by Nia Arthurs
My fingers tighten on the arm of the chair. “That’s my business.”
“Still.” He clucks his tongue. “I hate to see such a bright young woman like you give up on something you believe in. Is this all your life amounts to? Is that what your work, your research is worth to you? The farmhouse stands for something. It means something. And it’s greater than any one person.” He shakes his head. “Listen, Ms. Scott, you don’t want to be the bad guy here. I’m telling you that you don’t have to be. Hand me the reins and I’ll take away that choice. I’ll be the bad guy.” His eyes slide to the ground. “Because even if I’ve changed, neither of my sons will see me as anything else.”
“If you have changed, would you be here plotting behind Heath’s back?”
“I’m here doing what I have to for my family.” His voice is firm and determined. “I’m here offering you a choice, a chance that will only come around once.”
“A chance? For me to keep Heath, he’ll have to lose his daughter.”
His lips curl up. “Yes, but you don’t have to lose anything, Brenna. You can have Heath and the farmhouse. You can have it all.”
Twenty-Three
Heath
I put my phone to charge while I wait for Brenna to text. Noise from the kitchen draws me out of my room. I look expectantly at the table, but Glory’s not there. Instead, Mercy is buzzing around, making enough breakfast to feed an army.
“You came home pretty late.” Mercy slides a plate of pancakes in front of me and takes the seat across the table. Her dark eyes fix on my face like she can read my mind.
“I was with Brenna.”
Mercy’s lips twitch with a smile. “I’m happy for you, Heath.”
“Yeah well, I’m hoping my daughter will feel the same.” My gaze slides to Glory’s door again. “We’ve talked about me dating, but now that I’m actually doing it…”
Mercy smirks. “Do you know why the Make It Marriage women were at Glory’s party yesterday?”
“Didn’t Kaelyn and Kastle invite them?”
“Glory did.” Mercy rubs the end of her headscarf. “She wanted them to set you up with someone.”
My eyebrows hike. “I wasn’t introduced to anyone new.”
“That’s because Glory called them back and said she’d already found the perfect new mommy.” Mercy arches an eyebrow knowingly. “Guess who.”
I shake my head. “That little girl…”
“She was so happy when she saw you two talking at the party, but after the way you handled things with your father…”
My jaw clenches. “I don’t regret kicking him out.”
“But did you have to react like that in front of her? You barely tell Glory anything about her family as is. What is she supposed to think when she sees you manhandling someone she wants to love?”
“Don’t start on me too.” I groan.
“I’m trying to help you.” Mercy puts her hand over mine. “You won’t be able to convince Glory that everything’s fine when you look so guilty.”
“She’s too young to know the truth.”
“I didn’t say anything.” Mercy lifts both hands. “Now eat your pancakes.”
The door to Glory’s room opens.
I drop my fork and straighten as she steps out in her ladybug pajamas. “Hey, pumpkin.”
“Hi.” She plods past me and goes straight to Mercy without batting an eyelash in my direction.
“Morning, baby.” Mercy drops a kiss on Glory’s head. “How does it feel to be an eight-year-old?”
“Same as when I was seven.”
I force a laugh. “Did you enjoy hanging out with Steph and everyone else last night?”
She nods, again without looking at me.
Mercy juts her chin forcefully in Glory’s direction. Fix this.
“Ms. Mercy, can I have cereal instead?”
“Why? I just made all your favorite things for you.”
My daughter turns and gives the pancake in my hands a hard look. “No thanks.” Walking around to the counter, Glory grabs the cereal box and a bowl. “Do we have chocolate milk?”
“It’s in the fridge.” Mercy unhooks her apron. As she strides past the table, she mouths, “Talk to her.”
The moment Mercy leaves the kitchen, silence descends.
I interlace my fingers and set them on the table mat. “Want to talk about what’s bothering you?”
“Not really.” She closes the cupboard.
I grit my teeth. This attitude thing isn’t supposed to start so early. I thought I wouldn’t have to deal with a pouty daughter until she became a teenager. There’s no way I’m ready to lose my happy, cheerful baby girl.
Sucking in a breath, I try to remain calm. “Glory, about yesterday—”
“Are you going to tell me the truth?”
My mouth snaps shut.
“Please, dad.” She clings to her spoon.
“Baby, it’s… complicated.”
She stares at me. Then looks at her cereal.
“I stopped asking about my mom,” Glory whispers.
I freeze, my heart jumping to my throat.
“I never asked you what happened with Grampa or Grandma and why they don’t even call us.”
My phone rings from the other room.
I ignore it, my gaze fastened on Glory.
She lifts her big brown eyes to me, and I see that they’re swimming in tears. “I didn’t want to make you angry or sad. And I didn’t want to think that my grandparents don’t care about me, so I’ve been making up stories in my head.” She sniffs. “Like maybe they’re trying to protect me because I’m secretly a princess.” She wipes away a tear with the back of her hand. “Or maybe my mom’s a spy and that’s why we can’t talk about her.”
