by Erica Penrod
“I’m here to see Miss Mills.” The man stepped in and offered his hand to Tayla. “I’m Jamon West, and I see you’ve already met my brother, Waylon.”
Three
Brother? A jolt shot through Tayla’s body as if the attraction she’d tried to smother exploded in every cell. She was grateful to be sitting down, positive her knees would have buckled and dropped her to the floor. Suddenly the last fifteen minutes began to make sense, and she saw how easily the brothers could be mistaken for one another. There were definite similarities between the men—both had dark eyes and a square jawline—but Jamon’s hair was as dark as the wet Idaho soil she’d grown up on, and Waylon’s was a lighter shade. Waylon was an inch or two shorter than his brother, and his dimples were his own trademark.
She slowly rose to her feet, once she could stand. Tayla avoided Waylon’s watchful eyes and greeted his brother. “So, you’re Jamon West.” She offered her hand.
“Yes, I am.” His grip was strong. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“You too.” She let go of his hand and crossed her arms. “I’m sorry about the misunderstanding.”
Jamon laughed. “I’m sure Waylon would’ve been happy to talk numbers with you.”
Waylon didn’t smile. “Why are you here, Jamon?”
“I’m an investor in Prevail.” Jamon’s voice lowered, and there was a hint of hesitation in his tone.
“Of course you are.” Waylon’s shoulders dropped as he exhaled. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting to attend.” He didn’t give Tayla another look. Regret grabbed hold of her heart, and she wasn’t sure why. She had no idea who Waylon was or if he had a significant other.
“Waylon, wait.” Jamon touched Waylon’s arm as he passed. “I was going to tell you about it.”
“There’s no need. I’ve got to go. Don’t want to be late.” Waylon left.
A despondent atmosphere filled the room. Tayla didn’t know what happened, but she sensed hurt feelings and a troubled past were to blame. If Waylon planned to attend a meeting, that more than likely meant he was an addict, which would also explain Jamon West’s desire to see Prevail in Seattle.
“I’m sorry about that.” Jamon’s smile dissipated and his dark eyes dimmed. He took in a deep breath, then exhaled. “I should’ve told him a while ago.” Jamon rubbed at his temples. “Gemma told me I needed to, and I didn’t listen.” He raised his gaze to Tayla. “When am I going to learn that woman is usually right?” A faint smile tugged on the corners of his lips, and Tayla got the impression he was talking more to himself than to her.
“Gemma is your fiancée?” Tayla remembered the gorgeous redhead on social media but hadn’t recalled her name until Jamon just mentioned it.
“Yes, she is.” He may have been sorry about the situation with his brother, but no one could deny the light that lit up his face when he thought about Gemma. A pang of jealousy pinched Tayla’s heart. She couldn’t imagine someone ever feeling that way about her. Saige said that was because she never let anyone get close enough. “Gemma thought I should tell Waylon about Prevail before he moved out here, but I didn’t know how he’d take it. He’s made it very clear that he wants to do things on his own.”
Tayla didn’t know how much to pry, but she wanted to know more about Waylon’s story. “So you invested in Prevail because of your brother?”
“Yes and no.” Jamon gestured towards a chair. “May I?”
“Of course.”
He sat down. “I want to help my brother any way I can, but even if he didn’t move to Seattle, I would’ve invested in your business. I know what it’s like to love an addict, and I know how addiction can tear families apart. We need places like this.” His eyes moistened as his mind seemed to drift to another place and time.
A lump formed in Tayla’s throat. “I assume Waylon is an addict.” She treaded carefully with her words. “If it’s none of my business, you don’t have to say anything more about it.”
Tiny creases webbed from the corners of his eyes as he offered her a faint smile. “Yes, but thankfully a recovering addict.”
She couldn’t help but wonder how her life might’ve been different if she’d been able to say that about her father. “I’m glad to hear that. Does he have a spouse or children?”
“No.”
Her face flushed and she took a deep breath. She was not going to do this.
