Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  “Okay,” she says quickly, easily, and with a touch of relief.

  “Okay. Give me the envelope and then get out of here. I’ll find my way back or Hayes will bring me. Either way, tomorrow we get to work on taking that uncle of his down,” I say and wait for her to nod.

  “God help the person who comes up against the two of you. You’re like two sides of the same coin,” she says, her voice full of marvel.

  “That’s right,” I affirm, glad that she finally sees it. “God help them.”

  I open the car door, turn around to give her one last reassuring smile and say, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I decide to knock first. But after three knocks, with two minutes between each, there is still no answer. So I use the key and let myself in.

  The house is quiet. The ticking of a wall clock, the hum of a subzero fridge, the whir and click of the air conditioning coming on and the chirp of what sounds like hundreds of cicadas fill the otherwise still, dark house.

  “Hayes,” I call. There’s no resounding echo, none of the certainty that comes knowing that you’re heard, even if you’re not seen. I feel my first real prick of worry for him. I should have come sooner.

  “Hayes,” I call out again and start up the stairs. The carpeted runner silences my footfalls, but the wooden steps still creak every other step. It’s silent upstairs, too. There’s a light peeking around the frame of the door that leads to his master bedroom. As I get closer, I hear his snores. I push the door open and my anger spikes.

  Lined up along the foot of the bed are four empty bottles of Jack Daniels. I watch him. Even in his sleep, he’s strong and powerful.

  His brows are relaxed, his stubble-covered jaw is still strong, but not so rigid. His lips are parted and soft. For the first time, I see the little boy who grew up without his mother in a house that was managed like a chessboard. Manipulations, lies, and death blows.

  I spend a few minutes watching him and then pick up the glass of water by his bed and throw it at him. His eyes pop open in surprise. I step back when he starts to shake his head back and forth to get the water off and wipes the water out of his eyes before he looks up at me. His eyes are murderous.

  “What the hell?” he yells at me.

  “You tell me!” I give him the full force of my anger, too. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days,” I seethe.

  “I told you I needed a few days,” he grumbled.

  “I knew you needed some time to think. And I walk in here to find you living like you’re a frat boy on spring break.” I point at the bottles lined up on the floor.

  “Stop screaming,” he moans and cradles his head.

  “I’m not screaming. Even though I should be. You fucking abandoned me, Hayes!” Now, I raise my voice.

  “I didn’t,” he groans.

  “And you abandoned yourself. We have shit to do. Shit to discuss.”

  He covers his face and groans into his hands.

  “You threw water at me, Tesoro,” he grumbles.

  “Yeah, I know. Because I’m the one who did it,” I say with dry sarcasm. He scowls, completely unamused.

  “I just needed a couple of days,” he says miserably.

  “Hayes, what the hell have you been doing in here? Are you high?” I ask him.

  He sits up straight and shakes his head. “I don’t know where my phone is. I haven’t seen it since the …” He winces as if he’s in pain and says, “since the fight.”

  “How did Amelia reach you then?” I ask

  “The house line, like she always does. It’s an encrypted line and she’s unduly paranoid, so she always uses it to talk to me when it’s urgent,” he says. And then he shakes his head and looks at me with real confusion in his eyes.

  “What the fuck is wrong with my family?” His voice is etched with pain and my heart aches for him because I don’t have any answers to that question.

  “I don’t know. But, we need to talk.”

  He sighs.

  “I know that you have more shit going on right now than most people deal with their whole lives. But you’ve also got more power, privilege and wealth than those same people can dream about. And with all of that comes all the obligation. More money, more problems, right?”

  He nods.

  “So, get off your ass and put on your streetwise hat, because your uncle is playing dirty,” I tell him.

  “No kidding.” He sighs and rubs his hands tiredly over his face.

  “We have to think like desperate people who don’t have safety nets or moral compasses,” I tell him.

  “You sound like Amelia,” he grumbles.

  “You should do whatever she tells you to do,” I say.

  “You’ve changed your tune. I thought she was a ‘vulture,’” he says.

  “The board meeting is in two days. No atheists in foxholes,” I say.

  “Do you mean my enemy’s enemy is my friend?” he asks.

  “Whatever. We have a lot of work to do!” I snap impatiently.

  His expression has morphed from slightly annoyed to happy.

  “Why are you smiling? Do you like getting chewed out by me?” I ask.

  “I don’t know what chewed out means, but it sounds like it could be hot,” he says.

  “Hayes,” I huff.

  “That morning, when he attacked you. I was coming to break up with you,” he says.

  I freeze and stare at him. Tears, hot and unbidden, fill my eyes. My breath is trapped in my lungs, and I can’t speak.

  “I wouldn’t have done it,” he says quickly and rushes to stand by me. When he puts his hands on my shoulders, I lean into him.

  “But why?” I hear myself say in a voice that I don’t recognize. It’s thick with hurt.

  “I had just gotten the call about the DNA test. I was angry and thought I had let Thomas get away with too much because I’d been distracted,” he says, not quite meeting my eyes now.

  “By me?” I ask.

  “Yes. But by the time I got there, I knew there was no way I could give you up. The sun rises and sets in your eyes, Confidence,” he says. My heart starts kicking again and my tears dry.

