by Lori Ryan
A smile spread wide across his face.
“Am I your Prince Charming?”
“I’m not sure anymore.”
His smile fell and suddenly she felt bad for being honest.
“I’m not sure that there ever was a Prince Charming to be honest. It’s like, this entire fairy tale empire that Walt Disney has created is a sham.”
“Oh, God, please don’t tell Becca, she’ll be crushed.”
“She likes Disney movies?”
“‘Like’ isn’t a strong enough word. She adores the Disney princesses, all of them, and believe me, in a house full of six men that’s a hard pill to swallow.”
“I’m sure. But I bet your mom loves it.”
“We all do, actually. Becca is amazing.”
They fell back into silence, the unanswered question looming above them.
She let out a heavy breath, knowing Grant would never let her leave the canoe without answering. “I guess the real reason I haven’t signed them is because I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid that no matter what I do, it will be the wrong decision.”
“Why would it be a wrong decision to stay with me?”
She stared at him, trying to convey her fears. “Because we still don’t want the same things.”
He watched her, his expression blank.
Sophie glanced around them, surprised they were now near the middle of the lake, hundreds of yards from the shore. “Shouldn’t you row us back in?”
“What is it you want, Sophie?”
Her gaze roamed around the perimeter of the lake as she fought back tears. “Something I’ll probably never have,” she said quietly, afraid to tell him the truth. She might never be able to have children of her own.
“What does that mean?” He crawled toward her and the canoe shifted.
“Grant, please.”
He sat closer to her, his weight now unbalancing the boat.
“I’m scared, Grant, please move back.”
“Scared of the canoe or scared of me?”
Her head fell and she stared down at her shoes. “Both.” A finger slid under her chin and Grant lifted her head until her eyes met his.
“Why are you afraid of me?”
“Because,” she swallowed, “you could utterly destroy me.”
Chapter Nineteen
Sophie’s words rang through Grant’s mind.
You could utterly destroy me.
Didn’t she know that she’d already destroyed him?
“I didn’t mean it like it sounded,” she said.
He picked up the oars and began rowing them back to shore.
“Grant,” she called softly.
“What did you mean, something you can’t have?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Now who’s being passive-aggressive?”
She laughed. “That’s not really passive-aggressive.”
“No,” he said, “but it’s not the truth.”
She pulled at the straps on her life vest, avoiding his gaze.
“I’m seeing a therapist,” he blurted out.
Her head snapped up and she stared at him wide-eyed. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because.” He paused, trying to let his thoughts catch up with his mouth, something he hadn’t been able to do until he’d met Dr. Colleen Lampkin, his therapist. “Because I hit rock bottom and I realized I needed help.”
“Were you drinking?” she asked, as if afraid of the answer.
“No. I mean, not drinking to ease the pain or numb myself for long periods of time if that’s what you mean. I mean, yeah, there were a few nights I got shitfaced but…no.”
“Was it for anger management?”
Grant laughed. “Do you think I have anger issues, Soph?”
“Well, no,” she shook her head, “but you did beat your manager almost unconscious.”
“He had it coming. Anyone in my shoes would have done the same thing.”
“Are you going to tell me what he did?”
“I already told you, he threatened something important to me.”
“Something or someone?” she asked.
“Does it matter?”
“No, I guess not.”
“He was trying to blackmail me.” That was at least part of the truth. Grant didn’t want to tell her that she was part of his manager’s twisted scheme.
“Is that why you lost all your money?”
He stared at her, not surprised at her knowledge, hell the entire world knew how far he’d fallen. All for her.
“Partly,” he said quietly as he continued to row.
She nodded and smiled as if grateful for that small bit of truth.
The real truth was, he didn’t want to win Sophie back by telling her he’d saved her from scandal and humiliation. If he won her back, he wanted it to be solely because she loved him and believed in him.
He drew a lung full of cool air and released a sigh before admitting what he never had before. “When you hit bottom the only place you can go is up, and the only person you can blame for not making it out is yourself. I guess all of that forced me to look at myself, really look at myself.”
“And what did you see?”
“A selfish, immature prick who needed the approval and attention of everyone.”
He finally let his gaze meet hers. She stared at him with no judgment in her eyes, only encouragement, as if she wanted to know more. So he gave it to her.
“I realized that I actually have low self-esteem. Acting was a way for me to become someone else, someone I was…proud of. Someone my family could be proud of. Instead, I disappointed everyone.”
“You weren’t proud of yourself before?”
“Not really, I guess. I was prideful but not proud. Does that make sense?”
She smiled. “Yeah, it kind of does.” She leaned forward. “What else have you discovered?”
“That I have that ‘fear of missing out’ syndrome.”
“What’s that?”
“I was afraid of not being on top, of not being on the covers of magazines. Not because I’m vain, I just thought that’s where I had to be to get the next great project. Like, if I dropped out of sight, everyone would forget me and I’d never work again.”
