by Shayla Black
I’m a woman on a mission. This is it.
I shut my car door, press the fob to lock the vehicle, and stare straight ahead at the gorgeous but unfamiliar home in front of me. The now-familiar strains of Jason Mraz’s “I Won’t Give Up” float through my head, crying out that, although we have a lot to learn, we’re worth it.
Today, I’ll find out if that’s true. I’ll figure out once and for all if anything Clint Holmes claims he felt for me in Maui was real.
Would he have sent me the ballad about persevering, along with the handful of other songs encouraging me to give our relationship another try if he wasn’t? It seems unlikely. He now has all the answers he sought about the Reed Financial scam. He got justice, too. What else could he want from me…except me?
No, Clint didn’t compile the song list he sent a few weeks ago. Keeley did; he admits that. But he swears he feels all these sentiments.
I never thought of music as therapy, but apparently it’s Keeley’s way of navigating difficult emotions. It seemed silly at first, but I see why now. I’ve picked every song apart. Sting’s “Fortress Around Your Heart” tells me he understands that he invented the battle between us inside his head and that he’s well aware his lies caused me to raise my defenses. Bryan Adams’s “Please Forgive Me” just melts my heart. How can I refuse a man who asks for forgiveness for loving me too much? Yesterday, “Dig” by Incubus was on high rotation. Yes, we all have a weakness that cleverly attaches and multiplies. I’m guilty, so I can’t blame him for not being perfect.
But do I dare trust him again?
Do I dare not try?
I haven’t been ready to tackle that question until now because the last three months have been hell. My final morning in Maui, I left Maxon and Keeley’s place with tears and hugs and promises to keep in touch, then I took a taxi to the hospital, helped Stephen through the discharge process, and settled him into the temporary rental he’s found. He had to be feeling better because he was already eyeing the property’s caretaker, a pretty blonde named Skye. Before I hopped on my red-eye back to LA that night, he told me I was crazy to run from Clint because that man loves me. I was too shell-shocked by everything that happened the night before to hear it.
A week after my father’s death, he was buried in San Diego. The service quickly became a nightmarish media circus. Thank goodness my siblings came, except Griff, who stayed behind with Britta for the birth of their second beautiful little boy, Grayson. But Maxon watched over me protectively. Harlow held my hand. Evan fended off the press.
My siblings came not to pay their respects to the man who sired us but to support me. I was beyond touched—and they haven’t wavered since. If one silver lining has come out of the multitude of Barclay’s lies and indiscretions, it’s my family. We’ve grown closer over the last few months, despite me being back in California now.
But I miss them. A lot.
During the funeral, Maxon also made sure that Linda, Barclay’s vengeful wife, didn’t get too close to me. Once she found out I had inherited everything remaining in Barclay’s estate and her boy-toy Marco left her for a wealthier sugar-mama, the woman threatened to kill me. Last month, she was found guilty of all charges in the Reed Financial scandal—conspiracy, aiding and abetting, money laundering. She’s going to prison for the rest of her life. None of my siblings seemed surprised or broken up about it. How sad that the woman who met this tragic end was such a horrible human being that none of her children even shed tears. Then again, being married to Barclay for thirty-five years probably warped her into someone as twisted and self-serving as he’d been.
Clint came to my dad’s funeral, too. That was the first—and only—time I’ve seen him since our breakup. I hoped laying eyes on him wouldn’t affect me. After all, he lied to me. He betrayed me. He coaxed me into laying my soul bare when he didn’t love me. But his expression as we stared at one another across the thirty feet that separated us said something very different. I felt him there, full of concern and remorse—and devotion I wanted to believe so badly it tore at my heart.
Still, how could I after his words and longing looks in Maui were all lies?
He sent a beautiful sympathy bouquet for the service. We talked afterward, but he didn’t press me. He didn’t touch me, either…though I secretly wished he had. Instead, he told me that if I wanted or needed him, he would come right away, no questions or expectations. Then he whispered that he loves me.
