It’s a long shot, I know that.
I researched the fuck out of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Even called a doctor friend about it. It’s true… if caught in its earliest stage, treatment is ninety-percent effective in curing the disease after the five-year mark. The chances of it recurring are nominal compared to winning the supposed greatest love of my life.
And yes… it’s love.
Otherwise, why would I be this freaked out and afraid of that ten percent chance? I’m a man who has built his business successes on taking calculated risks. Why can’t I take that same risk with my heart?
It’s probably because I’m not sure I could survive losing Hannah. I think about us being together as a couple, sharing our lives and dreams with one another. I’d get to know Hope, and we’d grow to love one another. Perhaps Hannah and I would have children together. I know I’d have the best fucking partner I could ever dream of.
But what would happen if she died? Could I be strong and go on for our kids? Where would Hope go? Back to her father, which wouldn’t seem fair to me because I would have grown to love her as my own.
Yes, these are the insane thoughts that have been circulating through my mind for over a week and a half.
Insane but also plausible, because I absolutely could see a future with Hannah prior to me finding out about her cancer. In fact, I’d say it was almost inevitable—that’s how strongly I felt for her. I may not have told her that since I was growing to accept it myself, but it was there.
I’d opened the empty spaces inside of me to her, and she filled every fucking square inch.
I loved her.
Still love her.
Fuck.
When I hear a light knock on my door, I look up to see Kyla Wroth. She’s the head of our resource department and Hannah’s boss.
I smile and ask, “Headed out?”
“Not quite yet,” she says as she steps in and closes the door behind her. I sit up straighter in my chair, because Kyla has been reporting to me on Hannah since she started work last week.
“Sit down,” I say with a motion of my hand to one of the guest chairs.
She does, perching on the edge and folding her hands in her lap. She started out as a secretary here under my dad’s watch and worked her way up the ladder until he put her in charge of our entire resource pool. She’s smart, efficient, and most of all loyal to the company. That loyalty transferred from my dad to me when I became CEO.
“You asked me to keep a close eye on Hannah Madigan,” she says, and I nod. I have and so far, her reports every few days by email have been benign. Hannah was doing well at work, exceeding expectations.
“Is everything okay?” There’s no hiding the alarm in my voice.
Kyla shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I didn’t tell you last week because it seemed like a personal matter, and I wasn’t sure it was relevant—”
“Is she sick?” I demand as I rise out of my chair.
Eyes rounding wide with unease, Kyla leans back in her chair. “Um… no. Not that I know of.”
“Christ,” I mutter as I scrub my fingers through my hair and plop back down in my chair. I give her a sheepish look. “I’m sorry.”
Kyla purses her lips. “I really wasn’t sure why you wanted me to keep an eye on her and it’s none of my business, but now it’s clear to me that you have feelings for her.”
For a flash of a moment, I think to deny it, by why bother? Kyla has me pegged. Besides, there’s no shame in caring for someone.
“Now I’m glad I decided to share this with you,” she says with a tinge of censure in her tone. “Last week as I was coming out of work—actually a week ago today—I found Hannah crouched beside her car just sobbing her heart out.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. Last Wednesday after work. When I sent my last text to Hannah that I wasn’t taking her to the gala. “Did she tell you what was wrong?”
“No,” she replies briskly. “Dried her tears and put on a stiff upper lip.”
“Okay?” I drawl expectantly, because there’s clearly more to the story since that happened last week.
“She left a little bit ago after you sent the email about closing early,” she continues. “I was walking around, encouraging some stragglers to leave, turning off lights, making sure computers were turned off, and I saw something on her desk.”
“What?”
“It was on her printer, actually. A pamphlet to a college in South Carolina she must have printed out. It had an application with it to their business program. If I had to guess, Miss Madigan isn’t going to be with us much longer. It appears she might be applying to college soon.”
I stare at Kyla in shock, dread sinking in at what she’s saying. Hannah is going to move halfway across the country?
