Page 18 of Take This Heart
I shouldn’t be here. The asshole who’s been working against them without even realizing it. The enemy.
I rake my hands through my hair, tugging hard, like pain might help this make sense.
I was so damn eager for the project. Speaking to Everett yesterday before the family arrived, he’d gotten me fully invested. Now that I’ve seen the property, I feel even more so.
Bruce is my mom’s brother. He’s a complicated man and we rarely see eye to eye, but when he mentioned an exciting opportunity to revitalize underused lakefront land up north, I didn’t see any reason to not pursue it. I had no idea he wanted this land.
And what the fuck is the Whitman/Granger divide?
The door creaks open behind me.
Light footsteps and a soft, familiar scent drifts on the breeze.
Goldie.
“Hey,” she says, voice cautious.
I force myself to turn and meet her gaze. Her eyes search mine.
“You okay?” she asks. “You don’t have to stay out here.”
“I know. I just…didn’t want to intrude. I’m really sorry about your dad.”
Her face softens, her eyes filling with tears. She wraps her arms around herself. “It’s serious, but there’s treatment. Hopefully they caught it in time.”
I stare out at the dark water, guilt tightening around my ribs until it’s hard to breathe.
I hope there’s time for Everett to do all he dreams of doing.
If no one rips it out from under him.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, running a hand through my hair. “I just…need some air.”
“You’re already outside,” she says gently.
But she doesn’t stop me when I go.
I pace down the steps, gravel crunching under my boots, the air slamming into my overheated skin.
I fish out my phone again, thumb hovering over Bruce’s name.
Calling him won’t fix it.
I turn in a slow circle, heading back to the house. I don’t know what to do. I need to find out more about our families and what Bruce plans to do. Maybe I can encourage him to look elsewhere for land. Bruce is an ass, but he’s powerful. He’s got lawyers on standby. I need to think this through.
The door creaks as I step inside. The conversation hasquieted, everyone scattered around the room, tired and heavy from the news.
Goldie’s standing at the fireplace, staring at an old photo on the mantel. It’s of her as a little girl, hair in pigtails, sitting on her dad’s shoulders.
God, the way she looks at him. Like he’s her hero.
I swallow hard.
Everett’s sitting in his recliner, a blanket draped over his lap. I don’t know if it’s the heaviness of what he’s shared with his family or if it’s the sickness, but all too quickly, he looks exhausted and pale.
I make my way over, heart hammering.
“Everett?” I say quietly.
