Redheaded Redemption (Redheads Book 2)

by Rebecca Royce

  “Sure. Of course they do. It’s just…I don’t know. Something feels fishy to me.”

  I snorted. “Fishy? Great choice of words.” I shouldn’t be laughing, but sometimes I did have a lot of dark gallows humor inside of me.

  I just did.

  My therapist said I had to stop being ashamed of the things that made me, me. I was who I was. In a lot of ways, there wasn’t a thing wrong with that.

  “I’m glad he’s dead,” she whispered. “I wish I had killed him.”

  Not able to sleep after that conversation, I texted Layla at nine the next morning. Do you think someone killed him?

  Zeke says it wasn’t Michael or anyone Michael sent. They both wish they had done it.

  Darting rain drops, I made my way back to my apartment later after turning in my paper and sent my cousin a text. Michael, my therapist, my cousin from the state department, Zeke, and my sisters were the only ones who knew Amelia was Hope. Otherwise, I had dropped out of the world. Did someone kill him?

  He would know who I meant. As he’d been unwilling to help me years ago, I knew there was a limit to how far his help would ever go, but still, it was worth asking.

  We have no idea. Looks like he really did just drown.

  Well…that was that.

  One month later

  “Hope.” Michael’s voice sounded strange over the phone. I lifted my eyebrows. He’d been calling me Amelia forever now.

  “What’s wrong?” I sat up in bed, the book I had been reading falling to the side. I had a date that night, but if I needed to cancel it, I would. Had I been found? No one took my picture. I was never online. I had no reason to think I had been caught. No one, to my knowledge, had realized who I was. That didn’t mean I hadn’t been found.

  “It’s over.” He exhaled. “They’ve called off the hit on you and Bridget.” Layla had always been fine, thanks to Zeke. No one wanted to fuck with him.

  “What?” I couldn’t believe it. How was that possible? “You did it?”

  “Not me. I can’t really explain it. It’s just over. I wish it had been me. I had things in the pipeline. Meetings coming up. Artyom Lebedev, the leader of the Bratva himself, announced you aren’t to be touched. I can’t…I can’t make sense of it. I’m trying to find out. You are free, Hope. Free to be you if that’s what you want. No one will bother you ever again.”

  The room seemed to spin. “How can this be? What does it mean for my father and Justin?”

  “Truthfully? I have no fucking idea. But congratulations, you are free.”

  I threw myself back on the bed and hung up the phone. I was free. The one person I wanted to call, I couldn’t. Every day it felt like this. It had been months, and Max had done just what I wanted him to do—he’d left me alone. Yet I still wanted to tell him about my day, like we’d done in New York. I wanted to watch TV with him when I was up at night. I wanted him to know the mob was gone. Fuck, I wanted him to hold me after we had sex and tell me I was beautiful.

  Maybe I was going to be one of those people who never got over their first love.

  He probably never thought about me at all.

  Chapter 20

  Six months later

  “I don’t know if I can go through with it.” I sighed. “I know it’s time. Fifth date. Jerry is very nice. Patient. Not pressuring me. He’s cute enough. Likes me. But he thinks my name is Amelia, and it feels like a terrible way to cross into this part of our relationship. When he says Amelia, it makes me want to cringe.”

  My therapist crossed her legs in her black pantsuit. It was a great look for her. “You could tell him. You are allowed to be Hope now. Why aren’t you?”

  That was the million-dollar question, and one she asked me every other week. Why was I still hiding? Why did I still have my hair dyed dark brown? My joke about wanting to look like Snow White hadn’t gone over particularly well. The pale skin. The dark hair. Yeah…she hadn’t been amused. Avoidance… Not as good a word as when she said cathartic.

  “I don’t know. Maybe…maybe Hope wasn’t someone that did so well with things.” I shouldn’t talk about myself in the third person. It was still me. “The last time people called me Hope—well, outside of my family, who never stopped—I was destroyed. I’m still destroyed. It’s just easier to not think about him all the time when I’m pretending not to be Hope.”

