CHAPTER ONE
Griff
How the fuck did I get here?
It’s nine thirty at night. By now, I’m usually curled up in bed with my laptop and some work…or another meaningless one-night stand. Instead, I’m rushing down Highway 30, the breeze from the open window whipping through my hair as I speed through the nearly hour-long journey toward Kihei. After more than three years, I’m going to see the one woman I haven’t managed to forget.
And the son I never knew I had.
Holy shit, I’m a father. That still hasn’t truly registered since I found out ten minutes ago. Now I can’t reach them fast enough. I dodge a slow tourist and run a yellow light. Yes, I’m breaking multiple traffic laws. And I don’t care. I just need to get there.
Then what? a voice in my head whispers.
I have no idea what I’m going to say to my ex-girlfriend, Britta. Well, that’s not exactly true. I intend to figure out why the hell I never heard about her pregnancy. Once, I loved that woman. I lived with her. I wanted to marry her.
Then I got stupid. And she let me.
Everything has been fucked up since.
I push the past behind me and try to think ahead. My first priority is to finally meet our boy. I’ll insist on it. My brother says Jamie looks a lot like me. Based on Maxon’s pictures, I agree. And I can’t wait to meet him.
I’ve missed so much—pregnancy, birth, first year, first steps, first words… I’m shocked by how badly that fact is grinding up my guts. Kids were never on my radar. They were cute—for someone else. I wasn’t interested in wiping noses or butts. But after one look at the picture of that little boy with my face and his mother’s blue eyes, I felt stunned. And I felt protective. That snapshot of him smiling at the toy truck he clutched in his chubby fist completely changed my world. It fired up my determination not to miss another day of James Tucker Reed’s life.
Oh, he doesn’t have my last name yet. But he will. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make damn sure of that.
In my pocket, my phone buzzes. I’m hoping it’s not a client. Though it’s true Realtors are never really off the clock, especially when one sells multimillion-dollar estates, I am not in the frame of mind to deal with work right now. Thankfully, when I glance at the display connected via Bluetooth to my Porsche 911 Carrera convertible to see who’s calling, I’m not surprised by the name that’s popped up. I’ve been expecting this.
I close the window and press the button to talk. “Hi, Keeley.”
“Griff, is your meeting with Maxon over? What happened?”
Our reunion a few minutes ago was the first time I’ve spoken to my brother in over three years, so it’s momentous. We used to be close, best friends and business partners—before I fucked everything up. Tonight’s reconciliation wouldn’t have happened without Keeley and her grudging agreement to dabble in a little corporate espionage and spy on Maxon for me. She also fell for him, despite the fact he hadn’t yet grown past his clueless douchebag stage. But I found out tonight that he fell for her, too. I’m not telling Keeley anything about my brother’s determination to win her back and persuade her to marry him just yet. She needs time with her family in Phoenix to think. Then, if she decides to return to Maui—and Maxon—I’ll help my older brother with his sweeping romantic gesture to slide a ring on her finger.
“Yeah. Maxon and I talked about the split, the major reasons we stopped getting along. Actually, we talked about a lot of things.” And it felt damn good after so much ugliness and strife. “We made up. We’ve decided that, instead of being competitors, we’re going to pursue the Stowe estate together. And if the arrangement works well, we’ll think about making the partnership permanent once more.”
“That’s great!” She sounds genuinely happy for me…but I hear the sad note in her voice. “It must have felt so fantastic to be with Maxon, talking business again, catching up…”
“Yep.” I sort through the meeting in my head, think of details that might cheer her up. “He seems different. I have you to thank.”
Keeley doesn’t say anything for a long moment, which tells me something about her mood. She’s never subdued.
“Don’t thank me. I really hoped he’d figured out what was important, but, Griff…I can’t change him. He has to want to be a different man. Just like you did.”
She’s absolutely right. But Maxon truly seems to have grown as a person. Hopefully, she’ll come home and see that.