“Glory…” My heart tears into pieces.
“But yesterday, Grampa wanted to see me. And you stopped him. You yelled at him and, for the first time, I realized that the reason I don’t see them is because of you.”
“Sweetie—”
“Why don’t I have a mom, dad?”
“That’s…”
More tears spill down her cheeks. “Why don’t you ever talk about grandma and grandpa?”
I glance down, searching for the words to explain in a way that won’t hurt her. “I told you. It’s complicated.”
“What is?”
“It’s—” I sigh heavily. “You can ask whatever you want about your mom.”
“Where did you two meet?”
My eyes widen. “Uh…”
“When did you ask her to marry you?”
“Glory…”
“Why can’t you answer me, dad?” she shrieks. “Why can’t you look me in the eyes?”
“Your mom passed away, Glory. I told you that.”
“Why should I believe you?” She glares at me. “Why should I believe anything you say?”
“Glory.”
My daughter runs from the room, a hand flung over her face.
“Glory. Glory!” I launch out of my chair.
Just then, Mercy sprints toward me.
I start to go after Glory, but I take one look at Mercy’s face and backtrack. “What’s wrong?”
“The hospital is trying to call you.” She wrings her hands and gives me a worried look. “There’s been a problem with the payment.”
“Problem? What problem?”
Glory’s door slams shut.
I flinch.
Mercy frowns. “That didn’t sound like it went well.”
“Could you check on her please? I’ll call the hospital.”
“She’s going to ask me, Heath!” Mercy yells at my back. “What am I supposed to tell her?”
“Tell her she’ll understand when she’s older.”
“She’s too smart to accept that!”
I keep going and hurry into my room.
A headache pounds through my head.
My mind spins.
But I have to focus.
Gritt
ing my teeth, I call the hospital and transfer to the admin office.
“Hi, I understand there’s been a problem with my payment?”
“Yes, the card that you gave us has been declined.”
I rub my forehead. “That shouldn’t be. I have money on that card. Payment from a client. Can you check again?”
“We have, Mr. Jameson. I’m sorry.” She hesitates. “I’d need some other form of payment before Glory’s next round of treatment.”
“I know. I—let me work this out and get back to you.”
I hang up with her and quickly log into my bank account.
A notification on the top makes my blood run cold.
This account has been frozen.
I stumble back.
No. There must be some mistake.
I check my watch as I scramble for a solution. It’s Sunday, so I can’t call the bank but, after making another round of calls to some of my friends who work in the banking business, I’m advised to speak directly to my client.
Dialing the client’s number, I listen to the phone ring and tap my leg nervously on the floor.
Finally, the line clicks.
“Jameson,” a cold voice says.
“Mr. Langley, how are you?”
“I’m assuming you didn’t call me today because you desperately need the answer to that question.” His tone is one of dry detachment. “You must have gotten the notice from the bank.”
“Sir, why would you put a hold on those funds? Your payment was provided for the labor that we’ve already done on the farmhouse and for future—”
“Mr. Jameson, work on the farmhouse has been halted for over a week now.”
“Yes, but we’re solving that problem.”
“I’ve decided I don’t have the patience to wait.”
“Sir…”
“Either you wreck that old eyesore, or I take you to court for the money you’ve already spent.”
“Court?” My mouth goes dry. “There’s no need to—”
“You promised me swift and speedy service, Jameson. You did not deliver. Now, I think I’ve been patient enough, but you can’t expect me to pay you for work you haven’t done yet. Work you might not even be able to do by the look of things. I don’t have money to waste.”
“Just let me explain—”
“It’s too bad too.” He sighs. “I was telling everyone I knew about you, but it seems I’ll have to let them know that I was duped and that you really can’t handle a project of this magnitude.”
My breath hitches. My business runs on the power of good references and if I’m blackballed by someone as influential as Mr. Langley, it’ll be even harder to find work in this city.
“I understand your frustration, but if you give me a chance to work this out—”
“Why don’t you just stop this little struggling business and run to your rich parents, Mr. Jameson? I heard you’re the son of that reality-TV star. Are you so bored with your millions that you feel the need to waste people’s time like this?”
I grit my teeth. “One last chance. That’s all I need.”
“Fine. Show me that I can trust you, Mr. Jameson. Tear that farmhouse down.”
“By next week, we’ll know if the council—”
“You’ve got three days.”
Click.
Twenty-Four
Heath
There are moments in my life that defined me. Leaving home for the first time was one of them. So was holding Glory in my arms after signing the guardianship papers.
She was a baby. Lost. Frail. Helpless…
Alone.
I couldn’t turn my back on her.
The choice I made to stay by her side changed me forever.
Every decision since then, every path I took, every step… I took to protect her. To provide for her. To be there in a way my father’s cold, hard cash never was for me.
I thought I was getting better.
You’re a good dad, Heath.
Brenna told me that this morning, but I’m starting to wonder if there’s any truth to it.