  She nodded. “Go on.”

  “All the things I told him about love, about how it was like living without the other person was unbearable? That’s how I feel all the time. I’m ready to fill that hole up somehow. I don’t know that it’s with Jerry, but I need to do something. I’m tired of missing him.”

  My doctor nodded. “Good.”

  Why was it good?

  I was still contemplating that question when I got dressed to go out with Jerry. We were supposed to have dinner at a trendy place that had okay food. Yes, Max had made me a food snob. I’d already sort of been one, but he’d pushed me over the edge. It was very hard to find anything delicious when I’d been eating food that defined that word every day I’d been with him and knew the difference. And then back to his place. Where I supposed we would be having sex.

  The idea did not fill me with joy. I wasn’t dreading it. I was sure I could get through the experience. I was consenting to it. But he wasn’t Max. Good-looking. Successful. Jerry just didn’t make my knees weak.

  I threw on a black dress that would accentuate my dark locks and met him at the restaurant.

  Every once in a while, I still startled myself when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The dark hair. The ink on my wrist, the butterfly I’d decided to get there. She meant rebirth to me. Even if everyone and their mother had a butterfly, I still loved it. The ring in my belly button that I supposed Jerry would see tonight.

  That thought did not make me hot. I’d touched myself a lot when I’d first gotten it, picturing Max’s hand running over it, his tongue through the center.

  Yep…I was obsessed. With a man who had told me a year ago that he didn’t and wouldn’t ever love me.

  I need to visit this weekend, I texted Layla. Whenever I got too lonely, too much in my head about leaving him, I visited them. It was good to remember that people loved me. To hold Noah when he napped. To walk through their vines. They’d sent out their first commercial bottles earlier this year, and I guessed it was going well.

  They were happy, and even though I’d been allergic to happy when I’d first gotten to Seattle, it felt comforting now. Like there might be a future where I was, if I could just stop obsessing about Max.

  Jerry waited for me by the entrance. He bent over to kiss my cheek, and we chatted about work. My mind couldn’t stay on the conversation as I gave him answers to keep him talking so I wouldn’t have to speak.

  The restaurant, which was also a bar, had televisions on where they usually showed sporting events. Tonight, however, it was the Food Network. Jerry excused himself to use the bathroom, and I shook my head. What was wrong with me? Women were looking for Jerrys everywhere. Good-looking. Successful. Patient. Kind. Fuck my stupid stuck heart.

  A voice I’d thought to never hear again caught my attention, and I jolted in my seat, turning around to find where it was coming from. The television screens?

  Yes, there was Max. He spoke with Baker Monroe, celebrity chef of the moment. His name was sort of fitting. He liked to laugh about that on late-night programs.

  Why was he talking to Max? I jumped off my chair and darted to the bar. It was crazy, but it was like I was dying to see him, like I’d been denied an essential vitamin that I now had to binge.

  “Turn it up,” I begged the bartender.

  He shot me a look as he did it. “I guess you really like food.”

  The man had no fucking idea.

  “We’re so excited to have you join the Food Network family.” Baker grinned at him. “And before we check out your new digs, I’ve got to ask you because I’m being assaulted by questions about you on T
witter, are you single?”

  My heart fell. First time I was seeing him—and he looked good, albeit slightly skinnier than he had been with me—and I was about to hear he was taken. I’d survive this. I would. Somehow.

  “I’m not with anyone,” Max answered, running a hand through his hair. “But I’m taken.”

  Baker scrunched up his face. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I met the love of my life and I lost her. I let her go because I was a big, stupid idiot. I’d use other words, but we’re on television. I don’t want you to have to edit it out.” Baker laughed, Max didn’t. “I let her go. And I…I continue to believe that someday, she’ll come back to me, that she’ll come back home.”

  I swallowed. It had to be me, right? He had to be talking about me? Dizziness made my head spin. I could hardly breathe. Shallow, unsteady breaths were all I could manage. Unless he met someone else, and he let them go too?

