by Joya Ryan
“You can visit New York, have your company.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”
“No shit, Grant!” she snapped.
He took a step back. “We won’t work . . . will we?” he asked.
“I can’t move to New York,” she answered.
That was the answer he was afraid of. He couldn’t have both. Couldn’t save his father’s company and his legacy and have Hannah. The empty space in his chest where Hannah had put warmth started to pulse cold. He was four feet away from her, and already, he felt the thousands of miles closing in.
“Understood,” he said.
He looked at her. Watched her perfect face contort with confusion, pain, and if he looked hard enough, he could see love there.
Too bad he knew better than to think he’d seen that.
He turned and walked out of the bar, the smallest sound of Hannah calling his name echoing in his ears as he let the door shut behind him.
It was the last day of the cruise. The sunrise as the boat docked in Cozumel was the second-best sight Grant had ever seen. The first was the woman he’d fallen in love with on this boat over the past two weeks.
Hannah slept with her head on his chest, her black hair splayed out over him. He ran his fingers through it as he looked out the deck window from the bed in his stateroom.
Sunrise.
A new day.
The last day.
He had twenty-four hours left with this woman. Come this time tomorrow, they’d be docking in the States and going back to reality. Their separate ways. A fact Grant couldn’t bear to think about.
She stretched and smiled, and he kissed the top of her head.
“What are we going to do today?” she asked in a sleepy voice. And Grant knew the only thing he wanted to do was to make her his. Forever.
“Something special,” he promised.
The little van that Grant had rented bumped along the dirt road all around Cozumel. After getting out of the city and dock area, Grant had arranged for a tour guide to take them around the water’s edge.
The driver said something to Grant in Spanish and pulled over to the side of the road. Hannah looked out and saw the lovely, lush green jungle on one side of the road and the bright blue ocean on the other side.
Grant got out of the van and helped her down.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Exploring,” he said and took her hand and guided her toward the water.
The road and cliff gave way to finely grained sand as they walked toward the Caribbean Sea. Grant clutched her hand tighter as they dipped their toes in.
“This is the most incredible sight I’ve ever seen,” she breathed. The clear blue water was endless. A kind of color she only saw in magazines. And she was standing there, in the middle of the sunshine, and felt grateful. Grateful to have Grant to share this with.
She closed her eyes and could smell his spicy scent drift over the sea air. Feel his warm hand in hers. Allow the waves to tickle her toes.
She felt one with him.
With the earth.
Complete.
“I love you,” she said, smiling, and felt every word. From her feet to her ears, she loved Grant.
She opened her eyes and turned to look at him, but he wasn’t eye to eye with her.
He was kneeling.
The small crash of waves hit his ankle and thigh as he knelt there on a single knee.
“Hannah.” He looked up at her and gripped her hand in both of his. “Don’t let this end.”
She frowned down at him. “What?” she whispered.
“Don’t let this end between us.”
“I don’t understand what you’re asking of me,” she said.
His eyes were dark and bright. “I’m asking you to be mine forever. Marry me, Hannah. Because I don’t want to go back to a life without you.”
Her lips parted, and she couldn’t see anything past the face of the man before her. On a knee, wanting her forever.
No one ever stuck around for her.
“Grant . . . ,” she whispered. “I don’t want to go back to a life without you, either.”
A wide smile split his face. “Is that a yes, Miss Hastings?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He rose and cupped her face in both hands, kissing every breath out of her until all she could breathe in was him.
“I’m never letting you go now,” he said against her mouth. And for the first time ever, Hannah believed in a man’s words.
Chapter Twelve
Hannah walked through the front door of her home. She’d been practicing what to say to Grant since he’d left earlier. All day she’d thought of him. Of what the hell was going on. She didn’t have details and hated that his awful mother’s voice spun through her head.
Why was he in this sudden time crunch? He’d bounded into the bar looking crazed and lost and sad. Was something happening in his company? Was he losing everything, like his mother had said? He wanted Hannah to jump blindly, and she had no idea what to think.
Her heart was in pieces, because he had assumed she’d just follow him. Yet he wouldn’t entertain the idea of moving here. She’d worked her butt off for years, finally was closing in on owning the bar, and had an important event tomorrow that would allow her to do so.
And he dismissed it like it was some hobby.
But she loved him . . .
She needed to talk to him. To figure things out once and for all without feeling like she’d been ambushed at work. There was hope still . . . right?
She walked through the door, but the house was empty. It felt colder, too. Like his entire presence was gone.
The only thing that lingered was his memory. From the couch, to the kitchen table, she saw him among her things. In her home. Yet he was gone.
She found a note on the kitchen counter.
Hannah,
I had to fly back to New York. I wish it had been with you. But maybe you’re right . . . our lives are too different. Thank you for being my wife while it lasted. You should have everything you want in life. I’ll be in touch with details about dissolving our union.
Love, Grant
The note slipped from Hannah’s fingers, and an instant pain erupted in her chest. Like someone had lit fire to her ribs, and they were charring and burning like old driftwood. She couldn’t breathe. Her knees wobbled, her calves turning to mush instead of muscle.
