The day of our parents’ funeral was the last time I stepped into our Beacon Hill family estate. I never thought I’d return before it’s sold. Four months ago, we all decided there’s no use in keeping the property when none of us want to live here, to be surrounded by all the memories of our childhood, to be reminded of Mom and Dad and the pain of their loss.

My childhood home was once my haven. When I walked through the door into the sunlight-splashed rooms, I turned my back on the crap outside and found peace. Not anymore. Now, as I make my way through the hallways, past covered furniture, the air that fills my lungs is tainted by secrets and betrayal.

I stop at the bottom of the stairs, clutch the banister with both hands, and dip my head forward. I lift my head, tighten my jaw and climb the stairs, disturbing dust, sending it swirling upward to my nostrils. Except for covering the furniture, we haven’t touched the house since the day of the funeral. Everything is where Mom and Dad left it.

I ignore the black and white pictures on the walls of our big, happy family. My mother’s face is in most of them and I can’t handle seeing her right now.

Our parents’ living area take up the entire second floor, made up of a room bigger than most people’s apartments, two bathrooms, a gym, and even a small movie theater. Although Mom and Dad were not the kind to rub their wealth into other people’s faces, they did enjoy it.

I plant my hands on the heavy oak door leading into the bedroom, and push it open. More dust is released after years of being trapped. I wave away the dust particles and stride in, halting in the middle of the room. I wish I didn’t have to be here, but I feel this is where the secrets are kept. I need more answers than Brooke could give me.

Above the king-size bed, a painting of my smiling mother covers most of the wall, painted by Lance. My heart clenches at the sight of the woman I used to love, the woman who gave me a family when I had none, the woman who treated me like her own flesh and blood.

I turn away, lift my heavy feet one by one off the carpeted floor. I head for her lavish walk-in closet. I flick on the light. The luxury chandelier’s sparkle is buried beneath a coat of dust but sufficient yellow light pours in. The mirrored walls, creamy-white furnishings with gold accents, frosted glass, and endless rows of hanging space, make Mom’s closet look like a high-end boutique. Except for the fact that it’s empty.

As stated in her will, the clothes, shoes, and jewelry had been donated to several of her favorite charities. She prided herself on being a philanthropist. She used to be an inspiration to all of us. If only I knew then what I know now. How could she have cared for people in need and then turn her back on her own grandchild? Surely she understood the pain of a child rejected by his parents.

Blinded by rage, I charge toward the closet island, grab the crystal knobs, yanking out dresser drawers in my scramble for answers.

Most of the drawers are empty. The jewelry, scarves, perfumes, and other valuable items have long been given away. I don’t stop opening and slamming drawers shut until I find the ones I’m interested in, the ones carrying paperwork.

Receipts, contracts, photographs, notebooks and pens. Nothing that brings me closer to the truth. Even though my other brothers confirmed that the letter was written in Mom’s handwriting, a part of me doesn’t want to believe it. I need to see some other kind of proof that seals the deal.

When I reach the bottom drawer on the right, my breath is coming in hot puffs and my temples are throbbing. It’s locked, and there can only be one reason why. I didn’t come across a key in any of the other drawers. I’m about to turn the whole place upside down searching for it, but the best way to complicate a search is to have no plan.

I drop onto one of the cushioned seats, my gaze sweeping the entire room, thinking of where Mom would hide something as important as the key to her drawer of secrets.

My cell phone rings, cutting through my thoughts.

“Bryant, what’s up?”

“Just checking to see if you’re all right.”

“Don’t worry about me. Life’s just great.” I give a sarcastic laugh.

“It’s okay to admit you’re hurt. I’m your brother. I’m here if—” The sound of a baby crying cuts him off. “I’ve gotta go. Call if you need anything.”

I get to my feet. “Actually, maybe you can help me out with something. Do you by any chance know where Mom kept the keys to the drawers in her closet?”

“You’re at the house? What are you doing there?”

“It’s my business.” I form a fist with my free hand. “Can you help me out or not?”

“Sorry, man. I have no idea. But Caleb might, since he knew where everything was when we were kids.”

“How could I forget?” I smile genuinely in spite of myself. “Cool, let me give him a call.”

“Derrick?” Bryant says before we hang up. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Thanks. I’ve got to go.”

I dial Caleb’s number. Bryant was right. Mom and Dad were never able to hide anything from the guy, as though he had some x-ray eyes or something.

“Should I consider myself forgiven? I didn’t mean to upset you, bro. You know I care.” Caleb’s voice is filled with nothing but concern.

“I know you didn’t.” I sigh. “I might have overreacted. I apologize.”

“No need to. Thanks for calling.”

“I’m actually calling to ask if you know where Mom kept the keys to her closet drawers.”

“As far as I recall, she only locked one of the drawers. She hid the key in her bedside drawer. Are you there now?”

“Yes.” I step out of the closet back into the room.

“Okay, go to her side of the bed and open the drawer.”

I do as instructed. “Done. There’s no key inside.” My heart cracks around the edges as I push aside a framed photo of Mom and Dad. “It’s pretty much empty.”

“It’s a long drawer. Pull it out completely. There should be another miniature drawer inside it, right at the back.”

I yank the drawer out and sure enough, there it is, another small drawer. “Found it.”

“Bingo. The key should be inside there. Is it locked?”

“Yes, but a key is left inside.” I turn the key and pull out the drawer. One silver key rests at the bottom. “Thanks, Caleb. I think I got it.”

“Anytime. I’ll leave you alone now. Call if there’s something else you need.”

“I appreciate that.” I end the call and return to the closet. A few seconds later, the drawer is open and inside is a brown leather-bound journal and a stack of envelopes with the LaClaire Enterprises logo.

