A Love So Sweet

by Addison Cole

  “Okay, you know what?” Savannah rose to her feet and headed for the door. “I can’t listen to this nonsense anymore. Treat, get me when…just get me after, okay?”

  “I’m sorry, Ben,” Treat said. “She’s apparently had a rough time lately. Please continue.”

  “Broken heart syndrome can mirror all the symptoms of a heart attack, from difficulty breathing and chest pain to low blood pressure and even weakening of the heart muscle.”

  “That sounds like a heart attack. What’s the difference?” Treat placed his hand over his father’s.

  “Well, BHS is also called stress cardiomyopathy, because it’s caused by severe stress, usually emotional—intense fear, anger, surprise. There are two major differences between a heart attack and BHS. The first is that most heart attacks occur due to blockages and blood clots forming in the coronary arteries. If those clots cut off the blood supply to the heart for a long enough time, the heart muscle cells can die, leaving the patient with permanent and irreversible damage. But with BHS, patients have fairly normal coronary arteries, like your father does, without the presence of severe blockage or clots.”

  No blockage. No clots. Good arteries. Treat squeezed his father’s hand.

  “The second difference,” Ben explained, “is that with stress cardiomyopathy, the heart cells are stunned by the adrenaline and other stress hormones, but not killed as they are with a heart attack. And as I’m certain we’ll find with your father, that stunned effect gets better very quickly, often within just a few short days. So even if a patient suffers heart muscle weakness at the time of the event, the heart completely recovers within just a few weeks, and in most cases, there’s no permanent damage.”

  “And that’s what you expect with Dad?” That’s it. I’m definitely spending more time at home.

  “Yes, exactly. From what we’ve seen with BHS, there’s no pattern of recurrence. It can happen, but we’ve never observed it.”

  “So, you’re saying I was too emotional and had a fake heart attack that weakened the heart muscle, but it’ll repair itself and I’ll be fine?” Hal asked.

  “Yes, sir. The damage to your heart muscles was minimal, so you should make a full recovery.”

  “Well, then, I can go home and run my ranch.” Hal started to get out of bed.

  Ben put a hand on Hal’s arm. “Not so fast. We gave you some medication to lighten the load on your heart while you recover. I want to monitor you for the next few hours, but then you should be good to go. I’ll go over the protocol with you before you’re released.”

  “So he should be okay?” Treat asked.

  “Yes.” Ben looked at Hal and said, “But, Mr. Braden, you cannot go back to working the ranch right away, as I know you’d like to. You should recover in a few weeks. But during that time, I don’t want you to do any strenuous work. Treat, can I count on you to ensure that he complies?” Ben ignored Hal’s groan and his harsh stare.

  “Of course,” Treat answered.

  “He’s got his own life to lead, Benjamin. What kind of garbage is that?” Hal lowered his voice and mumbled, “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Of course you don’t. I’m sure you’ll go home and do exactly what I advise, because you were always so compliant with my father.” Ben coughed and said, “Broken arm,” at the same time.

  Treat cracked a smile at his friend’s levity and his father’s simmering anger. Years earlier, his father had suffered a fractured arm, and instead of listening to Ben’s father’s medical advice, he was back on his favorite horse later that afternoon—and in the doctor’s office two hours later, after the fracture had morphed into a full break and he’d needed a cast.

  “Ben, thank you. I appreciate you taking such good care of him.” Treat shook Ben’s hand.

  “Do you want me to send Savannah in if I see her?” Ben asked.

  “No need,” Savannah said as she walked in with her cell phone in her hand and suspicious red rings around the edges of her eyes. “I heard all of it.”

  Treat knew she’d been crying, though if that was due to their father or Connor, he couldn’t be sure. He put his hand protectively on the small of her back.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you, Savannah,” Ben said.

  She nodded, then took her father’s hand. “So, basically, Dad needs to stop talking to Mom and stop worrying about us?”

