He remembered something else she’d said . . . that there was a difference between being needed and being loved. She was right. All he’d thought about was how much he needed her, and he wasn’t wrong about that. He did need her. With a desperation that made his gut roll when he thought about her absence.
But when he dug beneath that, to a place he tried never to go, he found a frightening truth. His heart was filled with her.
That took his gut and turned it inside out, upside down, and backward. He forgot to breathe as the feeling blew through him with all the terrifying power of a nor’easter.
He loved her.
When he could draw in oxygen again, he propped his elbows on his knees and held his head between his hands, staring at the patterned carpet between his bare feet. Love was not something he was familiar with. Witness the duplicitous lover he’d chosen for Julian.
But he knew someone who understood love. He let visions of Allie spin through his mind, even as her absence slashed at his chest. He remembered the joy of skating together, her body tucked against his side, moving with him as though they shared a single impulse. She took his happiness, multiplied it, and gave it back to him as a gift.
Then he conjured up the moment when Allie reached into Ruth’s box and pulled out the rainbow-colored envelopes that transformed every idea he’d had about his mother. That day Allie had put herself between his heart and the body blows each revelation had struck. She had taken his pain and softened it because she shared it.
He’d repaid her by doubting the very fabric of her being, her integrity. The memory of the shock and hurt on her face when he’d drawn back from her kiss at the Barefoot Ball haunted him. Self-loathing made him jerk up from the couch, his back muscles shrieking as he paced around the room.
He had told himself he was giving back to Allie when he hired her to work on Julian for him. He had justified his lie to Ben with money. He had thought that his house, his helicopter, his skating rink, would put an acceptable gloss on his selfishness.
But Allie didn’t want any of that. All she asked for was a man who cared about her needs more than his own. When she’d compared him to Troy, he’d felt like she had balled up her fist and punched him in the stomach, but he had earned the slur.
He sat down again and forced himself to look into all the dark corners of his soul, finding that there were too many of them. He wanted to give Allie light and joy, but how could he do that when he had so many shadows inside him? If he wanted a chance to earn Allie’s forgiveness—and, oh dear God, he did!—he would have to face the demons of his past, not run from them. Only then could he offer her a whole man, a man who didn’t simply need her, and hope that her generous spirit would find that enough.
Shoving himself off the couch, he stumbled out of the office and into his bathroom to turn on the shower jets full blast, stripping out of the tux pants he hadn’t bothered to change last night. Standing under the steaming-hot water, he was swamped by a wave of longing for Allie that nearly brought him to his knees. He braced his hands against the tile walls until it subsided enough to let him wash.
After dressing, he stood in the bedroom with his cell phone in his hand, staring down at Ron Escobar’s contact information, mustering every ounce of courage he possessed to call the detective. He told himself that whatever the news was, he couldn’t feel any worse, but he knew that was a lie.
In fact, he could feel worse. The human psyche had an infinite capacity for suffering.
He hit the number. Even though it was Sunday, he was sure Escobar would return the call.
“Mr. Miller, what can I do for you?” Ron said.
“Sorry to bother you on Sunday, but I’ve moved my timetable up, and I’d thought I’d check in to see what information you have on Susannah Miller.”
He had to remind himself to breathe. Thank God Ron didn’t hesitate to answer. “She’s still living at the address you gave us. If you give me a second to pull it up on the computer, I can tell you—”
Gavin was no longer listening. He sank onto the bed because the muscles in his legs had turned weak with relief. She was still alive.
“—Fisher and Martinez, a local law firm.”
The names caught his attention. It was on the letterhead of his mother’s last communication. “What about Fisher and Martinez?”
“Your mother works there. Her position is listed as mediator.”
“Is she married?”
“Not currently. Divorced once, from Kenneth Herbert Miller.” Ron paused for a split second before continuing to read. “One child: Gavin Herbert Miller.” Another pause. “No evidence of cohabitation. She owns her home outright, no mortgage. Drives a Jeep SUV, paid cash. No criminal record.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” He let a note of irony creep into his voice, just to fend off the crash of emotions.
“I can send you the rest of the information, but it’s basic stuff right now. Our investigation is ongoing.”
“You can close it. That’s all the information I need. Except for whether she’s in residence.”
“She was, as of last night. I can put a man on her for as long as you want to keep track of her whereabouts and send you updates hourly.”
“I would appreciate that. Thank you for a job well done.”
“I wish all my jobs were this easy.”
Gavin disconnected and sat with his head bowed.
All these years his mother had been there, but his anger and pride had stopped him from seeking her out. All these years when he could have had answers instead of wallowing in ancient misery.
He would drag his past into the light of the present and stare it down. And he would do it alone because he had to prove to Allie—and to himself—that he could.
Chapter 30
The jet lifted off and banked left, turning away from the early-morning sun as it headed west. Gavin gazed out the window as Long Island shrank and dropped away behind him. His itinerary for this gray February Monday was a crowded one, covering most of the country. He had several dragons to slay, so he’d dressed in his dark knight’s armor: charcoal gray wool trousers, black silk shirt, and black leather jacket. It suited the weather and his mood.