“I’m not sure if you’re understanding things,” Kyla says, and I focus back in on her. Her words are pointed and challenging. “But I’m going to guess that Hannah was incredibly hurt last week by someone, and her only answer to it is to leave the area. It seems to me that if someone was having second thoughts about the rashness of their actions, they might want to take advantage of the early day off and purchase a plane ticket to South Carolina.”
“South Carolina?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“Yes. Hannah’s going there for the holidays with her daughter.”
She’s going to South Carolina for Thanksgiving.
Looks like she’s thinking about school there.
Hannah has moved on. Yet, I’m still left behind in this weird limbo, fighting my own feelings and fears.
“Jackie’s already left,” Kyla says. She’s talking about my personal assistant. “Shall I make plane reservations for you?”
“Um… no,” I tell her as I grab my phone off the desk. “I’ll handle it myself. I have to call my sister first, though.”
Kyla nods with a smile and stands from her seat. “Well, have a good holiday. Best of luck to you and Hannah.”
“You too,” I say without real thought, my mind already spinning out of control over how my life is getting ready to be decided very soon. But then I shake out of it and take a moment’s pause. Looking at Kyla, I give her my heartfelt gratitude. “Thank you. For giving me a push. I needed the shake up.”
“Anytime,” she says with a grin.
Kyla leaves, shutting the door behind her. I dial my sister.
“Hey,” she answers in a rushed sort of way that says she’s busy and doesn’t have a lot of time to talk. “I’m at the grocery store right now trying to buy last-minute shit I forgot for dinner tomorrow.”
We’re all planning to have dinner at her house tomorrow, Dad and Mandy included. It would have been interesting.
“I’m not going to make it tomorrow,” I tell her, and I can almost hear her come to a dead stop in the grocery store.
“Why not?” She’s immediately alarmed because she knows I’ve been all fucked in the head recently. While she said she understood I also know she was not happy over me backing out of the gala last Saturday, which was made clear when she showed up at my apartment Sunday morning to ream my ass out.
All it took was one look at me for her to realize I was suffering a heartbreak. I ended up telling her everything about Hannah.
She told me I was a dumbass. Warned me that I better figure that shit out soon, because Hannah wouldn’t wait around.
“I’m flying to South Carolina,” I tell her.
“What’s in South Carolina?”
“Hannah,” I say with a long exhale. “Going to try to fix this shit like you told me to.”
“Well,” she drawls. Since I can hear the squeak of the shopping cart wheels in the background, I can tell she’s on the move again. “I suggest you do lots of groveling and apologizing.”
“Duly noted,” I say, although I figured that much out. “And I’m sorry I won’t be there, especially about leaving you to deal with Dad alone.”
Christina laughs. “No worries. You’ll just owe me one.”
“I owe you lo
ts more than that,” I say gently. “I love you, sis.”
“Love you too, you big buffoon. Now go get Hannah.”
“On it,” I say and then disconnect the phone.
Next on the list… call the airlines and hope I can get a flight out of here today.
CHAPTER 28
Hannah
“Hannah,” my mom says from the stove where she’s whisking the gravy. “Can you come grab the rolls out of the oven?”
“Sure,” I reply. I leave my task of slicing the canned cranberry sauce, which is my favorite part of Thanksgiving, to do as she asked.
My mom moves to the side far enough I can open the oven door, but she still stirs the gravy so it doesn’t clump. I use a towel to grab the pan of fresh rolls that are perfectly browned on top, placing it on the counter. After which, I transfer the hot rolls to a basket Mom had placed there with a decorative cloth napkin lining it.
“Mommy,” Hope gasps as she rushes into the kitchen, holding up a quarter in her hand. “Look what Uncle Toby just pulled out of my ear. And I didn’t even feel it.”
“Ask him to look for more,” I tell her with a laugh. “I’ve got to get your college fund started.”
“Okay,” she chirps and spins on her foot, running back into the living room.
“God, I love that kid.” My mom chuckles.
