by Alisha Rai
Livvy lifted her head at the unexpectedly bloodthirsty relish in her aunt’s voice. “I never wanted him to know. It makes me look so weak.”
“Olivia.”
Livvy straightened at her aunt’s stern tone. “Yes?”
“You were hurt. It’s not a weakness to love someone like that. It’s not a weakness to be in pain when that love is ripped away from you.”
“It’s not exactly strength to fall apart when a man dumps you.” And that was how Jackson, and probably Nicholas, had seen the episode.
“Says who?”
“Says everyone.” Strength was soldiering on, with or without a man. Strength was being invulnerable.
“Oh, is that right?” Maile straightened, her nostrils flaring. “Who did the heavy lifting in yours and Nicholas’s relationship, Livvy?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, you were the one who made sure his needs were being met.”
“He met my needs too,” she felt compelled to say.
“Yes, fine. But it was you who said ‘I love you’ first, I bet. You who coaxed him into asking you out. You who kept your sadness a secret from him at the end, partly out of pride, but probably also because you didn’t want him to be hurt.” Maile grimaced. “Society tells women that they have to be responsible for the emotional health of their relationships and then tells them they’re weak for feeling emotions. What kind of message is that? Nicholas was part of your world, and up until the end was a good, dependable part of it. Why shouldn’t you have grieved when you lost him?”
“Because . . .”
Maile tapped her under her chin. “Do you know what I remember during that time? I remember you curling up next to me at your father’s funeral after I read his eulogy and holding my hand. I remember you getting out of bed when Jackson was arrested and helping me find an attorney for him. I remember you packing up your things in one duffel bag and leaving for a new city where you knew no one. If you fear you aren’t strong, put those fears to rest.”
She swallowed. “Some nights I cried so hard for Nico I physically hurt.”
“So?” Maile made a dismissive noise. “Strength isn’t about how much you cry or the bad nights you might have. Strength is here.” She tapped Livvy’s forehead. “And here.” She poked a blunt finger into Livvy’s chest. “You can be strong and have moments of incredible despair, when everything feels like it’s collapsing in on you, and yes, when you feel like you want to die. Those moments are not weaknesses. They are simply moments. And they are not you.”
Maile spoke with such certainty, the tiny, defenseless part of her bleating how she was dumb and silly was momentarily silenced. Livvy brushed at her cheeks. “Okay.”
“Livvy, you are sweet and rebellious and talented and soft-hearted and mouthy. You have had to endure a number of tragedies in your short life, and you still put one foot in front of another. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Cut yourself some slack.”
Her fingers trembled. I deserve compassion. “I’ll try.”
“Don’t try. Do.”
Livvy nodded. It was hard after so many years of berating herself for every emotion she’d ever had.
Maile was right. That needed to stop. “It’s late,” she finally managed. “We should go to bed.”
“Go on, then.” Maile gave her another sweet smile, her round cheeks creasing. “I have to finish this row, and then I’ll be up.”
Livvy headed for the stairs, but then made a detour around the corner to her mother’s room. She was surprised to find a faint light coming from under the doorway. She hesitated for a second, then knocked. She pushed the door open after her mother’s muffled acknowledgment. Tani sat in the armchair next to the bed, watching the large flat screen on the wall. “Mom? Why are you awake?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Her mother’s voice was gruff. “You’re coming in late.”
Livvy raised an eyebrow. Tani hadn’t said anything before about when Livvy got home. Livvy ran her hand over the edge of the door. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me. You’re an adult.”
She wanted to have to apologize to her mother. Perhaps you shouldn’t come home for a few weeks and expect your relationship with your mother to be magically fixed.
Humans were complicated. Parents especially so. She glanced around the dark room. “How about tomorrow we go shopping for something to brighten this room up?”
Tani looked away from the T.V. She appeared especially small in the chair, her walker by her side. “You don’t like the room?”
“I mean, it’s not—” Livvy cut herself off, not eager to have any more emotional conversations tonight.
If her mother hadn’t opened up to her about mental health before, she definitely wasn’t going to do it now.
“Not what?” Tani asked.
“It’s not what we used to have.”
“What do you mean?”
“At our old house.”
“Of course it’s not.” Tani stared at Livvy like she was a simpleton. “Because it’s not the same house.”
“I’m not talking about just the house. You decorated so nicely back then.”
“Your father cared about all of that. Not me.”
She raised an eyebrow, not only at the words, but also at her mother even bringing up her late father. “Dad made you do all of that?”
“He didn’t make me. I wanted him to be happy,” Tani said stiffly. “I enjoyed him enjoying it.”
Livvy nodded, mildly disturbed. How much of her parental dynamics had she missed when she was young? “Oh. Well. I’ll let you sleep.”
Livvy turned to leave, but then she noted the sketchpad on her mother’s nightstand. She was too far away to see what she’d drawn in it, but the pad was open, suggesting use. “Have you used the charcoal I got you?”
Her mother glanced at her hands. “I did.”
“What other stuff do you like to use?” She made her tone brisk and matter-of-fact.
Her mother looked like she wasn’t going to respond, but then she shrugged. “Watercolors.”
