Page 102 of Her Ex's Father
Ben almost smiles. “Yes. I am.”
They stare at each other, father and son, two men bound by blood and silence.
Then Derrick shakes his head. “I can’t stay here, Dad. Not now. Colorado… it doesn’t feel like home anymore.”
Ben nods slowly. “I know.”
There’s no anger in his acceptance, no push to make Derrick change his mind. Just quiet understanding. And, notably, Derrick doesn’t say anything about the inheritance—even though I know for a fact that Ben has been talking to his attorney about the best way to divide things up for DerrickandJuniper.
Derrick’s gaze flicks to me, and for the first time in a long time, it isn’t sharp or cruel. It’s tentative. “Maddie… I’m sorry. For everything. I treated you like crap, and you didn’t deserve it. Maybe someday… things will be okay between us. For real. And maybe I can meet my little sister.”
Emotion swells in my chest, surprising and fierce. I manage a small smile. “I’d like that.”
He nods once, then looks back at Ben. “Take care of her. Both of them.”
And then he’s gone, footsteps fading down the hall, the front door closing with a finality that echoes through the house.
The silence stretches, heavy and fragile.
Ben stands in the middle of the room, shoulders squared, but I can see it—the slight tremor in his hands, the weight pressing into him. He just ripped open wounds he’s carried alone for years and though he stood tall through it, the cracks show now.
I cross the room and wrap my arms around him from behind, pressing my cheek between his shoulder blades. His body is rigid at first, then slowly, painfully, he exhales and sinks back into me.
“You did the right thing,” I whisper.
His voice is rough. “I should’ve told him sooner.”
“Maybe. But you told him now. And he heard you. That matters.” We stand in silence for a beat, and then I mention something that’s been on my mind for a while: “Do you think he’ll come back for Christmas? Or even want to? We’ll have Stella here, so maybe it’ll be less…”
I trail off, and Ben’s shoulders sink. “It wouldn’t be the first he missed,” he murmurs. “I’ll wait a few days and extend the invitation. But two weeks from now might be too soon.” Turning his head, he presses a kiss to my forehead.
His hands cover mine where they rest against his chest, his grip firm, grounding. “I don’t want him to hate me anymore.”
“He doesn’t.” I squeeze tighter. “Not after today. You two will find a way forward, Ben.”
Chapter 38
Benedict
Routine. I never thought I’d crave it, not after decades of living like every day was a battle to win or a contract to secure. But with Maddie eight and a half months pregnant, routine is the only thing keeping me sane.
Our mornings start in the kitchen, light spilling through the windows, her laptop open while she sips tea. She’s been planning the Sweden event from home, her spreadsheets and color-coded notes taking over the dining table. I watch her sometimes when she isn’t looking, the way she cradles her belly absentmindedly while she types, the way her face glows with focus.
I’ve never seen anyone look so powerful and so vulnerable all at once.
We even got to skip New Years, or at least the New Years I’m used to—galas, champagne towers, rooms full of strangers all vying to be the center of attention. Instead, it was a quiet night in with Hugh, Caroline, Leo and Maddie, and for the first time I felt nothing but relief to have traded the glitter of Aspen for something smaller, warmer, and more real.
My days are more traditional: calls with the board, reviews of Bronson Estates expansions, the usual power plays and politics. But every hour, my mind drifts back to her.
To them.
This morning started like all the rest with a breakfast filled with laughter and then a drive into town. I’m meeting with the board at our base of operations in the heart of Aspen, and Meredith took Madeline out to buy a few last-minute things she’s been fretting over: extra little beanies for the Colorado winter, a bottle sanitizer that we initially decided against, and a first-aid kit specifically for newborns.
It all seemed like overkill, but I just can’t say no—especially when I worry just as much as she does, even if thisismy second time around.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, snow swirls in soft drifts down from the sky. We’ve already had a few days since November of a solid dumping of the stuff, but this is just a dusting. As I listen to my team debate at the table around me, I can’t help staring off into the hazy sky that masks the buildings around us. The idea that Maddie is out there somewhere, wrapped up in one of my scarves, snowflakes catching on her pale eyelashes and our child warm under a layer of sweaters, warms my soul.
The board is mid-discussion about quarterly returns when the door to the conference room bangs open. Hugh stands there, pale, his phone pressed tight to his ear. I half-rise from the chair immediately, fearing the worst.
