Page 97 of The Secret of Emerald Cottage

Chapter Fifty-Three

“Bloody blackmail,” Brec muttered as he closed the door of his bedroom with a defiant click, wishing he could just slam it to vent his frustration. But it was late and Aunt Lilly was asleep in the next bedroom. He grunted as he stripped off his T-shirt and hurled it across the room, missing the hamper by a mile. Besides, he sure didn’t want to give the “blackmailer” the satisfaction of knowing she riled him with her demands.

Even though she did.

Unzipping his jeans, he kicked them off, sailing them in the direction of the hamper. Lumbering over to the dresser, he glared at the former “player” in the mirror as he snatched a clean pair of pajama bottoms. Staring at the lean and muscled body Lana had once claimed was a female magnet now reminded him of just what he was giving up.

A peace suddenly settled as Molly’s sweet face drifted through his brain, melting any irritability away. Because as frustrated as he was with her right now, she was so worth giving up all other women for, and everything that came with them. One edge of his lip crooked.

Emptiness.

Loneliness.

Selfishness.

Yes, he’d wanted a break from his past and player ways, but he sure hadn’t expected it this quickly and this permanently, for pity’s sake.

For pity’s sake.

And, yet, that’s exactly what had happened. The God he’d once reviled had taken pity on him, transforming his pitiful life into one where he was truly loved, just as he was. First by the God who’d saved his sorry soul, and then by the most amazing woman he had ever met.

Squinting in the mirror, he wrinkled his nose at the muscled physique he’d always worked so hard to maintain. “Get over yourself, McGill,” he said as he slipped on a clean T-shirt, “you’re a one-woman man now.” Before he knew it, moisture stung beneath his lids, and closing his eyes, he bent his head to knead the bridge of his nose.

How can I ever thank you, God?

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he groused, “by reading those bloomin’ letters.” Cutting loose with a weighty sigh, he glanced over at his nightstand drawer, where his past had been shut away since the day Molly had badgered him to take his father’s letters home.

His mouth veered off-center while he trudged over to plop down on his bed. Badgering. She sure had it down. Just like Aunt Lilly. Always looking out for his own good.

“All right, God,” he said with a noisy blast of air, “it’s now or never, I guess, so dump a heap of that grace Aunt Lilly is always blathering on about on me if you will, both to read those bloomin’ letters and more importantly”—against his will, he felt his jaw muscles tighten—“to forgive.”

Opening the nightstand drawer, he picked up the stack of letters tied with a piece of twine, the paper cool to his touch. He punched his pillow several times before settling back and sliding the tie off, taking the first letter out and tossing the rest to the side.

Letter in hand, he stared at the bloodied “Return to Sender” he’d scratched over his father’s handwriting.

And stared.

And stared.

Body rigid like a mule at the edge of a cliff, he wasn’t a bit happy about taking the leap.

“You’re testing my limits, Molly.”

“No, Brec, I’m testing your love ...”

His eyelids lumbered closed, as heavy as the letter in his hand. Sucking in a deep draw of air, he expelled it again in one long, weary sigh before ripping the envelope open, not a bit concerned about tearing it. Just like his father hadn’t been concerned about tearing their family apart.

Dear Son,

Brec’s mouth automatically compressed, his spirit unwilling to embrace his father’s salutation. As far as Brec could see, his father had never treated him “dearly” or as a “son.”

I’m sorry things ended badly between us …

A grunt erupted from Brec’s mouth. “Yeah,” he muttered, scanning the letter with as much indifference as his father had shown him over the years. “But not sorry enough to contact your “son” till a year later, eh, Pop?”

… and I’d like to make amends …

“Too little, too late, as far as I’m concerned,” Brec said, finishing the first letter and throwing it on the floor before grabbing the second.