Sinner (Shelter Harbor #1)

by Aubrey Irons

  I want the uncomplicated depression of being alone.

  I stand, glancing around the empty place that never was and was never going to be home. In silence, I move to the bedroom and pull my suitcase from the closet. I fold and pack in a quiet daze, only breaking the stony expression on my face once to smile as I hold up my ruined shirt from the renaissance fair.

  It stings, leaving the two of them. And there’s a part of me that hesitates, thinking of the what ifs, and the what might best. In the fantasy, I’m with Landon and Emily. In the fantasy, we’re a team - one big happy fam-

  I freeze, the fantasy shattering around me as I shake my head and remember that that’s exactly what it is. A fantasy. We’re not a family, and pretending I was ever going to be part of that unit was silly and unfair.

  I was never going to be Sarah. I was never going to be Emily’s mom.

  That one cuts deep, and I squeeze my eyes shut, my hands tightening on the ruined shirt as I take a shaky breath.

  It’s time to get out of here.

  It’s time to leave this fantasy behind and get on with my life in reality.

  I tuck the shirt under a pair of jeans and finish, zipping the suitcase when I’m done and hefting it off the bed and onto the floor. The elevator ride is quick, and in the building lobby, I quickly open my phone and call my friend London as the front desk guy hails me a cab.

  “Hey!” Her voice is her usual cheeriness until she hears the quiet sob I can’t keep back. “Oh, God, what’s wrong?”

  “I-”

  I found something I wasn’t looking for, in a place I never expected.

  I found something I think I always wanted, even if I thought it could never be mine.

  I fell in love with the one man I never should have - the man I’m all but positive can’t love me back.

  “I’m coming home,” I manage to whisper out as I nod at the doorman outside, a cab pulling up to the curb.

  “I need to come home.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Landon

  She’s gone.

  I went home that first night, after the board’s decision and gave her space.

  I knew she needed it.

  Hell, I can’t even imagine something like that being dropped on me. I try and picture someone telling me that Emily isn’t mine, and the idea of your reality and everything you know being shattered like that?

  Shit, I can’t even begin to comprehend what that does to you.

  So I gave her space.

  She didn’t pick up the next day. Didn’t show at the office - not that I blamed her.

  But now I know it was more than “needing space” or not wanting to answer her phone. I know that now - now that it’s too late.

  It’s been a week since Serena left Denver. Five days since I finally went to her condo to check on her and discovered the truth.

  “Oh, yeah, she left.”

  “Left? What the hell do you mean left?”

  “She left, bud. Suitcase and everything. I got her a cab to the airport.”

  There’s a song I used to know that says, “You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone,” but that’s crap. If it’s that good, you know damn well what you’ve got when you’ve got it. It’s just our own vanities, and baggage, and hang-ups, and bullshit that gets in the way of seeing it when it’s right in front of us.

  Yeah, you know what you’ve got, it just that sometimes, that thing leaving clears the room.

  And suddenly you realize how empty it all is without her here.

  I knew when I was crossing every line with her. I knew with every lingered look, every touch that lasted too long. I knew with every kiss, and every feel of her skin under my hands.

  I knew in words we never spoke, and in the words hidden between the ones we did.

  What’s my point here?

  Easy.

  I’ve been in love with Serena Roth for longer than I care to admit I have been, and it’s taken her leaving my life for me to see it.

  Put that in a song.

  I re-read the email on my laptop screen a fourth time, blowing air over my lips as I rake my fingers through my hair.

  It’s been like this all week - the daze, the slow realization that she really isn’t going to respond to my calls. The dawning understanding that this really is over.

  And fuck does that suck.

  I scowl back at the screen, skimming over the words again. Don and the rest of the board met with a potential buyer today - some Russian media mogul who wants to add “American football team” to his portfolio of a Venezuelan baseball team, a Spanish soccer team, Fijian rugby, and three of the top five Russian swimmers.

  Sam’s legacy and the organization I’ve basically spent my entire adult life working for reduced to a footnote in a multinational conglomerate quarterly report.

  Wonderful.

  The upside - if you can even call it that - is that I’ll be keeping my job. I’ll even retain the chairman position. And Don’s not wrong - we’re all going to get rich on this. After everything shakes out, there’s going to be something to the tune of eight million for me in this.

  Eight fucking million dollars. Hell, between that and my residual contract money from playing, I could retire right now and never work again. Hell, Emily wouldn’t have to work again.

  And yet, it’s a sour victory. It feels like being paid to lose. It feels like taking a dive for cash.

  It’s a shitty feeling, and there’s a hit to your pride and your soul that won’t go away when you take an offer like that, no matter how good the payout.

  The doorbell chimes through the house, and I groan as I ease back from the laptop screen. The chime comes again as I stand.

  “Relax,” I mutter, stalking through the house for the front door.

  It goes off a third damn time just as I reach it.

  “Cool off!” I growl, unlocking the door and yanking it open. “I’m right fucking here-”

  I blink, staring at him before I remember to frown.

  “Good evening, sir, I’m selling Girl Scout cookies, and I was wondering if you-”

  “Shouldn’t you be in the fucking hospital?”

