Beautiful Fall (Beautiful Rivers Book 2)

by White, J. L.

  Fuck. I’ve seen his face do that a hundred million times when there’s something Jessica doesn’t come through with. I tense up instantly, my blood starting to run hot, but I hide it for his sake. I have lots of experience with that too. “She’ll be here. Don’t worry.”

  “She’s bringing Montana, right?”

  I hope so. She’d better. God, I don’t need Lizzy fucking letting him down too. He’s had enough of that. “I’m sure she will,” I say, stewing about whether or not I’m right.

  By the time she shows up, twenty-five minutes late, I’ve cooled down from boiling to simmering. Just barely. I let Max run out the door when we hear her pull up, to save me from a private greeting that she’ll probably want to involve kisses. I’m trying to calm down and let it go, but I can’t. I’m vaguely aware of the fact that I might be overreacting, but I’m too worked up to do anything about it.

  Max disappears around the corner to greet Lizzy—and Montana, I hope—but I hang back by the open door, arms folded.

  Max’s squeal of delight draws me forward, though. I go around the corner myself to see Lizzy pulling a little black gift bag out of the passenger seat, and Montana in a dog costume that makes him look like a prisoner. He’s wearing a doggie body suit in big black and white stripes, and there’s a long number on the back, his prisoner number.

  Max—who’s in his police officer uniform—is jumping up and down excitedly. “He’s my prisoner!”

  “Wow,” I say, not meaning to sound so dispassionate. “Where’d you get that?”

  “Ordered it online.” She’s still smiling and digging something out of the bag, but gives me a questioning glance.

  I smile back, not wanting to get into it with her in front of Max. I’m not sure if I want to get into it with her at all. I don’t know what the hell I want, other than to get going. Finally.

  “Okay, Montana is part one of the surprise and this is part two.” She pulls out what looks like a popcorn ball, except it’s orange and decorated to look like a jack-o-lantern.

  “Oooh!” Max says, taking one.

  “I use marshmallows and melted white chocolate to bind them together,” she says glancing at me. “They’re crazy good.”

  “Can I eat it?” he asks Lizzy.

  She has sense enough to say, “Ask your dad.”

  He looks at me hopefully. “Can I?”

  “You’ll be getting enough sweets soon enough,” I say, ignoring the slightly disappointed looks on both of their faces. “You can have it later, Max. Take the bag inside and get your bucket. Let’s go.”

  She puts the ball back in the bag and hands it to him, giving me another questioning look. When he runs back toward the house, she comes up and gives me a kiss. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Fine.” I’m trying to shake it. I really am. But I can’t for some reason. Not wanting to discuss it, I go back to the front door so I can lock it up after he comes out. He runs back outside, his empty plastic bucket swinging erratically from the plastic handle, and goes straight past me to Montana.

  I lock the bolt and take a deep breath. It’s fine. She’s here and Max is fine and we’re on our way.

  But it’s soon clear I’m not fine, which irritates me as much as anything else. Max is holding the leash—Lizzy’s been teaching Max how to make the dog heel by his side—and we head for the first house in my neighborhood.

  “Sorry I was late. On my way home I remembered I was out of butter at the house and needed it for the popcorn balls.”

  I nod. Max is fussing with the plastic handcuffs hanging from his belt. They’re his favorite part of the costume.

  “I bought all the other ingredients yesterday, but forgot about that,” Lizzy continues, almost like she’s nervous and trying to fill up the gaps. “I had to stop at the store to get some.”

  “It’s all right,” I lie. Why didn’t you just skip the whole thing, then? I want to ask instead.

  We stop in front of the first house, and she takes the leash from Max so he can go up to the door. We hang back on the sidewalk.

  “They’re kind of a Rivers family tradition,” she says lightly, but I can tell she’s feeling me out, trying to get a read on me. “You can’t have Halloween without popcorn balls.”