“How could you not?” I ask with a grin.
I return to the cranberry sauce, and my mom carefully pours the gravy into a tureen.
“You know,” she says thoughtfully, placing the empty pot back on the stove. She wipes her hands and turns to face me, “I really think moving back home is the best thing, baby.”
Frank picked Hope and me up from the airport last night and brought us to Mom’s house. She was waiting up for me. After I put a very sleepy Hope into the spare bedroom we’d share, we stayed up for about an hour talking. She made us tea and I poured my broken heart out to her, as well as my plan to move forward.
“Do you think Nelson will let you take Hope out of Nevada?” she asks worriedly.
“I don’t know,” I reply with equal worry. It’s the only thing now that could screw up my plans. “He’s not very invested in her emotionally. I’ve found out a lot of stuff since she came back to live with me, and he essentially ignored her or pawned her off on his flavor-of-the-month girlfriend. I can’t imagine he’d put up much of a fight.”
“What if you offered him financial incentive?” my mom asks slyly.
“Like what?”
“Waive child support,” she suggests. “You could easily make that up by you and Hope living here with me rent free while you go to school.”
“That’s a thought,” I muse as I finish the cranberry sauce. “But how about we put this out of our minds and eat?”
The gravy, rolls, and cranberry sauce were the last items to prepare. All the other food is already on the dining room table.
“Frank, Toby, Hope,” my mom hollers as she takes her apron off. “Get in the dining room. We’re ready to eat.”
I hear some scuffling and something crashes, which tells me Toby and Frank are trying to beat each other through the door. Hope giggles, and my mom and I share a smile.
It’s really, really good to be home.
Mom grabs the basket of rolls and the tureen of gravy, while I collect the plate of cranberry sauce. When we walk into the dining room, Toby and Hope are sitting on one side and Frank on the other. Frank helps clear some room for the rest of the food.
I take a seat next to Frank, and Mom sits at the end to my immediate right. She smiles at me, then looks around at her family collected together. It’s been almost two years since I’ve been home, when Nelson, Hope, and I last came for Christmas. She’s just as happy now as she was then to have her brood all under one roof.
Nelson, of course, seemed to hate every minute of it. He’d kept his face in his phone most of the time.
Spreading her arms, she holds a hand out to me and the other to Hope, who sits directly across from me. The circle is complete when I take Frank’s hand, he takes Toby’s, and Toby finishes it off by taking Hope’s.
My mom bows her head and prays, “Dear Lord… thank you for the bounty you put before us and for keeping me from burning the gravy.”
When Toby snorts, I open one eye and smirk across the table at him.
A glance at my mom shows an amused smile on her face as she continues. “But mostly, thank you for bringing Hannah and Hope home, so I have all my youngins with me. You’ve made this woman mighty happy, and I’ll put extra money in the church basket on Sunday. Amen.”
“Amen,” we all chorus and break apart, all of us reaching for the nearest bowl in front of us. I scoop out some green bean casserole while Frank takes three slices of the freshly carved turkey. Toby puts a glob of gooey mac and cheese on Hope’s plate, then a bigger one on his own.
Just as I’m reaching for the turkey, there’s a knock on the door.
“I’ll get it,” Toby says as he pushes out of his chair, licking a piece of cheese off his thumb.
“Hope,” I say as I stab a piece of turkey for her. “Hold your plate out for me.”
She does, and I deposit the meat as I ask, “Want some green bean casserole?”
My daughter wrinkles her nose with a grimace. She hates almost all vegetables.
“Corn?” I ask.
She hesitates and nods. I give her a small spoonful because I know she won’t eat all of it.
Just as I’m getting ready to put some corn on my plate, Toby walks into the dining room with someone following him.
He steps to the side and there’s Asher Knight, staring right at me.
“What are you doing here?” I gasp, and the table goes silent. All eyes turn to Asher.
Not answering me directly, he moves to my mother, sticking his hand out. “Sorry for the intrusion. I’m Asher Knight, and I’m a friend of Hannah’s. You must be her mother, Carol.”