Sophie nodded. “I get it.”
“I pushed myself, work wise, because I thought if I took a break, even for a second, I'd fall from grace. And since most of my self-esteem came from acting, I feared if I wasn’t always visible, I’d be nothing. I feared I’d miss out, or be missed.”
“And now?”
“I’m learning how to like myself just for me. Grant Sumner. Son, brother, actor…husband, I hope.”
She stared at him for a long moment before her gaze fell to the floor. At least she didn’t correct him.
“I also learned that acting was my coping mechanism,” he said.
Her head lifted and eyes found his again as she listened.
“When things went to shit, I threw myself into my projects.”
“You mean when our marriage went to shit?”
“That, and other things.” Like the miscarriages, he wanted to say but he didn’t want to upset her. “I ran away instead of talking to you.”
“We’re talking now.” She smiled.
“But I had to get you in the middle of a lake to do it.” He laughed.
“I always thought a marriage had to be perfect,” she said, “like my parents, to be successful.”
“Me, too,” he said.
“Yeah, your parents had a really good marriage.”
Grant bit back his emotions, thinking of what an amazing role model his father had been. Still, instead of living up to that role model, Grant had fallen so far short as a husband, he didn’t know how to explain it. It was part of the reason he was afraid to become a father himself…he was nowhere near the man John Sumner was.
Sophie intertwined
her fingers nervously. “Recently Jackie told me that my parents’ marriage was anything but. I called my mom and talked to her for a long time about it.”
“Are you serious? I always thought Agnes and Don were happy.”
“They are now, but my mom said my dad left for a period of time when I was little.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. My mom never called it a separation.”
“What did she call it?”
“Breathing room.”
They both laughed.
“Breathing room,” he repeated. “I guess it all worked out in the end. They seem happy now.”
“Yeah, they are. I’m just sad that they made it seem like their marriage was perfect. I guess the first rough patch you and I hit, I started worrying.”
“What was the first rough patch?” he asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew.
“The first miscarriage.”
He scooted forward, rocking the canoe but Sophie didn’t seem to notice. “I’m sorry, Soph. Sorry I wasn’t there with you right after.”
To his great shame, Grant had chosen his career over Sophie after her first miscarriage. The film company had drafted a grueling schedule to stay on budget and on time. Grant could have said no to all of it, but the truth was, he was scared, and disappointed. He’d used it as an excuse to run instead of facing their loss. Instead of staying by her side, the day after she’d lost the baby he’d taken a flight to London to start pre-production.
Grant watched helplessly as she closed her eyes and a small tear slipped down her cheek.
“Soph,” he lunged for her, “oh, God, Soph, please don’t cry. I’m so sorry.” He struggled to get to her without flipping them both into the water, but she held her hand up.
“Please. Just…don’t.”
He sank down to his knees and waited as they sat in silence. The sounds of nature echoed around them but Sophie’s silence was the loudest sound of all.
“W-When,” she choked, “when I lost the baby, I was so upset. So sad. And you left so suddenly I thought, maybe it was a good thing I lost it, that maybe you didn’t really want it.”
“I did want the baby, Soph, I swear. I just didn’t know how to act. I was the man, I was supposed to be brave, but I didn’t feel brave. I felt like a failure. I didn’t know how to comfort you. You were so…lost. So I ran.”
Her eyes searched his as if trying to decide whether to believe him or not. “When the second miscarriage happened, I blamed God,” she said. “I thought, how could He do this to us when He knew how much I wanted a child?”
Grant sat silently, knowing she needed to talk, that she probably hadn’t shared these emotions or feelings with anyone. She should have been able to share them with him before this. He owed her this and so much more.
“And the third baby.” She hiccuped a sob.
Unable to stop from touching her, he reached out and took her hand. “Soph,” he pleaded, squeezing her hands.
“The third time, I blamed myself.”
“Sophie, why would you blame yourself?”
She lifted her head, her blue eyes shimmering with tears. “I thought, well, maybe I wasn’t ready, maybe I’d willed it to happen, unconsciously.”
“Oh, Soph, you know that’s not true, sweetheart. You have to. Please tell me you know it wasn’t your fault. It was no one’s fault.”
She shook her head, her ponytail dancing across her shoulders as she buried her hands in her face. “It was my fault,” she mumbled.
“Sophie,” he said, moving to his knees and grabbing her wrists, pulling her hands from her face.
She stared down at him, her expression so bereft of hope it broke his heart. He wasn’t sure what she was talking about.
“Are you sick, Sophie? Tell me what it is.”
She shivered and Grant realized the air had turned colder this far from shore.
“Can we go back to the cabin?” she asked, her voice deadened.
“Yeah, of course. Of course.” Grant grabbed the oars from under his seat and positioned them in the water. He rowed as quickly as he could, wanting, needing to get Sophie inside and warm. Somewhere they could talk. The best place he could think of was in his arms.