  I frown. For some reason her cheerfulness about the damn balls are only making things worse. Maybe I should’ve talked to her before we left… but Max had already been waiting long enough. This thought just makes me mad all over again.

  She gives me a troubled look, but Max comes back, grinning and holding up his bucket. “I got three pieces!”

  “Yes, you did,” Lizzy says, leaning over to peek in.

  I look in as well. “Good job, buddy.”

  Max takes the leash and we walk to the next house in silence. Once Lizzy’s taken the dog back and Max is out of earshot, she calls me out on it. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I lie.

  “Brett, come on. You’ve been acting weird since I got here. Did something happen today?”

  “Yeah, something happened. I had to tell my son you’d be late for trick or treating.”

  Her eyes fly wide and I look away, really hating how that sounded and how out of control I feel.

  “I’m sorry. That’s why I texted you—”

  “You know, I would’ve rather you forget the popcorn balls and be here when you said you were going to be here.”

  Neither one of us says anything more because Max comes back, holding up his bucket to show us his booty. We both peek in dutifully, and she hands back the leash. We’d been holding hands, but we’re not now, and I’m not even sure when we stopped.

  We walk to the next house in silence, Montana’s black and white stripped tail swinging in front of us.

  As Max goes to the next door, Lizzy turns to me. “I’m very sorry that I upset you. I did ask you if it was okay.”

  I realize she may be right, but say anyway, “Well, what was I going to say? No?”

  “Yes,” she says with a gentle but firm tone. “If it was going to upset you this much, yes, I wish you would’ve just said something then.”

  I frown and look away, knowing she’s right. Max is back, and we walk past a few houses with porch lights off. He’s distracted, examining all the candy in his bucket and has forgotten about Montana, so Lizzy still has the leash and the dog’s walking on the other side.

  As we walk, I slowly start to cool down. I know I’ve been acting unreasonably, but the whole thing… well, it hurts. As my irritation fades, that’s what I’m left with. I’m hurt. Inexplicably hurt over what, I tell myself, was a small thing.

  It’s not until Max is coming back from the next house that I realize why. He’s bounding down the driveway, a big grin on his face.

  “Did you get anything good?” Lizzy asks.

  He gives a happy shrug and trots ahead of us, little fist holding tight to the handle of his bucket. I take Lizzy’s hand, squeezing tightly myself. I see her look at me out of the corner of my eye, but I’m trying to get my emotions under control so I can explain things to her.

  It takes a few more houses. She just holds my hand, letting me work it out in silence. When I’m ready, and as soon as Max is out of earshot, I turn to her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  “I don’t… really know that you did anything wrong. You did tell me and it’s not like you have a pattern of not following through.” She gets a dawning expression on her face. “It’s okay,” I say quickly, squeezing her hand and glancing over her shoulder to check Max’s status so I can say what I need to say before he comes back. “I’ve just seen that letdown look on his face so many times with his mother.”

  “Oh god, I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking about that. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

  “It wasn’t,” I say firmly, taking her face in my hands to make sure she hears me. “It was my baggage. That’s all. I’m sorry for the way I behaved.”

  Her expression softens and I kiss
her, needing our hearts to stitch back together before we go any further.

  “Why are you guys always kissing?” Max asks.

  We pull apart, sharing a brief smile of understanding and forgiveness before turning to Max. “Because we like each other,” I say. “Did you get any candy for me?”

  He pulls his bucket close to his chest, shakes his head, and hurries ahead of us. Lizzy laughs and briefly squeezes my waist, dropping her head on my shoulder. I kiss her soft hair and we follow my boy, arm in arm.

  Chapter 34

  Lizzy

  The next day at work, the thing with Brett is still lingering with me a bit. He later told me he was surprised how strongly the situation triggered him, and I was too. It makes me wonder what other baggage he might have, and wonder if we need to talk more about that topic in general. Especially since we’re finally to the point where Jessica is potentially going to be back on the scene in a bigger way. She gets out of rehab today, and after a few visits with her there, Brett felt comfortable agreeing to let her have Max for a few hours tomorrow afternoon. Since they’ll just be at the park, he was okay with it being unsupervised. He’d like Max to be able to see his mom more, but wants to take things slow in case she relapses. I don’t blame him.

