not shocked. Even now, years later, when he sees me, my father sees dollar bills. Nothing will ever change, and it was naïve of me to hope that the years had mellowed him.

  “Fred!” my mother cries. “Can’t you just be happy that Kyle has come to see you? Does it have to be about money all the time? You had a stroke, for fuck’s sake, and all you can think about is money.”

  I’m surprised at my mother’s outburst. I remember her as always bowing to my father’s wishes. I feel proud of her that she can finally voice her thoughts.

  “How did it happen?” I ask her, changing the topic.

  My mother’s face heats up, and she lets out a girlish giggle. I see where it’s going, but it’s too late to withdraw my question.

  “Your father and I were getting intimate when it happened,” she says, her eyes dancing with amusement. “You know how adventurous your—”

  “I don’t need the details, Mom,” I tell her.

  “The boy doesn’t want to believe that his precious mother has sexual needs,” my father says.
>
  Anger comes over me, and as I look into my father’s eyes, I see the same look of disdain and what looks like hatred. I don’t get it. Why would he hate me? I’ve never disrespected him in any way. I take a step back. “I’m not a boy, Dad, and I do know that my mother has sexual needs, but I’ll let you in on something you might not know. No man is interested in his parents’ sex life and most parents instinctively know this. I’ll talk to you real soon, Mom.” I lean forward to kiss her cheek.

  “Will you come back for another visit, son?” she asks me, her voice trembling.

  I’m halfway to the door when I turn. I look at my father, and he gives me a lopsided grin. He always enjoyed pissing me off, and it’s sad to see that we’ll never move beyond that.

  I shift my gaze to my mother, and my heart goes out to her. She’s not a bad person, but she’s married to a man I don’t understand or even like. Admitting that I don’t like my own father feels like a load off my shoulders.

  “I won’t, Mom,” I tell her. “There’s no point to this.”

  “But—”

  “Let him go,” my father snarls. “He’s never wanted to be around us.”

  Maybe he’s right. Whatever the case, I’m a grown man, and I don’t need to keep playing childish power games with my father.

  Chapter 34

  Kyle

  I’m mentally exhausted when I get home, and the only face I want to see is Grace’s. I find her in the sunroom, her concentration so great that she doesn’t hear me when I push the door open. I stay still to watch her as she works. She looks so beautiful and peaceful with her hair held up in a messy bun at the top of her head and wisps of it falling on the side of her face. Her hand masterfully moves the brush across the canvas creating a gorgeous landscape of the snow-white beach.

  I take a step closer, and that’s when she looks up, and a smile lights up her face. Then a look of concern replaces the smile.

  “Hey there,” she says as she stands up.

  “Hi, sorry for interrupting. I just needed to see you.” I open my arms, and she walks into them. I hold her tight against me, losing myself in her softness.

  “Don’t even say that. I’ve been looking out the window every five minutes,” she says and squeezes me tight. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay, but I could do with some coffee,” I tell her.

  “Let’s go.”

  Hand in hand, we go downstairs, and I sit on the island stool while Grace gets the coffee machine going.

  I let out a yawn. I feel tired, and it’s not two o’clock yet. Grace makes me a sandwich as well and places it together with the coffee in front of me.

  “Thanks.”

  “How’s your father?” she says sitting across from me.

  “As rude as ever,” I tell her, trying to lighten up the moment. I tell her everything that happened from the moment I walked into my father’s hospital room.

  In between talking, I eat my sandwich, glad to have a distraction.

  Grace is not aware that she has fisted her hands. A range of emotions flits across her very expressive face. Horror, disgust, and then barely concealed anger.

  “Your father is a horrible human being,” she finally says. “I’m sorry that you’ve had to deal with that all your life.”

  My chest expands with emotion. It’s nice to have someone say aloud what no one had ever said. My father is the one who is flawed.

  “I thought they could never say or do anything to hurt me anymore. I was wrong,” I tell her. “It hurt like hell when the first thing my father said to me had to do with money when we haven’t seen each other in years.”

  “The people we love have the power to build us or to hurt us,” Grace says. “I wish I was there to hold your hand.”

  “I’m glad you were not.” I would not have wanted Grace to witness my father’s meanness and rejection.

  “How can someone treat their own son so badly?” Grace says, speaking as if to herself. “What about your mother?”

  I shrug. “She was okay, and she scolded him, which was a huge change from how she used to be. Still, the damage was done a long time ago. I always felt as if she was choosing him over me. It’s crazy to feel that way about your parents, but that’s how it was.” The dynamics of our family were weird. We were never one unit. It was always my father against me, which left Mom to pick sides, and she always defended him however wrong he was. That had hurt badly, and it still did.

  “I know what you mean. It was weird in my biological family too. The only difference was that I don’t think my parents realized I existed. My mom’s life revolved around my dad’s, and in not paying attention to me, it felt as if he always came first in her life. Which I suppose he did.”