  Ben smiled. “Well, given that I don’t think your father will ever stop doing either one of those things, no. For now we’ll go with something a little easier, like maybe talking out some of his frustrations instead of holding them in.”

  “I’m not talking to a therapist, if that’s what you’re saying, Benjamin. Your father would never ask me to do that,” Hal said.

  “Dad, you’ll do whatever he tells you to do,” Savannah said.

  “Don’t worry. I would never think of advising such a thing. My father schooled me well in the way of the Bradens. What I recommend is that when you are worried—or your wife is worried”—he ignored Savannah’s eye roll—“about something like your children, talk to them about it. Don’t keep it inside. And if there are troubles with the ranch, talk it through with Rex.”

  “Or me,” Treat added.

  “Did I hear my name?” Rex came through the door. His eyes locked on his father’s, then slowly met Treat’s. “Talk what through with me?”

  “I was telling your father that he needed to stop holding things in, and if he has issues with the ranch, to talk them through with you…or Treat, I suppose,” Ben said.

  “Treat’s never here,” Savannah argued.

  “Of course.” Rex kept his eyes locked on his father. “You can count on me, and Savannah’s right. Treat’s never here.”

  Treat met Rex’s cold gaze and said, “I will be from now on.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  MAX SPENT THE long flight praying that she could carry out her plan, then second- and third-guessing it altogether. Several times she’d been ready to nix the whole thing, and by the time she arrived in Washington she was a nervous wreck. After listening to Treat’s message, she felt sick to her stomach. It was bad enough that his father was ill, but that she wasn’t there with him because of Ryan made her feel a hundred times worse. In his message, Treat had asked her again not to see Ryan alone, but now it was more important than ever that she finally lay her past to rest so she could focus on their future. Despite the ache in her heart, she had to believe she was doing the right thing.

  She checked into a hotel near the airport and riffled through her clothes, looking for just the right thing to wear. Something that said, I’m strong and capable. You didn’t break me.

  Hopefully not forever, at least.

  After shuffling through her clothes, trying on a few outfits, and shedding tears, Max knew what she had to wear. She went to the front pocket of her suitcase, where she’d stuffed Treat’s T-shirt that she’d slept in. She inhaled the scent of the man she loved and then pulled it on. Tucking it in was interesting, to say the least, since it hung almost to her knees. She finally gave up and gathered the long shirt in her hands, tying the bottom into a knot at her waist. She threw a sweatshirt on over it and put on her most comfortable jeans, then stared at the two pairs of shoes she’d brought to the Cape.

  Sneakers. In case I freak out and have to bolt.

  THE CROWNE INN was built on the flattest piece of ground Max had ever seen. It stood alone among parking lots and grassy lawn. There was no place to hide. She drove slowly past the hotel, scoping out the place where she would finally confront her demons. The building looked like any other hotel, a few stories high, big windows, mostly curtained, and a circular drive that led to a covered entrance.

  As fear bloomed inside her, settling in her gut like lead, she tried to remember why she’d thought going there made sense. She turned the car around, driving by the hotel in the other direction, contemplating getting back on the highway and returning home. She crossed in front of the hotel two more times, unt
il she was sure the police would spot her and arrest her for stalking. That would be just my luck.

  She surveyed the parking lot again, and a shiver ran down her back. The hotel was far off the beaten track. Anything could happen out here. Maybe that was Ryan’s plan. Lure her to a remote location and do something horrible to her. He’d said he had something to talk to her about. Maybe that was a ruse. Wait—she’d contacted him. She was being stupid. They were in a public place. She’d be fine. She hoped.

  She parked at the far end of the parking lot, giving herself plenty of time on the walk inside to change her mind and turn back. She held on to the hem of Treat’s T-shirt, trying to remain courageous. When she reached the entrance, she stopped and breathed deeply. She paced the sidewalk, then unzipped her sweatshirt so she could see Treat’s shirt beneath, pulling forward memories of the way he cared for her, the way he’d nurtured her strength and her heart. That’s what she wanted, to be loved and to heal. She had to do this. To cleanse herself from the memories that stalked her like prey and pulled her back from every forward step she took.

