The Redemption Series

by Leigh, T. K.

  “The last time?” Wes steps toward me, concern I don’t deserve in his expression.

  “This isn’t the first time Drew made a promise he had no intention of keeping. It’s taken me almost twenty years, but I’ve finally learned my lesson. I’m just sorry you had to get hurt in the process.”

  I hold his gaze for another moment, hating myself for doing this to him, for being the reason his shoulders are drooped, his eyes are watering, his chin is trembling. I knew this would happen when he learned the truth, but that didn’t stop me, even though it should have. Hell, the fact that I hadn’t broken things off with Wes should have stopped me.

  “I truly am sorry. Goodbye, Wes.” I face forward again.

  “I’m sorry, too, Brooklyn,” he says as I’m about to step through the doorway.

  I turn around, furrowing my brow. “You’re sorry? What are you sorry for?”

  He slowly makes his way toward me, remorse covering his face. “This is all my fault.”

  “Don’t…,” I begin, but he holds up his hand, cutting me off.

  “It is. The signs were there, but I refused to acknowledge them.” His lips pinch together as he shakes his head. “I’ve been so preoccupied with doing everything in my power to convince my father the company will be in good hands with me, even up here in Boston, I stopped paying attention to you.” He closes the distance between us, his voice softening, becoming more serene. Holding my hands in his, he runs his thumb over my knuckles, the gesture soothing, wrapping me in comfort.

  “I took you for granted, assumed you’d always be there. I kept promising you things would get better, that once we were past this wedding, I’d be around more. I felt you slipping away, but I still didn’t do anything to catch you when you started spiraling downward. I put my career first when all along you’ve been begging me to put you first. I asked you to be a part of my family, said I’d make you a priority in my life, but I never did.”

  I pull my hands from his, sick that he’s trying to shoulder even an ounce of the blame. “I could have walked away. I knew it was wrong, yet I continued on. I won’t let you take responsibility for this.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  I contemplate his question, the answer clearer than anything in recent memory. “With every fiber of my being. And I will have to live with this mistake for the rest of my life. You deserve someone who will give you the devotion I wasn’t willing to until it was too late. I truly hope you’ll find someone like that.”

  I turn to leave once more, but Wes grabs my arm, preventing me from taking another step. “What if I already have?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He exhales a breath, clutching both of my biceps. “What if I’ve already found the person who gives me all the devotion I need, but she’s lived her entire life thinking she’s not good enough?”

  “Wes…,” I caution, shaking my head.

  “It’s true. Over the past several months, you’ve tried repeatedly to get me to pay attention to you. All the times you called, asking me to meet you for a coffee since you had an appointment in the area. All the times you rearranged your schedule just to make my mother happy with all this wedding planning.” He erases the last bit of distance between us, looping an arm around my back and gently pulling me against him. His voice grows softer, more endearing, more compassionate. “All the times you went to bed alone in my house because I was too preoccupied to give you the attention you gave me.”

  “That’s not the same thing.” I try to push away, but his hold on me remains firm.

  “We both broke our promises to each other.”

  “You were working. I don’t have that excuse. I don’t have any excuse. I—”

  Before I can say another word, Wes’ mouth is on mine, his kiss tender, sweet, familiar, like coming home after being gone for months. Unsure what to do, I stiffen. I expected Wes would never want to see me again after I told him I’d been fooling around with Drew. I certainly didn’t expect him to shoulder the blame of my indiscretions on himself, to be so compassionate…to be kissing me.

  “I forgive you,” he murmurs against my lips. “Now, I’m begging you to forgive me.”

  I reel back, speechless by this turn of events. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Yes, I have.” He grips my cheeks, his voice intense. “Nothing you say will convince me otherwise. I can stand here and pretend to be hurt, and maybe I am a little, but I can’t pretend I’ve been good to you, because I haven’t. Maybe this was the wake-up call I needed to see what I would lose if I didn’t learn to balance my career with my family. So if you’ll still have me…” He releases his hold on me and pulls the ring box out of his pocket, opening it. “I’d like to be your family. And I’d like you to be mine.”