  “Why do people have children if they don’t intend to take care of them?” I ask Grace.

  She shrugs. “I’ll reward the person who ever gives me an answer to that question.”

  That makes me smile. “We’re two fucked up people, Grace.”

  “Used to be. We’ve healed each other, and we continue to heal each other,” she says.

  Before I can respond, my phone vibrates in my pocket. The temptation to ignore it is great, but I reach for it and make a mental note to turn it off afterward.

  I glance at the screen. “It’s Sebastian. He probably wants to know how my dad is.” I swipe to answer.

  “You need to go back to the hospital. Your father has had another stroke. This one’s bad. They are resuscitating him at this very moment.” His tone is urgent, and a cold shiver goes through me.

  “I’ll be there in a few.”

  “Ethan is ready for you.”

  I disconnect the call. “My father has had another stroke. A bad one. I have to go ...”

  Grace jumps to her feet. “I’m coming with you. Give me a minute; I’ll meet you in the car.”

  I want to protest that I’m okay going alone, but the truth is that I do need Grace with me. I nod and carry our dirty dishes to the sink. I wait for her in the foyer, and when she comes down, she gives me a quick hug and a kiss.

  Grace keeps my hand in hers for the entire drive to the hospital. So many things flit through my mind. What if he doesn’t make it? I don’t have any strong feelings about that. My parents haven’t been a part of my life for so long that the thought doesn’t cause me any undue distress. What saddens me is that we’ve never had the kind of father and son relationship other people enjoy. I don’t understand why it was so hard for us to bond.

  “Fuck.”

  I glance out the window to see what could have made my normally calm driver and body guard let out a curse. I see it then. The paparazzi are already there, gathered at the entrance of the hospital like sharks circling their prey.

  Dismay settles in me, and I want to punch someone.

  “Maybe there’s another celebrity in the hospital,” Grace says, her voice shaky.

  A quick tap of my phone confirms that my father is the big story. Ethan talks on his phone and drives the car to the hospital’s rear, where a guard opens a gate to let us in.

  I’m glad there’s another way into the hospital, but my relief is short-lived. As we walk to the lifts, a man lifts a camera and takes a picture of me and Grace. Before we can react, he turns and walks away. I feel violated, especially at a time like this.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Grace says when we’re in the lift.

  I squeeze her hand gratefully. She’s right. A picture doesn’t matter. What matters is the reason why we’re here. To give my mother some support. I won’t pretend that my father is the reason why I’m here.

  We step out of the elevator, and immediately hear loud sobs coming from the waiting room on the right. The voice sounds familiar. My mother. I walk fast into the waiting room and see her then with two nurses on either side of the couch trying to comfort her.

  “I’ve got her,” I tell them.

  When Mom sees me, her sobs grow louder, and I pull her into my arms.

  “He’s gone, Ky
le. He’s gone. How am I going to do this alone?”

  My father is dead. I search myself, but I feel nothing. No sadness, just pangs of regret for what might have been.

  ***

  “He was a good father to you, wasn’t he?” my mother asks me.

  We’re in her home, and it’s almost seven. They still live in the same home I bought for them all those years ago, and I’m pleased to see that they’ve kept up with repairs, and it’s in pretty good shape.

  It’s in a nice, gated community with good security, which has worked out well because the paparazzi cannot camp outside her house. We are in the living room, which is decorated with so many photographs of me that it’s embarrassing. When all this is over, I’ll have to ask my mother to pull some of them down. It looks like a shrine.

  Grace is seated next to my mother, holding her hand, and she raises an eyebrow at me when I don’t answer. If my mother wasn’t so distraught, she wouldn’t ask me that question. She knows as well as I do that he wasn’t a good father.

  “He had a lot of pressure, you know,” she continues. “He wanted so much to prove himself, but how could he when he couldn’t father a child.”

  I freeze. I’m sure my ears are deceiving me. I inch closer to the edge of the chair. “What do you mean, he couldn’t father a child?”

  My mother looks up, startled. “Did I say that? That’s not what I meant.”

  I see the fear in her eyes, and I know then what I’ve probably known deep down but did not want to acknowledge. “Was he my biological father?”

  The air is thick with tension. Mom looks like a squirrel that’s been cornered. I want to let it go, but I have to know.

  “It doesn’t matter now; he’s gone,” she says, her voice trembling.

  “It matters to me.” My stomach quivers as I await her confirmation.

  She takes a deep breath as if she’s about to jump off a ledge into a body of water. “No.” She looks away. “I never told him, but he suspected it. You were so different from us. So special.”

  “Who was my father?”

  She twists her hands on her lap and continues speaking without looking at me. “Your father was growing increasingly frustrated when we couldn’t get pregnant. I’d been checked, and everything was fine with me, but he refused to get checked. So, I did the only thing I could to save my marriage and family. I slept with another man when I thought the time was right.”