  Inhaling deeply, and feeling like she was living on deep breaths, she entered the hotel. A burly, dark-haired man glanced up from behind a newspaper in the lobby as Max walked past.

  The perky woman behind the desk smiled and said, “Welcome to the Crowne Inn.”

  Her high-pitched enthusiasm cut right through Max’s anxiety like a knife, causing her to freeze in the middle of the large, open lobby. Walk. Leave. Do something! Her mind warred with itself, confusing her legs into unmovable pillars. Was she insane? This was the worst idea ever!

  She finally managed to turn around and headed for the doors. She was not staying here.

  “Max?”

  The hairs on the back of Max’s neck stood on end at the sound of Ryan’s voice. She was vaguely aware of the man who had been reading the newspaper rising to his feet. She clenched her fists against the fear crashing over her and reminded herself that she was superbly strong.

  She forced herself to turn around, trying her best to feign a smile, but the way her teeth were grinding together, she knew she hadn’t pulled it off.

  She could hardly breathe as she looked at the man she’d trusted and thought she’d loved. The man who had hurt her so badly, she’d fled like a thief in the night. He wore a dark blue suit with a gold badge over his breast pocket that read RYAN COBAIN, HOTEL MANAGER, and he was smiling as if he was truly glad to see her. That’s not what he’d looked like at the end, in those weeks she’d spent stifled by his aggression.

  He took a step forward, and again she had no control over her legs as they took a step back.

  He stilled, his gaze turning apologetic. “Max?”

  She willed herself to stand tall, and this time her body obeyed. She looked down at Treat’s shirt, wishing she had dressed a little nicer. Ryan had an edge on her in his nice suit and on his turf. Wait! What am I thinking? I am in control. She willed herself to pull it together, straightening her spine as she drew her shoulders back. She felt the familiar strength she’d called upon so often with her career, the powerful energy that began in her gut and traveled into her limbs.

  She took a step forward, then another. She could do this! She extended her hand. “Ryan,” she said in a frosty tone she didn’t recognize.

  He took her hand and buried it within both of his. She steeled herself against the initial jolt of panic.

  “So good to see you, Max. You look gorgeous, of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  He motioned toward a door beside the front desk. “We can talk in my office.”

  Public. Stay in sight of others. “You know, I’d really like a cup of coffee. Is there a restaurant on-site?”

  “Sure.”

  She walked beside him down a wide hallway, stealing glances out of her peripheral vision. He didn’t seem nervous, and he wasn’t acting sketchy. In fact, he seemed like the old Ryan, the guy he’d been before he changed—comfortable, confident. He led her to a small, dimly lit restaurant, where they were seated at a table off to the side.

  “I was surprised to hear from you,” Ryan said. He called over the waitress and ordered a cup of coffee for Max and a glass of water for himself.

  Max watched his mannerisms and found them to be reflective of the guy she’d met when they’d first begun dating. Gone were the jumpy eyes and fast, uncontrolled movements she remembered. It was a mask; she was sure of it. A game he’s just gotten better at.

  Ryan said something she didn’t quite hear. She was too busy remembering how he’d changed over the duration of their relationship. She’d spent so much time living in the shadow of the man he’d become, she’d all but buried the man he’d once been. Now, as she saw this new version of him, she remembered the better times, how quickly they’d hit it off and become more than friends. They’d had months of laughs and happy times. She remembered moving in together and how good she’d felt about it.

  The waitress brought their drinks. Max noticed the man from the lobby seated at a nearby table and wondered how she’d missed him coming in.

  “Max? Are you okay?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, realizing she’d zoned out. “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again after—”

  Max dropped her eyes, then silently scolded herself for doing it. This was her ball game. Treat’s voice gave her strength once again. You took care of you, Max, and that makes you supremely strong.