Jamon pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through a couple of screens. “I know we planned to go over numbers, but I’d rather get a tour of the building.”
“Good.” She grinned. “I’d love to show you, and we can talk about the program here and the kind of services we offer to both the addicts and their families.” She got up from the desk.
He rose and tucked his phone away in his pants. “That sounds good.”
“I think you’ll be pleased with what we do around here, and I’d like to discuss with you the possibility of building a halfway housing.”
“Of course.” Jamon smiled. “What did you have in mind?”
Tayla walked into the hallway, and Jamon followed. “I’d like to build apartments adjacent to the rehab center. As you know, sometimes, people aren’t quite ready to be on their own, once their court-appointed time or program is complete.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I think that sounds great. Addicts get continued support and therapy while easing back into the world.” Jamon’s mind seemed to drift for a while and then settled on her again. “How much do you need?”
Tension left her body as Jamon’s obvious good nature put her at ease. “I will need to get some bids.” She laughed. “But I’m happy to know you’re on board.”
“Of course.”
They walked down the hallway and paused at a closed door with a sign that said “Meeting in Progress.” There was a long, narrow window next to the door. Jamon peered through the glass, and his shoulders slumped as he put his hands in his pockets. Tayla glanced in and saw Waylon seated in the circle with the others. His dark eyes stared off vacantly and his lips were set in a hard line.
“I really should have talked to Waylon.” Jamon turned, and they continued to walk. “I didn’t think he’d be so upset, and maybe he wouldn’t be if I would have explained myself.”
“Waylon isn’t happy you invested in Prevail?” Tayla didn’t understand why Waylon would be angry with his brother when he himself clearly used the facility.
Jamon scratched his chin. “His life has been hard enough. I think my success adds pressure to him.”
“I remember hearing about Injectshox and how it’s revolutionized the equine world. Wouldn’t Waylon be happy for you?” Tayla was the last person to gauge sibling relationships. She hadn’t seen her sister in more than five years, but she’d assumed most siblings argued and made up quickly, shared successes and heartbreaks, things she’d never been able to do with Kenlee. Their eight-year age difference and the fact that her mother and Kenlee had moved out of her life years ago made things hard.
“It’s not that he’s not happy for me. He’s trying to build a life for himself, and he wants to do it on his own.” Jamon followed Tayla. She’d decided to take him to the atrium, which in her opinion was one of the facility’s best features. “I guess it’s a pride thing.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Which I understand. If I would’ve just talked to him before, like Gemma told me too, he would’ve understood. We’re trying to rebuild our relationship, and it probably looks like I wasn’t being up front.” They turned the corner and stopped in front of the atrium. “Like I’m not convinced he can do this without me or my money.”
“Are you?” Tayla slid open the glass door. “Convinced he can do this on his own?”
“Yeah, I know Waylon can do anything he sets his mind to.”
“But he doesn’t have to, right?” Tayla heard the love coming through Jamon’s Texan drawl for his brother.
“Yeah, that’s the point. Waylon is one of the strongest people I know, but he’s not a
lone, and I want him to know that.” They stepped inside. “And then there’s this place. Waylon’s got a support system, if he’ll use it.” Jamon’s gaze went heaven bound towards the glass ceiling and lowered to the room around them. Collections of greenery and flowers of every color created a garden-like atmosphere, with benches and different seating arrangements for guests to use.
“He’s here, so that says a lot.” Tayla reflected on her own past and how she’d never been able to reach her father. “But Waylon’s also right. There are aspects to recovery that he has to do on his own; no one can make him stay clean if he doesn’t want to.” How well she knew this to be true. No matter how much she begged or cried for her father to get help, he never would.
“Yes, we’ve been there before,” he said in a solemn voice.
“And it’s different now?” Hope bloomed in her heart like a tiny plant, and she quickly squashed it. Yes, she found Waylon West attractive, but she would never allow her feelings to grow into anything life-threatening like love. She’d spent her days trying to help others rebuild what addiction had destroyed, but she couldn’t help others if she was bound by the same chains that had held her captive throughout her childhood.