It doesn’t take me long to find what I’m looking for, two letters nestled between the pages of the journal. I’ve never seen Brooke’s handwriting to recognize it, but the words say everything I need to know. The words that jump of the pages make my head hurt.

I’m pregnant. And it’s your baby. Brooke Rayner.

I can’t believe my mother was so cruel. How could she do this?

By the time I finish reading the first letter, it’s completely disfigured. Feeling like one of the bulls in Pamplona, I charge out of the closet and go to stand in front of the large painting of my mother. She looks stunning in a powder blue evening gown, the Cognac Tourmaline ring that she wore all the time, glinting like her jade green eyes. With each heartbeat my anger is blinding me to her beauty.

“Why?” I demand of the painting, my eyes burning up again. “How dare you make this decision for me? How dare you not allow me to make my own mistakes?”

Mom used to say I was the irresponsible one, the most reckless and impulsive one of all her kids. And yet, when the opportunity for me to be responsible presented itself, she robbed me of the chance. She didn’t give me the chance to prove I could be responsible. I would never have turned my back on my child.

“You had no right to rip my heart out.” I say the words through gritted teeth. “No right.”

“You thought you were protecting me? Well, guess what? I love you but you broke my heart.”

Shoving the letters into my pocket, I leave the room, drunk with fury. I almost regret not asking Bruce to drive me to the house. He doesn’t even know I’m in town. I’d wanted to deal with my demons alone. Behind the wheel, my head is swimming. I blink several times and focus on my destination. Brooke.

* * *

It’s 9:00 p.m. by the time I get to Brooke’s apartment. When she opens the door, her eyes are drowsy with sleep but instantly clear and widen the moment she sees me.

“Not again, Derrick. You have to stop this.” She tightens the red, faded bathrobe around her body. “I told you we can’t—”

“You decided that. I didn’t.” Without waiting for another word from her, I move her back into the apartment with my body, holding her to me, enveloping her lips with mine. She tastes of mouthwash.

She places her palms on my chest and pushes me away, eyes sparkling. “Too much has happened.”

“I know. But we need each other. We can start over. You and me, we can create better memories.”

“Derrick, no.” I drown her words with a kiss.

She pushes me away yet again. I take a step back.

“It won’t work. I’m not the girl you used to know. I’m tainted, broken, damaged by everything that happened to me.”

I place a hand on her cheek and she leans into my palm. “Your brokenness started with me,” I say. “Let me piece you back together.” I draw her to me. This time, she’s the one who initiates the kiss.

I don’t know how we end up in her bed, but we do. This is my chance to show her how I feel, to heal her wounds as best I can. I can’t turn back the clock, but maybe I can create our own clock. I kiss her for a long time, swallowing her words, kissing away her tears, marking her with my lips as I move down her body, removing clothes as I go. I pull down her pajama pants together with her panties. She arches her back to make it easier for me. I lower my head to her stomach, kissing the faint stretch marks below her belly button, staying there for a little while, imagining how her stomach had looked with our baby inside it.

She moans when my tongue dips into her belly button. Happy to satisfy her, I push up her legs, place them onto my shoulders, and push my tongue into the moist place between her legs. She arches her back, whispers my name, hands clutching the pillows on both sides of her. Taking my time, I slide my tongue in and out, thrusting and withdrawing, running it in circles, tasting her as she now screams out my name.

Her hands move to my head, her fingers digging into my hair. I move my head from side to side to create as much pleasure as she deserves. This moment is not about me, not about my own pleasure. It’s about the woman who carried my baby, the woman I didn’t even know I needed until she showed up in my life again. I don’t care what she’s done. I want to start over with her, right here between her legs, where it all started in the first place.

I make her come so hard her body tells me I have reached a place where no man has ever gone, not even the ones who paid her for sex. She’s mine. Brooke is all mine.

Once the moment is over, she slides away from me. Averting her gaze, she pulls on her pajama bottoms and closes her robe. She moves to the door.

“Don’t do this,” I whisper. “There’s something about us, something that won’t let me go. We need to be together.” The pressure inside my heart expands, tightening my chest to the point of bursting. “I found your letters. It was my mother who wrote to you. I’m so sorry.” I try to reach for her but she steps away. “I promise, I would have been there for you and the baby if I had known. You know I was adopted. I would never have rejected my own child.”

She wraps her arms around herself. “I know now it’s not your fault. You don’t have to feel bad for me. You don’t have to feel you have to make things good again. You already have. You feel guilty and you’re hurting too much to make the right decision at this moment. You lost a child, and in some way, you’re losing your mother because of what she did to you. I don’t want you to wake up one day and think you made the wrong decision.”

“I think I love you.” The words that come out of my mouth knock me back so hard I take a few steps back as though they had been said by someone else. But then I pull myself together and repeat them because in a moment of pure clarity, I know they’re true. “I think I love you. It has always been you.”

Brooke shakes her head and opens the door. “Thinking is not enough. You need to know for sure. Please, let’s move on from this.” Her chin trembles as she speaks. “One day you’ll find someone who will heal the wounds you’re carrying. If we stay together, we can’t heal. We’ll always remind each other of the pain. Every time I look at you, I’ll wonder if my baby would have had your eyes.” She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to keep him alive long enough for you to meet him. And I’m sorry things can’t be different.”

I stare at her for a long time, the silence stretching between us like a rubber band. But no words come through my tight throat. The thought of losing her forever slices through me, but her eyes tell me she has made her choice, and it’s final. Not wanting to hurt her any more than I already have, I kiss her forehead.

“I know, Brooke,” I say a little too late. “I know I love you.”

With the taste of her still on my tongue, I walk out the door.

I’ll have to find another way to get closure.