Love Emerged (Love Surfaced #3)

by Michelle Lynn

  Lana crosses her arms, and I stifle my laugh.

  “I don’t know who you are. The boyfriend’s mother or the drunk’s mother?” She eyes Piper.

  We all glance at Piper sipping the wine bottle. Her eyes crinkle, and Tanner laughs.

  “Have a good day, Mrs. Vitron, and thank you for having us in your home. It was most delightful.” Lana portrays a high-class person, smiling and then linking her arm with mine.

  “The Will reading will be tomorrow at one. I’m positive you’ll be there,” June says to my retreating back.

  “I already heard from the lawyer.” I raise my eyebrows. “I’ll be there.”

  Her face falls because she didn’t expect me to know the details already.

  We climb into the limo, and I feel like a huge boulder has been freed from my back. Lana and I laugh, finding amusement in June’s facial expressions.

  “Okay, okay,” Dylan interrupts our fun time. “I like this whole Lana-and-Bea bonding time, but I’m feeling a little left out.”

  Lana looks to me, and we both bust out laughing again. I turn to Dylan and frown my lips. Then, I slide to sit on his bench, and Patrick moves over next to Lana.

  “I’m sorry, baby.” I place my hand on his face. “You’re my knight.”

  “Thank you. I mean, my mom comes in here, like some miracle worker and raises you from the trenches. That’s my job.”

  “You do that, too. I’m sorry.” I pout.

  He continues his whiny act, half-laughing. “No more. I fix your problems,” he says.

  I nod. “Okay.”

  I kiss his cheek, but he turns his head at the exact moment and locks our lips together. His hands come up and hold my head firm, so I can’t move while he thoroughly kisses me, with tongue.

  We break apart, and he shifts to look at his parents. “Sorry.”

  I’m not sure if they say anything because I’m enamored with him right now.

  “I love you,” I rush out.

  A sly smile forms on his lips. “About time. I couldn’t say it first.”

  I slap his shoulder, and he laughs.

  Composing himself, he looks directly in my eyes, love pouring from his own. “I love you, Bea.”

  I jump into his arms and cast kisses to his face.

  “What a show we’re getting,” Patrick says to Lana.

  “Lucky us to have both our boys find their ones,” she comments.

  The next day, Dylan and I say good-bye to our family and friends, promising to see them soon. It’s odd, not being in Detroit anymore, but it’s nice being in a new city, too.

  We go to the lawyer’s office, and to my surprise, June and her group stay to one side of the waiting room with me on the other.

  Dylan holds my hand as we walk into the conference room.

  “I’m Mr. Wexburg, your father’s lawyer.” A man about my father’s age with early graying around his temples holds out his hand to me. His lips turn up, and he shakes my hand. “Hugh shared a lot of great things about you.”

  I nod and shake his hand.

  “Please have a seat.” He points to the two closest to him.

  June quickly grabs the one on the other side. It’s like a divorce mediation—Vitron versus Zanders.

  Mr. Wexburg begins the Will reading and then places all the paperwork down.

  “I want to go on record”—he glances over to the typographer—“that Mr. Hugh Vitron last changed his Will seven years ago when Bea Zanders turned eighteen. He’s signed off on this Will every year after, stating no changes. I suggest that none of you try to contest this because I have the paperwork to prove he’s been in his right mind each year. He worried about some of you not accepting his wishes, so we’ve dotted all the I’s and crossed all the T’s.”

  He sternly looks at June, and she ignores him.

  “With that being said, let’s begin.”

  My stomach knots, but Dylan clamps his hand on mine.

  “Article one. I direct my executors to pay my enforceable unsecured debts and funeral expenses, the expenses of my last illness, and the expenses of administering my estate.” He looks over to June. “You will be reimbursed for his funeral expense.”

  She smiles and shoots me a smug look.

  “Article two. I give all my tangible personal property and all proceeds of personal property and insurance to Beatrice Zanders.”

  Dylan gasps next to me.

