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“What?” he asks sharply. “We’re already paying you too fucking much for your services.”
I hear the bite of irritation in his tone. His jaw clenches and unclenches as he regards me. I’ve clearly tested the limits of his patience. The muscles in Ellington’s temple pulse with restrained annoyance. He digs his fingers into his crossed arms. I know he’s weighing just how far he can push back on my demands.
I lift my chin defiantly. “I haven’t decided just yet, but you’ll have to take it or leave it, Ellie. I’m charging extra for the emotional distress you’re inflicting by bringing him here.”
With that, I turn on my heel and stride away, trembling slightly but proud of standing my ground. Ellington calls after me, but I keep walking.
I glance up at the sky again. “If you’re behind this, I’m coming for you, Zane St. Clairmont,” I mutter. “Instead of sending me more problems, why don’t you send me some peace or luck . . . I don’t even know what I want anymore. Just not to be so . . . alone.”
But here I am, probably ready to confront my biggest fear and the one person who I hate the most.
When I arrive at my favorite hiding place, a familiar voice speaks up, “You don’t have to do this, you know.” Brahms’s wheelchair is next to my favorite bench, probably waiting for me.
“Why are you here?” I ask warily.
He just shrugs. “My brother brought me. He thinks this is the best place to help me heal.”
“I mean my private spot.”
“You’re predictable,” he responds, but I feel as if he wants to say more but swallows all the words.
Anger swells up in me at his presumptuousness. “I want to push you into that lake and watch you drown,” I snap before I can censor myself.
To my shock, his response is utterly calm. “And I’d probably be thankful for it. You’ll finally finish the job you started seven years ago.”
As I meet his haunted eyes, I see it—Brahms has given up. He’s tired of fighting, tired of life itself. He’s too broken, too ready for the void.
I don’t think I can do much for him, but I can try—for Zane. Straightening my shoulders, I meet his empty gaze head-on. “Well unfortunately for you, I’m not letting you off that easy.”
That might be the worst decision I’ve made, but I have to try.
Chapter Five
Brahms
The first time I visited the St. Clairmont estate, I was almost eight years old. It was when my parents were considering moving from Los Angeles to New York. Something about escaping pollution, gaining privacy, and . . . I can’t remember the rest of the excuses. None of them made sense then and now that I’m an adult I wish they had been upfront with us.
If I had children, I wouldn’t want them to grow up in either one of those cities. Both places are crowded, polluted, and there’s always someone ready with a camera to take the best, most intriguing picture of a famous celebrity and make up some seedy story that’ll sell. But of course, it wasn’t until I was older that I learned the truth of why they moved us to the other side of the country. Mom had cancer, and they needed the help of our grandparents. She wanted to be close to her roots in case she didn’t make it. For an almost eight-year-old it would’ve been hard to understand but they could’ve handled it better.
In any case, our first stop when we landed in JFK wasn’t The Plaza as usual. Nope, they shoved the nanny, my four brothers, and me into a car and drove us two hours to Birchwood Falls. A small, charming, and friendly town in Connecticut where our maternal grandparents lived. Mom wanted us to stay with them while she and Dad were house hunting in the city. It was easier than dealing with five rowdy boys ranging from the ages of two to nine.
My grandparents agreed immediately as their ulterior motive was to convince our mom and dad to buy a property in Birchwood Falls instead. While we stayed with them, they introduced us to the kids next door. According to my grandmother, the perfect place to raise the Ehrenberg brothers included friends around our ages. Supposedly, they were average children who didn’t belong to the entertainment industry. By growing up with peers who were down to earth, maybe we would grow up to be humble too—unlike our father.
Yeah, Amanda and Ron weren’t fans of their son-in-law and his lifestyle. If they were alive, I doubt they’d like who I’ve become. Despite their efforts, my parents bought a house in the Big Apple and moved us to New York City. However, the St. Clairmont estate became our second home. I know this place like the back of my hand.
While Seraphina ran away I asked Talon to take me to what she liked to call her secret garden—spoiler alert, it wasn’t secret. This is the place where Seraphina hid from everyone and, sometimes, I would join her if I hadn’t been the one who pissed her off.
Being here isn’t wise. I know staying at the center won’t happen and I refuse to force my presence on Seraphina after seeing her hatred. The way she looked at me confirmed she hadn’t forgiven me.
And I know nothing I do will ever make her forgive me. Yet I had to see her one last time.
And when she steps into view, everything else fades away. Time has only polished Seraphina’s rare beauty into brilliance.
As she nears, my heart quickens. I drink in every detail. Her graceful walk, jeans accentuating her curves, the sweater outlining her elegant frame. Her midnight hair, braided today with loose tendrils framing her beautiful face—so achingly familiar yet mature.
She’s a walking embodiment of our past and the years stolen from us. Seraphina stirs up emotions in me I usually bury with drugs, alcohol, or . . . I always find a way to numb it long enough so I can breathe. She is both my biggest regret and my potential redemption, now unexpectedly within reach again.
Should I talk to her about the accident? Hope that she’ll listen to me? That she’ll forgive me? But what is there to tell exactly?
