Loved You Once (The Baker’s Creek Billionaire Brothers Book 1)

by Claudia Burgoa

  He shakes his head. “No, I swear that wasn’t it. It was everything but that, Love.”

  “Do not call me that!”

  “I’d give up everything I have to have one more day with you. I’d give up my career, my fortune. All. In exchange of a lifetime filled with favorites with you. Our forever.”

  “Stop!”

  “Seeing you again,” he says.

  “What?”

  “My favorite moment of the day is seeing you again.”

  “Don’t do this to me. It took me years to learn how to live without you. You have to stop this nonsense,” I beg him, walking away.

  I need to put some distance between us, because my heart is just like every muscle, it remembers Hayes, and if I’m not careful, it’ll remember how to love him.

  Fifteen

  Hayes

  Blaire doesn’t just walk away; she practically runs away from me. Next time, I should approach her with caution and try to keep things friendly between us. At least until she realizes I’m still in love with her.

  She’s right. I intentionally recreated some of her favorite moments of us to refresh her memory. I wanted her to remember the good times. To remind her that, even when she wants to give up, it’s worth it to continue. And maybe that’s where I failed. We need new moments—a different approach to our second chance.

  Heading to my room, I decide to call Mom. I promised to do it no matter the time. Knowing her, she’s awake, waiting by the phone to see what my father's last testament was about.

  “Hayes,” she answers on the first ring.

  “Hello, Mom,” I greet her. “Did you sleep at all?”

  “I did my best. How is everyone doing?” she asks. “The boys—are they okay after… I still can’t believe that your father died. He swore he’d live to be a hundred.”

  She sounds sad, and I wonder if she still loves him. Maybe I’m wrong and there’s one person who grieves his death—Mom.

  “Well, there are things money can’t buy, like health or love,” I say. “He died alone and with no one to mourn him. Unless, you still love him.”

  “Not him,” she says with a whisper. “I mourn the guy I met in college. I’ll always miss him. He was different. William made every day we were together special. I fell in love with a sensitive man who knew all the right moves and all the right words. Later, I figured out that he just didn’t understand love. His family was focused on the bottom line—and he strived to please them because he’d be the next Aldridge to own it all.”

  There’s a long pause, and I don’t speak. I wait.

  “He cared in his own way,” she continues. “When Carter was diagnosed … he came back to me. The same guy who would do anything for his family. For me. After your brother died, I realized it was all an illusion.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, not sure if I’m saying, I’m sorry for her loss or that she fell in love with a guy incapable of love.

  There’s no point trying to explain to her that him knowing what to say and how to behave doesn’t mean he really loved her. Then again, maybe he did love each woman he dated—or married—in his own twisted way.

  “So, how are your brothers?” she asks, her voice back to normal. “Are they in denial like you or—”

  “Everyone is fine, Mom. I’m not in denial,” I protest. “We weren’t close to Dad, so there were no tears, if that’s what you’re asking me.”

  She sighs, but instead of pressing on the subject, she asks, “When are you going back to San Francisco?”

  “About that … he fucked us all up,” I inform her, and I proceed to recount the events of the day, and while I’m doing so, I notice my anger is gone. Though Mom stops me when I mention Blaire.

  “She shouldn’t be there,” she snaps, her voice high pitched. “Not after what she did.”

  Mom hated Blaire for what happened when Carter died. She’s the one who told me everything that had transpired between Blaire and Carter, and now I realize she gave me her version of the events.

  “And what exactly did she do, Mom?” I ask, because her side of the story is so different to Blaire’s and I want to believe my mother, but Blaire doesn’t lie. She always said that life is too short to tangle yourself between fake words and lies.

  Mom told me that they married without her permission, and that Blaire didn’t let her see my brother. According to her, Blaire only wanted Carter’s money. It sounds cold and calculated, and Blaire is anything but those things.

  “You already know what happened,” she answers. “She kept Carter away from us and didn’t let him get his treatment. It’s because of her that he died so soon.”

  “Mom, would you like to stick with that story or give me a more accurate description of the events?” I question, and it feels like I just dropped the weight of the world on her shoulders because she gasps.

  “Who are you going to believe?” she asks with a challenge in her voice.

  “Whoever is being honest about what really happened during Carter’s last days, Mom. He’s dead, but I’m sure Carter would be disappointed if we were holding onto lies, instead of the good times we shared with him. It’s been twelve years. He’s gone, and I miss him. Can we be honest with each other, please?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I need the truth, Mom. Did you really try to force him to get treatment against his will?”

  “I… There was hope, but Carter didn’t want to listen. He insisted that the only person who understood him was Blaire, and when I called your father, he said we could just claim he was mentally incapable to make any decisions on his own so…”

  “He got married,” I finish her sentence.

  “Yes, but she kept him away from me, and she—”

  “Carter,” I amend. “Carter is the one who didn’t want to see you, and he shielded himself behind her. Do you know why Blaire understood him?”

  “Because they were having sex,” she answers, and I’m not loving her tone.