“He came back from Texas changed.” Jamon smiled softly. “He is different after his time in Prevail.”
“Waylon was in Prevail in Texas? You didn’t mention that before.” She’d never seen Waylon there, and after her reaction to him, she would’ve remembered. But that wasn’t unusual given the number of addicts they facilitated.
“No, I didn’t.” He smiled. “It’s easier to talk about now Waylon’s doing so much better. I’m so glad to have my brother back in my life.”
Tayla’s body warmed and her heart lightened. This was why she did what she did: to see other families reunite with their loved ones after years of turbulence and disruption. Tayla couldn’t save her father, but she could help save someone else’s. She glanced at the sky beyond the glass of the atrium, praying her father was happy, now that his body and mind were free of the addiction. “I’m very happy for you, and it sounds like you’d better take Gemma’s advice and talk to your brother sooner than later.”
“I’ll do that as soon as we’re done.” Jamon leaned over and smelled a flower.
Tayla grinned, wishing she could talk to her father one more time.
* * *
Waylon drew in a deep breath and let the cool, damp air calm him. He was grateful he’d decided on an early meeting, and even more so after he’d learned that Jamon had been in on Prevail coming to Seattle. His reaction to his brother’s involvement had been over the top, and since he’d had time to cool down, he knew he needed to apologize to Jamon as soon as possible. Waylon planned to head straight to Jamon’s house before he went home, but perhaps he should text first and find out if Jamon was there. Heck, he could be here.
Waylon scanned the parking lot and didn’t see his brother’s truck. He was fishing the phone from his pocket when he heard someone come through the door behind him. Waylon scooted to the side. “Sorry, I’ll move out of your way.” He turned and saw Ms. Mills. Tension tied his stomach up in knots again.
“You’re just fine.” She passed by as her scent filled his head until she stopped and turned back to him. “I feel like I owe you an apology—”
“No, you don’t.” Man, she was beautiful. Those large round eyes and full lips.
“I do.” She smiled. “I’m sorry about the misunderstanding.” Her cheeks reddened. “You must’ve thought I was crazy, asking you into my office and everything.”
“I have to admit the thought did cross my mind.” His heart thumped against his chest. “I’m Waylon, by the way.” He offered his hand, which embarrassed him when he remembered they’d already shaken hands once before. His face heated, but he held her gaze.
“I’m Tayla.” She quickly responded and placed her hand in his. Her slender fingers gripped his firmly, fueling his attraction for the woman.
“So, you work out of this office? I wasn’t sure when I saw you earlier at The Cove if you were just visiting or—”
“No, I just moved in, and Charlie is my housewarming gift from a friend.”
“Oh.” Waylon swallowed. Tayla must be extremely wealthy to own a place in The Cove. Waylon didn’t know why he hadn’t considered the idea before. “I didn’t realize you lived there.”
“Yes.” Tayla straightened her shoulders, and he got the impression she’d just tightened her armor, as if he’d offended her. “I arrived today.” Her blue eyes focused on his. His gut had been right when he’d sensed she was angry at him, which was nothing new. Some people found out he was an addict and passed judgment before they gave him a chance.
“So, what do you do here?” He glanced up at the Prevail sign. If she had enough money to buy a house in The Cove, she certainly didn’t need to work. Maybe she was married to a billionaire and this was her charity work. Frustration mounted in his chest as he stole a glance at her left hand. There wasn’t a wedding ring, which didn’t mean anything for sure, and what did it matter? Whatever look or connection he thought had passed between them when they’d first met was a mistake. Two people from two very different worlds. Regardless of his pay grade, Tayla was obviously the type of person who heard the word “addict” and passed out judgment. Talk about hypocritical, since she spent time at a rehab facility. She wasn’t anyone he wanted to be concerned with.
“I own Prevail. The Seattle location is the third center.”
