Surrender (The Titans of Founder's Ridge Book 3)

by Nichole Greene

  “Damn. That’s one thing she was so excited about early on in my pregnancy. Talking about how the twins could babysit for her kids eventually. I wondered why she was so upset the day I had the girls; it all makes sense now.”

  “Yeah, she found out the day before. The news was fresh.”

  “Well, that sucks, but I’m still pissed at her. I know she broke your heart, I watched you crumble. People probably look at the three of you and pick you for the weakest of the trio. They’re wrong though. You’re the glue, the strong one who holds us together.”

  “I might have been before Sunday, but now I’m not. How is Con?”

  “Moody as fuck.” She glares at me for being part of the reason. “He vacillates between angry at you for lying, worried about you disappearing, upset about Claire’s MS, and pissed at her for not trusting him.”

  “It isn’t about him, though.” I shake my head. “It definitely has nothing to do with how much she trusts and loves him. I really don’t think she’s let herself come to terms with everything yet. She should probably be seeing a therapist.”

  “Con and Victor already found three who specialize in helping patients work through the trauma of serious disease and illness. They’re also already looking into funding research on MS and medical treatments for it.”

  I couldn’t hold back the laugh if I tried. “I knew that would be their first move.”

  “They are nothing if not predictable.” She smiles at me while she burps Elle. “Want to hold this one while I feed Nora?”

  I gently take Elle from her arms. Her eyes are wide open, showing off her dual-colored eyes, one more green and the other blue. “She’s very alert for having just eaten.”

  “Yeah, she doesn’t do anything the normal way. Everything about her is unique.”

  “They’re bound to have strong personalities, considering who their parents are.”

  “That feels like a subtle drag, Potter.”

  “Not of you.”

  “So, what’s your plan moving forward?” she asks.

  “With what?”

  “Con and Claire.”

  “I guess Con and I will have to sit down and talk through everything,” I answer.

  “And Claire?”

  “Don’t know yet.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  I shrug noncommittally.

  “Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m hungry. Want to order dinner?”

  “Where’s Con?”

  “He’s up at the plant in Boston. He won’t be home until late.”

  “Does he know you’re here?”

  “First of all, does it matter? I don’t need his permission. Second of all, probably. He tracks me everywhere I go.”

  “Good point.” I pull out my phone to look at delivery options. “What sounds good?”

  “Everything.” She puts Elle over her shoulder, patting her back. “I’m breastfeeding twins. I could out-eat Levi right now.”

  “Indian?”

  “Yes! From that place a few blocks over.”

  The girls fall asleep while we’re waiting, so she lays them down on a blanket on the floor. We talk about how both babies are going through a growth spurt, so they’re keeping both Lilith and Con up at night. I’m glad she took it upon herself to come over tonight. I had just shot her a text to let her know I was okay and home, not expecting her to show up.

  As I help her carry the twins down to her waiting car, she stops in her tracks. “Do you want me to take all of Claire’s stuff, so you don’t have to look at it?”

  “I thought about it but no. I actually think I’m going to hang onto it.” If my plan works, she’ll be back with me eventually. “Also, if you talk to her, don’t tell her what we’ve talked about.”

  “Of course.” She snaps the car seats into the backseat and comes to give me a hug goodbye. “I love you. So does Con. I’m going to send him your way soon.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  19

  CLAIRE

  The past two weeks have gone by so slow. I didn’t realize how intertwined my life was with Griff’s. It was such a natural progression for us. I mean, we both fought it at different times, but, ultimately, we just ended up fitting together so well. I didn’t expect to feel this ache in my heart.

  I’m working through the steps of the Pas de Deux with Friday in my home studio. She’s been coming over and helping me practice almost every day. I’m halfway through a turn when everything goes black, and I fall to my knees.

  “Claire!” she yelps as she runs to my side. “Are you okay?”

  My ears are ringing, and my mouth starts to water right before I get sick all over the floor.

  “Fuck,” she stands and runs out of the room. She comes back a minute later, and I’m still on my hands and knees on the floor. A glass of water appears in front of me, and she wipes up the vomit with a handful of paper towels.

  I pick up the glass with an unsteady hand and bring it to my lips, the cool water soothing my raw throat. After I take a few sips, I set it back down and lay on the floor.

  “I think maybe we should stop for the day.” Friday touches the back of her hand to my forehead. “I don’t think you have a fever or anything. Is this from the MS, or are you just pushing yourself too hard?”

  “I don’t know,” I mumble into the floor. “Thank you for cleaning my vomit, you didn’t have to do that.”

  “Girl, please, I spent my youth mucking horse stalls. This is nothing.” She finishes wiping up and comes back to help me up. “Should we call your doctor?”

  “No. I’m already feeling better. It must have been a fluke. Maybe I just made myself dizzy.”

  She looks at me doubtfully but gives in. “Okay, but if it happens again, I will be making that call.”

  “Fine with me.”

  “I’m going to run this,” she holds up the trash bag, “to your trash chute.”

  I give her a thumbs up and lay down on the couch. It must have been exhaustion because my eyes start to feel heavy within seconds. I drift off into a deep sleep full of dreams with Griff.