Allie’s absence was like an open wound that flared with pain every time he touched it. Even worse, he was worried about her. He’d quizzed Jaros on what she’d said when he drove her home, but either Allie had barely spoken or his driver wasn’t talking.
He knew she was balancing on the edge of financial disaster, and he could so easily solve that issue. But she wouldn’t accept anything from him now, even if he swore she would be doing him a favor by salving his guilty conscience.
But it was so much more than guilt. He couldn’t bear the thought of her struggling and worrying. He wanted to smooth every obstacle out of her way and strew her path with rose petals.
Gavin snorted at himself, but it was true. He would pave the streets with gold if it made her happy. And he would ask for nothing in return other than to know she was smiling rather than weeping.
But he was getting ahead of himself. First he had to earn the right to have her feet touch his gold bricks.
His pilot signaled that cell phone use was permitted, but Gavin waited a few minutes longer before he slid it out of his pocket. He’d probably be waking Irene up, which could be to his advantage. He hit the “Call” button.
“Gavin?” She sounded wide awake. Too bad.
“Irene, what game are you playing?”
She laughed, that low purr that used to fascinate him. Now it made his hackles rise in revulsion. “I don’t know, darling. Badminton, perhaps?”
“You stirred up a hornets’ nest with that new pet of yours, Troy Nichols. Why?”
“Did you get stung?”
He thought of Allie’s face when he’d pulled away from her kiss. “I got hacked to pieces. Now will you tell me why?”
“A little shock treatment to break your creative block. You hate the idea of ghostwriters, so I used
Troy to start a nice juicy rumor. He’s such a little eager beaver, so easy to manipulate.” Gavin could hear the amused satisfaction in her voice. “I had him entirely convinced that there would be a Christmas Julian Best movie and that he would be perfect for a secondary role. When he showed up in Gail’s office, saying he had an audition for the movie, she was afraid to tell him he was wrong . . . just in case he wasn’t. I hear he had the genius to invoke your name. That was a nice piece of improvisation on his part.”
Gavin gritted his teeth to keep from shouting at her. But he knew that the disaster with Allie was his fault, not Irene’s. “Why Christmas?” He still couldn’t figure that piece out.
That repulsive purr of laughter again. “Wasn’t that an inspired touch? You told me about the Christmas novella you started but never finished. Hugh and I laughed about the idea of Julian baking sugar cookies. So I threw in that little detail to make sure Hugh would believe the whole pack of lies and pass it along to you.”
Gavin sank the fingers of his free hand into the leather of the armrest, squeezing it in a death grip, as the realization of how wrong he’d been swept through him like a blast of Arctic wind.
“Well, did it work, darling?” Irene asked. “Are you writing again?”
It took him a moment to unclench the frozen muscles of his throat. “I am, but not because of your intervention. And I’ve decided that Samantha has betrayed Julian’s trust one time too many. So she is going to die early in the story, probably by Julian’s own hand.”
“Now, Gavin.” The undercurrent of amusement left Irene’s voice. “Don’t let your personal issues interfere with your professional judgment. Julian’s fans love Samantha. They would be distraught if you killed her off.”
“Not if he finds the love of a good woman. His true fans want Julian to be happy.”
“You’re wrong. They want him to be a hard, ruthless outsider like he’s always been.”
“Fans want to see growth in their characters. Samantha is holding Julian back.” It was time to finish off this particular demon. “I thought I’d give you a heads-up out of professional courtesy.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” There was a sharp edge of panic in her voice.
“Never forget that I am Julian’s god.” He smiled. “No one tells me what I dare and what I do not dare.”
“Hugh will support me.”
Gavin’s smile stretched wider. “Hugh dislikes you even more than I do. Here’s another professional heads-up. Being a stone-cold bitch doesn’t play well, even in Hollywood.”
He disconnected as Irene hissed curses at him.
One down, so why didn’t he feel a sense of accomplishment?
Because Irene had confirmed how badly he had wronged Allie. He dropped his head in his hands with a groan while the cold truth squeezed the air from his lungs.
As the plane flew toward Illinois, he tried to sleep, but his mind whirled with images of Allie, her red hair glowing like a flame around her beautiful face as she teased him, challenged him, healed him. And left him.
Two hours later, his plane touched down at a small airport outside Chicago. He climbed into a waiting helicopter, which took him to a field just outside Bluffwoods. And there he saw his stepsister Ruth, leaning on the side of her dirt-spattered SUV.
That stopped Gavin in his tracks. He’d hired a local farmer to drive him into town.
“Hey, Gavvy.” Ruth used her old nickname for him. “No big hello for your stepsis?”
Gavin crossed the frozen furrows and wrapped his arms around her. “Ruthie. I was expecting Frank Dobbs. But it’s good to see you.” Surprisingly, he meant it. His stepsister had put on a few pounds since their youth, but she still had the same bright hazel eyes and thick braid of brown hair slung over her shoulder. And an off-center smile that offered affection in a world where he had found little. “How’d you end up as my ride?”
“I got wind you were coming and decided family should be here to greet you.” She cast a slantwise glance toward the helicopter. “You travel in style.”