“‘Love, Grant’?” she repeated out loud. “Love?”
She didn’t feel loved. She felt betrayed. Shortchanged. She’d really thought they still had two days. Sure, she had Cal’s event to bartend at tomorrow, but they still had two days. But he was gone.
He’d left her.
The Laythem men are takers. They take your youth, your heart, your money, and try to leave you with nothing . . .
All Hannah cared about was her heart. Because for the first time, she truly felt what it was like to be cast off. She’d come to want Grant. Need him. Trust him.
Should have known better.
She looked around, and her skin itched with the need to leave. She couldn’t be in her own home because he was so real to her there. She needed to get away. So she went to the only place she could to outrun the loneliness. She went back to Goonies.
“Weren’t you just here?” Rudy teased, keeping court with only three customers. Thankfully it was a slow day.
“Yeah, I just needed to get out of my house,” she said honestly and walked up to the bar.
“You still good to go to buy this place?” Rudy said.
Hannah nodded, and he slid her a beer. “I get my big check from this event in the mail today. Then we’re good to go,” Hannah said.
“Excellent. I get out of this place, and you get in it. Dreams do come true.”
Hannah clinked her longneck with his and took a sip. She needed to focus on something other than Grant and the gaping hole growing deeper in her ribs.
“H
ey, Hannah,” Cal said, coming to sit beside her at the bar.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” she asked.
“Ah, just taking a break from working. Long hours this week. But I’m excited for tomorrow night.”
Hannah frowned. “You’re going to be at the event?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of my deal. Well, Grant put it on. Investors are coming to the subdivision to see my buildings, and they’re talking about kicking in as backers to get my business expanding.”
Hannah had been hit with too much information at once.
“Wait, Grant put this on? This event?” Hannah searched her mind—the woman she’d been working with was named Sarah. What the hell did Grant want with investing here?
“Yeah, he’s thinking of investing and brought a few guys form New York out. Though he said he had an emergency, so he won’t make it. But he already cut me a check and went all in. I have my first project funded by him already. The other investors are still coming, too, so that’s even more opportunity.”
“Whoa.” Hannah faced Cal fully, trying to piece all of this together. So Grant got hold of Cal to let him know he wasn’t coming to an event he’d planned? And he’d invested money into Cal’s business.
Which meant . . .
“Grant is hosting the event, so he hired all the people to put it on,” she muttered. And he had more money than she’d thought. Not that it mattered, but it was starting to make sense why his mother was fighting for it.
She has a way of spinning lies to make people feel like shit . . .
“Yeah, that would make sense,” Cal said.
“And he’s an investor?” Hannah asked.
Cal frowned. “He was specific on keeping his involvement on the down low.”
“That bastard told you not to tell me what he did?” That was the secret. The reason she felt out of the loop.
Cal shrugged. “I did some research, and I can understand why. The guy is worth millions. Like, a ton of millions.”
Cal pulled up his phone and showed Hannah an article on Grant Laythem and Laythem Inc. He was a huge deal in New York and had a ton of money and . . .
“He lied to me,” she breathed. But not in the way she’d thought. She’d thought he was in trouble. Trying to nail her down and use her. When, really, he was the one with a ton of money and working behind the scenes.
Yes, she’d known Grant had some kind of money. But not like this. She’d had no idea he was stupidly wealthy.
“Hey, Hannah,” Rudy called from behind the bar and hung up the phone. “That was the bank. The loan has been paid and a bid put in on this bar.”
“What?” Hannah all but screamed.
“I don’t know what that means . . . did someone just buy this place out from under you?” Rudy asked her, as if she had a clue herself.
Hannah’s eyes went wide, and she looked at Cal. “What’s the first project Grant hired you for?”
Cal glanced down. “Remodeling this bar.”
Hannah’s entire chest caved in on itself. Grant had taken everything. Her love, her dreams, her bar . . . and he’d left.
She couldn’t focus or fathom what was happening—all she could do was try not to cry as she felt her heart shatter into a million pieces and cut her up from the inside out.
Chapter Thirteen
A loud knock on the door made Hannah frown deep in her sleep. Her head was pounding. Her mouth was dry.
Shit, I’m hungover.
The knock sounded again, and she peeked open one eye to see she was on her couch in the living room, fully clothed, and it was sunny outside.
She let out a loud breath and slowly got up. She had the event tonight, which meant she had several hours until then to think about all the shit that had rained down in the past twenty-four hours. Apparently five drinks at Goonies didn’t numb the pain of Grant lying to her, leaving her, then stealing her bar out from under her.
The knocking sounded again, and she realized it was coming from the front door. She got up and ambled to the entrance. She opened the door to find the last person she’d ever expected to see.
“Silas?” she asked her father, who was standing on her front stoop looking surprisingly awake.
