All That Really Matters

by Nicole Deese

  He pounded an open palm to my back. “I knew you would come. I told Peter you would. You just needed time.” To give me a chance were likely the words he held back. Words imprisoned by a younger brother who had never once responded to his pleas and confessions.

  “It’s good to see you, Carlos,” I said. “You look good, healthy.” The fifty to sixty pounds he’d put on since I last saw him only added to the proof that his habits and lifestyle matched the change Peter had sworn to.

  “Peter has us on a workout schedule. It’s a part of the program.”

  Given the diameter of his biceps, I wondered if the program he spoke of took place in a weight room. “How is that going—the program?”

  His eyes never strayed from my face, as if he, too, was having trouble seeing past the surreal factor of it all. “It’s been eight hundred and forty-two days since I started a new life. A sober life. A better life.”

  Though I’d read about his last hit in his letters, after he’d traded two bags of Doritos for a bag of cocaine in the prison yard during the first year of his sentence, the number he spoke provoked a level of pride I didn’t know I was capable of feeling toward him. “That’s something to be proud of.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I used to hope I could make you proud of me one day.”

  Words that seemed to crush my diaphragm into my ribcage. “You are making me proud.” I tried, and failed, to exhale the tension in my chest. But it was attached to a revelation of my own. “I didn’t read your letters, Carlos. Not a single one, until two nights ago, when I read them all.”

  As if he was somehow expecting this, he nodded slowly. “Your mother told me to keep writing. Never to stop, not even if I never received one letter back from you. She said sometimes we need to write our story more than we need someone else to read it. She was right.”

  My mind skipped back a beat, and then another, where it stuck on his phrasing. On the only obvious conclusion I could make. “My mother wrote to you? For how long?”

  Carlos stared back, unblinking, as if this was an interaction he hadn’t expected. “Since my first letter to you after the trial. She sent me one letter for every letter I sent to you. You . . . didn’t know that?”

  “No.” I shook my head, letting it soak in deep. For three years my mother wrote to my biological brother while he served time after an assault against her son. “But I’m glad she did.” My mother had done what I couldn’t. What I’d chosen not to do.

  “She gave me hope when I couldn’t find it for myself.”

  I swallowed the emotion rising in my throat. “She’s good at that.”

  He nodded, his own throat bobbing. “I want to show you that I am what I say. That I’m changed. That my letters, they are all true.”

  “I want that, too.” More than I ever believed possible. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

  “No. No, Silas.” His meaty grip was firm on my shoulders as tears wet his face. He shook his head vehemently. “It’s your name at the top of my amends list. I’m the one who messed up. Not you.” He winced as his glance fell to the scar on my forearm. His expression was a mix of pain and hope, a sight that robbed me of my next breath. “I’ve never given you a reason to trust me.”

  “You have now.” A statement that stripped the last of my protective armor bare. I wasn’t here to be the savior my brother hadn’t been to me. I was here because our Savior had been at work in us both.

  “I hope, in time, you can forgive me for the pain I’ve caused you, your family.”

  “I have, Carlos. I’ve forgiven you.”

  It was a first step that felt more like a thousand, and yet it was the right place to start. Believing the worst was behind us, and that with time, accountability, counseling, boundaries, and trust . . . we could form a new kind of brotherhood.

  Carlos tackled me into another embrace, and this time, I wasn’t the first to let go. Because all that we’d lost—the years of trauma, the years of addiction, the years of anger, neglect, and silence, had finally come to an end.

  My big brother had come home, and I wouldn’t be the one to lock him out again.

  35

  Molly

  If I had to choose a single month to relive for the rest of my life, these last four weeks would be a top contender. Between the hundreds of positive messages I’d received from followers responding to the livestream I did in Silas’ office, to attending an adoption hearing for Wren’s little brother, to rejoicing over the reunion of two estranged brothers and their subsequent meetups, to finalizing party preparations and talent selections with the residents and then convincing Val to take a week’s vacation with her son to fly out to The Event next weekend . . . my cheek muscles felt as if they’d doubled in size from all the smiling.