  I’m nervous about Jessica getting out. I don’t know why. I’m trying not to think too much about it, though, and fortunately the day’s been plenty busy so I haven’t had much time to worry about it. Soon enough, I have something else to worry about.

  I’m on the second floor walking the east wing conference rooms to inspect the set up for a big convention that’s starting in the morning, when the issue of Mason Reeves comes back to me. As I walk past the purple-draped registration tables in the pre-function area, I get a text from Rayce: Did you see the email from George Hollister?

  I swipe down my notifications, which does, in fact, include an email from George. I read it, halting in front of a wheeled-rack full of stacked conference chairs, waiting to be rolled into the Redwood Room for set up. I read the email again.

  A couple of employees come to take the rack inside, so I step out of their way.

  Me: Just saw it. What does that mean?

  Rayce: I don’t know, but I’m pissed he didn’t tell us in person.

  I had the same thought, but I’m too preoccupied with another question to worry much about it. Why would Mason Reeves turn down his inheritance?

  After work, I take an alternate route home, one that takes me by the property Mason Reeves was supposed to inherit, but doesn’t want. My brothers and I didn’t talk much about the issue, mainly because Rayce and Connor were starting to go at one another about it, so I put the whole conversation to a halt. “There’s nothing to be done,” I’d said, “so let’s just drop it.”

  But, I can’t.

  I don’t want to talk to them about it, because Rayce is just going to be pissed that Dad may have had an affair and Connor’s just going to be pissed that anyone’s suggesting it. I’m past the did he or didn’t he question, and have moved on to something else. Something that I’m not sure they’ll be on board with.

  I pull in front of the small, private residence on Vine Street, and it really only confirms our worst fears. The inheritance of Mason Reeves is unique in several ways, it turns out. Not only was he the only non-relative, supposedly, to inherit property, but aside from Mom and Dad’s private residence, this is the only property in their entire estate that clearly was not an investment.

  It’s not a unit of condos. Not a collection of townhouses. Not an office park. It is not at all like anything my parents would buy for the sake of investing. They stuck with properties that generated cash flow, and the 1200-square foot single-family home in front of me would not fit that bill.

  No. This was someone’s home. The question is, why did my father own it to start with and why did he bequeath it to Mason Reeves?

  I call Jeff, the realtor who sold us the Cottages, and am relieved when he picks up the phone. With a calm voice, and a pounding heart, I ask him if he can find out when my father purchased this property, and who the seller was.

  I wait on the line while he goes to the database. There’s a lock box on the front door of the house, but I don’t get out of the car to look in the windows of what’s clearly a vacant property. I sit in my car, and watch the branches of the tree in the front yard dip in the wind, and wait.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Yeah.” My heartbeat speeds up a bit, and my skin starts to crawl in anticipation.

  “It was a repo property. He bought it at auction several years ago. First One Bank was the seller. They’d foreclosed on a Timothy and Patricia Reeves.” My heart starts to pound. “Do you need me to go further back than that?”

  “No.” My voice is surprisingly calm. In fact, aside from my pounding heart, I feel surprisingly calm. “Thank you, Jeff.”

  This time I do get out of the car. I go up the walk and to the wide front windows. I cup my hands around my eyes and peek in. There’s a small front room, a brick fireplace, and an arched entryway that appears to lead to a family room and kitchen. No furniture. No trash. No sign of the previous owners. It doesn’t look like it’s been vacant for long. The front landscape is well kept.

  I go around the garage to the side gate and let myself into the backyard. It’s small, but also well kept. Green grass, massive purple bougainvillea along the back brick wall, and a large valley oak in the center. No pool, but a cute back patio.