  “No,” Len says, “that’s ridiculous. What is she going to do with it?”

  The other side of the room begins stirring, and Xavier catches my eyes, smiling.

  “Len, I explained these are his wishes. Let’s continue. Article three. I give all my residences, subject to any mortgages or encumbrances thereon, and all policies and proceeds of insurance covering such property to Beatrice Zanders.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. There’s no way he was in his right frame of mind,” Cate says.

  I stay quiet, wanting to get out.

  During the last few weeks, my dad told me I was left with everything, and he talked about what I should do with it all. It never really felt real, and I didn’t want the money or the houses if it meant he had to die in order for me to get them. I told him to spread his wealth with the people who loved him.

  “You’re one of the only ones who truly loves me,” he said.

  I questioned his comment at first.

  “Did she get it all?” June stands up, eyes peering down to Mr. Wexburg.

  “Sit down, and I’ll finish.”

  She continues to stand.

  “Tell me, Wayne,” she says through her clenched teeth.

  Mr. Wexburg glances to me and then the paperwork. He leans back in his chair, linking his fingers. “Yes, everything goes to Bea.” He looks over to me and smiles. “It’s all yours.”

  “Bitch,” Lily says.

  Xavier knocks his shoulder into hers.

  “You’re telling me, I went over there most days since he’s been sick for nothing?” She rolls her eyes, grabs her purse off the table, and leaves.

  Cate just shakes her head and follows her daughter with Len and Xavier right at her heels.

  June stands there, almost challenging me. “Well”—she looks me up and down—“I guess you need it much more than I do.”

  She raises her nose up in the air, but I don’t throw any insults in return. She’s not worth my time, and I’m not one to kick a bitch when she’s down.

  The room clears out, leaving me, Dylan, and Mr. Wexburg. Mr. Wexburg looks to Dylan, who I think is in utter shock of what just happened.

  “If you’ll excuse us, Mr. McCain, I’d like to have a word with Bea.”

  Dylan nods and stands up, but he bends down and kisses my cheek. “I’ll just be outside,” he whispers.

  Our hands brush along one another’s.

  The door clicks shut, and an easy smile crosses Mr. Wexburg’s lips.

  “So, there’s another piece of business I need to discuss with you. Have you looked in the box Gretchen gave you?”

  I shake my head, confused about how he even knew about the box. Every day, my fingers have gripped it, but I didn’t have the heart to lift the lid. If there’s a letter, which I assume there is, it’s my last new words I’ll hear from him.

  “Okay. I need you to. Your father wanted you to have it, and I don’t think I’m divulging anything to tell you there are things inside. Your father loved you very much. He was a good friend of mine. He just seemed to live double lives. Unsure of where he fit. I like to think that’s true when it came to you, too.”

  His comments have my mind spinning, and I wish the box were right in front of me to decode his message.

  “Thank you, Mr. Wexburg.”

  “Please call me Wayne. I’d like to offer my services to you at no charge. Your father raved about how talented you were, and if you need anything from me, please just call.” He slides his card over with his cell phone on the back. “I’ll greatly miss your father. He was a remarka
ble man.”

  He slides his chair out, and he stands.

  I follow suit. “Thank you for everything, Wayne.”

  I shake his hand, and there’s sadness in his eyes.

  “My pleasure, Bea. Good luck with everything. Your father was quite fond of Mr. McCain, by the way. Best wishes.”

  I tilt my head, trying to figure out his meaning.

  Bea

  I RUSH TO MY ROOM when I get home. Dylan had to go back to the office, and I’m on bereavement leave, so I’m by myself, which makes me happy. Not because I don’t love Dylan, I do, but I feel like this letter could change my life, and I want to experience it by myself. Maybe if I’m lucky, whatever my father left me will heal the hole his absence left in my heart.

  I sit on my bed, placing the box in front of me. My hands hesitate, and I lay them on the box for a few moments, but Wayne’s words ring too loud in my ears, so I pick it up.

