by Law, Kim
“I was,” Annabelle agreed. “A mother has a need to protect her child, as I’m sure you’re aware. You have two beautiful ones of your own. But I might have been wrong this time.”
Cat couldn’t say anything else. She didn’t blame Brody’s mother for what had happened in the past. She’d had her son’s best interests at heart. No doubt Emma Davenport hadn’t simply said, “Don’t call.” Her mother had known who Brody was. She would have used that against both him and his mother.
Cat probably would have made the same choices as Annabelle. No mother should have to choose between protecting her child from others and letting her child be loved.
She closed her eyes on a wave of grief, and for the first time in her life, she felt like her own daughter could have forgiven her for giving her up. Deep down, Cat hadn’t wanted her child to be raised by Emma Davenport. And at sixteen, if Cat had kept her, she knew Emma’s influence would have played a heavy hand.
Annabelle would have grown up being just like Cat.
And that wasn’t what she’d wanted for her daughter.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” Brody’s mother pulled her in for a tight hug. “Things happen for a reason. You two have found each other again. It’s up to you this time. No one else. You get to choose your path.”
Her reassurances only made it worse.
Tears overflowed from her lower lashes, and Cat let Annabelle Hollister rock her gently in her arms. It was nice. It made Cat happy for Brody that he’d had such a caring mother throughout his life. Everyone deserved that.
A quiet clearing of someone’s throat sounded at the door, and Cat lifted her eyes to find Clyde standing there. He wore a grave expression, and Cat’s heart broke even more. She suspected she knew what was coming next.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Carlton.”
“Clyde,” she interrupted. She pulled out of Annabelle’s arms and wiped at her eyes. “After all this time, call me Cat.”
Clyde nodded. “I’m sorry, Ms. Cat, but . . . well . . .” He looked worriedly down the narrow hallway where Cat knew other members of the crew were coming and going. Then he turned back to the small room. “Laura’s up to speed now.”
Meaning he wanted Laura to step in as the lead. Cat nodded her understanding. She brought too much baggage with her. “I’ll get my things.”
“It’s not that we don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for us—”
“I get it, Clyde. You have others to think about. The playhouse to think about. It isn’t safe right now. I understand that. I saw what happened last night, and that was before this latest news broke.”
Clyde nodded sadly, and Annabelle patted Cat’s cheek once again.
Cat squeezed the other woman’s hands. “I’m sending Stone back to help you,” she said. “No arguments.” She looked at Clyde. “And I’m paying for extra security here until things die down.”
Sadness lay heavy inside her. She didn’t want to leave, but it was for the best.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Cat. Maybe you can be in another play sometime. Next year?”
She gave him a small smile. She had planned to come back next summer, but now . . . she just didn’t know. She’d have to see how things went with Brody.
How an overdue discussion with her mother turned out.
“Maybe,” she whispered.
And then she had Stone take her home.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE SIZZLE OF spinach and onions kept Brody busy at the stove as his mother moved about her kitchen, pulling out forks and glasses. He hadn’t wanted to leave her on her own the night before, so he’d stayed over. She’d been even more popular with the paparazzi than he had, and though she was handling it well, he’d seen the worry in her eyes.
She didn’t want to talk about Arthur Harrison in public. She also didn’t want other people talking about the man to her. He’d hurt her years ago, and she should be able to live the rest of her life without having to rehash it.
Brody tended to agree.
None of that had kept the questions at bay.
“So,” his mother began as she placed napkins on the table, “Laura did a good job last night.”
She picked up the newspaper he’d run out for earlier, as if to put it somewhere other than the kitchen table, but he narrowed his eyes at her. She knew better. He liked to read the paper while he ate his breakfast. She sniffed in annoyance and put the paper back down.
“Laura did do a good job,” he agreed.
“It’s a shame it couldn’t be Cat, though.”
Brody didn’t reply. Instead, he stirred the vegetables and added eggs and cheese to the two skillets. He’d been shocked to discover that Clyde had asked Cat to leave, but he’d understood the man’s point. With her and Brody both in the building—along with his mother—no one would be able to focus on the play. Additionally, people could get hurt. The three of them together simply brought out too many spectators, many of them aggressive.
But he’d missed Cat last night. He’d wondered how she was holding up.
And he’d hoped like hell that she hadn’t gotten on a plane and gone home.
The plan had been to talk to her after the play. To make sure there hadn’t been any problems out at her family’s home. To make sure she was okay. The argument in his house hadn’t been pleasant, but he also hadn’t gotten the sense anything between them was final. They needed time to figure things out. Him being a Harrison wasn’t a big deal to him, it wouldn’t change his way of life. But Cat couldn’t simply overlook it. She had things to think about.
As did he. Being with Cat would be chaotic. And he wasn’t a fan of the chaos his life had taken on. They both had to consider the consequences before making the next move. As well as let the media die down. Which he hoped happened soon.