  I shake my head, having difficulty processing how Wes could be so even-tempered about this situation. “Wes, I—”

  “We don’t have to get married right away. Like I said before I left, maybe rushing things wasn’t the best idea. I was so excited for you be my wife, I wanted it to happen as soon as possible.” He pauses, his lips curving into a smile. “And I kind of liked the idea of your doctoral diploma saying Brooklyn Rose Bradford. But if you’d feel more comfortable with a long engagement, I’m happy to give that to you, too. I’ll give you anything you need. Just… Let’s go back to the start.”

  Those words knock the air out of me, leaving me stunned, mute, breathless. Just a few words and I’m transported back to my teenage years, to the most popular guy in school begging me to give him a second chance, one I never should have given him. No matter how many times a snake sheds its skin, it will always be a snake.

  I remain lost in my past, wishing I’d chosen a different path. Wishing I never got into Drew’s car that night he rolled up as I walked home from the movie theater. Wishing I never went to Brody Carmichael’s party at the end of that summer. Wishing I never heard the name Andrew Brinks.

  The warmth of Wes’ lips on mine snaps me out of my memories. I blink, unsure what’s happening, why he’s sliding the ring back onto my finger. But I’m too broken, too defeated, too tired to question it, to question him.

  Love has beaten the fight out of me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Drew

  Two weeks. Two long, agonizing weeks of pleading, begging, wallowing. The only thing keeping me from having a complete breakdown at the lack of contact from Brooklyn has been my daughters and doing everything to protect them from what Carla and Skylar have done.

  In all the drama surrounding Brooklyn’s attack, I somehow had the wherewithal to send Alice the voice recording I’d made of Skylar’s confession. She reached out to Carla’s lawyer to see if he had any knowledge of what Skylar alleged, only to learn he’s no longer representing Carla, that she retained new counsel. It feels like for every step forward, we’re forced two steps back. This time, I’m not going to agree to anything without a judge telling me I have to. I can feel good about that, at least. That still doesn’t help me with Brooklyn.

  I’ve tried to talk to her every day. I’ve called, texted, and even stopped by her place and Wes’, unsure what her status is. She’s yet to answer her phone or open the door for me. My luck was no better when I dropped by her office. They informed me she was on a leave of absence until further notice, which I expected.

  Molly’s tried to find out if she’s still with Wes, but Brooklyn hasn’t returned any of her phone calls, either. She’s shut out all of us, and for what? Because she’s worried we might talk some sense into her? That doesn’t sound like the Brooklyn I know. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn her father’s controlling her communication with us, considering he turned away Molly and Gigi when they tried to visit her in the hospital.

  Refusing to settle for the silent treatment any longer, after walking the girls to school on a Tuesday in June, I decide to drive to her place in Medford. Her street is quiet as I head up the walkway and climb the steps to her small porch, waving at a neighbor I’ve
seen occasionally. I reach into my pocket and retrieve the key, inserting it into the lock. I’d tried to be respectful of her space over the past several weeks, not wanting to barge in on her, but that time has passed. It’s time I get answers. Time I hear her tell me she wants nothing to do with me.

  When I push the door open, I fully expect to be met with Brooklyn’s heated glare as she berates me for letting myself in without knocking. Instead, I’m met with emptiness. No furniture, art, life…anything.

  Turning a slow circle, I stare at the empty walls that were once covered with framed prints and photos. The only sign that Brooklyn once lived here is the dust outline from where the frames once hung. I blink, my heart pounding in my chest at what this could mean. Did she pack her things and leave town? Or did she move out of her house because of a different reason?

  I continue into the townhouse that once smelled of lavender and baby powder but now reeks of cleaning supplies and chemicals, searching for any clue. Just like the living room, every room I walk into is empty…except her bedroom.