  There lies a letter and a ring. I twirl the metal around my finger, admiring a blue diamond with a platinum band.

  Looking closer, I see it’s engraved with, Love to my daughter.

  I clench it in my hands, holding it to my heart.

  Pushing the breathtaking ring onto my finger, I hold the envelope in my hands. It’s scripted with, To my daughter.

  My heart races as I unfold the paper that weighs heavily in my hands. Sucking in a much-needed breath, I begin reading.

  Bea,

  Here’s the classic line, but it’s true. If you’re reading this, I’m gone. Either Wayne or Gretchen gave this to you, so I’m glad I can trust them as much as I thought I could. Trust is a hard thing, especially when you have so much for people to take. For me, that’s money. For you, that’s your heart.

  I’m afraid you’ve been stuck in this limbo state for most of your life, and I haven’t helped you escape it, which I should have. It was my job as a father to make sure you were growing the way you were supposed to. I guess I left too much responsibility to your mom.

  I’ve enjoyed the past few weeks with your visits and talking frankly about your life, but I’m ashamed I still kept something from you. I’m even more ashamed that I have chosen to tell you in a letter rather than face-to-face.

  Being born a Vitron wasn’t easy for either one of us, but I grew up with these expectations, and I never thought about stepping out of them to see what would happen until a few years ago, late in my life when I knew I was dying from hiding from the truth with alcohol.

  Since you are so straightforward, I’m not going to beat around the issue. I’m gay. Yes, you read that right. And I fell in love with Wayne years ago. He has been unbelievably patient with me, but I still failed him because I couldn’t come out.

  He’s only one part of how embarrassed of a man I am. I need to tell you more, so please promise you’ll continue reading. Even while writing this letter, I’ve stopped ten times, unable to find the words because words mean nothing, but to so many, they will.

  Here it goes. I’m not your biological father.

  I place the letter on my bed as tears prick my eyes. How could they lie to me all my life? All the feelings that I didn’t belong were justified. I didn’t, and I’m thinking June fucking knew. I take a deep breath because he wanted me to read the rest of the letter.

  Still there? I’m sure you needed a breather, but I hope you came back.

  Your mom got pregnant right before she met me. She lied and told me you were mine. I believed her until you were two, and you cut yourself. Remember?

  I’ve seen the pictures of me lying in a hospital bed. I got cut, and they couldn’t stop the bleeding. Every time I asked my mom about it, she’d tell me that she couldn’t remember why.

  I’m not even sure why, but they tested our blood. You’re Type O, in case you didn’t know. I’m AB, and your mom is A. If you need a refresher on biology, it can’t happen, Bea. It was wrong of me to take it out on you. I should have continued to be your father, but I was a weak man.

  I promised your mom I would never tell you, and I’m pretty sure that’s why she accompanied you that first visit.

  Please remember this one thing, and that is why it is engraved on that ring. You are my daughter. I might have realized it too late in life, but you are. Please believe me when I say, I love you, much more than I’m able to convey.

  I’m sorry for allowing my mother to treat you the way she did and for not stopping my family. I did fight behind closed doors. Got them to promise to never tell you the truth. I didn’t want anyone to figure out I was gay, which your mother threatened she’d let leak if anyone found out you weren’t mine.

  Please find it in your heart to forgive a dying man. If I were in front of you, I’d be on my knees with my hand over my heart, begging for forgiveness.

  Okay, let’s move on to your money. Everything of mine is yours, as you’ll learn when the Will is read. It’s been this way since you turned eighteen. You do what you want, but I’ll leave you one piece of fatherly advice. Start your own company. You are too talented of a girl to work for someone else. Very few people get the chance or the means to be an entrepreneur. Hire that dream of a boyfriend, too. The two of you will make a success.

  I’m not writing a novel, so it’s time I wind this up. I lied. I have one more piece of advice. Always listen to your gut, and don’t live for others. Live for your yourself. Just make sure you’re happy.

