Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
It’s just us.
The world belongs to us, and we have the sky to ourselves, but I know we can’t stay here forever.
“I’m sorry for my initial response,” he says. “Of course I know we have to go back at some point. I’ve actually been doing a lot of soul searching these last three weeks about what I want to do when we return.”
“Meaning?”
“I’ll still run my business, of course,” he says. “But I’ve been wondering about Owen’s legacy, trying to figure out how I keep it alive, extend it.”
“What are you considering? Like a scholarship fund? Something that supports one of his causes?”
“You know…” He chuckles, shakes his head. “For the first time in a long time, I don’t know what to do next, but you said something when we were in Amsterdam.”
“Talk about a throwback. Which of the many brilliant things I said do you mean?”
He rolls his eyes but caresses the skin at my wrist. “You said you felt like a missile ready to fire with no launch codes.”
Hearing my own words in my ears again, I remember how that felt. That girl was so earnest and naive and young and principled in a way I’m not sure I can ever be again. Not like that. Those words sprung from untried convictions. The purity of idealism untouched by compromise. I still know what I believe, but I’ve learned what it takes to not only fight my battles but win as many of them as possible.
And I’ve learned every battle isn’t worth fighting.
Maxim’s phone buzzes in the pocket of his sleep pants, and he answers. After listening for a few seconds and issuing monosyllabic responses, he disconnects the call. Blowing out a long breath, he slides the phone back into his pocket, a frown plastering his handsome features.
“What is it?” I ask, my shoulders and back exercising muscle memory, tightening with concern like they haven’t the past three weeks.
“Not what. Who.”
“Then who?”
He stares back at me like he’s resigned to this world slipping away from us. “It’s my father.”
CHAPTER 33
MAXIM
I shouldn’t be surprised by now, but I am. Owen always used to say our father knew where we were at all times.
You called it, O.
I seem to talk to Owen more now than I did when he was alive, entire conversations I probably would never have initiated. Now, after Lennix, he’s the first person I want to share things with.
“I’ll be back,” I tell Lennix, leaving the balcony and heading into our bedroom.
“Is that your way of telling me not to come down?” she asks softly, following me.
“No, that’s my way of trying to spare us all a battle royale. If you want to see my father that badly, you can, of course.”
“It’s not that.”
I stride back to her, tilt her chin up. “I’m always fine with anyone knowing you’re with me. You’re what I’m proudest of, Nix.”
I mean it. She probably doesn’t believe me, but earning the love of this woman is the greatest thing I’ve ever done, and I want to keep doing it for the rest of my life.
I drop a quick kiss in her hair. “I better get down there to see what my dad wants.”
I bound down the stairs, automatically pulling my armor in place. My father and I haven’t actually been at odds since we argued about Lennix at Christmas, but we haven’t been around each other. The week of the funeral, by tacit agreement we called a cease-fire, both wanting to support Mom and Millie and honestly needing the support of each other. Owen’s only been gone a month, and though I’ve spoken to my mother regularly, checking on her at least a few times a week, this will be my first contact with my father.
And it’s a sneak attack from him.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, he stands in the middle of the living room, scowling at Rick.
“I didn’t ask for or need an escort,” he says, his deep voice like a mallet crushing the words over Rick’s head. “He’s my son.”
Even when we’ve been estranged for a decade and a half, there’s always a certain possessiveness to my father’s voice, always has been when he spoke of Owen and me.
“Rick’s simply doing his job, Dad.” I walk closer and smile at Rick.
“I won’t need an escort back either,” Dad says.
“It’s a big property,” I say, trying not to be annoyed. “Rick’s just helping.”
“Well, you can go,” he tells Rick.
Except Rick works for me. He looks to me, brows lifted, silently asking to be released. I nod and wait for him to leave. I sit, gesturing to the collection of couches and recliners in the middle of the room.
“Have a seat. Everything okay? Mom all right?”
“She’s doing as well as can be expected.” He sits, seeming to hesitate before going on. “Thank you for calling so often. It’s been helping her.”