  “I think our audience just fell more in love with you, Max. Whoever you are out there, come home to him. He’s sorry.” Baker laughed again and then stepped backward. “So we’re here in Portland. You had a huge hit with Hyperion in New York and then unbelievably sold it and came back here to Maine. Just miss home?”

  Max winced. “Couldn’t stay there. Hard to explain, but it seemed like all the heart left the city. So I came here, where I probably always should have been, to make this restaurant. I’ve been lucky because people have embraced it ever since.”

  “They sure have. That’s why you’re our first guest on Hometown Pride. We love when famous chefs bring their talent home, and so do our viewers.” This had to be a new show. I’d never heard of it. “Let’s take a look inside your place. The camera panned back. And there it was. The name of his new restaurant was Hope.

  “Hey.” Jerry came out of the bathroom. “What’s going on?” He stared at the screen. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

  No, I was. Or not something. Someone. And I was so tired of it.

  I didn’t text my sisters. Or Michael. I didn’t do anything after I left Jerry in the restaurant but sink into my couch and stare at my phone. That was how I stayed for almost twenty-four hours. I’d get up, eat, drink, and then go back to staring at my phone.

  Eventually, enough was enough. I knew what I was going to do. How could I not? He’d just gone on national television and said he wanted me to come back. I’d told him to leave me alone, and he’d done that, but he’d named his restaurant after me. And he’d essentially asked me to come back to him.

  I grabbed my phone. First, I tried to use the reservation app and found that it was filled. There was no way to get a table at his place. Not surprising. Everyone wanted to eat Max’s food. With shaking hands, I called the number on the website. Maybe there was a waitlist I could get onto.

  The woman who answered said, “Hello, it’s a great day at Hope. How can I help you?”

  She was perky, and it was strange to hear her say my name, even though she wasn’t, not really. I’d gotten used to hearing people say I hope, or hopeful over the years. This was different.

  “Hi.” I cleared my throat. “My name is Am—Hope Radford, and I was… That is…can I please get on your waitlist for a table?”

  The woman gasped. “Did you say your name is Hope Radford?”

  Yes, and it was the first time I’d said my own name in over a year. Maybe the last time had been introducing myself at Max’s family home? “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Oh, Ms. Radford. Hello. Yes. Um. We have a table for you. Every night. It’s always open for you. Chef keeps it there for you. Wow. Okay. Do you want to come right now?”

  I would have. Right then, if I hadn’t been across the country. “I…I’m afraid I’m not in town. I need to come to Portland. I can’t do that before, um, Monday.” It looked like I was getting a flight the next day and missing work and school. Fine. That is fine.

  “Great. Monday it is. What time?”

  “What time?” I had to be better at this. This woman must think I was nuts. But he saved me a table every night? “How about seven?”

  “Great. See you then. Oh, can I get your phone number, so I can confirm your reservation?”

  “No, you can’t.” I hung up. If I changed my mind, or chickened out, I couldn’t let Max have that. I’d barely survived him the first time around. Was I really going to do this again?

  I was, and I did. As I landed in Portland, I was still stunned that I was doing it. I almost turned around in the airport and flew back home. I stopped myself. I’d come this far. Worst case scenario, seeing Max would be awful and it would help me get over this lunacy. Best case… What is the best case?

  I didn’t dare to hope for anything.

  It took me way too long to get dressed. I’d brought five outfits, and I almost went shopping to buy five more. The truth was that I looked totally different than the last time he’d seen me. He might very well not be attracted to me anymore, and that was a scenario too.

  A bad one.

  My hotel was down the street from his restaurant, so I walked on leaden feet toward him. Someone held the door open, and I stepped inside. Immediately, the smell was familiar. Someone was cooking the barbecue sauce he’d made for me. I caught my breath and stared at my feet. I could still leave. Go right now.

  “Can I help you?” The chipper voice from the phone addressed me.

  “Hi.” I looked up. “I’m Hope Radford.”

  “Oh.” She brightened up. She must be eighteen years old. Cute. Perky. I hoped she got to stay this way. “I’m so excited you’re here. I’ll take your coat.” She did, and then I followed her to a table at the back of the restaurant.