  “Blaire had leukemia when she was a teenager,” I tell her. Although it is something Blaire hates to share, I feel it’s important to tell my mother, so she can understand why Carter did what he did.

  “She lived what Carter was living. The only reason she didn’t give up during her treatments was because there was hope, but she knows how painful that process is and how it takes away what little energy you have, as well as the will to continue.”

  “I wanted to save him.” She starts crying. “She didn’t let me.”

  “It’s easier to blame someone else. It was painful to lose him. He had an energy that not many have. People loved him the moment they met him.” I speak with a calm voice. I’m not upset with her, just worried that she hasn’t been able to let go of what happened—just like me.

  “Remember the time when one of my patients sued me because he lost his leg?”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she says, still angry, because he went after my medical license.

  I almost lost everything I had built because of the resentment he harbored. It wasn’t malpractice; it was a decision the medical team made and his family approved of. Yet, he tried to hurt me because he hurt.

  “He did it because he couldn’t stand the loss. He couldn’t admit that it had been his reckless behavior that caused the accident. Amputating his leg saved his life, but for him, it ruined it. He had to blame me because he needed someone to take the blame for everything that had changed and that part of him he will never get back. I think that’s what happened to us.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “We blamed Blaire,” I explain, but, actually, she’s the one who blamed Blaire, and I just took Mom’s side. “She just did what was best for Carter. She gave him what he needed: the best last months of his life.”

  “Are you going to forgive her?” she asks.

  “No, I’m going to work hard to deserve her forgiveness,” I answer.

  “This is the grief talking. The pain of losing your father,” s
he says. “You’re not thinking straight.”

  “You’re wrong, Mom. Losing William isn’t the reason why I’m working hard to fix my life. My reasoning might not make sense to you, but it does to me. This is the first time in years that I’m actually thinking outside work and my career,” I correct her, because what is thinking straight? Love never makes sense, does it? “Just a couple of weeks ago, you wanted me to be happy, and guess what, happy is Blaire.”

  “Hayes…”

  “Yeah, Mom?”

  “What if I can’t?”

  “I believe in you, Mom. I’m going to send an email with some links. You should take a look at them, and I hope that you find peace, because we can’t live the rest of our lives like this. It’s time to let go of what happened during Carter’s illness and realize that Blaire was just doing what was best for him. I’m actually thankful that someone was there for him. He could’ve just left everyone behind, Mom.”

  “He was always too independent.”

  “And you tried to clip his wings. You know that never worked with Carter,” I remind her.

  “He was stubborn,” she continues.

  “Love you, Mom,” I say, before I hang up the phone.

  For the next few hours, I research Baker’s Creek, how to set up a practice, and go through all the links I sent Mom about the Carter’s Kids Foundation. Blaire has a blog and social media. I’ve been reading all her entries, looking at her pictures, learning about her travels, and looking at all the places and the children she’s been caring for since she started the foundation.

  As I read every entry, I can hear her voice telling the story, feeling her excitement, celebrating her triumphs, worrying about the struggles she faced. After reading so many entries, I know her a little better, and yet, I’ve just touched the surface of what she’s been doing during all these years. And I want more.

  Everything.

  Why hadn’t I look her up before?

  Because I was in denial and angry. Carter’s death pained me to the point that I wanted to hate the entire world—even myself. Mom’s story made it so easy to concentrate all my anger on Blaire. Not only that, I also pushed my other brothers away because my heart couldn’t take another loss.

  Trying to move on with my life without Blaire wasn’t smart. All these years I’ve known, deep down, that I could never love anyone the way I loved her. And I wasn’t interested in loving anyone but her.

  It’s late when Henry walks into the suite that we share.

  “You’re still awake?” he asks.

  I check the time and respond with a question of my own. “It’s late, and are you still working?”

  He shrugs. “The hotel business never stops, you know. I’m sure you can relate, unless you’re one of those fancy doctors who only works a couple of times a week.”

  I huff because I sure know the kind he’s talking about—I’m not a fan of them. One of my practice partners is just like that. His waiting list is as long as mine but only because he sees patients on Tuesdays, and he operates on Fridays. Leaving the doctor on call in charge of any post-surgery emergencies that might arise. I don’t work all week long in the practice, but the time I don’t spend in the office, I am at the hospital.

  And in just a few hours, I quit, and now I’m planning to walk on a different path.

  “I’m selling my part of the practice,” I announce, and saying it out loud makes it real. “I offered it to my partners first, but neither one of them wants it. However, they trust I’ll sell it to the right doctor.”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he asks, his eyes bulging. “You can’t give up your life. Weren’t you the one who said earlier that we’d adjust, not just quit?”

  “I’m not quitting medicine. I’m rethinking my future,” I explain in a calm, moderate voice.

  “It’s Blaire, isn’t it?” he asks disgustedly. “What is it about her that everyone falls for her.”

  “Don’t bring Blaire in this conversation,” I say, in a low warning voice.

  “She married your fucking brother.”

