“Great love and great achievements take great risk.”—Dalai Lama
“Did you guys have a fight?”
Charlie turned toward the quiet voice. Jackson knelt on the floor, paintbrush in hand, concentrating on the back and forth strokes of his brush. But she knew immediately he was troubled. Dammit, she was making such a mess of things. Brady hadn’t been here in the past week and it was affecting Jackson. She’d tried to explain Brady had other jobs to accomplish, but it was obvious Jackson didn’t believe her. She realized lying to him was wrong. He deserved the truth.
Charlie put down her own brush and faced him. “No, we didn’t have a fight. In fact, I think I’ll always love him. He’s kind and funny and fair. He’s brilliant. And he was my friend.”
Jackson stiffened, not moving. Then slowly, he turned and met her gaze. His wide dark eyes filled with wariness. “You loved him?” he asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“Then why did he leave?”
She didn’t want to have this conversation but it was important. Jackson faced his own problems on a daily basis. She knew he was being raised by a single mother. She had no idea about the relationship between him and his father, or if it even existed. He should know not every breakup was done to harm the other. Sometimes, it was just the opposite.
She sat cross-legged and blew out a breath. “I don’t know if you’re going to understand this completely, but I’m going to try. Brady and I started out not liking each other, as you probably saw from our fights.”
A small grin curved his lips. “Yeah, you guys did like to fight a lot. But it was funny.”
She smiled back. “Yeah, it kind of was. Then we became friends. Good friends. And then we began to fall in love the more time we spent together. But we realized as much as we cared about each other, we wanted different things to make us happy. We didn’t want to end up hurting one another, Jackson. So, even though it completely sucks, and we’re both sad, I want Brady to find the type of woman that will make him really, really happy.”
Jackson scrunched up his nose. “Does he like redheads or something? ’Cause you could dye your hair.”
She laughed. “Oh, I wish it was that easy. No. It’s a lot more than that.”
“My dad left because he didn’t want a baby. Didn’t want me.” He uttered the words in defiance, his gaze hard. “I don’t care though, ’cause we don’t need him. One day, I’m going to do something great in life and he’ll be sorry.”
Her heart shattered, but she also knew she couldn’t show her pain or sympathy. Jackson was an extraordinary boy, and he deserved his pride. “You’re right,” she said. “He’s missing out on the best thing possible, and I feel sorry for him. Your mom gets all the good stuff. She got you.”
Jackson nodded, his face softening. “Yeah. I’m gonna buy her a big house one day.”
“Maybe you’ll build her a house instead. You have talent. In fact, Pierce Brothers always takes on interns. I started as one. Maybe we can keep working together after this house is done.”
His eyes widened. “You’re going to get another house?”
“Hell, yeah. A ton more houses. And I kind of got used to you as an assistant, so maybe we’ll talk to your mom and figure out a good schedule. If you’re interested, of course.”
“I’m interested.”
They smiled at each other. “Then let’s get back to work,” she said, turning around so he wouldn’t see the sting of tears in her eyes. “We’ll order pizza tonight.”
“Cool.”
The knock at the door made her look up in surprise. “Wow, a real visitor. Let me check it out.”
She peeked through the window and recognized Gary and Peter from the Pierce Brothers crew. Their truck was outside and a trailer was behind them with materials. She unbolted the deadbolt and greeted them. “What are you doing here, guys?”
Peter jerked a thumb toward his truck. “Ready to do the new roof.”
Confusion swamped her. “What new roof?”
“This one. Was told to install the roof today for you and finish up the work tomorrow. Do you need us to come back another time?”
Oh, no. Caught between a rush of gratitude and pure stubborn pride that this was her project, she shook her head. “I think there’s been a mistake,” she said firmly. “I can’t afford a new roof right now so this won’t work. Sorry you had to come out here. I’ll talk to Cal about it.”
Gary grinned and thrust out a piece of paper. “Yeah, we were told you’d say that. Read this.”
She opened up the note.
Charlotte,
I know you’re going to try to send the guys back and say you don’t want the roof because you need to do it yourself. I’m asking you to accept this as a present from me. For allowing me into your life, for changing me, for humbling me with your amazing talent and vision. I want to give you this roof so I will always carry a piece of you and Jackson in my heart, and in the house you allowed me to help renovate. Please.
Brady
Her throat tightened. She read the note again, almost sinking to her knees at the rippling waves of pain that crashed through her from his words. And she knew there was only one thing to do, for both of them.
She gave a nod. “Yes. Thank you so much. Today would be great.”
“Cool, we’ll get started.”
She turned to Jackson, her eyes glittering. “We’re getting our roof.”
The boy let out a whoop, putting down his paintbrush. “Can I help? Or watch? Or carry supplies? Or do anything but paint?”
She laughed. “Go ahead. Tell Peter and Gary I vouched for your skills.”
Jackson ran out of the house in excitement and Charlie hugged the note to her broken heart.
* * * *
“Son, are you okay? You’re scaring us.”
Brady looked at his parents, staring at him with slightly panicked expressions. He reached out and grabbed his mother’s hands. “No, Mama. I’m sorry to scare you. I’m fine. I just wanted to talk to you both about a personal thing.”
“Thank God.” Her muscles relaxed, and she refocused on getting him to eat. “Have a snack. What else can I get you?”
His father smiled, staring lovingly at her. “Querida, let our son talk. He doesn’t need anything right now.”