As they approached the shore, Sophie glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, no.”
He turned to see what she was looking at. The dock, which had been quiet and empty when they’d left, was now like a zoo, people pressed onto the wooden pier, holding up their phones, poised for pictures.
“Fuck,” Grant mumbled under his breath. “Someone leaked that we’re here.”
Sophie ducked her head and turned her back, trying to escape the exposure. “What are we going to do?”
Grant reached in his pocket for his phone, dialing Max’s number as he scanned the parking lot next to the lake.
He squinted. Was that the same guy he’d seen at O’Halloran’s? He couldn’t see the guy’s face at all, but the ball cap and shirt looked like the right color and the build was right. The man leaned against a truck watching the crowd at the dock. Was he admiring his handiwork in spreading the word about their location?
“What’s up, dipshit?” Max asked.
“I need your help.”
“Oh hell, what’s wrong, bro?”
“Sophie and I went canoeing on Lake Mayched.”
“Let me guess, you got naked and—”
“No,” he said, cutting off his brother. “Someone leaked that Sophie and I are here. The dock is surrounded.”
“Say no more. Where’s your Jeep?”
“It’s at the dock.”
“Shawn and I will grab it and meet you at the back path, the one by the overlook.”
The overlook was the place where kids in high school had always gone to make out.
“Okay, thanks Max.”
“Sure thing. We were actually headed out to the Rutherford Ranch so we’re pretty close. Should be there in five to ten minutes.”
“Okay, see you then.”
“See ya.”
They clicked off and Grant stuffed the phone back in his pocket.
Sophie stared at him, her head tilted, eyes narrowed.
“What?” he asked as he turned the canoe and began rowing toward the far shore.
“Why do you have a phone?”
Oh, crap. “For emergencies.”
She raised a brow.
“Like now,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to avoid her gaze.
“Grant,” she called in that low raspy tone that normally had him burning with need. Today, her voice brought back memories of sitting in the principal’s office after getting in trouble.
“Yes,” he said, his head still turned.
“Why do you have a phone? I thought we had thirty days.”
He continued rowing but turned to face her. “Jackie said I had to have a phone or she wouldn’t let you come.”
“Jackie!” she half shouted, lurching to her feet.
The canoe rolled to one side.
Sophie screamed.
Grant grasped her hips to steady her.
She lost her balance and fell forward. “Grant!” she yelled.
Knowing the only way to keep her from falling into the cold water was to bring her down, he yanked on her waist and fell back. Sophie toppled over, falling right on top of him.
“Grant!” Sophie struggled in his arms. “Are you okay?”
“Be still,” he groaned through gritted teeth, his eyes closed as he wished away the sharp pain racing up and down his spine. He’d fallen onto the opposite seat.
Her cold hands pressed against his face. “Grant, talk to me. Are you okay?”
Sophie was laying on top of him, her breath washing over his face.
Other than the fact that his back felt like someone had stabbed him between the shoulder blades, he was perfect.
“Sophie,” he whispered through labored breath, more from the pain in his pants from having her wiggling on top of him.
“Yes, what is it, Grant? Are you all right?” Her hands moved from his face down to his shoulders and across his chest. “Are you hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, goodness, what is it?” She tried to push off him but he tugged her closer. “Grant. What is it? What can I do?”
“Kiss me.” When he didn’t hear a response, he opened his eyes.
She stared down at him, eyes narrowed, lips pressed in a thin line.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Very funny.” She pressed her palms on his chest and tried to push off.
“Go easy. You don’t want to rock the canoe and fall over.”
Her eyes went wide. “Oh, no. Grant.” She fell back on top of him.
He knew he should feel bad for manipulating her into snuggling up with him but he didn’t. He had already planned to use every trick in the book to win back his wife.
“Hey, dipshit!” someone called.
Grant and Sophie lifted up.
Max stood on the shore, laughing as he held up an oar. “Missing something?”
Chapter Twenty
Sophie dried her hair and finger-combed through the blonde strands. The warm shower had felt good on her chilled bones.
After Max had shown up with the lost oar, she and Grant had used their hands to paddle toward the shore. Thanks to her stupid actions of springing to her feet and rocking the canoe, Grant had lost both oars.
At the time she’d been scared to death, but once they were safely on shore they’d all found the humor in the ridiculous situation, for the most part.
She rummaged through her suitcase, still not having unpacked yet, assuming she and Grant would last together all of about two seconds with one another. But she had to admit, being isolated in the woods was feeling better and better, even though Grant had cheated and brought a phone. Part of her was thankful though, to know they had at least some connection to the world.
It had definitely come in handy out on the lake.
She dug through her clothes, searching for something warm, when her hands felt a folder. She closed her eyes. It was the divorce papers. She’d brought them with her, thinking this would be the end for them. Why not just have them on her and get Grant to sign them now? But after their time together on the lake she wasn’t so sure.