“I’ll get you some while I’m out tomorrow.”
Tani pursed her lips. “That may be nice.” She picked up the remote.
Livvy started to back out, but Tani continued speaking. “I heard you with Maile.”
Livvy stopped, her blood freezing, and turned back to her mother.
Tani nodded. “I know why you think grieving a relationship is a weakness. Because you think I was weak, when your father died.”
Livvy shook her head, numb.
“Yes. I’m not dumb. You, Paul, Jackson. You resent me for how I was then, and I cannot blame you. I was unresponsive to your needs for a long time, and then you were gone, and . . .” Tani’s lips tightened. “And that was that.”
Livvy found her voice. “I can’t speak for Jackson and Paul. But if anyone in the world can understand a fraction of how you felt then, it’s me. Especially in hindsight.” Whether or not her mother dealt with depression too, Livvy would never say Tani was weak.
So why did you call yourself weak?
Because it was far easier to be kind to other people than it was to be kind to herself. I deserve compassion. Ugh. She did. She really did.
Tani fiddled with her collar.
Livvy scuffed her toes on the carpet, wishing she knew how to speak to her mother. “You know, it’s funny you asked for watercolors. Watercolors are kind of my specialty, you know. I love the finished product, how it’s supposed to look imperfect. How people celebrate its flaws and find beauty in it.”
Her mother eyed her. “What on earth are you talking about?”
She bit her lip, regretting the silly words. “I don’t know. Thinking about things we have in common, I guess.”
Tani’s eyes gleamed. “Do not see that boy.”
Livvy stiffened. Selfish, greedy bastards, Paul whispered in her ear. If anyone had a beef with the Chandlers, it would be Tani. “I know y
ou hate—”
Her mother spoke over her. “You said you can empathize with me. I can empathize with how crushed you felt then.” Tani met her gaze. “The difference between you and me and how we lost our partners is Nicholas left you voluntarily.”
Livvy had to stop herself from buckling under that harsh reminder. “Oh.”
“I do not want to see you hurt like that ever again.” Tani picked up her remote and refocused on the T.V. “Go to bed now.”
Unable to compose any kind of response, Livvy dumbly left, closing the door behind her.
Her chest ached and her cheeks were dried out from too many tears. She’d probably weep more tonight, and curse Nicholas’s name.
The darkness wasn’t swallowing her whole, though. Maybe it would later. Maybe it would be triggered by something unrelated to Nicholas. And how he left her.
Why had her mother had to say that to her? It was so needlessly cruel and—
Think about what else she said.
Livvy stopped on the stairs.
I do not want to see you hurt like that ever again.
Livvy blinked. Her mother cared.
So did Maile, who would hug her and pet her. So did Sadia, who would feed and fuss and threaten to stab people for her.
A tiny kernel of contentment bloomed inside her. Connections. She may have gotten her heart batted around, but she’d found what she’d come here for.
Livvy continued up the stairs. She’d battle the darkness with whatever tools she could find.
Chapter 19
NICHOLAS CHASED a tomato around his plate. His father and grandfather had escalated from quiet disapproval to outraged shouts twenty minutes ago. The prison-labor scandal was resolved as best it could be, but the men had started arguing over the scope and cost of the investigation.
His sister sat quietly across from him at the boardroom table. Eve had tried to talk to him before the meeting, but he hadn’t been able to concentrate on the annual gala the foundation was throwing and what she needed from him.
He didn’t much care about anything, to be honest.
It was never pity.
Then what was it?
I love you. I always have. I probably always will.
I love who you were, and I want to get to know you properly now so I can tell you how much I love you as the person you’ve become.
I am nothing without you. I live for the hours I can see you. Locked in stasis, waiting for you to turn the key.
Any of those would have been acceptable responses. How had he fumbled so badly?
Because you’re an idiot. And now look what’s happened. You’ve lost her. She’s going to leave town, and all you’ll be left with is—
“Nicholas.”
“Nicholas!”
He jerked, his head swiveling between the two patriarchs. “Sorry?”
Brendan folded his arms over his chest and glared at him. “Seems you’ve been sorry a lot lately. What’s going on with you?”
“I’m . . .” Tired from trying to save a family and a business that doesn’t care about saving me. “Nothing.”
“Then pay attention.”
Nicholas looked around the table, taking stock of his grandfather and sister and their concerned faces. Past and present and future, they were seated here.
If he’d learned anything from spending time with Livvy it was that he couldn’t change their past. He could regret it and learn from it, but their history would always exist.
He could change the present, though. He could take actionable steps to have some sort of future.
He’d feared every crank of emotion would ruin him, but instead it was like each one had made his life finally come into focus, like he was a camera with a clean lens.
Nicholas closed his eyes and opened them again, and this time, instead of noting the similarities between him and his father, he took stock of all the differences. They weren’t the same.
He could break this, right now. He didn’t need to be afraid.
He didn’t have to stay cold.
He put down his fork. “I have something on my mind.”
“Something more important than the business?” Brendan scoffed.
“Yes. Someone more important than the business.”
“Nothing is more important than the business.”
“You would say that,” Eve snapped.