  Boxes are stacked against the far wall, all labeled — donate, destroy, storage…Wes.

  Wes.

  My heart shatters in my chest, my lungs unable to expand and draw in oxygen. I don’t want to believe it, don’t want to admit what my eyes are seeing, that this makes it appear as if she’s moved in with him.

  I walk toward the boxes, a morbid curiosity brewing inside me. A voice in the back of my mind tells me to walk away, but something else pushes me forward, wanting to confirm my suspicions. Any number of these boxes can hold what I’m looking for, but one calls to me more than the others. Grabbing one of the boxes labeled destroy, I bring it to the center of the room and place it on the floor.

  I lower myself beside it, the seconds stretching as I lift the lid. When my gaze settles on the contents, I close my eyes, the lump in my throat becoming even more painful. I reach into the box and grab two pieces of a ripped photo, one that Brooklyn once displayed prominently in her home but now discards, along with the rest of this box of memories I hold dear.

  I connect the pieces, staring at a faded photo of us from our last summer before I left for college. The first time I saw it, I couldn’t hide my surprise, not realizing Molly had taken our photo. From an outsider’s perspective, it was just two lifelong friends staring out at the ocean. But it was more than that. My arm is draped along Brooklyn’s shoulders, my chin resting on the top of her head, my expression heavy with contemplation. I can almost feel the sun on my skin, the salty sea air blowing around me, the softness of Brooklyn’s hair—

  “Holy shit!” a voice exclaims, startling me.

  I whip my head up, staring at an equally surprised Ana standing in the doorway, her hand over her chest, gray eyes wide. I scramble to my feet, uncertain how to explain my presence in Brooklyn’s bedroom to the woman dating her father.

  “Ana. I’m sorry. I know this looks bad…”

  She blows out a breath, then smiles, walking toward me. “Relax,” she assures me, placing a hand on my bicep. “It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting to walk in on anyone.” She pulls away, analyzing me. “Actually, I was wondering how many more times you were going to stop by here before you just barged in.” She smirks, then her light expression falters, her gaze darting to the boxes.

  “She’s still with him?”

  She closes her eyes, pinching her lips together as she nods. In that one gesture I can see she’s not happy about it. “She is.”

  “The wedding?” I ask, unsure I want to hear the response.

  “Proceeding as planned.”

  My shoulders fall as I shake my head, my heart heavy.

  “I’ll tell you one thing. That girl is stubborn. Gets it from her father.”

  I roll my eyes, the mere mention of that man making my stomach tense.

  “He means well,” she says.

  I narrow my gaze on her, my brow creasing. Her words are laced with a thousand possible meanings, piquing my curiosity. “What do you—”

  “Reece.” She pulls her short blonde hair into a small ponytail at the nape of her neck. “He’s…protective.”

  I snort out a laugh. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “He’s a good man, albeit misguided.” She meets my eyes, then adds, “Just like Brooklyn.”

  My pulse quickens, her words giving me the hope I’ve been searching for since I was escorted out of the hospital by Mr. Tanner. I thought her father was my last chance of clearing up the misunderstanding of our youth. Maybe I was wrong. Gigi always says, “You get to the man through the woman in their lives.” Maybe Ana can help me get through to Mr. Tanner.

  “You think she’s misguided?”

  She ponders my question for a moment, her arms crossed over her stomach, then nods. “I think she’s confused. I think she’s so tired of having her heart broken that she’s done fighting. She doesn’t smile anymore. There’s no life in her eyes, like she’s—”

  “Dead inside,” I finish.

  “Exactly.”

  I pull my lips between my teeth, unsure what to say, unsure what Ana knows about my relationship with Brooklyn, both past and present. I want to shout that I’ll mend her heart if she’d just give me the chance. Instead, I remain mute, allowing Ana to continue.