  And there truly had been so much smiling.

  Especially when Silas’s sexy shoulders were involved. My goodness! Who could have known how incredibly satisfying it was to watch a man work a pair of pruning shears in the sunshine?

  “Earth to Molly,” Miles said as he waved his hand in front of my face, leaning out the driver’s-side window of his Chevy. “Maybe you could stop gawking long enough to give me some instructions on where you’d like this truckload of pea gravel.”

  Ignoring his comment, I scanned the perimeter of the manor and pointed to an area not too far from where Silas pruned the apple trees. Sometimes I thought Miles had more sway than a celebrity in the area of asking for goods or services. Whatever he asked for—or didn’t ask for!—people freely gave. Just like the pea gravel he’d been gifted for the grounds at Fir Crest Manor. “The tables will be placed near where the guys are building the stage out there, so if we could spread the gravel around the base of the trees and the paver walkways, that would be great.”

  “And by we I’m assuming you mean me?” Miles asked through a lighthearted grin.

  I beamed up at my brother and patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve always been such a quick learner.”

  He rolled his eyes and tossed a dirty work glove out his window at me. I dodged it. “I think your short hair has made you even bossier.”

  “Hey, you have no room to complain. I paid you in hot apple fritters from Deb’s Bakery.”

  Miles peered over the steering wheel to where Silas offered Diego a hand with a top-heavy wheelbarrow overloaded by tree limbs and weeds.

  “Something tells me Silas is getting more out of this than hot apple fritters.” He side-eyed me. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Silas take orders from anybody like he took them from you today.”

  I picked the glove up off the gravel and slapped my brother’s arm with it. “Perhaps he just recognizes my stellar event planning talents.”

  Miles made a disbelieving noise in his throat and continued to study me. “Anything you want to disclose?”

  “As in . . . ?” I couldn’t leave that one alone. My brother was never more uncomfortable than when talking about my love life.

  “Come on, Molly.” He cleared his throat. “It’s obvious he cares for you. Anything with a pulse could pick up on that. Something is going on between you two.” Miles arched an eyebrow.

  “You’re right. There is something going on between us.”

  He tipped his head back against the headrest, already in problem-solving mode. Already planning to fix his sister’s poor judgment calls and impulsive behavior. Only, there wasn’t a mess for him to clean up this time.

  “But it’s not . . .” How should I even word it? Silas wasn’t like any of the men I’d ever dated. Least of all Ethan. “I mean, it’s good, Miles. Silas is . . . well, Silas is the only man I’ve ever wanted to introduce Mom and Dad to.”

  Slowly, Miles twisted his neck to look at me. “You’re serious?”

  “Reverend.” A sly smile tugged on my face as I turned my head to see Silas jogging toward Glo to unburden a tray of fresh sandwiches from her arms. I redirected my attention to Miles once again. “There is absolutely nothing you need to
worry about. I promise you.”

  Miles’s wide eyes looked from me to where Silas waved from across the property, gesturing to the sandwiches, chips, and water bottles. An invitation to join the troops for lunch. I nodded and held up a finger to indicate we’d be over in just a minute.

  “You see a future with him?”

  “I do.” I’d never spent much time imagining myself as a bride or even as a wife. But I also couldn’t imagine wanting to be married to anybody else.

  “Then it really is too bad Mom and Dad couldn’t rework their travel plans. I’m sure they’d want to meet him.”

  “Yeah, it’s okay,” I said, meaning it. “I knew it was a long shot since they’re overseas.”

  “It meant a lot to Mom that you called to invite them to The Event, you know. She’s mentioned it to me at least five times.”

  The call to my mom had been short and a bit awkward, but it had been the right next step to take with my parents. My family. We were different, yes, but those differences didn’t have to divide us. Truth was, though I hadn’t fit inside their full-time ministry box, I certainly hadn’t made room for them in mine, either. “Sounds like they’ll be stateside sometime in November to raise support again, so I’ll make sure to plan some dinners with them so they can meet Silas and maybe come out here to the manor.”