I wasn’t ready to hear it. Though Barclay’s passing no longer upset me, I left the funeral in tears.
Not long after, I flew to the Caymans. My trip there to retrieve the victims’ stolen funds was long and frustrating. Weeding through all the documentation, bureaucracy, and legalities took weeks. Finally, the bank relinquished the funds to me—all seven hundred eighty million dollars of it. It took another few weeks for me to clear my plans with the feds.
And the entire time I was in the blue-ocean, palm-tree paradise, I couldn’t stop thinking about my time in Maui with Clint. Was any of what we shared real? Did he fall for me, despite wondering if I was guilty? Does he really love me?
I don’t know, and the battle between prudence and hope seems never ending.
Since returning stateside two weeks ago, I’ve dispersed all funds back to the victims and quietly let them know I’m here if they ever need a resource or help in understanding their investments. I recommended other well-respected advisors to them, of course. I was stunned that a handful of former clients insisted on sticking with me.
Though maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. After Barclay’s death and during Linda’s trial, the facts of the case hit the news. I was exonerated in the court of public opinion when it became clear that I had no knowledge or hand in the scheme. The one day I had to testify, I barely held myself together as I described the moment I realized my father had utterly deceived me—and all our clients. Maybe those people now feel sorry for me. Maybe they believe in second chances. Either way, I’ve retained enough of these former investors to start my own financial services firm.
Stephen Lund hired me, too. Yes, probably out of loyalty and pity, but I appreciate his friendship. He still hasn’t left Maui, and he’s not spilling about what he’s up to, much less when—or if—he intends to return home and resume his role as his father’s second-in-command again at Colossus Investment Corporation. But he sounds happier than I’ve ever heard him. I wonder if that pretty blonde is the reason…
Noah and Harlow hired me to manage their money, too. Ditto Evan and Nia. It’s above and beyond the call of sibling duty. But I’m working exceptionally hard to make the most of their investments and ensure they never regret their decision.
The only client whose stolen funds I haven’t returned yet is Clint’s. This, I wanted to do in person. Because honestly, every day we’ve been apart, the man has done his best to ensure he’s never far from my thoughts.
I need to know where we stand—once and for all.
Shortly after my dad’s funeral, he started texting me. Sure, he said he was sorry a lot. Every day, he reiterates that he loves me. I’ve never replied. At first, I had too much happening to expend mental energy on anything except Barclay and the mess he left. Now that I’ve straightened it up, I’ve started getting perspective. I’m wondering if Clint and I could ever be an us again.
In the last two weeks, I’ve thought of almost nothing else. I’m still not sure what to believe.
Recently, he started texting me about more day-to-day stuff, too—making me feel like I’m a part of his life. Bryson, his youngest brother, is apparently flourishing at college. Bret, the middle sibling, finally realized that his hate for me was misplaced. He’s laid off the booze and started hitting the books again. I’m happy for them both. I’ve never met Bret, but I’m glad for his sake that he’s moving on.
Not that I don’t understand where he was coming from. Grief can bend a person in terrible ways, and while it’s fresh, it’s hard not to welcome any kind of comfort, even
if it’s wrong. Thankfully, my crutch was less destructive than alcohol. I devoted most every waking hour to the victims’ fund I began, which has grown twenty-three percent in the last nine months. I’m proud of that accomplishment. I’m even happier that the funds I returned to the victims were sometimes even more than the amount they initially invested.
Clint sold his father’s business, then sent me his third of the proceeds with the explicit request to add the amount to the victims’ fund. To have him embrace my most near-and-dear cause touched me. It made me cry…and wonder if we could have forever.
A few weeks later, he surprised me again, this time by sending me the proceeds from the sale of his North Dakota business, along with a note asking me to invest it. Because he trusts me, he says. Because he wants to show me that he has utter faith in me. Because, despite what I think, he still loves me.
