Page 54 of The Billionaire's Secret Desire
I park in the back and slide open the van door so Ghost can jump down beside me. She stretches, sniffs the salty air, and then follows me up the familiar back steps like she’s been here before. Maybe in some way, she has. She knows home when she feels it, and this place has always been home to me.
Rusty’s inside, flipping pancakes and cursing at the radio. His back is to me. "If you’re the bread delivery guy and you’re late again, I swear to Jesus?—"
"It’s not the bread guy," I say.
He turns. And when he sees me, the spatula slips from his hand. "Well, I’ll be damned," he says, eyes softening instantly. "You look like hell, Charli."
"Thanks."
He reaches down and pats Ghost's head. "Who's your friend?"
I look at her as she tilts her head and looks to me for guidance. "This is Ghost."
"Nice to meet you, Ghost." He looks at me and nods toward a stool. "Sit. Talk. I’ll pour the coffee."
Ghost settles under the counter like she owns the place. I drop onto the cracked vinyl seat and stare at my hands, knuckles white, fingers curled too tightly around themselves.
"I left him," I say finally, the words tasting like grief and gasoline. Rusty says nothing, just slides a mug toward me and waits. "Sawyer’s ex showed up. Said they have a daughter. Five years old. He never told me. Not one word about being a father."
Rusty whistles low. "And you believe her?"
I nod slowly. "I saw a photo. She looks just like him."
"Damn," he mutters. "So you ran."
"I walked away—there’s a difference. I didn’t run, I didn’t hide. I made a choice. One that clears the path so he can step into the role his daughter needs him to play."
Rusty folds his arms, watching me carefully. "And did he ask you to 'walk away'?" He uses air quotes to mimic me.
I swallow. Hard. Shame curls low and hot in my stomach, and my voice barely comes out at all. "No. He doesn’t even know I know." The words taste like failure, like weakness I can’t scrub away. My chest tightens with the weight of it—of keeping this to myself, of slipping out the back door of his life without even giving him a chance to explain, to fight, to stay. But how could I look him in the eye, knowing what I know now? Knowing I might never have belonged in that part of his world? Knowing he's been lying to me all this time?
He sighs and shakes his head. "Charli-girl, you’ve got a big heart. But sometimes you confuse sacrifice with self-sabotage."
I don’t know how to respond. Because what if he’s right? What if leaving wasn’t brave, but cowardly? I stare into the mug, watching the ripples settle. "I just didn’t want to make him choose. Or resent me. Or—or look at me one day and realize I kept him from his child... not that I ever would."
Rusty leans in, voice quiet. "And who’s gonna keep him fromyounow?"
The answer floats up, bitter and hollow—Me.
Ghost rests her head on my foot. I reach down and scratch behind her ears, trying to anchor myself. The hurt’s still fresh. Still raw. But underneath it is something else—resolve.
Rusty studies me for a long moment, then glances at the clock like he’s weighing how much of his morning he’s about to give up. "Do you have some place to stay?" he asks, but there’s something in his voice—softer, familiar.
I nod, but it feels hollow. "Just the van," I admit, forcing a shrug. "Same as before. Don’t worry, we won’t be in the way. Just need a spot to catch our breath."
He wipes his hands on a dish towel, then jerks his chin toward the hallway. "The office is still there. Door sticks a little, and the couch still sags in the middle, but it’s yours if you want it."
I blink, throat tightening. That little room—cramped, cluttered, and always smelling faintly of fryer grease—was my first home after everything fell apart years ago. It was where I learned how to dice onions without losing a finger. Where I cried into a dish towel more nights than I care to count. Where I learned I could survive.
"No, thanks. But I would like to park in your lot for the night, if that's okay."
"Of course."
He says it like it’s nothing, like it’s no big deal—but it is. It means everything.
I nod, trying not to cry again. "Thank you, Rusty."
"Get some sleep, Charli-girl," he says, turning back to the grill. "You can fall apart tomorrow if you need to. Tonight, you need to rest."