Keeley sighs. “It’s so great that you and your brother are talking again. At least something good came out of the mess I made with him. Please be happy. After everything that’s happened, you deserve it.”
She’s being kind. I don’t deserve shit. I also know that arguing with Keeley about this is pointless.
And how is it possible my GPS says I still have another thirty minutes before I reach my destination?
I think back over the last few weeks, everything that’s happened… Then a realization hits me. She’s been my confidant and best friend for more than two years. So why would she stab me in the back like this?
“You knew I had a son, didn’t you?” I rake a hand through my hair. “How fucking long have you kept that from me?”
“So Maxon told you about Jamie?” she breathes. “That’s good. You need to—”
“How long?” No answer. The interminable moments are shredding my admittedly thin patience. “Goddamn it, Keeley…”
“Almost three weeks. I’m sorry,” she rushes to add. “I hope you’ll forgive me for not telling you.”
That’s asking a lot. Keeley knows I have deep trust issues. I haven’t told her the whole reason why, though.
Hell, I haven’t told anyone.
“Three fucking weeks?” I bark. “What the hell? He’s my son. Why would you keep him from me?”
“If I’d told you the minute I found out, you would have confronted Britta immediately and messed up everything I was building with Maxon for you and… I really only did what I thought was best in the situation.” She pauses. “Wait, it sounds as if you’re in your car. Please tell me you’re heading straight home.”
I hear what she’s saying. She’s probably even right. Everything would have blown up in my face if I’d jumped Britta’s case three weeks ago. There’s still a high likelihood it will tonight. On the other hand, all I can think of is that if I had known sooner, I might have endured a little less misery and might have been involved a bit more in Jamie’s childhood.
“I value my best friend too much to lie.”
Unlike some people. The subtext hangs there.
“C’mon, Griff. I would never intentionally hurt you. You know that.”
Fuck. I do. I have to take a deep breath, count to five, and remind myself that Keeley is nothing like the people I used to know. Once I have, I wish I could take the biting words back. You’d think after the misery I’ve brought down on myself by failing to trust that I might have learned. But no, my knee-jerk certainty that someone is fucking me is sometimes instant and unavoidable. In the back of my head, I expect people will shit on me. So I strike before they do. Sometimes before I even think. Damn it. I have to stop the bitterness that’s been rotting me for half my life and start handling it, along with my shock and frustration about Jamie. The first step is to apologize to Keeley.
“I do. I’m sorry.” I wince. “I’m an ass. You know this about me.”
“Sometimes ‘ass’ is putting it nicely. At least you listened and didn’t hang up.”
For me, that’s progress. Refusing to hear a word of their defense was the disservice I did to Maxon and Britta just over three years ago. “I’m trying to learn.”
“I know. Tonight has been a lot for you. But not everyone is as forgiving as I am. If you’re heading to see Britta because you want to meet Jamie, you can’t handle this like a dumb ass.” Her voice softens.
“You’re right.”
“When Maxon first told me about him, I didn’t say anything because I genuinely believed that if we could get your brother on your side, he wouldn’t interfere if you tried to include Jamie—and Britta—in your life. But three weeks ago, you would have barged in, temper blazing, and asked questions later. Maxon would have become a roadblock. And you would have destroyed any path to being with the people you need most.”
I tap my thumb against my steering wheel in agitation. Keeley is right. My head knows it. The rest of me is still reeling and I can’t quite admit it aloud. “What do I do next?”
“Turn your car around and go home.”
“Not happening. I’m already years late as it is.”
“But now isn’t smart. You haven’t had time to process the shock.”
“Waiting to meet my son isn’t the answer!” But even if I lay eyes on him tonight, how do I compensate for not being there for him since birth? “I’ve got to make this right ASAP.”
Keeley sighs. “I’m sure in your shoes I’d feel the same. Just go easy on Britta. Don’t assume the worst.”
