Page 140 of Frozen Hearts
I suppress my small smile as I reluctantly leave her alone in the bathroom. However, I remain right on the other side of the door in case she needs me.
Gran was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease not long after I went to live with her. The doctors think the stress of everything—my father’s arrest, taking me in, and being left to run the company was too much for her to handle.
The gaps in her memory became glaringly obvious quite quickly when I was always around her. Before then, she was able to keep the issues she was having hidden. However, I quickly realized she couldn’t run Van Doren Holdings by herself. At first, I helped her with whatever I could, but as her condition progressed and her memory worsened, more and more responsibility fell on my shoulders.
Despite the stress of it all, I didn’t mind. VDH is as much her company as it was my grandfather’s. After his death, she took over the running of the company. Poured everything she had into not only maintaining what he had built, but also fulfilling every ambition he’d ever had. My chest tightens and I lift a hand to rub over the skin as my thoughts drift to my mother, who sought to continue my grandfather’s legacy until her death. That was when my father took control… until it fell into my hands.
The company meanseverythingto Gran; thus, it has always meant everything to me. What was initially my grandfather's legacy became hers, and ultimately now mine. It was devastating for both of us to watch our stocks plummet in within those first few weeks after Dad’s arrest. So for Gran, and even myself, I have been determined to ensure we don’t go under.
Unfortunately, Gran is rarely lucid long enough to appreciate how far I’ve managed to bring VDH. Still, knowing that she’d be proud of the changes I’ve been making gives me courage in my moments of self-doubt.
Concerned that she is taking too long, I listen intently at the bathroom door, and I’m about to call out when I hear the toilet flush, and several minutes later, she re-emerges. She startles when she sees me. “Bertram, what are you doing here?”
I blink, taken aback. Despite the similarities in appearance, she has never mistaken me for my father. In fact, she’s always telling me howunlikehim I am, which I never really understood.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Her eyes dart anxiously around the room, her sudden uneasiness giving me pause as I stare at her in confusion, unable to comprehend what she’s talking about. “You need to go,” she states authoritatively, voice shaking as she backs away from me.
My father and maternal grandmother have never gotten along. They’re both incredibly stubborn and used to getting their own way. It makes for a tense environment when they’re both in the same room, but I’ve never actually seen herafraidof him. I always believed their issues were due to their differing visions for VDH. They’d butt heads over the conference table at every shareholder's meeting and rarely deigned to see one another outside the office, but this is different.
Personal.
“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing to my daughter?” She barks in a moment of defiance. “You’ve already taken her from me, what more can you possibly want? Haven’t you hurt my family enough?”
A sickening pit forms in my stomach, questions piled precariously on the tip of my tongue that I know I won’t get answers for tonight.
“Gran,” I hedge, keeping my voice low and gentle.
“No!” She becomes visibly distressed. “Get out! I don’t want you here. Get out!”
“Okay,” I assure her, keeping my voice low and soothing as I hold my hands up in front of me and back across the room. “I’ll go.”
Turning, I move to her record player and put onMy Girlby The Temptations.
“Oh, Freddy. Dance with me, won’t you?” Gran asks, moon-eyed as she now mistakes me for my grandfather. “I do love this song.”
It’s a relief to see that anger and fear gone from her eyes as she stares at me in adoration. Smiling broadly at her, I hold out my hand as I cross the room toward her before reeling her into my arms, happy to play the part of my grandfather if it settles her.
“I know,” I murmur in her ear. “That’s why I put it on.”
As I lead my grandmother around the room in a dance, pretending to be her dead husband, her words play on repeat in my head, leading me to question everything I thought I knew about my father.
36
RILEY
Iwait until the front door closes, counting to sixty before sliding off the sofa and creeping into the hall. Royce and Logan have gone to the store to grab snacks for our Christmas movie marathon, and Grayson is still avoiding me like the plague. I haven’t set eyes on him since that night four days ago. Although I’ve heard the floorboards creaking beneath his feet early in the morning and late at night, so I know he’s been sleeping here. I have no idea what he’s been doing with himself all day or where he goes, and I haven’t dared ask Logan.
Pausing in the hall, I stare at the front door. It would be so easy to sneak out and walk home. Logan even stopped at a clothing store while he was out yesterday and bought me some clothes of my own so I didn’t have to wear his all the time.
Only I know that one of them would come after me, regardless. Whether it was Grayson or Logan. At this point, it’s a safer bet for me to stay, especially with Grayson not around to torment me. Tomorrow is Christmas Day, and I’m supposed to be meeting my mom and Aurora. I’ve already decided I’m going to sneak out early in the morning and make my way home. By the time Logan wakes, I’ll be at the park with my baby girl, and the rest I can deal with after that.
However, that brings me to my other problem—the fact I haven’t heard from my mom since her phone call about the heating. She’s not a regular caller per se, but she does have an uncanny habit of phoning to cancel the day or two before our scheduled meetings. Yet, there hasn’t been a word from her, and when I’ve asked Logan if she’s called, he deftly dodges answering.
Which has left me to find out for myself, because there is no way in hell that I am letting her get out of meeting with me tomorrow. Especially not because I didn’t answer my goddamn phone.
So, turning my back on the front door, I march up the stairs to Logan’s room. Since he’s the one who had my phone when my mom called, I’m guessing he’s the one in charge of it, so it’s most likely hidden somewhere in here.
I stand on the threshold and look around his bedroom. I wouldn’t describe Logan as the neatest person. His clothes are strewn over the floor, and his laundry basket is overflowing, but he is a minimalist.
