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Taking another breath into his tight chest, he knelt down and slowly picked each blueprint and delivery receipt up. There were coffee droplets stuck to some of them, and he did his best to wipe them clean, though some stain remained.
When he was done he stood up and walked over to the window overlooking the site. But he didn’t take in the half-constructed buildings, nor the yellow painted vehicles locked up for the night. All he could see was her, the way she’d been on Saturday night. Her hair long and flowing, her face bright, her arms wrapped around the son she so obviously loved.
Her son. and Jamie’s.
He’d said it was none of his business, but his mind begged to differ. Because she’d slept with his brother, and they’d had a child together. She’d said she’d tried to contact Jamie, but did he even know about Nick? Surely he’d have told their mother? The one thing she’d longed for, before she died, was to have a grandchild. And all along they’d been a few hundred miles away from Angel Sands, from Nick.
There were so many thoughts swirling through his brain, it made his head hurt. He pushed down the little internal voice telling him he should have calmed down and actually listened to what she had to say. Because every word had felt like a knife stabbing at his heart. It hurt like hell.
In the distance the mountains were darkening, as the sun slowly made her way into the horizon. Any other day he would have thought it was beautiful, but right now all he could see was misery.
“I’m not a slut.” Wasn’t that what she said? He squeezed his eyes shut to try and force out the image of the hurt on her face. His disgust had obviously been written all over his as she’d told him the truth about her son.
Deep in his heart he knew she wasn’t. She wasn’t anything other than a girl who’d once taken his heart, and broken him up until he wasn’t sure how to put himself back together again. It had taken years of hard work to forget her. To build himself back up and trust his own judgment. And now he was almost thirty years old. He’d achieved everything he wanted and more. The world was at his feet, and yet it felt like nothing at all.
He felt like nothing.
Because the woman he’d once adored had a son who carried his own blood, and at least some of his DNA. And yet he’d never be his.
That cut him to the bone.
8
The shrill blast of her doorbell woke her up. Groggily, Brooke checked the clock beside her bed. Eight A.M. Not even Nick was awake yet. There went sleeping in on Saturday morning.
Another push of the bell – enough to rouse Nick. “Mom? There’s somebody at the door.” He appeared in the hallway as she walked out of her bedroom. Stifling a yawn, she pulled her robe around her and ruffled her son’s hair. “Who is it?” he asked.
“I’ve no idea.” A glance in the hallway mirror told her all she needed to know. She looked like hell. And she should, too, after the almost sleepless night she’d had. She’d spent most of it tossing and turning. Remembering the way Aiden had looked at her when she’d told him the truth. As though she’d killed something sweet and dear to him.
Her morning mouth tasted of regret.
She finished knotting the robe belt around her waist, and reached out to open the door. Whoever it was, they were clearly impatient; even though she was on the other side of the glass, they pressed the bell a third time.
“Hell—. Oh, Mom, it’s you.”
“Is that any way to greet your mother?” Without being asked, Lillian brushed past Brooke and walked into the hallway. “Hello, Nick, how are you, my darling?” She took his hand and led him into the kitchen, sighing when she saw the blinds were still pulled. Brooke closed the front door, trying not to let out a groan. It was almost impossible when her mother was around.
“Brooke, why isn’t the coffee on?” her mother called. “It’s the middle of the morning.”
“It’s eight o’clock. Practically night time,” Brooke pointed out, joining them in the kitchen. Nick shot her a smile and pulled the blinds without being asked. Thank goodness for him, he really was a good kid. “And unlike you, I don’t have staff to put the coffee on. I do it all by myself.”
Huffing, her mother opened and closed all the cupboard doors on the right hand wall. “I know how to make coffee, but I can’t find the damn pot. Where did you put it?”
Brooke leaned down and pulled the canister out from the cupboard beneath the breakfast bar. “I’ll do it. You sit down.” One thing she’d learned from years of living with her mother, once she wanted something, she was almost impossible to divert.
“I don’t want any. I’ve already had two cups.” She glanced at her watch. “Of course I went to my yoga class first. The coffee’s for you. You need to be bright eyed for today.”
A sense of unease washed over Brooke. She turned to look at her mother, suspicion in her eyes. “Why?”
“We’re going to Neiman Marcus to buy you a dress. Remember?”
No, she didn’t remember, and that’s because they’d never made any such arrangement. Another thing her mom had a habit of doing – having conversations in her mind and holding the real life people accountable. “I told you I already have enough dresses,” Brooke told her, filling the coffee pot up with water. “I don’t need another one.”
“Don’t be silly, everybody needs more dresses. And I’ve arranged for Nick to join your father on the golf course.”
Nick’s face lit up. “Grandpa’s taking me golfing?”
“Yes.” Lillian smiled at her grandson. “And afterward he’s taking you out for lunch. A boys’ day out, isn’t that wonderful?”