I’ll do my best. “Maxon swears Britta tried to tell me about the baby. I don’t know how or when or…”
“I think you need to believe him.”
After failing to trust my brother about the business deal that broke us up, I can’t call him a liar now. “Okay, so Britta tried to tell me.”
How did I not hear or understand her?
“Maxon said she wrote you a letter.”
“That’s a pretty fucking impersonal way to tell a man he’s about to become a father.”
“What choice did you give her, Griff?”
There Keeley goes again, shoving the inconvenient truth in my face. After our breakup, I rejected Britta’s phone calls and deleted her urgent voice mails. Her only alternative was to put a stamp on a missive and drop it to me via USPS.
God, I was such a stupid fuck. I wish I had a do-over on the craptastic days that blew up my life.
“I never got the letter. I have no idea what happened to it.” But I’m beginning to have my suspicions.
“I told Maxon that.” She pauses. “When you left your brother a few minutes ago, did you mention that you were heading to Britta’s house?”
“Not in so many words but I’m sure he can read between the lines.”
Another pause. I know Keeley; she’s gearing up to ask something big. “How will you feel when you see her again?”
Isn’t that a great question? Before I saw Britta last month at a restaurant with some Hawaiian dude in a suit who all but fondled her in public, I would have sworn I was over her. Immune. I was good at lying to myself. But that night, when I saw him touch her, I wanted to rip his face off with my bare hands. What ate at me more was that Britta didn’t notice me at all.
“I spent a long time thinking she betrayed me to help my brother close a huge deal behind my back. Now that I know she didn’t, I owe her an apology. More than one, really. But I’m so fucking furious.” Not at her but at life. At circumstance. At all the things I can’t go back and change. Mostly, at myself.
I try to shake it off. Tonight is about Jamie. How I feel about Britta doesn’t matter anymore. We’ve both moved on—in theory. She has a new boyfriend, and I’ll try to get along with this dude and refrain from committing murder.
No promises.
“When you see her, listen. Don’t make snap judgments. Hold your temper. Breathe through your anger. Yelling at her will accomplish nothing. In fact, take the rest of your drive to collect your thoughts. If you want to be a part of your son’s life, it’s important for you to be strategic.”
I hear the soothing, rational note in her voice. She uses it when she’s trying to talk me off the ledge. That’s been a lot these last few years. I’m grateful every day she was answering the phones for that useless therapist I was seeing for a while. Keeley is way smarter than the bad doctor. She’s helped me so much. And she always gives the right advice…even when I don’t want to hear it.
“Thanks. I’m on it. How are things in Phoenix?”
“Fine. It’s good to see Mom and Phil. They’re so tan from their trip to the South Pacific. The pictures they snapped are gorgeous!”
“You’re envious?”
“Yeah,” she spouts as if that’s obvious.
“Um, you live in Hawaii.” When she laughs, I smile with her until we both sober. “Are you coming back?”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know. I suspect your brother and I both need to do some thinking. I can’t get a clear head when, every time I turn around, I see places we’ve been and…” She sighs. “I’m sure it sounds silly, but I’m not ready to handle it.”
“Not silly at all.” I remember the devastation of being on this goddamn island and stumbling into someplace every day that reminded me of Britta and what we used to share.
“Thanks. I left you a little something in your CD player when you dropped me off at the airport.”
I hesitate. “Should I be afraid? It’s not more meditation music to humping grasshoppers, is it?”
Keeley laughs at me again like she can’t decide whether to slap me upside the head or simply be amused. “No. It was cicadas, and we don’t know that they were humping, goof.”
“We don’t know that they weren’t, either. It sounded like an insect orgy.”
I hear a whole lot of what am I going to do with you? in her laugh. “You know music helps me interpret feelings—or give advice—when I can’t find the right words. So stop giving me a hard time and listen to what I left you, okay?”
I’m sure it’s something meaningful that will try to move me forward, etc. She knows I find that shit painful. Why won’t she let me wallow like a good friend would? Because that’s not her style. Probably why she is my friend.
