The Sinclair Heir

by Scott, Eliot

  At first, Emily doesn’t understand. She tells her mommy that people shouldn’t lie. And she cries about it, which makes Jojo cry too, and shield Emily back into her hug.

  I ask Emily to lie for us. That seems to help her understand, either that or she’s so afraid that she’s willing to accept anything we tell her now, as long as it doesn’t come with sheer terror and cruelty.

  Still, it makes me sad that we’re asking Emily to lie for us. Lying—it’s a very Sinclair thing to do…to make a child lie. I vow that it will be her only lie, and I pray harder than I’ve ever prayed that she can forget this day. Forget the crazy old man she met here in this place turned to ashes.

  Mother clutches at me, shaking like she’s going to pass out, and I cling to her in return, because I know I’m eventually going to pass out too. As the boat turns, we find we’re both staring at my father’s legs. We’re both watching his body burn.

  Somehow, she and I go to a new place together in that moment. Maybe we stare to be sure. Because we both have this feeling Father’s going to stand up and start swimming after us.

  But he doesn’t.

  Epilogue

  Jojo, Present Day.

  “Tell me again, Mommy. Tell me the story of how beautiful your mommy—my Grandma Ann was.”

  “As beautiful as you are,” I say.

  “Tell me how I have Grandma Ann’s hair, and Nana’s and Daddy’s eyes. I like that part.”

  “Okay. Come here—snuggle in.”

  Emily’s tiny hands wrap around my arms as she works her way up into my lap on our bed. She has trouble sleeping alone in her room at night, so Alex and I have gotten used to welcoming her into our room about an hour after tucking her in.

  It was hard to feel at home in the lake house after the fire. So much of the forest is gone, and the landscape has changed forever. It’s more than the marred hillsides and charred tree stumps, though. It’s the ghosts that make it hard.

  Alex offered to get rid of the house, or to give it to May and just let her live here. But I can’t give this place up without a fight, even if it’s a fight with our demons. As terrible as the end was here, the rest of the stories that make up this house—this lake and the land—are our very core.

  I doubt I will ever be able to look over the water without thinking about my aunt and Walt. They lost their lives to the feud. But Alex built the most beautiful bench under my favorite tree, and he dedicated it to them. It looks toward the sunrise. He said that’s because we are in a new day, and he knows I’ll need the reminder of where we’re headed—always forward, never back. One day I truly believe this place will be nothing but joy in our eyes, and I want to be able to hand it down the line to the Wallace-Sinclairs of the future. We changed the story of this place—we gave the feud an end.

  “Well, the rumor was that when your Grandma Ann walked into high school on the very first day, no less than a dozen boys asked her to be their girlfriend.”

  Emily giggles because right now boys are gross to her. That will change for her one day, and I hope it’s far in the future.

  “How many is a dozen? Like…a hundred?” she asks.

  Alex chuckles and throws his arms around both of us, rolling us back into the pillows and against his chest.

  “Something like that,” he hums, running his fingers through our daughter’s silky hair.

  Emily’s mouth stretches wide into a yawn, and her fist comes up to twist in her sleepy, puffy eyes. I make eye contact with my husband and hold my finger to my lips, encouraging him to keep brushing her hair with his hand until he can lull her to sleep. It doesn’t take long before her mouth is making the soft wheezing sound that we have learned is the sign that it’s okay to whisper.

  “She made it over an hour tonight,” Alex says.

  I smile on one side of my mouth.

  “She’ll get there. We all will.” I let my head sink into the pillow as I scoot my leg and arm out from under Emily. Alex does the same so we’re looking into each other’s eyes while our little girl sleeps between us.

  “I don’t really mind having her here, honestly. I kinda like it.” His crooked, goofy smile is all I ever dreamed of. He loves Emily so very much, just as I always knew he would.

  “Yeah…but it makes it kinda hard to…ya know,” I tease with a wink.

  Alex sighs.

  “Twenty-seven days and counting,” he lets out in a whispered groan.

  I laugh because that’s a lie.

  “You mean this morning doesn’t count?” I challenge him.

  “I’m just talking about nighttime sex. Morning sex is a totally different thing,” he jokes.

  I roll to my back and laugh a little harder, covering my mouth to not make a sound. I turn to the side again when I’m composed.

  “You’re a devilish thing, you know that?”

  His eyes haze and one of his brows lifts to taunt me. I blink slowly in return and let my lips curl more, getting lost in his gaze while his eyes grow softer and he studies me. It gets silent for a while after that, nothing but our connected thoughts and stares appreciating what we are to one another. And we are so much.

  We don’t talk about it often, the moment I thought Alex was dead. It’s hard for me speak about it because the feels are still so raw and real. My thoughts get tangled and the memories distort because for a small moment, despite how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise and hold onto hope, I was sure Alex was dead.

  Even though I wasn’t there when the penthouse exploded, I can see it happening when I close my eyes, and my nightmares area always one of two horrible things. Either Alex is leaping from the window up above just before the bomb goes off, dying a fiery death as he falls to the ground, or he’s dying at the hands of his father, his face turning blue as his father’s giant hands choke the life out of him.

  Neither of those things really happened. That’s what the therapist is helping me learn to believe. But the nightmares show up anyhow. When I wake screaming, though—Alex, he’s always there.

  I hold onto the feeling of his heartbeat, flattening my palm on his chest so I can feel him breathe and know he’s full of life. Touching, it turns out, is one of the best forms of therapy for me, according to my therapist. Alex took that little bit of information quite literally, and he’s not shy about touching me everywhere, but he’s also always aware. He doesn’t want me to ever feel like I’m being coerced or taken advantage of.

  “You will always feel safe, and you are always in charge,” he says every time.

  He does make me feel safe. He always did, though. Even at our worst—at his worst—deep down I always knew he was my Alex, and whatever he did, he did it for me—for love.

  “I love you, you know,” I breathe out, lost in his tired eyes. They brighten at my voice and he hums.

  “You may be the only one, but that’s enough,” he says back.

  I give him a wry grin and glance down at Emily.

  “All right, maybe two of you,” he chuckles. His eyes settle in, lids heavy and heart full. He reaches over our daughter and runs his fingertips along my cheek, brushing back a strand of hair before moving his hand to my lips, grazing them with his knuckles. I kiss them as they pass and close my eyes wanting this to be the last thing I see. I want to paint my dreams with this vision right here.

  “I love you too, Jojo. More than the sun.”

  THE END

  Acknowledgments

  We hope you enjoyed this journey. These characters consumed us, as did the feud they survived. This story was all about the old-school romance vibes, and we hope you felt them. We’d be honored by your reviews and recommendations. And we’re looking forward to making more magic together for you!

  Thank you from the bottoms of our hearts to everyone who has ever lifted us up as authors, and who roots us on as a duo now. Our words would languish and our dreams would never get the chance to fly without you. This romance community is nothing short of awesome, and we are two lucky fish who get to swim in th
is amazing ocean. Tina Scott, Editing Addict, Autumn and Wordsmith Publicity, Kika MacFarlane, readers, bloggers, shouters, cheerleaders, friends—this list is endless and our love for you is just as bottomless.

  Lastly, we said this in book 1, and it stands true for book 2. This is partly also dedicated to each other. To Annie from Ginger and to Ginger from Annie—loved every minute of this.

  More than the sun…

  About the Author

  Eliot Scott is the love child of bestselling authors Anne Eliot and Ginger Scott. You can find them at www.AnneEliot.com and www.authorgingerscott.com.

  For updates on Eliot Scott projects, be sure to follow us at www.facebook.com/AuthorEliotScott.