  “But walking into that, seeing him on you. I thought …” He swallows thickly. “I’m sorry. So sorry that I wasn’t there. I’m so fucking sorry that he put his hands on you. That I was late,” he sounds so distressed.

  “Hayes, why didn’t you just talk to me? Is that why you haven’t left your house? You’ve been avoiding me?” I ask.

  He laughs darkly. “No. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from going to that fucker’s house and setting it on fire,” he says. I grab his hand and squeeze.

  “I was scared that day. But I’m okay now.” I tell him. “I just want us to focus on what we can control. And we have to get ready for this meeting. It’s only two days away.” I feel desperate suddenly to lighten the mood. I’ve spent four days in a state of complete anxiety and it’s taken its toll. As much as I’m dreading the rest of our conversation, I’m glad we have it to talk about.

  I lean back on the window sill and he sits on the bed watching me with a smile on his face.

  “What are you smiling at?”

  “You,” he says, his gaze growing more intense. “You’re my everything. And I want to be your everything,” he says intently.

  “You are my everything, baby,” I assure him.

  My heart is in my throat.

  And, in his eyes.

  “I’m thinking about myself, my future, my responsibilities so differently because of you,” he says and my heart swells. “So, yeah, I’m worried about the DNA test. But that’s not what has given me nightmares. It’s that I’ve done anything to hurt you or allowed anything to hurt you.” His eyes are glittering with fire that speaks of loyalty, constancy, and forever.

  “I know, baby …” I say and want so badly to put him in my pocket and protect him from everything that’s coming this week. “I feel the same way.”

  “You’re
my priority. Because you are my future. You have a view of the world that I want to use as my lens for the rest of my fucking life. Even when it feel like it’s do or die, I know that you and I are a sure thing.”

  “Never doubt that,” I say.

  He runs his hands through his hair. “Everything feels so complicated, except for us.”

  “I don’t care if I’m not the heir. I don’t care if they remove me. The only thing I need is you.” He stands up, naked as the day he was born. Even soft, his penis is beautiful and thick. His whole body is beautiful and thick. I let my eyes feast on him, and when I get to those eyes—those fucking eyes—I blurt out, “I’m pregnant.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Truth

  Hayes

  “You’re what?” I ask and sit back down on the bed, only briefly registering the cold, wet sheets bunching under my bare ass. I’m dazed and a million questions and emotions flood me as I try to recover from the curve ball she just threw at me.

  “Hayes.” She walks over to me, her blue eyes crinkled in concern. “Are you okay?” she asks and then lays a hesitant hand on my shoulder.

  “Did you say you’re pregnant?” I ask, dazed, but fuck me, also praying to God I wasn’t hearing things.

  She nods, her eyes wide, her blonde brows raised in uncertainty.

  Relief, joy, gratitude rush through me like a current and washes away my hangover, my dread and my regret.

  I jump off the bed and sweep her into my arms. “Marry me,” I growl in her ear.

  She throws her arms around my neck. “Of course I’m going to marry you.” She laughs happily and presses a kiss to my cheek.

  I pull back and stare at her. “When did you find out?” I ask.

  “Today,” she beams. “I had a blood test.”

  “How far along?”

  “Ten weeks,” she says, and I squeeze tight before I remember myself and let her go.

  “You can hug me,” she says.

  “I don’t want to hurt el bambino.” I put her down and kneel in front of her and press my cheek to her stomach. “There’s a baby in there,” I say in complete wonder and awe.

  She runs her fingers through my hair and says, “Hayes, we have so much we need to talk about. I wasn’t going to tell you about the baby until later, when all of this was over, but then you said all of that romantic stuff and it just came out,” I say.

  “So, what you’re saying is that you’d like to table this conversation?” I ask and stand back up. I lean in to kiss her and she leans back.

  “Nah, you need a shower and a toothbrush,” she says and jumps out of my grasp.

  “Go do that and then come down and let’s talk.”

  * * *

  I walk into the kitchen to find her sitting at the table, two mugs on the table in front of her. A white envelope sits on the table in front of her. It has my name and social security number on it. My stomach plummets to my knees. I know right away it’s the DNA test results. But, I ask anyway.

  “Is that it?” I ask and nod toward the envelope.

  “Yeah, Amelia gave it to me. You have to be the one to open it,” she says, her eyes dry and firm, but full of concern as she watches me closely.

  “I’m okay,” I say, and I find that I am. My future is set, because Confidence and I are set. This is just a hurdle I’ve got to clear on my road to where we’re going together.

  “You want coffee?” she asks and pads on her bare feet across the travertine tiled floors into the kitchen. “Were you at work?” I ask, noticing her skirt and blouse for the first time. “Yeah, this morning, but then I went to the doctor and then came here.”

  I pick up the envelope, rip it open, and pull the paper out.

  “Hayes, don’t you want to sit down?” Confidence sounds alarmed. I hear her hurried footfalls as she rushes back to the table, but I just stare at the paper and gather my resolve.