“All right,” I grumble. “I will.”
“I wish I was there to make tonight easier on you. I really am trying to help.”
“I know.” And I would have been lost without her friendship years ago. “Thanks.”
“Don’t lose sight of what you want out of the conversation. Stick to topics that will help your cause.”
In other words, don’t get stupid and flay Britta open with my sharp tongue. “I won’t.”
“Uh-huh. Let me put it in Griff-speak. Keep your shit together or you’re not going to get what you want. Call me later.”
“I will. Seriously, thanks for everything.”
“You can thank me by straightening out your life and finally being happy.”
Wouldn’t that be nice? Sure. I’m just not holding my breath.
I pass the next few miles of the drive to the music Keeley left me. I should have guessed she’d find the perfect song for the occasion. Her knowledge of music is insane, spanning genres and decades. You could scratch off what I know about it with a penny. I never really paid attention to all the melodic angst on the radio until her. Now I admit, I like it.
She left a sticky note on the case that reads THINK ABOUT THIS FOR ME, PLEASE? I can’t refuse.
The opening strums of guitar on the first song are iconic. Then Eddie Vetter’s voice shouts a little “Hey.” I already know this song is “Black” by Pearl Jam. A lot of people think this tune is sexual. If you listen to the lyrics, it’s depressing as hell. But it also describes where I’m stuck. Once, my earth totally revolved around my sun, Britta. After the split, the air I tasted and breathed took a turn, all right. A nosedive into hell. My bitter hands are still chafing beneath the clouds of what was everything to me. All my pictures, my memories, have been washed in black. Keeley’s “subtle” way of saying I’ve been mourning for three years.
No shit.
I skip through the last of that long track and move on to the next. The first notes of an unfamiliar melancholy tune hit my speakers, and I grab the CD case and give it a read. This tune is called “Windows” by someone named Angel Olsen, who has a haunting voice. By the end, she’s telling me I’ve been blind and I’ve been dead and it’s time to open up a window and let some light in.
I snort. Keeley is never shy when she has something to say.
The third song I recognize before the end of the first word. “Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers. The tune is sweeping and epic. In the first three lines, I already feel as if the lyrics have stabbed me and left me to bleed out. Yes, if I’m being really honest—and Keeley knows this too fucking well—I have hungered for Britta for a long, lonely time. A few lines later mirrors exactly what I’m wondering deep down. Is she still mine?
But I already know the answer. She must hate my guts. I unwittingly walked out on her when she was pregnant. Why wouldn’t she?
I turn off the music in the middle of the song. I’d rather drive in silence than fantasize there’s a smidgeon of hope for Britta and me while Bobby Hatfield croons on in his perfectly tuned whine.
But cutting off the audial distractions leaves me alone with my thoughts. Until Keeley and her goddamn playlist, my primary focus has been on Jamie, not the woman who gave birth to my son. Not the woman who once held my heart.
What if there’s any chance at all, deep down, that she is still mine?
Jesus, I have to stop this emotional shit. I can’t see Britta without my head screwed on straight. My only goal is to meet my boy. Focus there, dumb ass.
I turn on talk radio and tune out the political pundits. At least they aren’t trying to yank my heart out from between my eyes. I’m already intimately acquainted with that feeling. It set in after Britta and I ceased being a couple and hasn’t let up since.
Minutes later, I pull up in front of her house and examine it with a frown. It’s small but nice. Pale blue facade, clean white door, well-maintained yard. A glance tells me it’s under fifteen hundred square feet. I know this neighborhood. It’s decent and not terribly expensive—at least by Maui standards. I’m grateful Britta has given my son a solid home. I’m glad my brother—not her boyfriend—has been subsidizing this roof because there’s no way she could afford this place without one of them.
That’s going to change. In fact, everything is.
I park on the street. Despite the long driveway and carport, I have nowhere else to leave my high-priced wheels. Everywhere I look is packed with vehicles—sedans, sports cars, jeeps. Old and new. This many people couldn’t live in a house this small.