  Miles smiled. “Good idea.”

  “Molly, will you eat with us?” Monica and Wren called out, looking up from their massive pile of printed programs under the picnic shelter. I gave them a thumbs-up, noting how adorable Wren’s hair looked with a simple gold barrette pinned above her right ear. When I’d hired my stylist to come to the cottage to give all the girls a much-needed trim before our big day, she’d ended up donating her time for all our haircuts—including Glo’s sassy new do!—asking me to call her again in the future. A beautiful gesture for a beautiful group of women.

  “Come on, your next gravel load can wait. Your admirers are getting restless, and they want you to eat lunch with us as much as I do.”

  “They do, huh?” Miles placed his gearshift in park and smiled. “Good thing I’m always up for a free sandwich. And a chat with my future brother-in-law.”

  After taking a satisfying lunch break with Glo and Silas and all the residents—and laughing at all the ridiculous questions about “twin life” that Miles had been asked between bites of his ham and cheese sandwich—I hugged him good-bye and then popped into the house to retrieve my charging phone.

  My hands began to shake the instant I picked it up off the desk and saw the three highlighted text notifications on my home screen. All from over three hours ago. All from Val.

  My heart rate kicked up several notches as my eyes worked to focus on her messages.

  Val

  Are you there? I really need you to call me.

  Molly? It’s important. It’s about Cobalt.

  Okay, I’m not sure what else to do. I didn’t want to tell you over text, but I just quit my job. Call me as soon as you can.

  “Molly?”

  I jumped, nearly dropping my phone to the floor. It was Glo, her expression failing to put my nerves at ease.

  “There’s someone waiting downstairs for you. A real sharp-looking guy. I told him I’d need your approval before I buzzed him inside, though.”

  As if in slow motion, my mouth spoke a question I prayed I didn’t know the answer to. Because it couldn’t be him. He’d have no reason to be at The Bridge. “Who is it?”

  “Says his name is Ethan Carrington.”

  A dizzying sensation washed over me as I stared at Glo and forced myself to nod, to breathe, to hear her next question over the swishing heartbeat in my ears.

  “You know him?” she asked, her brows furrowing at whatever she saw in my face. “He made it sound like you two were old friends.”

  “I do know him, yes.” And I was sure that was exactly how he’d made it sound to Glo. The man could sell any story to anyone. It’s what made him a shark in the marketing industry. A quality I’d once admired. “He’s my talent manager.”

  Strange how those words had lost their magic and pizzazz months ago.

  “Oh, really? Wow. Well, that makes sense. He definitely looked New Yorkie to me in that tailored gray suit. Definitely don’t see men around here wearing clothing like that.”

  I knew the exact suit she spoke of. His gray herringbone Solaro by Kiton. I’d been with him when he bought it. And I had no doubt he’d worn it today for a purpose. But what purpose? I hadn’t a clue.

  Drawing from a reserve of practiced smiles, I commanded myself to stay calm, to stay in control, even as I slipped my phone with Val’s unanswered texts into my back pocket. “Did he happen to say what he was here for?”

  “Hmm, no. He really didn’t. Just that he was hoping to speak to you while he was in town.”

  While he was in town? Classic.

  “Thanks, Glo,” I said, trying not to tip her off in any way that opening the door to this part of my past was literally the last thing in the world I wanted to do. “I’ll head down.”

  Robotically, I strode down the hall, down the stairs, through the lobby, and straight for the front door, where his shadow lurked on the other side of the fogged glass. The sight of his outline curdled whatever courage I’d felt in the safety of my upstairs office.

  I’d dreaded this moment. Dreaded how it would feel to see him again after our last face-to-face confrontation in a Malibu driveway. After so much life had been lived apart from each other. I breathed a silent prayer, placed my hand on the doorknob, and yanked it open before I had time to pull the fire alarm and end this exchange before it could begin.