  “No, let’s not make an event of it. I just want to know.” I unfold and read what it says out loud. “With regard to the DNA of Hayes Rivers, when compared to the DNA sample obtained from Jason Rivers, twelve of the fifteen DNA markers were a match. This indicated sanguinity but does not indicate paternity. The matching markers follow the patterns we see between nephews and uncles and grandsons and grandfathers.” I finish and look up at Confidence. Her face is pale, and her hand is squeezing her lips together.

  “How is that possible? He couldn’t have been my grandfather. He didn’t have any children besides me. So, if he’s my uncle …. then what does that mean? Uncle Thomas is my father? How?” I ask. Her eyes widen and take up almost the entire first half of her face. She’s shaking her head back and forth and her eyes start to fill with tears.

  I stand up and walk over to her and yank her hand down. “What does it mean? Say it,” I demand, irrational in my fear and anger. I’m demanding she answer a question she couldn’t possibly. And yet, because she’s so much braver than me, she does.

  “Gigi,” she croaks like it hurts for the words to pass her lips.

  “No.” I shake my head.

  “Who else? Does your father have other siblings?” I ask.

  “I don’t fucking know. I didn’t even know Gigi existed until I was fourteen. Anything is possible.” As it starts to sink in, other realities rear their heads. I start to pace. If he wasn’t my father, then his dead wife wasn’t my mother, either. I don’t know the name for what I’m feeling. I’ve grieved for people I don’t know. Who aren’t my parents.

  “So, I’m a Rivers, but not my father’s son. Who are my parents?” I ask.

  “I don’t … I don’t know,” she says and I want to shake her.

  Or shake this house.

  Or shake the world.

  I want everyone to feel what I’m feeling. The ground beneath my feet has shifted in a way that’s permanent. I will never be the same.

  “Confidence. Who am I? Who is my family? What is my family?” I shout these questions at her. The horror on her face is too much for me. I turn away from her. I’m talking to the wrong person, anyway.

  I pick up the receiver of my landline and hit the second preprogrammed button and press the phone to my ear.

  “Prego?” Gigi’s voice is husky with sleep and I look down at the alarm clock by my bed and realize it must be one or two the morning in Positano. I haven’t called her during any of this. I didn’t want to worry her, and now I realize she’s the only person who can answer my questions.

  “Gigi, I took a paternity test,” I say.

  “Who’s pregnant?” she asks.

  “To determine my paternity,” I clarify. I’m met with silence. I look up at Confidence who still looks like she’s seen a ghost.

  You okay? I mouth and walk to the fridge to get her a bottle of water.

  She’s carrying my fucking kid.

  I crack it open and put it down in front of her and realize that Gigi hasn’t made sound.

  My heart sinks.

  “You knew,” I say and Confidence’s hand pauses in midair on its way to put her water to her lips.

  “Hayes, I—”

  “You what? Whose son am I?” I ask her slowly. My heart thuds wildly. My entire body is tingling, and my head is swimming.

  “Hayes, it’ s not that simple—” she starts.

  “Yes. It is.” My hand slams down on the table before I even realize it’s in motion. Confidence jumps up and comes to stand beside me. She puts a hand on my shoulder and I want to shake it off.

  I don’t want comfort. I want answers.

  Gigi starts to cry softly.

  “Whose child am I?” I ask her again.

  “Hayes …” She’s weeping loudly now.

  So is my queen. I watch her. Want to go to her. But not until I have answers.

  “Gigi, tell me. Now,” I ask, and the words taste like ash in my mouth.

  “Mine,” she sobs, and I drop the phone.

  I don’t remember sitting down, but I must have.

  “Okay, Gig
i, okay,” I hear Confidence saying, and then I hear the phone clatter into its cradle into the counter.

  “My life is a lie. All of it. I’m a lie. I’m …” Bombs are exploding somewhere inside me. My memories are imploding. My father disappears from the memory of learning to ride a bike. He vanishes from the conversations we had about the birds and the bees.

  “You are Hayes Rivers. You’re a brother, a son, a friend, a lover, a father.” She takes my hand and puts it over her stomach.

  “A father.” I pull her to me and press my face into the soft, tiny swell in her abdomen.

  “I’m going to be okay,” I say. She’s like a shot of valium, and my pulse starts to slow.

  “Hayes, the worst is over,” she says, and like the fool I am, I believe her.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  HISTORY

  Gigi

  “I will begin by saying that I am only sorry for the deceit and the fact that I had to live my life pretending that you weren’t mine,” I say slowly and force my eyes to stay on Hayes’s face. I want to look away so badly.

  Those green eyes are shuttered and as cold as chips of emerald. Except, those are his father’s eyes and they have never been able to hide the fire that is always burning inside of him. The curiosity, the feeling, the passion, the thirst for better, the compassion, and right now, the anger.

  “So, you suffered?” he asks.

  I nod. “Good,” he snaps and I smile. Because, there I am. That cold, unforgiving streak that makes me a Rivers and him my son.

  He’s been a mirror to everything I’ve lost, and yet has reminded me how lucky I was to have had any of it in the first place.

  “I did what I did for you,” I continue.

  He laughs and my patience snaps. I stand up and walk over to him, plant my feet and stare down at him.