  Away from the other tables.

  Perky hostess scurried away to be replaced by a nervous waiter. His eyes darted left and right before he spoke to me. “Hi. Welcome to Hope. What can I get you to drink?”

  “I… Hello. Thanks. I need a glass of wine. Something red. I don’t care what.” That was a change too. I drank in public lately. It was one of the first brave things I’d started doing in Seattle. I didn’t drink much, but I did have wine at restaurants.

  “Be right back with your menu.” He scurried off, and I stared at my hands. I’d never eaten alone in a restaurant before. Other than Max’s kitchen, and that had hardly been alone.

  Like I could sense he was suddenly there, Max’s presence moved over me. I lifted my head. He came out of the kitchen and walked over to the bar. He didn’t look at me, not once. Instead, he pulled out a bottle of wine, grabbed two glasses, ignored the bartender, and with a quick turn, strode toward my table.

  For a second, my heart forgot to beat.

  Then it raced to catch up and wouldn’t stop. He met my gaze and tilted his head to the side as he took me in, his eyes widening, registering the shock of my new appearance. Yes, it was really fucking different. Did he hate it? Damnit. I shouldn’t care, but I did.

  He walked over and stopped, setting down the bottle in front of me and then the glasses. “Hope.” His voice was low, barely a whisper. “I… That was so brilliant, changing your hair.”

  Max sank rather than sat in the chair right next to me. Not across. I could immediately smell his warm, sandalwood soap scent. It was heady and didn’t help my racing heart. I touched my hair because he’d mentioned it. “Thanks. It seemed…the thing to do. I saw you on television.”

  He took an audible breath. “Good. That was my,” he gave me a wry smile, “hope. That you would. I wasn’t sure what else to do. I was going to try magazines next. And then morning shows.” He visibly swallowed. “Surely you know that you’re safe now. That the mob isn’t looking for you. You could go back to your hair color, even, if you wanted to.”

  I knew that, yes, but how did he know? “It was you? You made them leave us alone.”

  His nod was fast as he poured two glasses of wine. He set one in front of me and one in front of himself. The waiter appeared, and Max shook his head. “There’s a set
menu for Hope. She doesn’t need that. Just bring out what Anna gives you.”

  “Yes, Chef.” The poor, scared waiter scurried off. I almost felt bad for him, but I had no room for anyone’s emotions but my own at the moment.

  Anna was there? They came with him when he moved to Portland. That must be wonderful for him. “All you’re going to do is nod? You don’t want to say more on that subject?”

  “I…I didn’t listen to you. I tried to find you. Right away. I yelled at my sister for being an asshat, and then I realized what I’d done. That you were gone. That I’d fucked the whole thing up.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know that I really understood things yet. How…how much I had destroyed, but I thought I could find you, stop you. You were gone already. Then you weren’t in New York.” He took a long sip of his wine, and I did the same thing. He watched me drink mine. “I’m glad you can do that now. Have alcohol in public. I worried about you drinking alone, among other things.”

  I stared at the red liquid and then noticed the bottle. “That’s Zeke’s brand.”

  “Yes. We serve it here. He won’t talk to me, but I buy his stuff. Michael won’t talk to me either. Wouldn’t tell me where you were and then blocked me. Then you sold your apartment. I think by then, I understood.”

  I leaned forward. “Understood what?”

  Max touched my wrist. One long swipe of his hand across my butterfly. I caught my breath, my body buzzing from the brief connection. He really was like a drug to me—one I desperately wanted to take.

  “That I love you. Deeply. Profoundly. It’s different for me than it is for other people, but you were right—I can love. At least, I can love you.”

  I could hardly form words. “Different?”

  “I couldn’t find you, not anywhere. You stopped posting online. You vanished. No internet searches. You were just gone. So, I…I became consumed with getting you safe. If I couldn’t be with you, I could at least make sure you were safe wherever you were. So yes, among other things, I found the man who owes me favors, even though he is all but findable, and I cashed in.”