Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  I look down at Blaire and smile. “I didn’t. She did.”

  Dad’s brows shoot toward the ceiling. “Is that right?”

  “It was nothing,” Blaire says, beaming. “I had just read an article that gave me an idea. I’m glad it worked out.”

  “Worked out? It’s fucking brilliant!” Oliver shouts from the kitchen. “And Holt didn’t tell me it was your idea.”

  Blaire gasps in faux shock.

  “I did too,” I fire back.

  Oliver just chuckles and goes back to making his plate.

  The ice cubes in my father’s drink clink together as he examines Blaire. “Do you have any other brilliant insights to share on easements? Because I’m having a legal dispute with my neighbor to the right.”

  Blaire’s eyes light up. “I don’t know. Try me.”

  “Holt! Can you help me with this?” My mom shouts from the kitchen.

  I look down at Blaire. I don’t want to leave her here if she’s uncomfortable, considering she’s spent exactly thirty seconds with my father. But the shine in her eye and the wide grin on her face tell me she’s perfectly happy talking legal bullshit with Dad.

  “Go on,” she says. “This is my wheelhouse.”

  “Good luck to you. Dad will talk your ear off,” I say, earning a clap on the back from my father.

  I make my way into the kitchen, slipping in a quick hug from Larissa as I walk by. She jabs me in the ribs in an apparent ode to Blaire coming to a family event again, but I ignore it.

  My mother points at a box on the top shelf. “Can you grab that?”

  “You couldn’t have one of these assholes get it?”

  “They’re filling their plates,” she says. “Besides, I wanted to talk to you.”

  I know. I knew it when she pretended to need my help.

  The cereal box that has nothing to do with brunch is retrieved from its spot next to the crackers. I hand it to my mom.

  “She’s lovely,” Mom whispers. “She’s so, so lovely, Holton.”

  “She’s lovely,” Boone whispers sarcastically as he walks by.

  I glare at him. He laughs.

  “Should I get used to seeing her around?” Mom asks. “We’re having the Champagne and Crudites event at the Country Club next week, and I’d love to invite her.”

  I glance at Blaire over my shoulder. She’s engaged in a conversation with my father, who looks captivated by her.

  I get it, Dad. Me too.

  “She’s going back to Chicago in a couple of days,” I say before turning around to face my mother again.

  She looks confused. “To get her things? To see her family?”

  “To work.” I blow out a breath “She’s … She doesn’t live here. And she’s not going to. Her life is in Illinois.”

  “But I thought …”

  Oliver approaches us from the table. He looks between my mom and me.

  “Hey, I need to talk to you for a second,” he tells me, motioning toward the hallway.

  “We will reconvene this conversation later,” Mom warns.

  I roll my eyes and follow Oliver into the hallway next to the dining room.

  My back hits the wall as I exhale all the stress that was just heaped on my shoulders.

  “I figured you needed a reprieve from that bullshit,” Oliver says.

  “Thanks.”

  I run my hand through my hair as I hear my mother calling Dad and Blaire to the kitchen. It sounds so normal and something I could totally get used to … in a perfect world.

  One we don’t live in.

  “You’ve gotten yourself in deep with all of this Blaire stuff,” Oliver says quietly. “I know it. But you’re going to have to block out Mom and Dad and whatever else and focus. I need you, bud.”

  I blow out another breath.

  “I know. I’m here. I promise,” I tell him.

  He leans against the wall next to me. We stare out the windows and into the front yard. The ferns my mother hangs off the porch every year sway in the breeze.

  “You can do both things, you know,” Oliver says.

  “What two things?”

  “You can work and have a relationship.”

  My head hits the drywall.

  I can’t have both. I can’t have both for so many reasons.

  “She’s going home soon, right?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Do you know where you stand with her?” he asks.

  “Yeah. She’s going home.”

  The words fall flat into the air.

  Oliver sighs. “Is she going home because she wants to? Or because you didn’t give her the choice?”

  I roll my head to the side and look at my brother. “Are you a relationship expert now?”

  “No, but I don’t have my head clouded by Blaire’s pussy either.”

  I groan.

  He’s right. Of course. And I hate that he’s right this time more than ever.

  My head is clouded. I do feel pulled. Two things I hate even more than Ollie being right.

  “Listen, I—” I begin, but Oliver’s chuckle stops me. “What?”

  “You’re getting ready to talk in a circle and give me a bunch of excuses as to why you can’t do what you want.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I’m not fucking you when she leaves.” He turns his body so we’re facing head-on. “Because she’s gonna leave you, Holt. Are you ready for that? If you think you’re distracted now, think about what that’s gonna be like.”

  My blood boils from the tone of his voice and the words spilling from his mouth.

  “She has to leave me.”

  “Oh, wise one. Please explain.”

  “You know how our lives work,” I tell him. “I need to be in the office for twelve fucking hours a day. Sometimes, fourteen. Fuck, isn’t that why you just pulled me in here? Your first words were that you need me to focus.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then fuck you, Ollie.”