  It feels like it’s only been a few minutes when I hear murmured voices in the room. It’s Con and Friday, and she’s telling him what happened. I try to open my eyes, but they’re still so heavy. It’s dark outside now, so I must have slept for a while.

  “She passed out after we practiced, and I didn’t know if I should try to wake her or move her myself,” Friday whispers. “I’m glad you knocked. You can move her, so she doesn’t wake up too stiff in the morning.”

  Con says something I can’t make out, and then I hear the door close quietly. The next thing I know, I’m being scooped up off the couch. Con carries me into my room. Friday must have already pulled my covers down because he sets me right down in the bed.

  I try to mumble thanks, but it just comes out as a grunt. He tucks me in the same way our nanny used to. Then I hear him leave the room, only to come back a minute later with a glass of water that he sets on my nightstand.

  “You need to take it easy and quit working yourself so hard.” The bed dips when he sits down on the edge. He tests my forehead, apparently appeased when he realizes I don’t have a fever. “If this happens again, I’m taking you to the hospital. Don’t be stubborn.”

  I actually get a scoff out at that. “The nerve of you telling me that,” I croak.

  “Well, I’m not the one who lives alone. Has a serious illness. Keeps secrets.”

  I manage to rise up on one elbow. “Oh really, are we going down that road? Because I’d have to say it takes some real audacity for you to accuse me of keeping secrets. I was planning on telling everyone eventually. You were going on a full solo revenge tour without saying anything.”

  “Take a drink while you’re up.” He hands me the water.

  I roll my eyes at his deflection but take a drink anyway. I hand it back to him when I’m done. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. How do you feel now that you’re awake?”


  “Okay, just really tired. I think I probably have been pushing myself too hard.”

  “I think that’s pretty obvious. Why don’t you go home this weekend? You can rest and let Dad take care of you. Sit by the pool and be lazy.”

  I had actually thought about going up to the estate for a weekend to rest before the exhibition, which starts in ten days. The only downside is being under the same roof as Mom. I could drag Friday with me, provide a buffer.

  “The house is big enough it should be easy to avoid Mom if you want,” Connor says, reading my mind.

  “It’s good to know we can still do that.”

  “What? Read each other’s minds?”

  “Yep,” I lay back down and yawn.

  “Agreed. I’m going to let you go to bed though, you look exhausted. Think about this weekend. You can take the chopper.”

  “I will. Goodnight, Con.”

  “Night, Claire.”

  I’m back asleep within seconds of hearing my front door close.

  “Good God almighty!” Friday says with huge eyes. “This is where you grew up?”

  “Yeah, until I got hauled off to Ireland.”

  “Shit. I knew you were rich, but I was thinking vacation homes in Aspen and the Hamptons, not helicopters and a castle in the Berkshires. What does your family do again?”

  “We started with oil, but we’re transitioning to renewables.” There’s the whole Russian mafia thing, too, but for obvious reasons, I won’t be disclosing that.

  “The guy my parents wanted me to marry lived on an old plantation. It was grand and beautiful, but it has nothing on this.”

  We start up the front steps when my dad’s house manager, Edward, steps out to greet us.

  “Claire, lovely to have you this weekend.” He reaches out for my bag.

  “Thank you, Edward. This is my friend, Friday. Friday, this is Edward, our house manager.”

  “Hello.” She nods and lets him take her bag too.

  “I have your room all set up, and I’m putting your friend in the room next to yours.”

  “Perfect, thank you so much. I’m going to show Friday around the house and grounds.”

  I lead her through the foyer and living room to the kitchen. Delores, our chef, doesn’t work on Thursdays or Fridays anymore. In all honesty, she should be retired by now, but she still lives in the employee wing and doesn’t mind cooking for us, so Dad has kept her employed.

  By the time we get to the outdoor pool, Friday is looking at me through a totally different set of eyes. We decide to put on our swimsuits and spend the rest of the day floating around the pool and working on our tans. We’re standing at the edge of the pool when Dad comes out on the patio.

  “Holy shit, that’s your dad, isn’t it? Do you need a stepmom? I’d happily fulfill that role.”

  “Gross,” I laugh. The truth is, at one point I might have encouraged it, but I’m slowly, very slowly, thawing to my mom’s overtures.

  Dad walks over to us, and I see my mom coming out behind him with a tray of drinks. “We thought we’d sit out here for a while with you,” Dad says as he reaches us. “Is that okay with you two?”

  “Of course, Dad.”

  “How was the flight up?”

  “Amazin,’” Friday gushes, her accent becoming stronger. “It was my first time in a helicopter.”

  “Great, I’m glad you enjoyed it and could make it up here with Claire this weekend.”

  “We’re excited to watch both of you next weekend at the exhibition,” Mom says as she sets the tray down on one of the tables. She brings us both a glass of lemonade.

  “Thank you so much for havin’ me this weekend. The past few weeks have been so much work for everyone. A nice place to relax and unwind for a few days will be great.”