“I have a lot of ground to cover today,” he said. He opened the driver’s door of the SUV for her. “Shall we get out of the chill?”
Ruth climbed behind the wheel, and Gavin closed her door. He stood a moment as the crunch of frozen dirt under his feet and the slice of the bitter midwestern wind yanked him back into his childhood. It was not a good place to go.
Shaking himself, he walked around and got in beside his stepsister.
“You finally opened the box,” she said, putting the truck in gear.
“I finally dug to the bottom of the box. You buried the past under the books.”
She banged her fist on the steering wheel. “Darn it! I told Tobias he put the mailing label on the wrong side. The bag of cards was on top when I packed it.”
Allie had guessed something like that. She was one smart lady.
“Did you read them?” Gavin asked.
“Only enough to know what they meant and that you should have them.”
“Does Odelia know you sent them to me?”
Ruth huffed out a sigh. “Yeah. Mom and I had a little disagreement about that.”
“Then she won’t be surprised by my visit.” And his stepmother would have had time to come up with her own story about why she’d never given him the cards.
“Look, I don’t condone what she did,” Ruth said, throwing him a sharp glance. “But she had her reasons, and they weren’t all wrong. Mom’s old, Gavvy, and she might even regret some of it, so go easy on her, will you?”
“Is that why you came to meet me? To plead her case?”
“I came because I care about you, you big jerk. I just didn’t like your tone of voice when you spoke about Mom. It was scary.”
Gavin leaned his head back against the seat. “You were my lifeline, Ruthie. For your sake, I’ll moderate my tone with Odelia.”
And Allie would want him to.
“Much appreciated. Will you stay for lunch with Tobias and the kids? We’d all love to spend some time with you.”
Genuine regret pricked at him. “Not today, but I promise I’ll come back soon when I can stay longer.”
Ruth gave a grunt of disbelief.
Gavin reached over to squeeze her shoulder with affection. “I mean it this time. I’d like to see Tobias and your children.”
“They wanted to see your helicopter in the worst way, but I told them they had to go to school.”
“I’ll give them a ride the next time. With your permission.”
“As long as I don’t have to go up in that thing.”
Ruth turned onto the street that led to Miller’s Feed and Dry Goods and the house he’d grown up in. Again, time seemed to reverse itself, sucking him back with it. This was why he didn’t come home.
He forced himself to focus on the changes. A new sign and paint color on the real estate office. A bakery and café in what used to be Ratzenberger’s, a restaurant with grouchy waitresses and terrible food.
“I hope the new café is better than Ratz’s,” Gavin said.
“About ten times better. Mattie Wilson opened it. That girl can bake!”
Gavin nodded, but he was bracing himself for Miller’s Feed and Dry Goods on the next block. As they approached it, he forced himself to look at the scene of so many years of misery in his young life. And did a double take. “Good God, the place looks downright inviting.”
Ruth grinned. “We saved up and did a big renovation late last fall, so you missed it. The inside is even better. Skylights and everything.” She sighed. “Dad helped with the plans, but he never got to see the result. That makes me sad.”
It looked so altered on the outside that he thought he might be able to set foot in it again without enduring the anguish of his younger self.
“Thank you,” he said.
That earned him a puzzled look. “I didn’t think you cared much about the store.”
“In a very different way from you and Tobias.” Three m
ore blocks and the street became residential. “Any chance that you repainted the house, too?”
“Nah, it’s the same old white wood with black shutters. Mom would never allow a different color.”
Odelia wouldn’t allow anything that diverged from her idea of what was respectable. As they pulled up in front of his childhood home, he thought the house glowered at him.
“I’ll be down at the store. Give me a call when you’re ready for a ride back.”
Gavin nodded. His throat was too clogged with new anger and old resentments to speak. He swung out of the car and strode up the stone walk to the front door, twisting the old-fashioned brass doorbell hard.
After several seconds of staring at the brushstrokes in the door’s glossy black paint, he heard the sound of a latch being turned, and the door swung open.
“Gavin? Did you tell me you were coming?” Odelia’s bony countenance with its deep, harsh lines held shock and confusion. She rubbed her hand over her face as though she didn’t trust what her eyes were showing her.
Looking down on her from his adult height, Gavin was surprised at how small she looked. And old. “No, but I need to speak with you about something important.”
“Important to you or to me?” Her tone was tart, but there was an undercurrent of uncertainty.
“Oh, only to me, Odelia, but I’d appreciate a few minutes of your time.” Gavin couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice.
She pulled the door farther open with unconcealed reluctance. “A few minutes is all I’ve got. You should have warned me you were coming.”
Turning, she led the way into what was always called the front parlor, a room Odelia had forbidden him to enter as a child. The reason cited was the china cabinet with its curving glass front and its display of fragile bone china teacups. A rambunctious boy was a threat to the household treasures. But, in fact, Gavin had been more likely to settle down with a book than to roughhouse indoors. Odelia had simply wanted him to feel excluded. Or at least, so he’d thought.
The VIP Doubles Down (Wager of Hearts Book 3) Page 32