Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
I jerked away. Layla and I would definitely be discussing many things, and soon, because I wasn’t sure I did trust her—not the way I once had and never in the instinctive way I’d always trusted Reagan—and PennCo was so far from being my priority, I would have happily traded it off in exchange for a rocket-powered car that could get me to Madison by morning.
“Thanks,” I said shortly. Then I jogged up the stairs.
I found Brantleigh sitting on the side of the bed in my room, red-rimmed eyes fixed on the floor. I could tell at a glance that he was trying to convince himself he was capable of standing and that it wasn’t going well. When I looked at him, I remembered the little boy he’d once been: the way he laughed with his whole body, the way he’d trusted me completely. But that boy and his smiles were gone, and in their place was a grown man.
I closed the door with a click, and his eyes shot up before he remembered why he shouldn’t make any sudden movements. He winced but tried to hide it.
“Come to yell at me and list my failings?” he said in a bored voice. “Don’t bother. Mom said she got the story from you, and she already lectured me via text.” He shot the phone by his leg a glare. “She expressed her profound disappointment from three thousand miles away. Isn’t technology wonderful?”
“I didn’t come to lecture,” I said, surprised to find I meant it. I wasn’t angry at Brant anymore. “And you’re not a failure.”
He snorted.
“You’re not. You just haven’t had a chance to succeed.” I pulled out the antique desk chair and straddled it, resting my forearms on the upper rail, my eyes never leaving my son’s pale face.
Brant sighed. “Is this some kind of psychobabble? Did you read a new book? Find a new expert to fix me? Because you’d be better off fixing your fucking HR people. Do you have any idea what they thought a decent starting salary for my position would be?”
“I didn’t come here to talk about that either—though I think we both know that after what you pulled today, you’re no longer employed at Pennington,” I said easily.
He narrowed his bleary eyes. “Figures.”
“To be honest, I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted to say to you when I came up here,” I went on. “You nearly started a fight with Reagan today—”
“That’s a lie. He started a fight with me. Pushed me up against a fucking wall—”
“Why?”
Brantleigh pressed his lips together and looked away.
“Right. Because you were acting like a drunken idiot and mouthing off about me to a reporter. Were you trying to get back at me? Or hoping he’d pay you for the story? Or trying to make me angry?” I shrugged. “Either way, I’m sorry.”
He looked at me suspiciously. “You’re sorry?”
“Yep. I’ve let you down. I’ve gone around cleaning up your messes and resenting you for it when it was never my job to do those things. If I’d let you take responsibility for yourself when you were younger, maybe you’d have figured stuff out when the stakes were still low. But this is where we are, so this is where it stops.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” he demanded.
“It means I agree with the plan your mom laid out. But I’m still going to text you all the time to let you know I’m thinking of you, and I’ll visit you more than you’d probably prefer. I’ll give you advice when you ask for it, and I will always answer when you call. I won’t be paying your debts or making excuses for you.” I took a breath. “It means no one will be happier when you figure things out than I will.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll be poor and alone in Mom’s guest house. Pure fucking bliss. Thanks for nothing,” he spat. But I could see the fear in his eyes and the sinking knowledge that this time, Thalia and I were on the same page and would stand firm.
“If you decide to talk to a reporter again,” I warned, pushing to my feet, “consider the consequences first. It won’t change my mind, and I will get my lawyers involved.”
“Fine. Great. Are we done now? I’m going back to the retreat for the night.” He ran a hand over his face. “As soon as this headache eases up a little.”
“I’ll have McGee—”
“No.” Brant raised his chin stubbornly. “I have a car.”
I nodded, “Okay. I’ll call you in a couple days. And Brant?” I paused with my hand on the doorknob. “I love you.”
“Yeah,” he muttered without meeting my eyes. “I know.”
Deciding that was the best possible outcome I could expect under the circumstances, I closed the door behind me and headed down to dinner.