Is she having a party? On a Thursday night?
With a frown, I step out of my Porsche. The Hawaiian breeze has a hint of cool nip that reminds me it’s February. I try not to think about the fact that Valentine’s Day is next Tuesday. I’m sure someone invented this crappy lovers’ holiday to mess with single people’s heads. Every year, I find some random woman who also can’t bear the loneliness without someone to pretend with. Last year’s shitbaggery started in some tourist bar and ended up in a ritzy hotel with empty orgasms and regret. I was home by two a.m., in the shower and trying to wash away my sins.
As I climb the stairs to Britta’s porch, I focus on the here and now. Somewhere in that house is my son…and his mother.
With Keeley’s advice in mind, I draw in a calming breath and head to the cheerful front door. The little glow of the porch light illuminates the piece of paper someone has taped in the middle. WE’RE OUT BACK. COME THROUGH THE SIDE GATE. IT’S UNLOCKED.
The scrawl doesn’t look anything like Britta’s writing.
I grind my teeth together and head back down the stairs to find the side gate. Weaving between the cars strewn across the driveway, I find my way to the fence and see a break, the wooden door standing slightly ajar.
What the hell is going on? I have no idea as I push it open.
Across the yard, stretched between a pair of swaying palms, is a big, homemade banner that stops me dead.
CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR ENGAGEMENT, BRITTA AND MAKAIO.
Holy. Fuck.
Maxon warned me this might happen. Still, I reread the sign, rooted in place. My body thuds. My head races. My blood boils.
I want to fucking kill someone despite the fact that, logically, I know she doesn’t belong to me anymore. But my reaction is purely primal.
It tells me that whatever we might have had is gone, along with my foolish hope.
Working to take my fury down ten notches, I breathe deep and tell myself to be practical as I scan the yard. I don’t see any children. Is Jamie already asleep? Maybe so. It’s ten thirty. Don’t little kids go to bed early? I didn’t consider that sooner. Damn it.
Now what do I do? I’m hardly in the mood to stand here and toast the bride.
Britta isn’t hard to find since she’s the only blonde among a sea of native Hawaiians in bright, tropical prints and sandals, clinking glasses and smiling.
From a distance, I see she’s wearing a pencil skirt in a sedate gray that clings to a curve in her hips she didn’t used to have. Her ass looks lusher, rounder. Her hair, though wrapped up in some classic twist, looks longer or thicker—something.
The lust that hits me is stronger than ever.
Jesus, when am I going to stop wanting her?
She’s talking to a pretty brunette who’s about her age. The striking woman hugs her, joy evident in her huge smile. Britta replies. I can tell because she still talks with her hands. She’s graceful, as always. Not surprising. She entered college on a dance scholarship.
I remember watching her move on stage for the first time. The beauty of her movement stunned me, the way she was aware of her every muscle, the complete control she had over even her smallest gesture. Pale tights and a flowing scrap of chiffon flirting with her thighs gave me a hard-on from hell. I was her boss at the time. She’d just begun to work for Maxon and me. I appreciated her smarts in the office and her talent on stage, sure. But more than anything, I wanted those slender thighs wrapped around me while I fucked her. I told myself to back down. She was still young. Everything about her screamed hands off. I didn’t listen. I corrupted every bit of her purity. Then I walked away, leaving her with a pregnancy she hadn’t planned for, and myself with a mountain of fury and regret.
I wonder how much she’s changed. Maxon told me that I broke something in her. Fuck.
Is she bitter now? Withdrawn? How much does she hate me?
How many beds has she slept in since mine?
I swallow the question down. I have no right to ask. Besides, do I really want to know?
I keep staring at her, watching her slender shoulders as she laughs gently. I hear the sound rising above the din of conversation. It’s good to hear her happy even though I’m so fucking sad.