Nicholas wasn’t sure which one of them was more stunned by Eve uttering the caustic words. His father shot her a fierce frown. Nicholas bet the man had forgotten Eve was there.
Since he couldn’t look at the girl for longer than a few minutes, Brendan returned to Nicholas. “Well? What’s on your mind then, that’s so important?”
He glanced at his grandfather, who had straightened in his wheelchair, a hopeful glint in his eyes. “Livvy.”
A gasp came from Eve, quickly muffled.
Brendan stilled.
Nicholas met his father’s gaze. “Olivia Kane.”
Nicholas had witnessed his father’s rages. They were scary things, straight-up red-faced meltdowns. But this . . . this was new.
Brendan paled, his lips barely moving. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I told you to stay away from her.”
John leaned forward. “You did what?”
Oddly enough, uttering Livvy’s name had calmed him. It was done. His father knew, and all that was left to see was how the man would handle it.
He didn’t care what Brendan did, though, because Nicholas knew what he was going to do.
Nicholas shoved his salad aside and perused the platter of dessert. No cannoli, but there were chocolate chip cookies. He picked up two and placed them on a napkin. He took a big bite of one, aware his entire family was watching him like hawks. “I told you, I’m not a child.”
“You’re my child.”
“Your child, not your robot.” This magical land of not giving a fuck was pretty cool.
“I will not tolerate you seeing a member of that family.”
Another bite. “I don’t care.”
Brendan slammed his fist on the table. Eve jumped, but Nicholas didn’t move. Nor did he usher her and his grandfather out of the room.
They were adults, and he couldn’t protect them anymore. Let everyone see exactly who Brendan was.
“You know what they did to us!”
“They didn’t do anything to us.”
“They killed your mother.”
“No. Robert was behind that wheel. It sucked. It was bad. It was a fucking tragedy. But that had nothing to do with the rest of them. You’re the only one who wanted to punish the whole family for one man’s mistake.”
“One mistake? The fire—”
“The charges against Jackson were dropped,” he said flatly. It didn’t matter what he thought about the younger man.
It was too late for him to make peace with Paul. Regret slammed into him at the thought of his former best friend. Paul had been difficult and stubborn, no doubt, but Nicholas should have and could have tried harder to speak to the man instead of letting their friendship disappear.
Nicholas would have to carry that regret for the rest of his life. He could, however, make peace with the living Kane son.
“We all know he did it.” Brendan thumped his fist on the table again. “I knew this would happen. You were always panting after her like a dog after a bitch. What’s so special about her pussy, Nicholas?”
John barked out, “Watch it, Brendan,” but Nicholas couldn’t fully appreciate his grandfather scolding his father like a child.
He sat up straight, taking advantage of the few inches he had on his father. “Don’t speak that way about her ever again.”
The paleness in Brendan’s cheeks had vanished, replaced by a red flush. “Because it’s the truth?”
“Because if you want any place in my life, you’ll be civil to her.” Nicholas picked up his second cookie and bit into it, savoring the chocolate and brown sugar. It tasted like freedom
. “You will not go near her, pay anyone to go near her, or do anything which could be seen in any way, shape, or form, as aggression.” Cookie in one hand, he leaned forward, not breaking eye contact with his father. “Do you understand me?”
“If you date that woman, Nicholas . . .” Brendan shook his head. “I told you what would happen.”
“You were bluffing.”
“You think so?” Brendan looked at Eve. “Do you want to gamble on it?”
Nicholas couldn’t help but cut his gaze to Eve. Their eyes met for a split second, and it was enough. Realization dawned on her face. “This is about me? He threatened you with something to do with me?”
No matter how much he wanted to, Nicholas couldn’t keep every ugly thing away from Eve. Especially not now that she was an adult. “Yes.”
Eve reached forward and grabbed her own cookie. “What was it?” She sounded only mildly curious, but that wasn’t surprising. If the Chandlers did anything well, it was pretending everything was fine.
“He said he would disinherit you if I didn’t stop seeing Livvy.” The words rang with accusation in the silence of the room.
“Whoa. Disinherit an innocent child? Cold.” Eve’s eyes had hardened to obsidian chips.
“You didn’t.” John’s voice rang out. Their grandfather was pale. “Brendan, tell me you didn’t say that.”
Brendan was silent. He rested his hands on the table, shoulders stooping.
Nicholas could almost pity him. For all his stomping around and machinations, Brendan wanted the world to think of him as perfect.
Eve and John eyeing him with disgust had to grate.
“If you ever disinherit either of these children, son, I will make you pay,” John rasped.
Eve nibbled at her cookie. Nicholas wasn’t fooled by her nonchalance. He’d seen that carefully controlled rage before. In his father, but in himself as well. “Nicholas, if that’s what Dad was holding over your head all these years, consider the shoe fallen.”
Brendan shifted, rallying. “I won’t tolerate the president of Chandler’s dating a Kane.”
A rush of realization and resolve swirled within Nicholas. Focused. He was so focused. “Then I won’t be the president of Chandler’s anymore. I quit.”
A crafty gleam entered his father’s eyes. “You wouldn’t sacrifice the company like that.”