  She’d thought of all sorts of ways to handle Ryan, and in the end she fell back on her fail-safe. Honesty. “I surprised myself,” Max admitted, “but I wanted to…I needed closure.”

  “I tried to track you down for weeks after you left, Max. Your parents wouldn’t answer my calls. You, well, you never answered anything—calls, emails.”

  She wouldn’t apologize for not responding. She wouldn’t apologize for anything.

  Ryan held her gaze and said, “I finally found you in Colorado.”

  You tracked me down? Every muscle in her body tensed.

  “You worked for a small film company, then a festival company. I’ve written you dozens of letters and emails over the years, but never had the courage to send them.”

  You stalked me. What if you had shown up in Allure? What would you have done?

  “In the end,” he said, “I knew it was unfair to reach out to you.”

  Ryan kept eye contact with her, which she found unsettling and reassuring at the same time. People who had something to hide avoided eye contact. Why wasn’t he acting like he’d done something so wrong to her that it had ruined her ability to have a real relationship?

  “I would have fled if I’d known you’d found me again,” Max said with her chin held high.

  “I don’t blame you,” he said, and this time it was he who lowered his gaze.

  Finally. A little remorse?

  When he lifted his eyes, they were soft and apologetic. “Max, I owe you an explanation and an apology, which I know will never be enough to fix what I did.”

  “I don’t want to hear your excuses, Ryan. There is no excuse for what you put me through.” Then what do I want? Tears of anger stung her eyes, and she refused to let them fall. “You stole something from me, and I can never get it back. You stole my dignity, and you stole my trust.” Her voice rose despite her effort to remain calm, and the man who had been reading the newspaper in the lobby looked perched to come to her defense.

  “I know I did,” Ryan said, “and I’ve regretted it every day since.”

  Max didn’t hear him. She was too busy formulating her next accusation. “You made me fear relationships and turned me into someone who…” What was she doing? She didn’t come here to tell him what he’d achieved. She’d come here to prove to him—to herself—that she was fine even though he’d tried his best to tear her down.

  “Max—”

  “No, Ryan. I honestly don’t want to hear your excuses. They’re meaningless.”r />
  “Max, I was sick. Okay? It’s not an excuse.”

  Max pulled her shoulders back. She was ready for lies. She’d expected them. “Right, Ryan. I was there, remember? You weren’t sick. You just changed. You stopped talking to everyone, stopped talking to me. You’d look at me with this cold stare sometimes, and it was like you had been hiding your meanness, or your hatred for me, for all those months, and then you just released them.”

  “Max—”

  “I’m not stupid. I took the hint. I just took it one night too late,” she seethed. “And I know it had to do with agreeing to move wherever I got a job instead of where you did. I’ve finally figured it all out—”

  “Max!”

  His deep, loud voice startled her out of her rant.

  “Max.” He lowered his voice and said, “I’m schizophrenic. They missed all the signs over that year or so. We all did. After you left, I fell apart. I spiraled out of control so badly at times that I was afraid to even go home.”

  “Schizophrenic?” Max had not seen that coming. She narrowed her eyes, looking for signs of deceit.

  “Think about it, Max. My behavior changed radically. When I look back now, I see it. That night I…hurt you? It wasn’t even you I was seeing or yelling at. I was sexually abused when I was little, but I’d blocked it out. I was delusional. In my mind, it wasn’t you I was hurting. It was the woman who had molested me.”

  “Oh, Ryan.” All the bravado that had built up in her chest came tumbling down. “How did you figure it out?”

  “One night I hurt someone else. Badly. She didn’t call the police or anything, but she could have. In fact,” he said with his eyebrows drawn together, “she probably should have. That’s when I knew something was really wrong. I went home and told my parents that I wasn’t going to leave their house because I was afraid of what I might do to someone else.”

  Max had considered calling the police when Ryan had hurt her, but the shame of willingly allowing him to use that thing on her had held her back. Now she realized she might have saved the other woman from being hurt if she’d filed a police report.