It had been very hard for her to leave that shower.
And even harder to put on her business suit and prepare to leave his arms for a day in Portland.
"Why don't I come with you?" he suggested. "I'm a great negotiator. We could have lunch on the pier and—"
"No." She rested her cheek against his chest. "I have to do this myself."
"Why? Why stand alone when you don't have to?"
She closed her eyes and inhaled the musky scent that was so Griffin. "Because I can't forget how to manage my life on my own."
He said nothing, but his arms tightened around her.
His phone rang, and he stiffened but he didn't answer it.
"You should get it." She pulled away. "Maybe it's Brooke. I have to go anyway."
He tugged her against him and fished his phone out of his pocket. She saw it was a man named Phillip Schnur. Griffin swore and shoved the phone back in his pocket. "My business partner. We're working on something."
Clare stiffened at the sudden tension in his body, the evasion in his gaze. "What?"
He finally met her gaze. "Nothing yet. I'll fill you in tonight."
She hesitated, knowing he wasn't telling the truth, but not sure she could handle pressing him on it. She was already too tense about today. "You'll be here when I get back?"
"Yes, of course." But he was distracted, and she could tell he was already thinking about whatever Phillip wanted to discuss with him.
She clasped his chin and forced him to look at her. "Last time you promised, you weren't here." She held up her hand over his protest. "I just need to know what to expect. If you won't be here, tell me."
He caught her hand and kissed her palm. "I'll be here tonight," he said fiercely. "I swear it."
"Okay." She accepted his truth, but when he grabbed her and kissed her again, the kiss was off. It was tense.
It wasn't right.
Not anymore.
Something was about to go terribly, terribly wrong.
Griffin leaned against the door frame, watching Clare drive away.
She paused at the end of the driveway and waved. She looked so small and vulnerable in her well-worn Subaru with one hundred and fifty thousand miles on the odometer. Protectiveness welled inside him and he jumped down off the porch. "Take my truck," he called out, beckoning for her to come back, wanting her in his safe, new vehicle.
But she just waved back and then pulled out of the driveway, and all he could do was watch the taillights disappear around the corner.
He knew she'd sensed his tension. Her face had been pinched and vulnerable when she'd said good-bye, and he knew it was his fault. He should have told her the deal was close. She deserved to know.
He grabbed his phone and called her, but it went right into voicemail. "Come on, Clare," he muttered. "Turn on your phone." He tried again, but no response. She was going to drive all the way into the city without him being able to check up on her? No way. Unacceptable.
Screw it. He was going after her.
He grabbed his keys from the front hall table and sprinted out the door. He yanked open the door to his truck, jumped in and revved the engine. He shifted into reverse—
His phone rang.
He answered it instantly. "Clare? I'm so glad you called, I—"
"We got the deal," Phillip crowed. "We got the deal!"
Griffin froze. "We did?"
"Yes! But we have to close quickly. Turns out, they're expecting a baby and they want to buy a house, and they need the cash. Tomorrow morning, my man. Tomorrow morning!"
Griffin sank back in his seat, staring blankly out the windshield. "Tomorrow?"
"Nine in the morning, partner. At nine-fifteen, the proverbial keys are ours and we get to work. Hot damn! This is fantastic! They didn't even counteroffer! You impressed the hell out of them. They loved you, man." Phillip whooped again. "Let's go get drunk. It's our last day of freedom, Griff."
His last day of freedom.
Griffin let his head fall back against the seat. "I don't know if I can wrap things up here by then. Can we move it out a couple of days?"
"No, we can't, and why the hell would we want to? This is it. It's what we've been building for. I'm going to go get drunk. Congrats, man! I'll have the papers sent to you this afternoon for proofing, and then we'll be good to go in the morning." Phillip let out another roar. "Go get your daughter and come on home, big guy. Life has just begun. Hot damn!" He hung up the phone without another word.
Griffin dropped the phone on the passenger seat.