If I was good enough, would all the threads be so tangled in my hands like this? Would every attempt at keeping things together spiral so massively out of control?
Begging Kastle and my parents for help is not a freaking option.
My pride won’t allow it.
But Glory needs to continue receiving treatment at that hospital.
And that means the farmhouse…
I shake my head. Focus on the bank teller sitting across from me on Monday morning.
Our eyes met a minute after eight o’clock.
At twenty minutes past eight, she told me there was nothing she could do to help.
I asked her to check again.
It’s now eight forty-five.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jameson.” She gives a grim shake of the head.
Those are the worst words to hear when you’re desperate.
“There’s nothing we can do,” she adds.
“Okay,” I croak. “Thank you for your time.”
Her eyes follow me out the door, full of pity. Or maybe it’s disdain.
I don’t know.
I don’t care.
It’s one door shut in my face.
There has to be a window somewhere.
I head to the hospital next. Park my car between the yellow lines. Lower my head.
My phone chirps.
It’s Brenna.
“Hey.” My voice is heavy. I clear my throat. Try for a brighter sound. “Hey.”
“Hi.” She sounds hesitant.
“You okay?”
“I feel like I should ask you that.”
I glance at the hospital’s glowing white doors. “It’s been a long day.”
“Heath, it’s barely nine o’clock.”
“Exactly.” I let out a breath.
Brenna goes silent.
I don’t bother filling in the empty space.
Hell, I’m glad for the quiet. There’s too much noise in my head. Too much information spilling through.
Brenna’s standing in the way of the farmhouse.
She’s the roadblock I need to remove.
She’s also the only woman who’s made me feel at peace. The only woman who made me laugh and forget, for just a moment, that I’m a man shouldering so many responsibilities.
I love her.
It hits me then.
In the stilted words I can’t say.
In the unease stirring through my veins.
I love her.
But she was right.
It’s not that simple.
“Heath—”
“Can I talk to you later?” I lick my lips. “I’m a little busy.”
She inhales sharply, stunned. “S-sure.”
I lower my head. Tap my fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, Brenna.”
“No. It’s—it’s fine. I’m busy too.”
Building the case that can ruin me.
I force a smile into my voice. “Are you at the library? Maybe I can drop by later. Take you to lunch.”
“Yeah. Sure. I’d love that.”
“Great.” I bob my head. Fool myself into thinking that this is okay. That this will work out.
“Bye, Heath.”
I hang up. Shake the tension from my shoulders. Walk out of the car.
When I enter the hospital’s finance office, the secretary bursts out of her seat and gives my arm a solid pump. “Mr. Jameson! Oh my goodness!” She continues shaking my hand. “I didn’t know! I didn’t—why didn’t you tell me?”
“Excuse me?” I inch my arm away from hers.
“I can’t believe I didn’t put this together myself.” She laughs.
My eyebrows pinch in the middle of my forehead.
Unease spreads through me.
Her eyes are glittering, and all her teeth are bared in an awe-struck smile.
I know that face.
And I know what usually
comes after it.
“You’re a Jameson!” Her eyes dart back and forth as if she just blurted a huge secret. “I am such a fan of your mom. And Kastle!” She gasps. “There were rumors that he was seen here at the hospital, but we don’t get out of the office much so it was hard to confirm—”
I cut her off with a firm smile. “I’m sorry. I’m kind of in a rush. I need to talk to—”
“Oh, yes. Don’t worry. We already processed the payment.”
The ominous sensation slithers around my stomach. “What?”
“Your bill’s been paid in full.”
“There must be some mistake.”
“No mistake. Everything. To the cent.” She winks. “And we’ve also got an account to draw from if there’s any additional needs.”
Sweat forms on my neck. “Was it my brother?”
“Kastle? No.” She swats her hand and leans in like we’re sharing a secret. “It was your mom. She just left actually. If you run, you can probably—”
I sprint out of the office.
Nurses stride past me.
Doctors hurry to their patients.
I glance back and forth, searching the busy hallway until I see a head of bluntly cut, shiny black hair and slim shoulders shrouded in an expensive coat. Her steps are long and sure. Brusque. In a sloping, confident hurry. Like she’s off to conquer the world.
“Mom!” I run toward her.
She stops in the middle of the hallway. A turn of her bright red pumps causes her to face me.
Her eyebrows arch. “Kastle.”
“Come with me.” I grab her arm and lead her into an empty hallway.
She wrenches her hand free and rubs the wrinkles in her coat. “Was that really necessary, son?”
“Why?” My breath is heavy from shock and annoyance. “Why would you do that?”
Her slender hands reach up. She grips the end of my ponytail. “When are you going to cut your hair, Heath? This man-bun thing is so uncultured.”
“Mom,” I snap.
Her red-painted lips flatten into a thin line. “I thought you’d be grateful at least.”
“I don’t want your money,” I snarl.
“It’s not my money.” She brushes her hand over my shoulders. “It’s ours.”