At the time, I didn’t know what to say…so I’ve said nothing. All professional correspondence has been via certified letter or a temp I hired until I land my business somewhere and put down roots. Regardless, every single day Clint texts me his thoughts, his feelings, his hopes for our future, and his sincere apologies.
Why would he persist after three months if he didn’t mean it?
In my purse, my phone buzzes. Speak of the devil… It’s Clint.
Good morning, sweetheart. I miss you. It’s a beautiful day, but it would be even better if you were here. It would be perfect if you wanted to talk.
I’m tempted to reply…but I don’t. What I need to say should be said in person.
Hey, good news. I got a message from Ash last night. He and Samantha are engaged! Happy for them… He’s managing the bar now but that’s temporary. Sam finishes her degree in finance in May and will be looking for an entry-level position. The wedding is in June in Maui, and I’m best man! If you’d like come, I would love to see you. Because I love you. Still. That’s not going to change.
There’s no stopping the way my heart melts.
Right after I found out he lied and used me for revenge, I wanted to hate him. For a few days, maybe I even did. But it didn’t last. He’s made staying mad impossible. Now, I look forward to his daily texts. He doesn’t know, of course. I’ve waited to see if his feelings were more absolution than lifetime devotion. But he hasn’t wavered one bit since our separation.
So, it’s time for me to finally figure out if we have any hope of a future. Because as much as I’d like to say I’ve fallen out of love, I haven’t.
The phone in my hand buzzes again as I head slowly up the walkway, toward the door.
What are you up to? I’m still at home in LA, working through what my next business venture will be. I’ve got some ideas… I wish we could talk about them. You might be surprised. I know you’re probably still angry—and with good reason. But I won’t stop texting you unless you tell me to. Maybe I won’t even stop then. It’s the only way I have to convince you that I’m beyond in love with you and want to spend my life with you. I want to marry you.
He says that almost every day, more lately than when he first started texting. I’m finding it harder and harder not to believe him. I’ve questioned whether that makes me crazy. Maybe I should be holding a grudge. That might have been satisfying, at least for a while. But I’ve realized a few things through all of this. First, not forgiving is what started this mayhem. Second, the more I let distrust and negativity into my life, the more I risk becoming like Barclay.
That’s something I never, ever want.
For the first time since our one-sided correspondence, I raise my trembling fingers to my phone and tap out a reply.
Answer your door.
As soon as the message is delivered, I shove the phone back in my bag and ring the bell.
Seconds later, footsteps pound through the house. The door wrenches open, and Clint stands there, tall and shocked and looking so good in jeans and a T-shirt, he makes me as weak-kneed as the first time I saw him.
I drag in a breath and brace myself. “Hi.”
“You’re here. Oh, my god. You’re here! Come in.”
When he lurches back, I step over the threshold and into his foyer, nervously clutching my purse. He leads me into the living room beyond. It’s expansive, lined with bookcases, framed by a large sectional, comfy chairs, and a marble fireplace that’s a statement all its own. This place is nice, but it doesn’t look like him.
“Thanks. Did your mother decorate the house?”
He nods. “A few years before she passed, yes. Did you want to sit?”
I can tell he’s nervous. Because he doesn’t want to spoil the opportunity to convince me of his feelings…or is he worried I’m here to call his bluff?
“Thanks.” As I perch on the edge of the sectional, he sits on the massive coffee table right in front of me.
He’s mere feet away. My heart pounds. I wasn’t sure if or when I’d ever be close to this man again…and now I can’t think about anything else.
“I’m sorry.” I assume he’s apologizing to me again for what happened in Maui, but he takes my hands instead. “I can’t not touch you. It’s been so long. I need to be sure you’re real.”
When he squeezes my fingers, he squeezes my heart, too. I clutch him in return. It feels so good to touch him again. He’s like welcoming warmth after three long months of emotional winter.