This was it. They'd done it. They'd reached the pinnacle. By the time they finished with In Your Face, he'd have more money than God, and more fame, too. And most importantly, he would have a way to connect with Brooke.
It was everything he wanted.
Everything.
He looked at the red farmhouse in front of him, and knew it wasn't entirely true.
If only he wasn't who he was. If only Clare didn't have her past. If only there was a way to bridge the gap. But he wouldn't ask that of her. He wouldn't put her through what she'd gone through again.
He wouldn't make her love a man who wouldn't be there for her.
He had to let her go.
And it would be tonight.
He would wait for her to come home, and then he would leave.
Forever.
Griffin didn't bother with the front steps or the doorbell when he drove up to his daughter's house an hour later.
He just parked his truck in the driveway of the small colonial in River Junction, and he strode around to the rear of the house. As he'd suspected, given the trusting nature of people in Maine, the back door was unlocked, just like at Clare's house.
He didn't knock.
He didn't announce his presence.
He just walked into the house that he wasn't welcome in.
Right into that faded, undersized kitchen, which was hosting the family of five for breakfast.
Their shock was so vivid he almost laughed.
Dan was the first to react, and he rose to his feet with impressive speed for a lumbering beast of a man. "Get out of my kitchen."
Griffin ignored him, he ignored Hillary and he blew off the twins. He just strode across the kitchen to his daughter, who was staring at him as if he'd gone insane.
He grabbed Burwell's abandoned chair and pulled it up next to Brooke. He took his daughter's hand, and was pleased that she was still too startled to pull away. "Here's the deal, Brookie."
"Get out of here," Burwell said, his hand coming down hard on Griffin's shoulder. "Leave her alone."
Griffin gave a hard look to both Hillary and Dan. "My divorce agreement gives me rights to my daughter, and I'll sue both of you for violation of it if you try to keep me away from her." He let his fury show in his face. "I'll strip you of every asset you have, and I'll keep you in court until you don't have a cent left, or the rights to even breathe around her if you don't back off right now."
Hillary's mouth opened in stunned surprise.
Burwell scoffed. "You don't scare me—"
"No." Hillary touched her husband's arm. "He's not bluffing. Let him talk to her."
Damn right he wasn't bluffing. He was tired of playing games, and he was taking control now.
He didn't bother to see how long it took for Hillary to knock some sense into her husband. He just turned back to his daughter, who now looked pissed. "Don't threaten them," she said hotly.
"Do you know the company In Your Face?"
Brooke blinked. "Of course I do." She pointed to her pants, and Griffin saw the familiar logo on her right hip."
"I'm buying it tomorrow."
Brooke's eyes widened. "What? Seriously?"
"Yeah." Griffin leaned forward and squeezed his daughter's hand. "The designers plan to create a new line called Brooke's Closet, designed by you, with their help."
Brooke stared at him. "You're kidding?"
He grinned. "They and I think that having a
fifteen year old on board gives legitimacy to the brand." He laughed. "Heck knows, I'm not legit when it comes to teen fashion."
"Wait a sec." Brooke's face was flushed with excitement. "I'm going to design a line of clothing for In Your Face? With my name on it?"
"And you'll do some commercials, so that the kids can see that there's someone on the inside who knows what they need."
"Oh my God!" Brooke screamed and threw her arms around him. "That's so awesome! Wow!" She whirled around and raced over to Hillary. "Did you hear that? In Your Face! My friends will go crazy!"
Griffin leaned back in his chair, grinning as he watched his daughter's excitement. Relief cascaded through him. He'd done it. He'd really done it.
"Griffin?"
He looked over at Hillary, not bothering to keep the smug look off his face. "Yeah?"
"Where is this company located?"
"Boston."
"Boston." Hillary cocked her head. "And are you moving it up here?"
"No, of course not. It would be impossible. Too many moving parts."
Brooke stopped dancing and turned to look at him. "I would have to move to Boston?"