“I just stopped by to see how you were feeling,” he said. There was no slur in his voice. No staggering stance or smell of fresh gin on his breath. He didn’t look great, but he didn’t look drunk. So that was a start.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
Her father looked her over, and Hannah shielded a hand over her eyebrows to try to shut out the bright sunlight.
“You look like shit,” he said.
“Well, thanks for never sugarcoating. Anything else you want to say?” she replied with annoyance.
“Yeah, there is,” he said. “Stop being a dumbass.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and rested her shoulder against the doorjamb. “If I wanted you to come over and insult me, I would have called.”
“This isn’t an insult—this is free advice.”
“Oh, really? What a gem coming from you.”
“Hey, I know what I’m talking about, you brat. I’m here to tell you to stop.”
She laughed. “Stop what? What are you even talking about?”
“I’m talking about you. Last night at Goonies.”
She pinched her nose. He must have seen her. “Jesus, Silas. Just because I have a few drinks one night doesn’t mean I want a wake-up call of you in my face.”
“It wasn’t a few drinks. I knew what you were doing.”
“And what’s that?” she said, exasperated.
“You were drowning your sorrows in liquor. You wanna drink, fine. But don’t you go hiding behind the bottle. You’re better than that.”
Those last words made Hannah’s heart snap into motion. It was the only kind thing she could remember her father saying to her. And he sounded like he actually meant it. Still, she didn’t need him all of a sudden. And she certainly didn’t need his advice.
“You see me in a bar once, and now you think you know who I am?” she said to him.
“Yes, I know who you are. You don’t go giving in to your grief and unleashing your anger on yourself through drink. But that’s what you did last night.”
“How on earth do you think you have this much insight?”
“Because,” he snapped, “I’ve been doing the same thing for over twenty years.” Her father sighed and ran a hand through his greasy hair. “I broke when your mama left us. Hated life. Hated you, even, a little. A constant reminder that she’s gone.”
While parts of that hurt, he was trying to be honest, so she kept quiet and let him finish.
“You’re better than me, Hannah. You always have been. You’re tough, and whatever you’re going through, don’t you let it take you down.”
He nodded once, lifted his hand like he was going to wave, then set it down as if he thought better of it.
“That’s all I came to say,” he muttered, then turned to leave.
“Dad?” she asked, and he turned to face her. “You came to check on me?”
He nodded. “You looked like you were in pain last night. Wanted to make sure you got home all right.”
He walked down her driveway and to the street. A sting hit hard behind her eyes, and she had to close them to alleviate the burn. Her father, whom she’d bailed out over and over, had actually come to check on her.
She didn’t remember seeing him last night. Didn’t remember much other than with every drink, she’d felt a little more numb. Because the hurt of losing Grant, of the secrets, was too much to bear.
She watched her father walk away and realize that he thought she was strong. In his way, he cared. And it was up to Hannah not to let these issues take her down. Her dreams were still her own. She’d fight for her bar, for her future.
She’d get to the bottom of whatever the hell Grant had been thinking.
She went back into her house, closed the front door, and picked up h
er cell phone. She dialed Becky Lace at the local bank. They’d gone to school together and had gotten along pretty well. Now, as adults, Becky had been working with Hannah to get the loan for the bar, and every time Becky came into Goonies, she drank for free. It was the silent understanding they had.
“Yachats Bank, this is Becky, how can I help you?”
“Hey, Becky, it’s Hannah Hastings.”
“Oh, hi,” she said joyfully.
“I know this is unconventional, but I need to know what’s going on with the bar. Rudy said someone put an offer on it. It’s not even on the market.”
“Yes, well, the person must have known it was up for sale,” she said with tone of a professional courtesy.
“So I can’t buy it now? I have the money. I’m paying the balloon payment tomorrow.”
“That’s been paid off, and the bar has actually been sold as of this morning. Rudy signed off on the sale and paperwork.”
Rudy? So he’d gone with another buyer? Even after he made a deal with Hannah? She was ready to burst with frustration.
“Who did Rudy sell it to?” Hannah asked slowly.
She could hear Becky’s frown from the other side of the line. “He sold it to you,” she said.
Hannah about swallowed her tongue. “What are you talking about?”
“The bar was sold, cash up front, and put in your name,” Becky said.
Hannah’s mouth hung open, and before she could ask more, her other line beeped.
“Hey, Becky, let me call you back.” She switched over to the other line and answered the number she didn’t recognize. “Hello?”
“Hello. I’m looking for Hannah Hastings?” a man asked.
“This is she,” she replied.
“Miss Hastings, I’m Harvey Wolcott, Mr. Laythem’s attorney. I need to discuss some legal matters with you.”
She closed her eyes. This was the call she’d been waiting for. The one that ended any tie she had with Grant. And her heart sank.
“Okay,” she urged.
“Miss Hastings, you have been awarded an eighty percent share in Laythem Inc., as well as sole proprietorship of Mr. Grant Laythem the Third’s estate in its entirety.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” she said around a strangled breath. Had the world gone mad today? “Grant Laythem left and . . .”