  I blow out a breath that’s red-hot. My brother’s features darken as he takes the start of my wrath.

  “I have to be ready for her to leave because she’s going to,” I say. “And she should.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “How can you say anything differently? You don’t know the ins and outs of our relationship.”

  “But you’re admitting you have a relationship, right?”

  I roll my head around my neck. The bones pop from stress.

  He doesn’t understand that being with me will kill her. It will ruin her life. If she thought Jack didn’t have time for her, she’d end up hating me.

  I’d rather have her and the sweet memories from this week than have her loathe me in the future. And there’s no way at all that I will risk causing her pain by not being the man she needs—the available, present, considerate one.

  Not even if it’s what I want to do.

  My chest heaves a breath to keep from cracking apart.

  “Look,” Oliver says, “I’m letting you know what I see. And I’ve seen you walk around with this frivolity that’s nice to see. You’ve eased up. You came today without a fight.”

  “Because Coy is here.”

  Oliver looks unconvinced. “Do you realize you had a ten-minute conversation with Boone last night about Christmas in Aspen?” He grins. “You refuse to discuss the holidays until at least Halloween.”

  He’s right. A-fucking-gain. But it doesn’t change anything.

  How I feel doesn’t change what I know to be true—I cannot be what Blaire needs. She’s already been let down by one guy who couldn’t be there for her. I don’t want to be the same.

  I won’t.

  It’s as simple as that.

  It’s as frustratingly, heartbreakingly simple as that.

  I sigh. “Where do you think I’ll find the time to take care of someone’s emotional needs?”

  “She’s not a fucking dog, Holt.”

  “No. She’s a human being who needs su
pport and time and energy. She deserves that. And unfortunately for all of us, I don’t have that to spare.”

  He sighs, seemingly as frustrated as I am. “I get it. I do. I just … I like what she’s done to you. And she seems like a pretty great girl.”

  “Yeah, well, she is.”

  He frowns.

  Doesn’t he understand that I want to make things work? Doesn’t he realize how hard it’s going to be to watch her pack her things and pull out of my driveway?

  Doesn’t he know I’ll think of her every evening when I come home from work and miss the fuck out of her? Doesn’t he know that I’ll never be able to see a horse and carriage and not be reminded of the beautiful woman who gave me a piece of her life?

  But that’s all I get. A piece of her life. Because if I ask for more, I’ll ruin her.

  “Holton! Oliver! Let’s eat,” Mom calls from the dining room.

  Oliver watches me, giving me one final chance to correct myself.

  But I don’t.

  “Coming,” I say, walking around him.

  Blaire is standing next to the wall with her hands on the back of a chair. Two plates of food sit in front of her.

  She turns to face me, and I stop in my tracks.

  There’s a hurricane building in her blue eyes.

  What’s this all about? Who said something to cause this?

  “Take your seats, kids,” Dad orders.

  I pull out Blaire’s chair, and she sits. I take mine beside her.

  Before I can ask her what’s wrong, Dad has us bowing our heads to pray.

  I take her hand beneath the table and give it a squeeze. I also add a little line to the prayer for God to help Blaire and me figure this out.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Blaire

  Trees whip by the windows as Holt flies down the highway.

  I sit, buckled in, and try to summon the shield I use in court when things get emotional. It’s never too far away, and I can always find it when I need it. Yancy says it’s probably an indicator that I’m emotionally detached, but I quite like the ability.

  When it works.

  It turns out, it’s easier to do when Holt isn’t involved.

  He pilots the car onto an exit ramp and winds us through town. It’s a quiet ride, just like brunch.

  The absence of communication between us probably wasn’t evident to anyone but us. The stories and laughter from the family made up for the silence between Holt and me.

  The tires hit Cobblestone Way, and our speed slows. I remember coming down this street for the first time a few days ago. I was so confident that I could control this situation.

  What was I thinking?

  Now I’m going to pay the price, and it’s my own damn fault.

  A lump settles in my throat as Holt’s words filter through my mind.

  “She’s a human being who needs support and time and energy. She deserves that. And unfortunately for all of us, I don’t have that to spare.”

  I didn’t mean to hear it. I was just going to tell him and Oliver to come to eat at their mother’s request. But his voice hit my ears before my feet could hit the doorway, and I backed away.

  My lips part as I try to drag more oxygen into my lungs.

  I need to calm down.

  Naturally, as if he knows I need consoling, he chooses this moment to place a hand on my knee. I want to push it away. I want to tell him that despite what he said to Oliver, I’m not needy.

  His hand remains on my leg because I don’t have the strength to remove it.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” he says.

  I hum in agreement instead of using words.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I nod, tearing my eyes away from his hand and staring out the window instead.

  “I’m fine. Just a bit overwhelmed,” I say.

  It’s not a lie. I am overwhelmed. Just not like he’ll assume I am.

  The sound of our voices stirs up my emotions again, and I feel the unwanted sting of tears. So many emotions flood through me.