Griffin's exhilaration faded, replaced with a rising sense of unease. "I've kept your room exactly as it was," he reassured her. "We'll get you a new computer with design capability, so you can start to work on designs and—"
"And what will your hours be?" Hillary asked. "Will you be home at three when she gets out of school?"
Griffin shifted. "I'll try when I can. Brookie can come to the office after school and work with the designers—"
"You want a fifteen-year-old girl to go to your office every day and work?" Hillary asked.
Brooke was standing very quietly beside her mother, saying nothing.
"It's not work," Griffin said. "It's In Your Face. It's living a dream, for both of us."
"Whose dream?" Hillary put her arm around Brooke's shoulders. "Brooke loves her family, Griffin. She can't replace that with an office or a commercial. Your dream is not hers."
Panic began to hammer in Griffin's chest as he turned to Brooke. "I'm buying it for you," he said.
"I don't want to move back to Boston," Brooke said in a small voice.
"Oh, come on, Brookie." Desperation ripped through him and he dropped to his knees in front of her. "Don't do this to me. I'm doing everything I can for you. I don't know what else to do. You're my daughter. I miss you. I need you to come home."
Brooke looked away and folded her arms over her chest.
"Brooke!" He felt like his soul was breaking, like everything that mattered to him was slipping out of his reach. "For God's sake, tell me what to do. Tell me how to get you back. I'm sorry for whatever I did. I am. But when you walked out on me, I thought my soul was going to die right there."
Brooke bit her lip, and tears shone in her eyes. Son of a bitch. She was going to say yes, wasn't she? Joy leapt in his chest and—
She turned and walked toward the hallway.
"Wait!" He lunged after her and caught her arm. "I love you, Brookie. Don't you understand? I love you."
Brooke looked sharply at him as Hillary sucked in her breath.
"Brooke." He felt like the word was going to break him in half. "I love you. I can't lose you like this. Tell me what to do."
Tears were streaming down Brooke's cheeks, and her hands were shaking. "You want to know what to do?"
"Yes, God, yes."
"Let me change my name to Burwell."
Griffin felt like a knife had just cleaved his heart in half. "But why?"
"Because this is my family! Everyone is here at breakfast and dinner. They come to my games. They know my friends' parents. They love me just for being me!"
"But I love you—"
"No. You don't," Brooke said fiercely. "You don't even understand what love is! Just let me change my name and leave me alone!" Then she ran out of the room, sprinted up the stairs, and he heard her door slam.
Griffin bowed his head and closed his eyes, fighting against pain so deep he felt he would never breathe again.
Hillary touched his shoulder gently. "I'm sorry, Griffin."
He summoned his breath and turned to face her. He saw the genuine sorrow in her eyes, and realized it hadn't been her words coming out of Brooke's mouth. Brooke had been speaking with her own heart. "You didn't try to get her to hate me, did you?"
Hillary shook her head. "I wanted you to be her father, Griffin. The pain of not having you in her life has been great. I wanted her to have it all."
He nodded. "Whose idea was it to change her last name?"
Hillary met his gaze, and her face was softer than he'd ever seen. "Hers, Griffin. We had nothing to do with it."
He nodded. "Okay."
Hillary frowned. "Okay, what?"
"She can change her name." His voice started to crack, and he took a breath. "I'll give her the family she wants." His throat got tighter, and he knew he had to leave. "Send the paperwork to my office. I'll give my consent."
Then he turned and walked out, past Burwell, that big ass mountain man with a beard, a baby in each arm, and a pair of jeans off the rack. But he had something that Griffin didn't have.
He had Brooke's heart.
Son of a bitch.
By the time Griffin reached his truck, he was crying.
He could barely see to maneuver out into the road, and he pulled into the first dirt road he found. And there, in his ridiculous truck, he finally grieved for the family he had lost.
And there, in that ridiculous truck, he experienced pain beyond what he'd ever felt in his life.
And there, in that ridiculous truck, he made his choice.