His lips twitched. His mother lived to serve and loved every moment. It was part of the culture he’d grown up with, and his sisters had happily incorporated the qualities into their own marriages. “I want to talk to you about Charlotte.”
His parents both lit up. His mother’s voice filled with affection. “We loved her. So sweet and funny and smart. It was like she fit in perfectly here. And we’ve never seen you happier. You practically glowed in her presence!”
His father nodded. “Agreed. She’s special. I’ve always hoped you’d find what your sisters had. Do you love her?”
“Yes, I love her. But we decided to break up.”
His mother gasped. “What? How is this so? What happened?”
He laid his hands flat on the table and told them the truth. “I’m confused. Mama, Charlotte isn’t like any of the other girls I’ve dated. She’s different.”
His father frowned. “Different how?”
“She’s ten years younger.”
“So what?” his mother burst out. “Cecilia is five years younger than Michael!”
“It’s bigger than that. She’s not the traditional wife I’ve always wanted.”
His father’s frown deepened. “Traditional how?”
Brady let out an irritated breath. “Like you and Mama. Like Cecelia and Sophia. She loves her job and never wants to quit her career. She has a passion for restoring houses and it’s part of her soul—she could never leave it behind her to raise children and stay home. She won’t be the type of wife to cook and clean and listen to me. Hell, I’d be lucky if she listens to me at all! She’s stubborn and chaotic. She’s the type to want her own checking account and challenge my every decision and probably drive me crazy. She won’t be…easy. Nothing like your marriage or my sisters. You all have everything perfect.”
He waited for his mother to jump from the table and tell him he was better off without this woman who was the model image of everything she was against for her son.
Instead, she threw back her head and burst into laughter.
He stared in astonishment as his father grinned, shaking his head.
“What’s going on? What’s so funny?”
His mother wiped her eyes and shared a look with his father. “Should I tell him or should you?”
“You, querida.”
“My poor, sweet, confused boy. Your father and I certainly did not fall magically into these roles, and things are never perfect in a marriage. It is a living, breathing, fluid thing that changes as people change. We married very, very young because we were passionate about each other but I never thought my life would be about changing diapers and cooking dinners and meekly listening to your father’s every command.”
“You didn’t?”
His father snorted. “Hell, no. We had two years where we traveled and partied. We fought a lot, we made up a lot, we figured out who we were. Then you were born and things changed.”
“I was depressed at first,” his mother admitted. “I used to work at a small retail store selling fashion and I loved it.”
“You worked?”
“Of course. I gave it up when you came along but it wasn’t easy for me. Your father and I fell into certain roles because they fit for us. He liked paying the bills, and I eventually loved staying home with you children. I began cooking with traditional Spanish dishes, and I found it satisfied a creativity inside of me.”
“I got a promotion and the money was good, so there was no reason for your mother to go back to work. But do you honestly think I would’ve told her she wasn’t able to work outside the home if that is what satisfied her soul?”
The room tilted. It was as if everything he’d ever believed suddenly changed, and he didn’t know how to keep up. “Well, yeah. I thought you told Mom what to do!”
“I do,” his father said in amusement. “Sometimes she listens. Sometimes she doesn’t.”
“Cecilia told me she’d like to go back to school once Angel gets older. Part time, of course. Sophia is happy being home with the kids and adores being involved with the mommy groups. She thrives. But I don’t think Michael ever demanded she be a particular way. It’s what works best for them.”
“But—but everyone said they expected her to quit her job once the babies come.”
His mother shrugged. “That was our expectations based on no solid information. But it’s not yours. Not Charlie’s. You run your own life and your own relationship. Is this why you broke up with Charlie? Because she wants to work?”
“Or does she not want children?” his father asked.
“No, she does, but not now.”
His mother gave a relieved sigh. “Thank goodness. So, it’s just a matter of timing for you two.”
Brady rubbed his temples, trying to find his footing. All this time. All this worry about what his family expected from him. It had all been in his own head.
“Son, you have to ask yourself some important questions. If you actually want a wife who won’t work and wants to raise children, that’s a different story. Sometimes you can’t change who you are inside,” his father explained. “But if you’re confused because you think we want you to have these things, you’re wrong. We want you to be happy. To be passionately in love with a partner who satisfies you and makes you a better man. That’s what marriage is about. Not who cooks or cleans or pays the bills.”
And, suddenly, magically, his path was completely clear.
He didn’t care about a traditional marriage, or who made money, or who cleaned or cooked. It had all been a distant mirage of perfection that didn’t even matter. He craved a partner, a lover, a friend. He craved a woman who made him better.
He only wanted one thing to make him happy. One thing he’d been missing and searching for, over and over, believing it would fit his ideals and slide neatly into the perfectly square pegs of his life.
Charlotte Grayson.
The round peg. The one who shouldn’t fit, but did. The one who rocked his body and his soul and his heart. The one he refused to live without for another minute.
“I have to go.”
He stumbled from the chair, looking at his parents. “Thank you. I don’t know if I say it often enough, but I love you. You’ve given me a life to treasure and showed me everything I need to know to be happy.”
His mother covered her mouth with her hands, eyes shining with tears. “Good luck, my son. We love you, too.”
His father nodded, and damned if Brady didn’t spot the moisture in his father’s eyes also.
Brady jumped into his Mercedes and sped off to claim the woman he loved.