No one has noticed me. I need to approach her, think of something rational and non-confrontational to say. Or turn around and come back tomorrow, when she doesn’t have a whole bunch of company who will gawk at me the minute I demand to see my son. When she isn’t celebrating her pending union to another man.
But I can’t make myself leave. I just stare, willing her to look my way.
Suddenly, she stiffens. I see the moment she becomes aware of my presence. She tilts her head toward her right shoulder. The cock of her ear and the jut of her chin follow. She pauses for a sliver of a second, as if she’s not sure she truly wants to know if I’m just beyond her line of sight, making her senses flare.
“Britta,” I call out to her.
At the sound of my voice, she whips her head around, as if she’s heard a ghost and is eager to dispel the notion I could be standing ten feet behind her.
Our eyes meet. My breath stops. God, she’s still so fucking beautiful to me.
In that moment I know one thing: no matter what’s happened or how long it’s been, I want her back. Whatever Britta thinks, she’s still mine.
A gasp falls from her lips. She drops her drink, her face going pale in an instant.
The woman she was speaking to frowns in concern and grabs Britta’s shoulders, shooting me the evil eye.
Yeah, I’m the bad guy here. Everyone knows it, even me.
I take a step toward her, and that seems to pull her from her daze. She waves off her concerned friend and darts in my direction, bearing down on me with something between shock and fury.
Her eyes are still a stunning shade of blue, almost turquoise, like the warmest ocean waters near the shore. They’re the first thing I noticed about her. Blue-eyed blondes aren’t terribly unusual, especially in Los Angeles, where I spent my childhood. But everything about Britta is different. Her eyes are slanted and slightly far apart, framed by heavy lashes. The effect is exotic, sexual. Her pillowy mouth sucks me in next, bent with an exaggerated bow on top and a puffy curve on the bottom. I still dream of that mouth. I remember every time I kissed it, every pleasure it ever made me feel. Tonight, she’s exaggerated her pouty lips with a soft gloss that makes me want to tell everyone else at this gathering to fuck off so I can eat it from her now.
No one else has lips as enticing or soft as Britta Stone. Believe me, I’ve looked. A lot. I can’t un-remember the way her eyes flared wide for me when her mouth opened to let loose the gasp of orgasm she could no longer keep in. It was one of the sexiest things ever. Even now, I sometimes close my eyes and stroke my cock to her memory.
Any wonder seeing her in the flesh is making me harder than hell?
Any wonder I’m now determined to have her back?
“What are you doing here?” she demands.
How did I find her house or why did I choose this moment to invade her life again? I’ll spare her the boring details of both and focus on my first priority. “Somewhere in the back of your head, you must have known this day would come. I want to see my son. Where’s Jamie?”
Her eyes widen in shock. Her chest caves in, as if my words are more of a battering ram than a question. She braces her left hand over her heart. She’s wearing a round diamond solitaire on a simple gold band. The sight of another man’s ring on her finger enrages me.
Someday, somehow, someway, I’m going to replace it with my own.
“Griff…”
When her face goes taut, I know she’s fighting worry. And maybe tears. I want to do something—hold her, reassure her I don’t mean to take Jamie away, wrap her in my arms and kiss her until she forgets about the world.
But when I reach for her, she jerks away. “Don’t. Why would I know this day would come? He’s two and a half, and before tonight you never showed any interest—”
“I found out he exists an hour ago. It took me three minutes to coax your address out of my brother and fifty-two minutes to drive here.”
She stares at me in blinking shock. “You and Maxon…talked?”
“Yeah. Face to face. We buried the hatchet. Starting tomorrow, we’re co-listing the Stowe estate.”
She gapes at me. Ah, yes. Clearly, my brother’s assistant has just realized we’ll likely be seeing each other every day for weeks—potentially even months.
“Oh.” She doesn’t sound thrilled.
I don’t expect her to be. I’ll make everything between us right as soon as she lets me. But I doubt she wants to hear that now.