Waylon’s jaw dropped. “You own Prevail, but why?” Money, of course. Why else would someone want anything to do with a drug rehab? Drug dependence was an epidemic, which meant there were billions of dollars to be made in the industry: family members shelling out their last dimes, hoping to help a loved one, or like in his case, wealthy people dumping money into programs time after time, until the addict finally accepts the help or something worse happens. Drug dependency usually ended in one of two places, prison or the cemetery, and he was grateful every day to have survived.
“Because I want to help people.” Her eyes widened, and an emotion he couldn’t name filled her eyes. “And there are people out there, like Jamon, who have a lot of money and want to do some good in the world.”
Waylon couldn’t decipher her intentions, nor what her real motive was. He wanted to believe Tayla cared about helping others, but she’d seemed like a different person earlier today. Obviously she felt strongly about what she was doing, but maybe that wasn’t about helping people and more about the challenge. He couldn’t say, and there was no reason to spend time dwelling on why or why not Tayla Mills did anything. “It must be nice to think you can solve the world’s problems by writing a check.”
Tayla’s eyes went glacier blue as they narrowed. Yup, that did it. Waylon wouldn’t have to worry about talking to Ms. Mills ever again.
* * *
Tayla knew that just because a guy got sober did not mean he was a nice man, and Waylon West proved her point exactly. She hustled down the sidewalk, destination unknown since she didn’t have a ride home yet. If she wasn’t in the same vicinity as Waylon, she’d be fine to walk just about anywhere. Tayla might make it all the way to The Cove on her own two feet the way he had her fuming. Waylon was one of those men who found out she was a billionaire and was immediately intimidated. This was exactly why she didn’t waste time worrying about her romantic life.
A light rain began to fall. She would’ve preferred to wait by the front doors under shelter, but she wasn’t about to subject herself to another conversation with Waylon West. Better yet, she could just write him a check and make him go away. The nerve of that man.
Tayla stopped at the edge of the parking lot and refused to look back. She dug through her handbag in search of an umbrella. A damp head of hair later, she found one. Pushing the latch, she sighed as the umbrella sprung open. Tayla wished her heart didn’t have such a warped sense of humor. She meets a guy and can’t stop drooling over him, and he turns ou
t to be an addict—which, if he were the right person, she could possibly deal with, although the idea terrified her. But being a jerk … well, there didn’t seem to be any group meetings around for that.
Four
The sun rested on the horizon, casting an orange glow over the road. Waylon wound around the turn, grateful to leave the city behind and head towards The Cove. Puget Sound waters were off the west, and lush forest was to the east. His blood pressure lowered with each rotation of the tires. His mind focused less on Tayla Mills and more on his surroundings. He drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel as he listened to the soothing sound of a little George Straight. As a fellow Texan, Waylon always loved the lyrics and the slide of the steel guitar in the classic King of Country’s music.
The music made him think about his parents, especially his dad. Driving on a dirt road, the windows down and dust flying like plumes of smoke behind them. Jamon sandwiched in the middle, with Waylon and his dad on either side, singing along as they made their way around the ranch to mend a fence or saddle up and find a lost calf. They didn’t own the ranch but had a house on the lower thirty acres as part of his father’s income. With a barn, a little space, and plenty of love, the two boys grew up thinking they were the richest kids around—until the accident.
Waylon rubbed his leg, just above his right knee. A dull ache reminded him he’d never be completely free from his past. At least now, even though the memories hurt, his first thought wasn’t turning to the pill bottle. Waylon had been eighteen when the accident happened, a senior in high school with a scholarship to Baylor University. Jamon had been fifteen, and they’d been on their way to pick him up from a science fair at the junior high. Waylon was at the wheel, his mother was in the passenger seat, and his father was in the back. She’d been bragging about Jamon, going on and on about his science project and how one day he’d change the world with his brain. Waylon remembered grinning at the thought as he glanced back in the rearview mirror to see his father’s face beaming with pride. None of them could’ve predicted the next sixty seconds that changed everything. The future they’d all envisioned blew out with the tire as Waylon overcorrected and lost control. The car rolled twice and crashed into the hillside, killing his parents and leaving Waylon with a mangled leg and a broken heart.