  Love,

  Dad

  It takes a moment for me to process all the information, but honestly, he’s right. He’s the only father I know, and I’m not really interested in finding my real one. Not like my mother would know.

  I pick up my phone and dial her phone number, but it goes right to voice mail.

  “Hey, Mom, can you call me? I lost track of where you are. Dad just had his Will read.”

  The Will should get her ass moving on getting back to me. She must have met someone because I haven’t heard from her in weeks.

  Two days, and still nothing from my mom. Her new guy must be something special if she’s not checking voice mail.

  Discouraged doesn’t even describe it. Dylan wants to come with me when I meet her, but I’m not sure I want him to. The problem with that is he feels like he’s not needed, and his feelings get hurt.

  I walk into the office, the tray of coffees in my hand. Dylan had to go in early today because Tim wanted to talk to him. Our new office building is nice, and the new employees seem cool.

  “Good morning, Maura,” I greet our receptionist, dropping a coffee on her desk.

  Surprise hits her face. “Thanks, Bea.”

  I smile and move on. The one advantage to the new office is that I have my own cubicle. So, I stop at Dylan’s, dropping off his coffee, and I give John his. He fought hard, but he got them to agree on bringing him to Chicago.

  I’m at my desk when Tim pages me, asking me to come into his office.

  Dylan is sitting there when I walk in, and I wonder why. Tim smiles, holding his hand out to the chair right next to Dylan.

  Walking over, I notice Dylan doesn’t make eye contact with me. His knee is bouncing up and down while he chews on his fingernails.

  Oh my God, I’m getting fired.

  I’ve worked for this company for two years, and I just helped secure the Nike account. And, now, they’re going to fire me. I’m on the edge of my seat, ready to give Tim a tongue-lashing.

  “You’re being promoted to senior exec,” Tim says.

  I retract my claws, sliding back into the seat.

  Finally, I release a breath. “Thank you.”

  I smile over to Dylan, but he hardly makes any contact with me.

  “Why are you being so depressed, McCain? Bea, Dylan is being promoted to ad manager. He’ll be your boss.” Tim nods, smiling as though I should be ecstatic.

  Let’s not even talk about how he’s been here for months and me, years. Quickly, that promotion to senior exec isn’t looking so hot.

  “Oh, how nice,” I bite out my words
.

  Dylan again concentrates on his tapping of fingers.

  “Now, Bea, I know it might upset you, but Dylan was hand-selected from NYU. The firm paid a lot of money to get him.”

  “Oh, did they?” I glance over at Dylan again, but he continues to ignore me.

  “Well, not more than you,” Tim backtracks, like I’m an idiot and didn’t put two and two together that Dylan’s been getting paid more money than me this entire time.

  Probably because I’m a woman. Well, Bea can do math. Son of a bitch.

  “Of course,” I comment, gritting my teeth. “Is that all, Tim?” I ask.

  He leans back. “Yes, you’ll be moving next week to your own office.”

  I don’t bother asking the list of questions in my head. I just need to get away from Dylan because I’m about ready to throw up.

  I walk out of Tim’s office, bypassing everyone right to the restroom. After composing myself to get through this workday without punching him in the face, I open the door, and a pair of green eyes are staring back at me.

  “Can we talk?”

  “You can go to hell.”

  “Come on, Bea.”

  I walk by him and right into Tim’s office.

  “Tim,” I call out.

  Dylan follows me in.

  “Can I talk to you—alone?” I eye Dylan, who blows out a long breath.

  “Sure. McCain, excuse us.”

  Dylan stands there, refusing to leave, so I hold the door open.

  “McCain, leave,” Tim says.

  Dylan backs up and out the door.

  I slowly close it, giving him a condescending small wave of my hand.

  “What’s up, Bea?” Tim says, sitting down in his chair.

  I approach but don’t take a seat. My hands rest on the back of the chair, and I let out a big breath to gain the self-esteem I need. “I have to leave. I’m quitting. I’m officially giving my two weeks.”