Chapter 23
The faint shreds of hope that Clare had been clinging to were finally gone. Totally and completely destroyed.
As she drove around the corner onto her street, she glanced down at the tan envelope on the seat beside her. The one that contained the settlement agreement she had signed two hours ago. The risk of a prolonged lawsuit was over, but she'd had to agree to more than she could afford to stop the nightmare.
No new roof.
No MIT this summer.
And no cupcake store.
There was nothing left of the fifteen years she'd given to her work, to her life, to her daughter's future. After all that, she was left with no savings, nothing to fall back on, no safety net. Nothing for her daughter. She'd failed them both.
She'd failed.
Clare pulled into the driveway and parked beside Griffin's truck. It was dark out, and the lights in the house were off. No one welcoming her home. Just an empty house.
Tears suddenly burst free and she hit the steering wheel with her fist. It wasn't fair! After working so hard to build a life for herself and Katie, paying off loans, working at a job that she really didn't like, she'd lost it all. In one minute, a group of undeserving heirs had stripped her of everything she'd accomplished.
What else was she supposed to do to get it right? How many times was she supposed to pick herself back up and pretend she could soldier on? She didn't want to live this life anymore. She stared at the dark house. How could she go back in there? Sleep alone after Griffin had shown her what it felt like to have someone she loved hold her all night? Go back to her office after her imagination had envisioned that cupcake store? Harden her heart after Griffin had opened it?
She didn't want to go back, and yet, here she was, not just returning to the life she'd had, but to an even worse one. No money. No nest egg. No options. "Dammit!"
The door to Griffin's truck opened, and she realized he'd been sitting inside his cab the whole time. Relief flooded her at the sight of him. She needed him now, more than anything. She pushed open her door and raced around her car. "Griffin—" She threw her arms around him and buried herself in his bulk. "Hold me," she whispered. "Just hold me."
But he didn't.
He stood there stiffly, his body rigid, his hands by his sides.
> Clare slowly pulled back. "Griffin?"
"I'm going back to Boston tonight." His face was hard as he gestured at his truck, and she saw his suitcases on the back seat. "I'm leaving."
Her stomach dropped, and her hands started to shake. "So soon? But why—"
"I sign the papers on my new company tomorrow at nine," he said, his voice still so harsh and unyielding. He was nothing like the man she knew. There was nothing soft and warm about him. Just emotionless and stoic. Cold, even. "Back to work at nine-fifteen."
"But what about Brooke?" This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not in this way. Why was he so angry? What had happened to him while she'd been in Portland? She knew it must have been terrible, to make him so cold and furious. "Did something happen with your daughter?"
He said nothing.
Oh, it had. No wonder he was so upset! "Don't give up on her. She loves you—"
"She's staying here. She doesn't want to come." He raised his chin, shutting down the slight tremor in his voice. "I'm letting her go."
"No." She grabbed his arms. "She's fifteen! She doesn't know what she wants. You're the grown up. Don't let her—"
"Stop it!" He knocked her hands away. "Give it up, Clare! I'm not some doting father. I never will be. I work. I make money. That's what I do, and I'm a stupid fool for thinking that fits with a daughter or family."
"But you love her!" And me? What about me? Don't you love me? But she couldn't ask those questions. Not now. Not to the man in front of her, who was acting like the cold, emotionless man Hillary had accused him of being.
"Let it go, Clare," he growled. "Stop trying to make me into something I'm not." He glared at her. "You tried to convince me that I was something else, and I'm not. So back off, and let me go be who I am."
"You're not cold," she said urgently. "You have a good heart. It doesn't need to be like this—"
"No," he interrupted. "Don't try to make me into something that I'm not just because you don't want to be alone anymore."
She gaped at him. "What? I'm not doing that—"
"You tried to make Ed into something he wasn't, and you tried to convince me of the same. Well, give it up. Pick a man who is actually what you want, and stop trying to change the others."
Unexpectedly Mine (Birch Crossing Book 1) Page 27