  I’m embarrassed that I was going to talk to him tonight about meeting up in a few weeks. There’s anger with myself for not sticking to my guns when I told him I didn’t want to go to dinner that first night. And there’s so much freaking pain from knowing that I told Holt about my ugliest moments and now he’s decided he’s walking away.

  Even though that was always the plan—for me to leave—it still feels like he urged me to open up, to be vulnerable, and then he assessed my emotions and bailed.

  Like Jack.

  He took my greatest weakness and turned it against me.

  I laugh quietly at the irony. The sound surprises me. I feel Holt move around in his seat, but I don’t look at him.

  We pull through the gate at the end of his driveway. The sun is high in the sky, welcoming us with its full rays. It feels good on my skin and helps dissolve the water droplets gathering in the corners of my eyes.

  The car rolls to a stop in front of his house. I grip the door handle.

  “I have to head to the office,” he says.

  “I know.”

  Please want to talk to me. Please care.

  “I have a meeting in a couple of hours with an investor that Boone set up. I don’t know how long it will last,” he says.

  I turn and look at him over my shoulder. He’s so handsome despite the lines around the corners of his eyes and the bags beneath them. And I realize the truth of the situation: there’s no room for me in his life.

  My heart cracks in my chest.

  “I understand,” I tell him.

  He bites his lip. “I’ll be home late.”

  And I’ll be gone.

  I have to leave. I have to do it now before my emotions get any more volatile. I was a fool to have let it get this far. Letting it continue would be insanity.

  My lips tremble as I lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. This will be the last time I feel his skin against mine and smell the warmth of his cologne. I want to cling to this moment and relish every bit of comfort I can find because as soon as this moment is over, I’ll never have it back.

  It will be as close as I’ll ever get to love.

  It hurts too damn much.

  “Good luck,” I say, hoping he doesn’t hear the frog in my throat. I open the door and hurry out of the car. By the time the door shuts, I’m already on the steps.

  I don’t look back. Whether it’s my subconscious telling me to keep going forward or simply because I don’t want to torture myself anymore—and that’s what I’d be doing if I look back—I’m not sure. But I press on and open the door using the code on the keypad and slip inside the house.

  Cool air kisses my cheeks, making the drips of my tears cold.

  I slide my back against the wall of the foyer—the same wall Holt held me against after the concert.

  I was different then. Full of hope. Teased with the taste of having someone who thought I was worth their most valuable commodity: time.

  I was fucking stupid.

  Tears fall steadily down my face as I look around Holt’s home.

  “I’ll be honest—I didn’t really think you being here all the way through before inviting you.”

  My hands are smeared black from mascara as I wipe my face. It’s a physical show of what a mess I am. I turn to go up the stairs when the front door opens.

  My head spins to the right, and my breath catches in my throat.

  Holt stands in the doorway.

  He slides his sunglasses off his face and takes in the sight before him.

  Shit.

  “Blaire …”

  I lift my chin and straighten my shoulders. I give him my best unaffected smile.

  Clearly, my cheeks are stained with mascara, and my lips are swollen like they always are when I’m upset. But I pretend none of that exists.

  “What’s going on?” he asks carefully, silencing his phone as it rings in his hand.

  “I’m just g
etting ready to take a bath.”

  He furrows his brow. “That wasn’t what I was asking, and you know it.”

  “Did you forget something?”

  My heart pounds in my chest as I feel my way through this conversation. I thought I’d have a better handle on myself before I had to speak about this whole mess.

  Who am I kidding? I’d hoped to be gone and never have to talk about it at all.

  Concern sweeps across his features.

  “Cut the crap, Blaire. What’s going on?”

  “I’m fine. Things just got the best of me today.”

  He steps farther inside the house and closes the door behind him. The latch is loud and crisp.

  I start up the steps as though I didn’t just get caught on the cusp of breaking down.

  “Blaire. Stop.”

  His tone is rough; the edges of his words bristling with irritation. It’s not at all the tenderness I’d hoped to hear. But what it does do is confirm what I overheard at his parents’ house.

  He has no intention of giving me any piece of his life.

  I’m a distraction to his work, a needy woman who demands too much of his time. And now, after seeing me cry, he’ll think I’m an emotional train wreck just like Jack said too.

  I will never, ever share my emotions with a man again.

  I place a hand on the rail but don’t move again. Instead, I stand there and gaze up at the landing and wish I’d have gone straight to pack my suitcase instead of stopping in the foyer.

  “I need you to go to the office,” I tell him. My words are muddled through the constriction in my throat.

  Speaking is hard. My chest burns. A bubble of emotions sits at the base of my throat, and I don’t know what to do with them.

  “I don’t want to go to the office,” he says slowly. “I want to talk to you.”

  “You shouldn’t have come back.”

  “I never left.”

  Against my best interests, I turn my head. He’s standing in the middle of the room, framed by the elaborate door behind him. There’s a war happening in his bright green eyes.

  “I don’t have time to do this with you right now and get to the office before the investors show up,” he says, blowing out a breath. He looks down as his phone rings again. The lines in his forehead deepen. “I’m worried about you. Will you just talk to me?”