  The slight swish in my ears morphed into crashing ocean waves at the sight of him. Neither of us spoke for several seconds, taking each other in. There was so much familiar about him—the same classically handsome face, the same classically athletic build, the same classically confident style. Yet the charm factor I’d once found so appealing about Ethan Carrington had faded to non-existent.

  In only a few months’ time, he’d become nothing more to me than a familiar-looking stranger wearing seven-hundred-dollar loafers.

  “Ethan,” I said, as if I needed to further ground myself in the reality that he was, in fact, here. At Fir Crest Manor. I stepped onto the porch with him and pulled the door closed behind me, unwilling to let him inside this sacred part of my life. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Molly,” he said, staring at me as if my name were explanation enough. “You look . . .”

  But I didn’t wait for him to finish that statement. It didn’t matter how he thought I looked anymore. “Unfortunately,” I said, both softer and kinder than I’d planned on, “this is a private establishment, and we can’t have unregistered visitors on campus without permission—”

  “I just flew twelve hundred miles to see you. Won’t you give me just ten minutes?” When he looked up again, he made no effort to hide the way his gaze tracked my minimally made-up face and the outline of my freshly cropped hair. And for a moment, I wondered if Ethan hadn’t come here in the name of business at all, but in the name of something far more personal in nature—closure? I fought the urge to fiddle with the ends of my hair or pin it back behind my ears. But I refused to show even the tiniest shred of remorse at my decision to start over. To move on. To be my own person apart from his expectations and control.

  “This isn’t what I wanted for us,” he continued. “I never would have imagined you’d be avoiding communication with me at all costs. That’s certainly not the Molly I signed or the Molly I believed in.”

  “You’re right,” I said, unwilling to be sucked back into his emotional tide. “I’m not the same Molly you signed. And I have no plans to be her ever again. That girl wasn’t real.”

  Concern crimped his brow. “She was certainly real to me.”

  “Of course she was; you’re the one who invented her.” As irritation bloomed in my gut, I looked beyond him to the path that cur
ved around the house, grateful that two dozen of my most cherished relationships were safe from his sight and schemes. There was no reason for him to be here. None. “Why did you come here, Ethan?”

  He reached out his hand to me. I didn’t take it. “You made it to the final round, babe.”

  My mind scrambled to make sense of his words, but I couldn’t quite make the connection. “The final round of what?”

  He flashed his most polished Hollywood grin at me. “Project New You auditions. I got a call from Al Richards and his team. He loved your video. And despite some of your professional hiccups as of late, he and his wife seem smitten with you. They’ve asked to fly you in for a final screening audition next week—said your empathetic attitude is exactly what they’re looking for in a host.” He touched the leather satchel he wore across his body. “I even brought their initial contract terms and negotiations with me to look over with you. I figured I could take you out for a drink, and we could talk everything through together, make sure you’re completely comfortable before I give them the go-ahead to arrange your travel.”

  My eyes shot to his, my mouth opening and closing without sound.

  “I know, I know.” Ethan chuckled. “I was surprised, too—”

  “I don’t understand. I didn’t think you sent in my original audition video, so how can I be a finalist?” Whatever hope I’d had of Ethan forwarding my audition video compilation to producers had died the second we’d broken up in Malibu.

  “I didn’t send one in.” He blanched. “Al actually saw a recent video post from you on your channel. It’s what edged out your competitors. He said it was exactly what he was looking for.”

  But since I could count the number of videos I’d posted this summer on one hand, there was only one that made any sense. Only one that . . . “Do you mean my last livestream?”

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Turns out, I was right about you volunteering for such a needy place. Partnering with a cause might have won you the opportunity of a lifetime.” He glanced at the building behind my back, as if he knew a thing about The Bridge other than its name. “Molly, Al’s handing you a chance to go after everything you’ve ever wanted.” His smile actually looked genuine this time. “All our dreams are about to come true.”