  Sam grins at me. He’s still pale, and frail looking - still a shell version of the man I know. But he’s on his feet, albeit with a cane. He’s got his usual sharp clothes on, his prized ’67 Porsche Coupe sitting in my driveway.

  “I told those assholes that if they stuck another needle in my arm or another catheter up my pecker, I’d sue ‘em for malpractice.”

  He grins at me. Normally, this is the banter - Sam’s over-reaching, larger-than-life persona. The crude jokes, the winks, the jostling back-and-forth.

  I’m not bantering with him. I’m not there yet.

  He sighs, the smile dropping from his face. “You’re still mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you, Sam, I just don’t feel much like having anything to do with you.”

  He nods, and however frail his appearance, I notice his eyes have their spark back as they glance over my face.

  “Think I could come inside? I uh,” he clears his throat, “I got something to say to you.”

  “Here works just fine for whatever it is you feel needs saying.”

  He nods slowly, his shoulders sagging a little, when I hear the footsteps running down the stairs back in the house.

  Shit.

  “Grampa Sam!"

  “Hey there, squirt!”

  Emily comes tearing down the stairs, pushing past me to throw her arms around Sam.

  Needless to say, I haven’t filled my eight-year-old in on the larger dramas involving her favorite older person and Serena.

  “You’re better!”

  Sam chuckles, putting an arm around her and patting her back. “Yep! Feeling right as rain!” He glances up at me. “You think I could come in for a sec?”

  I hold his eye for a second, mine narrowing. “Fine.” I step back and hold the door open for him as Emily leads him in.
/>
  “So how’ve you been, little missy? School going okay?”

  She nods. “Yeah. And I made a new friend while you were sick.”

  Sam smiles. “Oh yeah? Replacing me, huh?”

  She smiles a toothy smile. “No, Grampa, but she’s really cool and I think you’d like her.”

  He chuckles. “Well I bet I would!”

  “Yeah! She’s awesome, and she’s really fun to hang out with. And we had so much fun at the renaissance fair!”

  I snap my head back to my daughter. “That’s enough, Emily,” I say quietly.

  “She comes over all the time to hang out with me and my dad. We make cookies, and watch movies, and she looks really funny when she wears my dad’s clothes!”

  Sam glances back at me, giving me an odd look before turning back to her.

  “Who’s this friend of yours, squirt?”

  “Oh, her name’s Serena.”

  Sam freezes before his head jerks up to stare at me.

  I stare right back.

  “Hey Emily, honey, why don’t you let me and Grampa Sam have some grown-up talk, alright?”

  “Fiiiine,” she grumbles before giving Sam another hug. “I’m glad you’re not sick anymore.”

  “Me too, kid, me too,” he smiles.

  His look hardens at me as soon as we hear her scamper back up the stairs.

  “She looks funny wearing your clothes, huh?” he says thinly, his eyes narrowing.

  I say nothing.

  “If you think I’m not going to ask what my daughter’s doing over here putting your clothes on, you got another thing com-”

  “Fuck you,” I spit at him. “You don’t get to call her that.”

  “Watch me.”

  I shake my head, standing and stepping towards him, towering over him as I square my shoulders. “Not a chance, Sam. You gave that up when you walked away.”

  “Wasn’t exactly my choice, Landon.”

  “Yes it was,” I growl. “It was your choice when you slept with another man’s wife. It was your choice when you put yourself over everyone else like you do, and it was your choice when you washed your hands of the whole mess and signed a check to her mother.” My voice is getting louder now, my teeth grinding together.

  “You want to talk about things not being your choice? You want to talk about loss outside your own control?” I hiss, shaking my head at him. “Trust me, Sam. Don’t go there with me. You had choices. You had lots of choices, and you fucking failed every single one of them. So don’t you dare come into my house and lecture me about spending time with Serena.”

  “Spending time with her,” he echoes, glaring right back at me. “I set it up for you two to run this damn team, not for you to put your damn hands on her!”

  “Watch it.”

  We both bristle, staring each other down.

  Sam sighs, looking away first. “I need a drink.”

  I snort. “You were just in a coma, you fucking lunatic. I’m not giving you booze.”

  “Gonna make me take it from you?”

  I crack a grin in spite of myself.

  “Scotch, if you’ve got it.”

  I hold his eye another second before I turn and jerk my head towards the kitchen. He follows, slower, taking a seat at the kitchen island as I pour us both a finger and slide a glass his way.

  “Cheers,” he mutters, taking a sip and sighing contentedly. I grab a seat across from him, and we both sit there drinking in silence for another minute.

  He finally looks up. “What’s she like? Serena, I mean.”

  “She’s smart.” I hold his look as I slowly finish swallowing the scotch in my mouth. “She’s really smart, actually. She sees the bigger picture, and she gets people, and there’s no bullshit around her.”

  Sam nods.

  “She’s her own person - strong and opinionated without being prideful or obnoxious. She speaks her mind, and she’s sure as hell not worried about what you might think about it.”

  He grins.

  “Honestly, you’d probably get along famously with her, Sam.” I say quietly. “She’s hilarious, she’s kind, she has Emily wrapped around her damn finger.”