He hadn’t called her. But she also hadn’t called him.
“Want to talk about it?” his mother asked.
It meaning Cat, as well as it coming out that he was a Harrison.
“Not really.”
He’d refused to talk about either so far. He was still trying to digest what it meant for him. He hadn’t wanted that information known. Ever. But since it was, things would be different. He just wasn’t sure by how much.
His house had been covered with reporters all day yesterday, as had the street outside his mother’s house. He’d been followed every time he’d stepped outside. And he was pretty sure the world would get a glimpse of him buying this morning’s newspaper in tomorrow’s news.
Or it might already be out on the Internet now.
“Do you love her?” his mother asked.
“What?” Brody rammed the spatula into the eggs, splashing liquid over the rim of one of the skillets. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We’re going to anyway.”
“Mom.” He moved the omelets from the hot burners and turned to his mother. She was dressed in a multicolored skirt to her ankles, shod in pink tennis shoes, and had a look on her face that he’d seen his whole life. She wasn’t backing down from this.
“Do you love her?” she asked again. “It won’t go away by ignoring it. Didn’t I raise you to deal with your problems?”
She had. That’s why he’d shot off at sixteen to find his father.
And returned weeks later swearing never to speak to the man again.
“You know me better than anyone,” he lashed out. All of this was bringing up too many bad memories. “How about you tell me?”
She nodded serenely. “I think yes.”
He stood there glaring at her. He hadn’t gone there in his mind yet. He didn’t want to go there.
“I don’t know, Mom,” he answered honestly. The air seemed to seep out of him, and he found himself wanting to talk to someone about Cat. Wanting to put his fears out there. “If I let myself love her, then what h
appens if she walks? That would be it for us. We won’t get another chance.”
“Maybe she won’t walk.”
He grunted. “Maybe she already has. You have to remember, she’s been hardwired to be a Davenport first. I won’t spend my life always coming in second.”
He returned to their breakfasts while thinking about Cat and her family, and the hordes of paparazzi that came with both. Then he thought about love. Love was a very dicey thing. On the one hand, it could provide a lifetime of happiness. His and Cat’s summer nineteen years ago came to mind. It hadn’t been a lifetime, but those were some supreme moments.
But on the other hand, if one person didn’t love as much as the other . . .
He turned the burners off and slid the omelets onto plates, but he left his on the counter. He was suddenly not hungry.
If one person didn’t love as much as the other, then the other was terminally screwed.
“Tell me what I’m supposed to do.” He sat at the table and looked across the space to his mom, his hands automatically wrapping around the mug of coffee she’d set out for him.
His mother only stared back.
Because, sure, now that he’d asked for advice, she apparently had no words to give.
“Tell me about you and Arthur, then.”
She choked on her eggs.
“Okay, fine,” he said. “How about I do the talking?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry for what happened back then. I should never have doubted you.” He should have apologized when it happened, but he’d been a kid, and he’d had his ego destroyed. “You’d always told me that my father wanted nothing to do with me, and I should have taken you at your word.”
“Some things a boy has to figure out on his own.”
“I guess we’re morons like that.”
She gave him a wink, and he let his mind drift back.
She’d never told him the name of his father, only that he knew Brody existed but chose to have nothing to do with him. Then Brody had found an old picture the summer he was sixteen. After a little digging and a lot of questions, he’d figured out that Arthur Harrison was his father. Arthur was well known in politics; he’d been a US senator at the time. He was a damned pillar of the country.
So Brody had set off to confront him.
When all had seemed to be going well—he’d suddenly had a father and a brother—Brody had come home to pack his things. He was moving in with Arthur.
He and his mother had argued, and it had grown nasty. He’d accused her of keeping his father from him for her own selfish gains. In the end, she’d said very little to denigrate the man, but Brody had seen the hurt on her face as she’d stepped out of his way. He could make his own decisions. He could live wherever he chose.
He’d chosen Arthur.
Which had lasted only until Brody had returned to DC earlier than Arthur had anticipated. Brody had learned the truth that day. Arthur was using him, same as he’d used Brody’s mother.
So Brody had once again returned home. He and his mother had had a long-overdue conversation about his father, then they’d all returned to their pre-Brody-finding-out ways, all pretending the other didn’t exist. Except Brody and Thomas had known about each other by that point, and Brody had cared about his younger brother. He’d always wanted a brother.
“He’s not a good man,” his mother told him now.
Her words pulled Brody back from the past. “Thomas?” he asked. Thinking she’d read his mind.
“Arthur.” He watched long-ago pain move across her face. “I was so glad when you chose not to get involved with him.”
“It was the right decision.” And he’d never regretted it. Neither, apparently, had Arthur. “What do you think of Thomas?”