“What brings you here? Not that I’m not thrilled to see you. Not that I want you to ever leave,” he rushes to assure me, scooting even closer. “But you haven’t spoken to me since the funeral and…”
He’s been trying not to give up. I see that on his face.
We have to figure out how—or if—we can put the past behind us. But first things first.
I reach into my purse and pull out an envelope. “Open it.”
Clint tears into it and scans the check for just under four million dollars, then looks at me with a scowl. “You came here just to return my father’s money?”
“It’s something I had to do. I know money won’t bring him back, but I’m hoping it gives you and your brothers some sense of peace and security.”
“This is a nice gesture. Thank you for your honesty and integrity, but I haven’t doubted you since you left Maui. In fact, I want you to invest this money. My brothers and I already talked about it.” He presses the envelope back into my hands.
Is he for real? “You want me to manage the money he spent his life making? The money my father took?”
Clint nods. “I don’t trust anyone else.”
He’s serious. OMG… My heart floats in my chest as if his face-to-face vote of confidence filled it with hope again. I can only think of one thing he’s trying to say to me with this gesture: that he’s put every reservation he ever had about me to rest. When our gazes connect, I see that same message in his blue eyes.
I smile. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. What I’d like even better is to talk to you, try to alleviate your distrust in me, so we can be together again. Please don’t say no.”
I’m not surprised he’s confronting this head on. We need to. I’m finally ready.
“Clint, what you did to me was deceitful.”
“Horrible and unforgivable. But…” He slides his fingers between mine. “I’m hoping you can find some way to forgive me.”
Now that I’ve been able to move past my own trials and reflect on what he went through, that no longer sounds farfetched. In fact, I almost don’t blame him. Shock, grief, loss—they can do terrible things to anyone’s psyche. And unlike my father, his did nothing to deserve a premature death. I understand why Clint looked for someone to blame—and I was the obvious choice. But we have to talk this out.
“You lied about everything.”
He shakes his head. “Our meeting was a lie. My job at the bar was a lie. Initially, my attempts to be your friend were a lie. Everything else was totally fucking real, sweetheart—especially how hard I fell for you. Even when logic told me I was being selfish and ir
responsible, I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted you. I needed to be with you. I love you. I hope you can find some way to believe me.”
He’s been saying these same things via text the last few months. It’s hard not to believe him now, when he has no more reason to lie.
“Tell me, in your ideal world, what would happen next between us?”
“Hey, bro. I’m out. I’ll be back—” When I turn to the other man who just stumbled into the room, his eyes flare wide. “Holy shit. Bethany Banks?”
Standing, I nod, absently thinking how much he looks like his brother—and their father. “You’re Bret?”
He approaches, hand outstretched. “Yeah. Hey, I’m really sorry for being a douche and breaking into your apartment.”
Clint admitted that to me, too.
“It’s okay. I understand.” Honestly, he didn’t destroy or deface anything. If Clint hadn’t told me his brother had been in my place, I wouldn’t have known. “Water under the bridge.”
“Great. Thanks. I’ll, um…leave you two to talk. It was nice to meet you. For whatever it’s worth, I wish you’d put my brother out of his misery and marry him. He loves you. Bry and I would be happy to have you in the family.”
My elation spikes. I expected it would take months—maybe years—for Clint’s brothers to stop hating me. I worried they would resist any attempt we made to patch up our romance. But for Bret to practically beg me to marry his brother…
As Clint and his middle sibling exchange a manly shoulder bump, I can’t stop smiling. Then his younger brother nods my way and melts out of the room.
“Sorry about the interruption,” Clint says. “We’re alone now.”
“Your brother seems like a good guy.”
“He’s made progress lately. In fact, he came down from UCLA to spend the weekend with me. Bry may or may not show up, depending on whether he can tear himself away from his new girlfriend. But even if he does, I won’t see him for hours yet. So let’s talk about us and my ideal world.”