  “Just Emily, huh?”

  “You really want to go there?”

  His eyes narrow for a second, but he nods. “To an extent.”

  I look away.

  “You like her, don’t you.”

  I bring the glass to my lips, taking a big swallow, saying nothing.

  “As little opinion as I think I’m probably allowed to have on the matter-”

  “Careful,” I snap.

  Sam shoots me a look. “Let me finish. What I was going to say is, if I were to have an opinion about her choice in men,” he shrugs and takes a quick sip. “I can think of worse guys for her to be slumming around with.”

  I half grin into my glass.

  “I’m guessing she didn’t take it too well when you let her know about what you found out.”

  “Consider the messenger shot.”

  He frowns, looking down. “I’m sorry, Landon. I mean that, truly. You deserve something and someone like this, you know,” he says quietly. “After Sarah, I mean. This whole swinging bachelor look you’ve been trying to pull of for the last six years? Take this how you want, but from a guy who’s been doing it for a whole lot longer, trust me when I say you’re not cut out for it.”

  “Thanks? I think?”

  “I mean it. You can jump from skirt to skirt all you want, kid, and you’ve put in a good effort over the last couple of years. But it eats at you, and I can see that. This whole not giving a shit thing? The big tough guy ‘one time only’ thing and all these damn rules of yours? They eat at you. Hell, I can see that, Landon.”

  I look up and meet his eyes, both of us nodding - both of us knowing he’s right.

  “I’d ask if there’s something I could do-”

  I bark out a laugh and he makes a face.

  “Sorry, but-“

  “Nah, I get it.” He nods.

  “Look, there’s something else you should know about.”

  He glances up. “I might not have been a part of her life, but don’t think for a minute that means I need to know the details, kid,” he says sharply.

  I grin. “Don’t worry, a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

  “Oh is that what you are?”

  “Something like that.”

  He grins, and I frown.

  “Look, Sam, the board-”

  “Oh, right.” He slaps the counter. “That was the other reason I came over here.” He taps the side of his head. “Damn meds got me all loopy.”

  “I’m sorry about the shares.”

  That’s another thing that’s happened this week. Even with Sam waking up, since a buy offer was already formally introduced while Serena and I were holding his vote shares, corporate bylines keep him from having a say, whether Don or the board want him to or not.

  Judging from the fact that they’re all still eagerly perusing the sale, I’d say that’s a “not.”

  “I think they found a buyer.”

  “So block ‘em.”

  I sigh. “You know I can’t do that. Not enough of a vote. And even if Serena was returning my calls - and trust me, she’s not - it wouldn’t be enough.”

  Sam frowns.

  “Serena and I only hold twenty-four and a half percent each, Sam. A combined forty-nine percent against the board’s unanimous majority. Game over.” I shake my head and finish my drink.

  There’s a second of silence before Sam starts to chuckle. I glance up at him, my eyes narrowing. “I’m not sure I understand what’s so funny.”

  He chuckles louder, shaking his head. “Once a lunkheaded player, always a lunkheaded player, huh?”

  I glare at him.

  “Math, you dumb jock. Damn, I thought I did okay putting you in charge of my board.”

  “If there’s a point to this, Sam, please get to it.”

  “You’re forge
tting your board seat.”

  It’s like a light going on - a sudden, jarring realization as it all clicks into place.

  Sam nods. “Yeah, you’re getting it. Your board seat itself-”

  “Is a five percent voting share,” I say quietly, my jaw dropping.

  “Your twenty-four and a half percent share from me, plus Serena’s, plus that five percent?”

  “Is a majority vote,” I finish.

  He nods.

  Holy shit.

  “I think you need to get that girl on the phone, Landon.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Landon

  Before, when I was roaring through the streets to her building - before I knew she was gone - I didn’t stop to think. I didn’t for a second stop to think about the implications and the consequences to my own world and my own rules that chasing after a girl means.

  Because I didn’t care anymore.

  And I don’t.

  Even now, when she might hate me, and probably sees me for everything I am and not like what she sees. The messenger of bad news always gets shot, and I accept that. I accept that I should have told her earlier, if only to be the one to catch her when she fell. I didn’t and I have to live with that, no matter what happens here.

  Except she was gone.

  She’s still gone.

  I stare at the laptop sitting on my kitchen island - open, but black, like it’s been since I opened it and started staring at half an hour ago.

  The worst part is, I can’t even really blame her. She peeked behind the curtain. She saw the truth in the lies and dark clouds hovering over her own past and her memories, and she cut and run.

  I’m pretty sure I’d have done the same.

  “Dad?”

  I glance up to see Emily standing in the doorway to the kitchen in her PJs.

  “Hey, kiddo, what are you doing up?”

  “I can’t sleep,” she says glumly.

  I sigh, gripping the countertop. “Yeah, I hate when that happens. C’mere.” She shuffles over, and I lift her up onto one of the kitchen stools.

  “Daaaad, I can get up myself you know.”

  I grin, turning away to hide it. “I know, I know.”

  Damnit why do they have to grow up? Why does change have to happen at all? You get these moments that are just flawless, and it just seems unfair that they eventually have to move on and evolve.