“So…” Her voice warbles. “Maxon told you about Jamie?”
“He seemed to think I knew. You wrote me a letter when you found out you were pregnant?”
“Eventually. As a last resort.”
I want to curse. “I didn’t get it.”
Britta flattens her full lips into a grim line. I can tell she’s not sure whether to believe me. “Well, I-I…tried. I—”
“I know. I’m not blaming you.”
On the far side of the yard, I see the woman she was talking to earlier tapping a man on the shoulder. He turns. It’s the suit I saw Britta with last month. A glance tells me that he and the brunette are related. Siblings? She’s speaking rapidly, trying to discreetly point my way. The man looks over, seeking Britta out with a stare. His eyes zero in on us. The fiancé. He’s a complication I don’t need, but I’ll deal with him in due course.
One problem at a time.
“It doesn’t matter now.” She sounds wary. “You don’t need to get involved. Jamie is happy and healthy and—”
“It does matter, Britta. He’s my son. I am going to get involved.”
“What kind of father will you be?” she challenges. “I know yours way too well. And you’re so much like him…”
Dear ol’ dad is a prick and a half, banging my teachers and knocking up his secretaries, treating everyone in his life like second-class citizens whose existence should revolve around him. That’s not me. Well, not anymore.
“I’ve stopped having anything to do with that bastard.”
“Good for you. But you still don’t know anything about being a parent.” She shakes her head at me as if willing me to understand. “Leave us alone, Griff. Makaio is good with Jamie. He’s patient. He makes time. He—”
“Isn’t Jamie’s biological father. I am. I want to see him. I have the right to my own son.”
What little bit of color flushed her face during our exchange drains out again. “You don’t. He’s not yours legally. Your name isn’t on his birth certificate.”
I intend to right that wrong ASAP. “His first name is my middle name. He’s mine. We both know it. You’ve admitted it. Let me see him.”
Behind her, the fiancé hustles across the yard, looking determined to figure out who I am and why I’ve come.
A vertical furrow appears between her brows, which slash down as she scowls. Yeah, she’s pissed. But I also see her eyes watering. Her hands are shaking. “No.”
“You’re really going to keep him from me?”
Unaware that in a few seconds three will become a crowd, she glares at me. “You can’t barge in now. I’m finally happy. I have a good future in front of me. You shattered me once, and now you’re going to crash back in and ruin everything? Go shack up with another of your brother’s ex-girlfriends and leave me the hell alone.”
I deserve that. Tiffanii was a giant mistake.
She tries to turn away. I grab her wrist. God, touching her again is everything. No way am I letting her go. But the boyfriend is bearing down. I only have a few seconds alone with her. “Britta—”
“Hey.” Her fiancé tries to act casual as he approaches. He’s my height, similar build. He’s good-looking in a Hawaiian calendar boy sort of way. “Is everything all right?” He plants beside her and lays his hand on the small of her back, claiming his territory as he sends her a questioning glance.
I let her go—for the moment.
“I’m fine.” She drags in a breath and manages to compose herself. Most people would be fooled. But her voice shakes.
I wonder if he notices. I wonder if he has any idea she’s lying.
“Griffin Reed,” I finally say. I don’t extend my hand for him to shake. I won’t pretend to be his friend when I already know he’s my enemy.
He stiffens slightly. Yeah, he knows who I am. But the guy doesn’t look at me as if I’m a threat or silently warn me that if I lay a finger on Britta he’ll take me apart limb from limb without an ounce of remorse. Stupid bastard. That’s how I’d be looking at me if I stood in his shoes.
“Makaio Kāle.” He doesn’t hold out his hand to me, either. “Why are you here?”
“To see my son.”
He frowns. Obviously, he’s not thrilled. But I also see the moment he realizes he doesn’t want to step into the middle of a matter between Jamie’s biological parents.
“Can you give us a few minutes?” Britta asks, flipping her blue eyes up at him. I see the pleading there.