“Pleased to meet you,” my mom says politely, but there’s no mistaking the coolness in her tone. While I would never in a million years let her know how our relationship started, I didn’t spare her any details on how we broke up. “Would you like to join us?”
“Um… no, but thank you,” Asher says politely, and then moves around the table with his eyes on Frank. He sticks his hand out and Frank takes it, looking utterly confused as they shake. “You must be Frank. Hannah’s told me a lot about you.”
“Good to meet you,” my brother replies before turning questioning eyes to me.
I shrug as I stare at Asher. His gaze comes to mine, and I’m shocked when he says, “I need to talk to Hope for a minute. You can be there, too, of course.”
My head snaps Hope’s way. She’s studying Asher with narrowed eyes. He gives her his attention and says with a smile, “Hey, kiddo. Can we talk?”
Hope looks to me. I don’t know what type of game he’s playing, but I intend to figure it out. I stand up from my chair. “Let’s go outside, because this is getting awkward.”
“Or would you rather me and Toby escort him out for you?” Frank says ominously, now having figured out there’s something bad between us.
“I got it,” I tell my brother with a pat to his shoulder. I’m surprised he doesn’t crack his knuckles while he glares at Asher.
Asher, on the other hand, looks confidently back at my brother. He’s not intimidated in the least.
I walk around the table, going the opposite way around so I don’t have to brush past Asher. I’m afraid what might happen if we make contact. I can already feel the thickness of the air around us.
When I hold my hand out to Hope, she takes it and follows me out of the dining room, into the foyer, and out the front door. It’s a relatively mild day for a late November in the south, but still brisk enough we need to wear long sleeves. I’m wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. Hope’s got on a fuzzy pink sweater and pink corduroys. If asked, she’d say in an exaggerated southern voice ala Steel Magnolias, “
Pink is my signature color.”
I turn around and find Asher right behind us, pulling the front door behind him. He looks at me, to Hope, and then back to me again. He tips his head in Hope’s direction and asks me, “Do you mind?”
Do I mind you talking to my daughter before you say a word to me? I am intrigued enough not to.
“Sure,” I say magnanimously.
Asher smiles at Hope, who is staring at him with wide eyes. He squats down in front of my daughter to get eye level with her, and I try not to notice how well his muscular legs fill out the denim he’s wearing. No matter how mad or upset I am with him, I’ll always be ridiculously attracted to his ass.
Asher gives a little cough to clear his throat, and then just lays it on the line to my daughter. “Hope… I hurt your mommy pretty bad. Honestly, I was a jerk to her, and there’s no excuse for it. I’m here to apologize to her and ask her to give me another chance, but first I need to ask you if that’s okay with you. Because without your approval, I know I’ll never stand a chance with her because you’re the most important thing in her life.”
I have no clue if those words have any effect on my kid, but damn if they don’t hit me deep and true, right in the center of my chest.
I wait anxiously as I watch Hope, because if she says “no,” then it’s absolutely over. No matter if I love this man or not, Hope has to accept him.
Of course, I’m not sure she really understands anything. She had asked me one day last week if we were still going to Disneyland with Asher. If she’d noticed I’d been in a funk over him, she never said. She’s five years old and focused on Mickey Mouse.
I apologized and told her it wasn’t going to happen.
She asked, “Why?”
And I couldn’t exactly tell her. All I could say is, “I don’t know, honey. But I’m not seeing him anymore.”
Hope glances up at me as if seeking permission to even give Asher the time of day. I don’t give her any encouragement, just a soft smile that I hope conveys she should do what’s in her heart.
She turns to Asher, her voice earnest and deliberate. “I want my Mommy to be happy.”
I’m amazed by my kid’s savvy understanding of something that should be beyond her grasp. She doesn’t answer him directly. Doesn’t say she’s giving him another chance, but rather telling him the standard he must meet to gain her approval.
Wicked Knight Page 19