  “Our brother,” I correct him. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Your mother—”

  “I spoke to her, and she told me the truth,” I interrupt him and tell him the story, adding the part where Blaire uses his money to help others.

  He looks at me dumbfounded and says, “I wish I had known. I would have been there for Carter. He was cool, you know.”

  Carter wasn’t just cool. He was also friendly, supportive, and sometimes I think he was the one who kept us all together until the end. He called all of us on our birthdays and tried to organize trips, even when it wasn’t father’s weekend, and sometimes, he made them happen.

  “Can Pierce reverse the trust stipulation, so she can access it at any time?” Henry asks, after a long silence.

  I shrug.

  “Send me the information about her foundation. I want to research it, if you don’t mind,” he requests. “Still, Blaire or not, you have a life in San Francisco.”

  I don’t have a life, just like him. I have a job and a busy schedule. But we don’t truly live.

  “As I told you earlier, there are more important things to life than what I’ve built so far. It’s sad to see that our father died with no one around him. I loved him, you know, when I was young. I don’t want to end up like him.”

  He looks at me confused. “This is not A Christmas Carol. Dad isn’t Marley, Blaire isn’t your ghost of the past, and we’re not your ghosts of the present. Life isn’t a story told by Dickens.”

  I laugh at his stupid analogy, though, in all honesty, Dad could easily be Marley, giving us a warning on how things will end for all of us if we continue following in his footsteps. All my brothers are concerned about their careers and how they’ll be affected because of the stipulations. None of them mentioned a loved one or their mothers. We really aren’t that different from William, are we?

  “Laugh all you want, Hayes, but I’m telling you, this charade shouldn’t even be happening. I’m trying to wrap my head around it. However, I think you’re the only one who is willing to stay. In thirty days, they’ll walk out of here and will keep living their lives.”

  I don’t have time to say anything because he marches to his room and locks the door. Is he actually going to walk away?

  Sixteen

  Blaire

  The next morning, I wake up early, but stay in bed, replaying my dream. It felt real. Hayes’ warmth, his strong arms holding me. His mouth devouring mine and his hands… I touch my lips because they’re still tingling from the dream. The wetness between my legs is for him: the only man who makes my body tremble with one touch.

  Don’t judge me; I miss him, okay. It wasn’t just love that we shared, we also had great sex. Yes, the ending was bitter and painful, but before that, we were so happy. If I can see past him abandoning me and the years apart… No, that’s never going to happen.

  We’re over, and nothing he does or says will convince me to give him a second chance. Not even those hypnotizing eyes begging me to love him. I need to push away the teenage crush. Our past should stay behind us. The time we will spend together isn’t a test or an opportunity to go back to who we were. It’s a way to turn over a new leaf and let go of any feelings that we think we harbor for each other.

  We both need to move on. As for what he said yesterday, he is either stuck in the past or just not willing to let anyone else into his life and his heart. Hayes is friendly, but not everyone can penetrate the big brick wall he places between him and everyone else.

  I wasn’t his first girlfriend, but I was the first person he said I love you to—maybe the only one he ever loved.

  Me … well, I haven’t been dating because my life is hectic. Love is something no one can force to happen, and I’m always on the move. There’s never a time for me to meet someone new or interesting. I won’t force that part of my future. Maybe I'm meant to find someone when I’m older.

&nbs
p; I trust fate. I’m in charge of a part of my life, but there are things I can’t change. I believe in destiny and that there are things, like love and health, that you don’t have much say in.

  That’s, yet, another one of the mottos I live by: you have to have faith while doing your best to live.

  I lay down in bed until the sun finally shines through the drapes. After taking a shower, I get dressed and pack my stuff. I have to be in Portland by four to catch my flight, but I have a few hours to walk around town before I drive to the airport.

  Before heading outside, I look at myself in the mirror and decide to put some lip gloss and mascara on as well as put my hair in a braid. Today, I put on a baseball cap to go with my outfit. I’m wearing a white tank top with a blouse on top, and a pair of denim shorts.

  Heading outside, I realize the road is empty. The birds are singing and the tree leaves rustling. The breeze of the morning makes me shiver, but I choose not to head back to my room for a sweatshirt. It’ll warm up soon.

  I walk along the trail surrounded by azures, lavender, and baby blue eyes flowers. Soon I make it to Main Street and continue walking east until I find the coffee shop.

  Love You a Latte hasn’t changed much since the last time I was here. They have a few tables and several old couches. It’s like being in the comfort of your living room—and now, they have wi-fi. The line isn’t long, and toward the front, I spot Sophia, who waves at me.

  “Hi, I’m glad to see you. I meant to ask you for your number last night, but Henry had me working until midnight,” she says when I reach her. “Do you have time for a quick chat? Or… at what time are you heading to the big house?”

  “You worked until midnight, and you’re already awake looking like a model?” I ask, impressed because she’s dressed in designer jeans, an elegant top, and a pair of high heel boots. Her face looks fresh, and she’s smiling from ear to ear.

  She’s ready to take over the corporate world—with style.