  We talk for a little while. Mom and Dad ask Friday questions about Georgia. They ask about our preparations for the exhibition. They avoid bringing up my MS or asking me any intrusive questions that would likely piss me off. I can tell they want to ask, though. I’ll probably snag them at some point, so they ask whatever they want.

  I didn’t tell them about getting sick earlier this week, and I’m not planning on doing so. I do think it was just a one-off thing. I’ve been pushing myself too hard without giving myself enough rest. The company doctor checked me the day after and said he couldn’t find anything wrong. So, he went with exhaustion as the reason. This weekend is literally me following the doctor’s orders, taking it easy and relaxing.

  Eventually Dad leaves to go play a round of golf with his friends. Mom says she’s going to go work in her garden, a hobby she brought back from Ireland. I wouldn’t know because she literally dropped me off at boarding school and disappeared for four years to her family’s estate. Just thinking about it brings a swell of resentment rising within me.

  “Have you thought about when you’re going to tell Mistress Cherise about leaving the company?” Friday asks from her flamingo pool float.

  “I’ll probably tell her before the last performance. I don’t want to risk saying anything before and losing my spot.”

  “That’d be a pretty shitty thing for them to do to you.”

  “Exactly,” I give her some side eye, “why they would. You know as well as I do that the world of dance is cutthroat.”

  “True,” she cups some water in her hands to splash over herself. “My parents want me to come home after the holidays. They said it’s time for me to quit living a fool’s life and fulfill my familial duties.”

  “What are those?” She never really talks about her family, aside from a story here or there, usually about her grandfather who she was really close to.

  “Marrying Topper Christiansen IV. Having his spawn. Going to society functions and acting like a proper southern lady while he cheats on me with every available pussy.” She scoffs. “They would really die if they knew that I’m bisexual.”

  “Topper Christiansen IV? That is the most pretentious name I’ve ever heard.”

  “He is the worst. I’ve known him since I was three. We’ve been promised to each other since we were sixteen.”

  “Wait. Are you engaged?” This information is blowing my mind.

  “No. I don’t have a ring or anything, but our dads made a business deal years ago, predicated on the eventual merging of our families. Topper is graduating from Auburn with an MBA in the spring. Our parents have started planning a summer wedding.”

  “Why am I just now learning this information?” I slide my sunglasses onto my head, so she feels the full force of my disapproving glare. “Seems kind of pertinent to share with your best friend.”

  “Pot meet kettle. Honestly, I didn’t want to think about it. I just wanted to live my life in a normal way up here, without acknowledging how backward the family I come from is. I don’t know if I would have shared at all, but I feel like you need the distraction from thinking about Griff.”

  “I don’t think about him,” I say as I slide my sunglasses back down. I’m not in the mood to talk about this.

  “I think we should. You have been pushing yourself so hard the past couple of weeks. You don’t even give yourself a minute to rest because you know as soon as you do, you’re going to be thinking about him.”

  I stay silent.

  “Your brother doesn’t seem that mad about it. What’s the problem with letting someone in to help you deal with life? Having a real partner would only help you in the long run.”

  I swim to the side of the pool and push myself out of the water. “I have to use the bathroom, I’ll be back.” I grab my towel and dry off while she mutters about me under her breath.

  I’m not fooling anyone with my hasty exit from that conversation. She’s right, I haven’t given myself a single minute in which I could second guess my decision to end things. It’s a pointless road to go down. In the end, he’ll look back and be thankful that I let him go. He was never going to be mine.

  I decide to use one of the bathrooms in th
e main house instead of the pool house because it’ll give me more time to cool off and her more time to move on to a different subject. Right as I reach for the door, I hear my mom call my name. I look over and see her kneeling in a flower bed. I hesitantly walk over to see what she wants.

  “Do you have a minute, sweetie?” She wipes some sweat off her brow, smudging dirt on her face.

  “I do as long as you never call me sweetie again.”

  “Fair enough.” She points to a bench. “Have a seat.”

  I fight back my knee jerk reaction to be obstinate. It has been nice to know I have her to talk to about everything going on. I sit down on the marble bench and wait for what she wants to talk to me about.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks while keeping herself busy pulling weeds.

  “Good, I haven’t had any flares if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Not necessarily, but I’m glad to hear that. Connor called me yesterday.” She looks up at me. “He told me about you getting so sick the other night.”

  “It was just exhaustion, the ballet company doctor checked me out the next day.” I’m going to kill Connor for telling her. I’m plotting forty different ways to do it when she continues.

  “I googled, and it doesn’t look like that type of reaction is a common symptom of MS, so it could definitely be exhaustion. Have you been pushing yourself too hard?”

  “I’ve definitely been going hard. I have to be flawless for the performances. I can’t risk slowing down when I’m so close to what will be the pinnacle of my career as a dancer.”

  “I get that.” She nods and goes back too weeding. “But your body isn’t like everyone else’s, you have to take better care of it.

  “I’m aware.”

  “Could you be pregnant?”

  I almost fall of the chair. “What? No.”

  “Are you sure? I was always exhausted early on when I was pregnant with both you and your brother. And then Connor told me you randomly vomited. It sounds like it could be a possibility.”