  I wonder if this has been maintained as a rental, and if so, how long it’s been vacant.

  On my way back to my car, I send George Hollister an email:

  I want a meeting with you ASAP. My brothers won’t be there. Just me.

  “So you think that means Mason Reeves is really your father’s son?” Brett asks as he rinses a plate and loads it into the dishwasher. Brett and I are cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. We’re at my place this time, and Max and Montana are in the backyard playing.

  I’m clearing the placemats off the table and stacking them in a pile “It doesn’t prove anything, obviously. But there’s definitely some sort of personal connection with this property. Otherwise, why would Dad have bought it to start with? It wouldn’t have been as an investment, I can tell you that. He taught us what to look for in investment properties and that’s just not anything he would’ve bought.”

  “Okay, but that doesn’t necessarily mean Mason Reeves was the product of an affair.”

  “That’s true,” I say, putting the placemats away in the credenza. “But the fact that we know there was a personal connection and he didn’t want us to know what it was sure suggests it.”

  Brett sighs and drops some silverware into the caddy in the dishwasher. “Yes. Maybe.”

  I gather the salt and pepper shakers off the table and bring them into the kitchen to put them away. I’m chewing my lip, wondering if I really want to share this next part. As Brett continues to load, I get a clean rag and wipe off the table.

  When I’m done, I wring out the rag, drape it over the center of the sink, and lean back against the counter. “I asked George Hollister for a meeting.”

  Brett closes up the dishwasher and turns to face me. “He already said he wouldn’t tell you.”

  I nod, my eyes absently tracing the tile design on the floor. “And I think he’s going to stick to his word or he would’ve spilled by now. But there’s one thing I can ask for, and he can’t say no.” I look at Brett. “Mason Reeve’s contact information.”

  Brett raises his brows slowly. “Why would you want that?”

  I shrug and look back to the floor. “I want answers.”

  “Lizzy,” Brett says in a cautionary tone, stepping over to me. “Whoever this guy is, it sounds to me like he wouldn’t appreciate being contacted.”

  “But… he could be my brother.”

  Brett cocks his head at me. “Your—” He stops, giving me a searching look. “Your brother. So, what, you want to invite him over for family
functions or something?”

  I push off from the counter and step past him. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. I just want to know the truth. And if he’s my father’s son, yeah, that matters. He’d be family.”

  “Lizzy—”

  I spin, facing him, needing him to understand. “I know this may not make sense to you. But you don’t understand. There are all kinds of people in our lives that are like family to us. So many of our managers and employees. Katherine Camillo. Hell, Rayce is so fond of Guido down at the pizza place he calls him Uncle Guido. I’m not related to any of those people by blood, but I could be related to Mason Reeves by half.”

  Brett’s face softens.

  “I can’t just ignore that, Brett. I can’t. He could be my brother.”

  Brett comes up to me and pulls me into his arms. I wrap my arms around his waist, rest my cheek on his chest, and close my eyes, sighing.

  “I understand,” he says softly. “I do.”

  Staying in his arms, I lift my face up to him. He’s looking at me with loving compassion.

  He caresses my hair. “I understand you might want to talk to this guy. I understand you want answers. I understand, and am amazed by the fact that you’re willing to open your arms and welcome him into the family. If he is family. That’s great, honey. It is. But, it seems to me, that’s not what Mason Reeves wants.”

  We don’t know that, I silently protest.

  “Maybe he’s just afraid we’ll reject him,” I say weakly. But then why reject his inheritance?

  “Or…” he says gently, “maybe he’s rejected you.”

  I frown. “But…” I let the word trail off. But what?

  “Sweetheart,” Brett says softly but firmly, “let it go. Leave the man be.”

  Chapter 35

  Brett

  The next day, I pull into the parking area of Veteran’s Park, with Max buckled into his booster seat in the back. This morning, Jessica texted me and asked it if would be all right if she talked privately with me about something when I got here.