  “Little does she realize the person responsible for all that heartache is the man who brought her into this world.”

  My eyes widen, my breath catching as those words linger in the air between us. They could mean so many different things, but I know that’s not the case. Not now. Not here. Not after everything.

  “You know?” My chest rises and falls in a quicker pattern, desperate for confirmation.

  She studies me a moment, then nods. “Reece told me the night Brooklyn was attacked. He was torn. Still is. I think a part of him wants to believe Brooklyn will be happy with Wes. That by keeping you from her, it will bury whatever happened in the past.”

  “And the other part?”

  She inhales a deep breath, her brows furrowed in concentration. “I think the other part of him is petrified of losing the last piece of his wife he has left.” A small smile forms on her lips. “It’s hard to understand if you haven’t experienced the loss of a spouse. It changes you, makes you do things you never thought you would. You cling to every last memory you possibly can, often at the detriment of everything else. And you’ll do everything to protect that memory. In Reece’s eyes, Brooklyn is that last memory. He’s spent the past few decades of his life clinging to it, protecting it, refusing to let go.”

  “So he’d rather watch her marry a man she doesn’t love than tell her the truth?”

  She ponders my question for a moment. “I think he’ll do whatever’s necessary to ensure his daughter’s happiness.”

  “Except tell her the truth.”

  She shrugs. “In his mind, I think he truly believes that Wes does make her happy, that he’ll love and cherish her for the rest of his life. You have to admit, your track record doesn’t exactly help your case.”

  “But I told him how much I love her!” I interrupt, throwing up my hands in frustration, tugging on my hair. “When he kicked me out of the hospital room and I begged him to come clean, I—”

  “But have you ever shown her?”

  I open my mouth, about to protest and argue I have, but not a single instance comes to mind, even though I can list dozens of occurrences that demonstrate how much she loves me. How she didn’t even hesitate to help me with the custody request. How she selflessly agreed to be at my side when I shared the news with the girls. How she stayed with me that night because she knew I was hurting and needed comfort. I always thought it was just in Brooklyn’s nature to put other people’s needs ahead of her own and that’s why she always did these things for me. But that’s not it at all. Every decision she’s made is because she loves me. And how did I return that love? By putting her in harm’s way.

  “Sometimes it’s better to show someone our hearts,
our feelings, with actions rather than words,” Ana’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “If you want to win her heart, you need to put yours out there, too. If you do that, I have a feeling you’ll get the girl.”

  She heads toward the far wall and grabs one of the boxes, then passes me, about to disappear down the hallway.

  “How do you know?” I ask, snapping out of my stupor.

  The corners of her lips lift slightly, a knowing smirk crossing her mouth. “Want to know what song she’s been listening to every time I’ve stopped by to check on her?”

  “What’s that?”

  Her eyes brighten. “‘Crash Into Me’. Something tells me it’s not a coincidence, that it has something to do with you. Am I right?” She arches a brow.

  I run a finger over my lips, the ghost of her mouth on mine making them tingle. “It was the song playing the first time I kissed her before I left for college.”

  “There’s a part of her that hasn’t let go of you yet. You need to do something to bring that part of her back.”

  She allows her words to sink in, then turns, continuing down the stairs.

  I process what she said, my mind racing, then run after her. “Ana!”

  She stops, leaning against the doorjamb, about to step onto the porch, a brow cocked.

  “Think you can do me a favor?”

  A sly grin crosses her mouth. “If it involves snapping that girl out of this funk, I’ll do anything.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Brooklyn

  I stand on the pedestal in the fitting room of the boutique, staring at my reflection as I’m adorned in the wedding dress of my dreams, feeling like I’m watching a movie of someone else’s life. That’s how everything’s been lately. Like I’m simply going through the motions, doing what’s expected of me. No protest. No arguments. No life. I’m on an out-of-control freight train, too scared to jump off. Or maybe I just don’t care anymore.