He’d never asked his mother for her opinion on his brother. He’d tried to have a relationship with him for years, but deep down, he’d always feared Thomas was too much like their father. And if Brody were honest with himself, he’d admit he’d been shown that over the years. He’d just never wanted to believe it.
And now, Cat was right. Thomas was calling, wanting to come up. Wanting to get to know his brother.
Brody hadn’t talked to him, but several messages had been left. The first while Brody and Cat had been arguing the day before. She’d been right. It had been Thomas calling.
“I’m afraid that’s another one you’re going to have to figure out on your own.”
“But do you think he’s like Arthur?” Brody pushed.
His mother put her fork down and looked up from her plate. Lines etched her face, and that made him sad. He wanted her to remain young and vibrant forever. “It would be a real shame if he was,” she said.
Brody nodded. “Yeah.”
She returned to her food, and he picked up his coffee. She tried to get him to eat something, but he wasn’t in the mood. Too many things to think about. And too much worrying about Cat.
He would call her later. Not knowing what was going on with her was killing him.
His phone beeped in his pocket.
When he didn’t pull it out, his mother waved her fork at him. “Check it.”
“It’s rude to have your phone out at the table, Mom.”
“You aren’t eating anyway.” She waved her fork again. “Check it.”
She had a good point. He pulled out his phone. “It’s Cat.”
His mother glanced up. “Tell her thanks for Tank.”
She went back to eating, and Brody rolled his eyes. She kept calling her bodyguard Tank. His name was Stone.
He brought up the text.
How was the play? How did Laura do?
The play wasn’t right without you. But it was okay. Mom sends her thanks for her new bodyguard.
Stone had been waiting outside the playhouse at the end of the night. He was most likely sitting in Annabelle’s driveway at that very moment.
She said she didn’t want one, but I was worried about her. Seriously, did she get home okay?
She’s fine. I’m here with her now. How are you?
He paused for just a second before sending another.
You still in Maine?
He held his breath as he waited for her reply.
I don’t scare that easily. I’m finally having the downtime a vacation is supposed to be. I swam in the pool this morning. Now I’m reading a book.
Sounds good. Don’t watch the news. You’re not having downtime there.
Good to know. No television. No news. Got it.
He kept his eyes on the small screen as he thought about what else he wanted to say. There was so much. But he wasn’t sure if this was just her checking on his mother or if this was something else. And he didn’t want to push too soon.
Thank you for the security guard. He makes me feel better about Mom. I need to be at the museum in the morning and would have been worried about leaving her.
He wanted to ask if he could come see her, but that didn’t play into his plan of them both taking a breather.
Let me know if you need anything else, and I’ll throw some money at it. I may not be able to do much while hiding in this big house, but I can do that.
I feel like a kept man. He tacked on a smiley emoticon.
She replied with her own smiley. I’m just trying to help. I feel like this is my fault.
It’s not your fault.
Okay. But let me know if you need anything.
Will do.
He wanted to answer with, “I need you,” but decided against it.
But he did need her. And somehow that small exchange had sealed it. He put down the phone with a new determination.
“I’m sorry I hurt you back then,” his mom said. “I should have told you when she called.”
“You did what you had to, Mom
. I get that. We both know Emma Davenport never would have allowed more. She’d have ruined us both. I wouldn’t be where I am today if you hadn’t intervened.”
“And you’re happy where you are today?” Her soft eyes watched him carefully, and he knew she could see all his secrets. Growing up as a single parent and only child, they’d had to rely on each other through a lot. They’d been close.
A quick yes was on his tongue, but he held it in. “I would like a bit more,” he admitted.
“Then fight for her.”
He suspected he would.
“And what if I win? This could become my life, Mom.” He motioned to the closed blinds and the unseen paparazzi they both knew were outside the doors. “It could become yours.”
“A bodyguard anytime I need to go out?” She acted as if the idea were nothing. “I could get used to that.”
“I’m serious, Mom.”
“I am, too.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “Cat’s a good woman.”
Overcome with unexpected emotion, he pulled his hand back and shoved his now-cold coffee aside. He grabbed the rest of his mother’s omelet. “That’s enough eating. Let’s go out. We’ll go antiquing today. We haven’t done that in years.”
Hitting the many antique stores along the coast had once been their one-Sunday-a-month thing. Or, it had been her thing. He’d gone along because he liked spending time with her. And because there were used bookstores in most of the same areas. He could shop for books while she picked out a gold-painted horse with only three feet or whatever ridiculous “antique” she happened to find.
“You really want your picture to show up in the tabloids with your mother?” she asked.
“I want to do whatever I want. That’s the problem I have with all of this. I won’t hide from my life. I won’t pretend to be someone I’m not. For anyone. That would be a deal breaker.”
His mother thought about that for a minute, then gave a firm shake of her head. She stood from the table. “Sounds like a good plan to me. Let’s go. We’ll take Tank with us.”