I hate the thought that she would silently beg this man for anything. She’s only supposed to look at me like that when we’re naked and I’m deep inside her and I’m fucking her so slowly she can’t quite come but she can no longer contain the need, so she bites her lip to beg me with needy whimpers.
“All right. I’m going to say good-bye to my sister,” Makaio says reluctantly. “I’ll be nearby if you need me.”
I smile at him. Don’t worry. She won’t need you for anything ever again, pal.
“Thanks, babe,” she says softly. “I’m going to walk Griff out, too.”
The endearment she speaks to him wrenches my heart. So does her proclamation that she intends to get rid of me. I know she said both to put me on notice. She wants me to believe she’s invested in this guy. And maybe she is on some level. But I’d bet every dime I have that if we were alone, I could make her melt.
With a nod, Makaio walks away. Her stare lingers. I see the moment she realizes her safety net is gone.
She draws in a bracing breath and gestures me toward the gate.
I turn stubborn and shake my head. “I want to see my son now.”
“He’s asleep, and I won’t wake him. And you were not invited to my engagement party. Don’t ruin this for me.”
I glance around. People are staring, and the party is beginning to break up. My first instinct is to press Britta further, but her voice is trembling again. I can tell she wants to nudge me toward the gate but doesn’t dare touch me.
The me of three years ago would have pounced on her weaknesses and used them to turn her inside out until she gave me what I wanted. My old man taught me to cue into others’ emotions and manipulate them to achieve the ends I sought. The me who’s finally learned some empathy senses that Britta needs me to back down for the night. If I don’t ease up, she’ll only be more resistant in the future. Besides, I have an hour’s drive home and an early meeting tomorrow morning. Tactical retreat is in my best interest.
I’m in her head. I’ve planted the seed that I’m back and I’m not going away. I’ll let her stew on that knowledge.
“All right,” I relent. “I’ll go.”
Britta’s wary expression tells me she’s looking for the catch. “Really?”
I pluck my keys from my pocket. “Yes.”
For now.
Her visible relief makes me feel vaguely guilty. “Thank you.”
She knows I’m showing her mercy. She should also know that I may not show much more of it until I’m a part of my son’s life.
I wonder if she has any idea that same concept applies to her? Certainly not yet, but she will.
“Britta, let’s be clear. I don’t want to take the boy from you. I don’t want to upend his world. I simply want to be a part of it. We’re starting while he’s young. I’ll ease into his life a little at a time, whatever is easiest and best for him. I think you and I should meet tomorrow, maybe for a drink after work to discuss—”
“No.”
“You’re not free then?”
“I won’t be free ever again. I’m engaged.”
That fact torques my gut. “When did that happen?”
She looks down, away. “I said yes about four hours ago. Makaio called everyone, and they surprised me with the banner and food and…”
Fuck.
“I’m not asking you on a date,” I bite out. “I’m asking you to sit down so we can be adults and discuss our son.”
“If you really want what’s best for Jamie, you’ll vanish. He’s a little boy and he won’t understand your sudden role in his life. Makaio will be a good father. Go back to your twenty-hour workdays, your meaningless flings”—she marches out the gate and lays eyes on my deeply impractical two-door sports convertible with a scoff—“and your bachelor-pad sports car and disappear again. We’re all better off that way.”
“You will never convince me that my son is better off without me.”
The front door creaks open. Makaio and his sister make their way outside. He eyes me the entire time he’s escorting her to a beat-up sedan. Then a few more people pour out the door, clearly the in-laws to be. Neighbors head out next, wandering toward their houses. Everyone is staring. I curse. Everything else I want to say will have to wait. This isn’t the time. With an audience isn’t the place.
I lean in, close to her ear, trying to ignore the hint of jasmine that always clings to her and drives me mad. “I will not go away because it’s convenient for you. And I won’t leave you alone simply because I hurt you or you don’t like the way I rattle you, Britta. I’m back. And I’m never leaving again.”