“Did you tell your attorney?” I ask. “About seeing the photo? Because what we heard after you confessed was that you were basically killing him to make things easier on Jackson. But if he provoked you, then surely that will come into play when you’re negotiating the plea. ” Page 95
“I’m not going to say a word about those photos. You think I want those things out in the world? As it stands, nobody else knows, right?”
I nod. Harriet knows about the blackmail, but she’d learned it in the course of representing her client, and wouldn’t say a word. Not only that, but as far as she knows, Reed’s copies of the photos are still missing.
“I’m staying silent,” my dad says again. “I’m not going to make it worse for you than I already have. ”
“Daddy. ” I blink, realizing that my eyes have filled with tears.
He starts to reach for me, but has to stop because of the cuffs. “Oh, hell, honey. Did I screw up that bad? Did I destroy you?”
“I—” I close my mouth because I don’t know what to say. Yes? No? Sometimes I feel ripped to pieces? Sometimes I’m okay?
I choose to stay silent, and he just sighs.
“I fucked up, Sylvia, I did. And I know I hurt you, but look at you. You’re so damn strong. Look at everything you’ve done. At all you’ve become. You’re smart and you’re poised and you go after what you want. And I think that’s the only reason I can stand my life right now. Because I know that despite what I did to you, that you were strong enough not to let me destroy you. ”
He draws in a deep breath. “Jackson’s a good man. I wanted to hurt the fucker for rubbing my nose in the truth. But I’m glad he did it. You deserve a man who’ll protect you. God knows it wasn’t your father. Least not until I killed that bastard. ”
It’s only when a fat tear lands on the metal table that I realize I’ve been crying. “Daddy,” I say, but then I have to stop, because I can’t get any more words out. After I calm myself and breathe a little, I try again. “Daddy, you have to tell them about the blackmail. They need to know you acted in a moment of passion. That’s got to be important. ”
“Hell, no. ”
“Then I’ll release the pictures to the press and I’ll tell the cops myself. ” Even as I say the words, I know that I mean them. For years, I’ve been scared of those damn photos. Of the past they represent. Of the shame. But I’m tired of giving them power. Hell, I’m tired of giving Reed power.
Jackson’s right—I know how to fight my nightmares. And the way to do it is by ripping the last bit of control from Reed’s hands.
“No, honey, no. I already worked out a nice deal. A good deal. We pleaded down. No premeditation. Three years at most. ”
He’s right, I know. That is a good deal. But it could be better if I turn over the photos.
But when I suggest it, my dad steadfastly shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly as he meets my eyes.
“Why not? I can handle it. And if we just turn them over to the prosecutor, they might even seal them. ”
“Maybe you can, and maybe they would, but I want to do that time. ”
I blink, confused. “What? Why?”
“I owe you, Elle,” he says softly, calling me by the name I stopped using when Reed started touching me.
“Being in a cage doesn’t change anything. ”
His smile is infinitely sad. “Maybe not. But it makes me feel better. ”
The guard raps on the window, signaling time.
“I don’t know if I can truly forgive you, Daddy,” I say as the guard opens the door and starts to walk toward my dad. “But I think maybe I want to try. ”
twenty-nine
The only reason Jackson got through the rest of Sunday was because he had Ronnie to take care of. And the only reason he survived Monday morning was because Stella took care of Ronnie, and Jackson buried himself in work.
But by mid-afternoon, even the pull of the resort wasn’t keeping him on track. He was edgy. Lost. Angry.
He wanted to lash out, and more than once during the morning he’d considered calling Sutter and getting him to open the gym. Maybe even go a few rounds. But the idea of losing himself to the dance and weave, the sweat and pain, the screaming muscles and pumped up adrenaline wasn’t doing it for him today.
No, he knew what the goddamn antidote for his misery was—and she’d up and left him.
Goddammit.
And for that matter, goddamn her. He wanted to be patient. He wanted to help. But at the same time he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. And it frustrated the hell out of him that while he could grab control from her in bed, in life, she had to make her own choices, her own decisions.
He only hoped she made the right one. Because he loved her, and he knew that she loved him. He wanted to make a family with her, a life. And he believed with all his heart that she wanted the same thing. But it was fear that had pushed her away. And all he could do was hope that her innate strength would bring her back. She had a lot of strength, after all. She’d pulled him back, hadn’t she? Page 96
Hell.
He glanced at the clock, saw that it was Ronnie’s snack time, and decided to go see if he could share a PB&J with his daughter and her nanny. He was almost to the elevator bank when his assistant, Lauren, called out to him. “Mr. Steele? Rachel just called down. She says there’s someone to see you on thirty-five. ”
Sylvia? Surely not, but maybe she was being coy. He allowed himself the pleasure of the fantasy that she was waiting for him at her desk, but when he arrived, he was disappointed to see that it wasn’t her—and confused that it was Graham Elliott instead.
“Mr. Steele,” Graham said, walking to him and holding out his hand. “I’m sorry to bother you at the office. I’ve met Evelyn Dodge a time or two socially, and when I said I wanted to talk to you, she suggested I come by. ” He shot a Hollywood smile toward Rachel, who looked like she was going to float out of her chair. “Ms. Peters has been nice enough to entertain me. ”
“I, um, water? Would you like water? Or coffee? Or—”
Graham shook his head. “I’m fine. Thanks. ”
Jackson slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “What can I do for you?” He tried to say it politely; he wasn’t sure he succeeded. This was the man who wanted to play him in a movie about the Fletcher house, after all. This was the man willing to foment the kind of scandal that would throw slime all over Jackson’s daughter.
“Two things, actually. I wanted to say congrats on getting your name cleared. And I wanted to tell you that I’m off the movie. ”
Jackson shifted his weight. Not relaxing—not yet—but interested. And dubious. “Is that so?”
Graham seemed to deflate a bit. “Look, I’m breaking a confidence, but you should know that your dad was in bed with Reed. He was keen on getting the movie made. Figured it would be one hell of a payday. Even dropped that bombshell about you and your brother when interest waned. Guess he figured it would pick back up. ”
Jackson stood perfectly still. “And you? Why were you involved?”
“The material rocks, man. And it’s not defamation. All that shit that happened to you—to the Fletchers—it’s a damn solid story and it would make one hell of a movie. ”
“And yet you’re not going to make it. ”
Graham met his eyes. “I’m not,” he said. “The material’s good, but my perspective has changed. My girlfriend’s pregnant, and if anyone messed with my kid, I’d fuck them up one side and down the other. But I guess you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? That’s why you were trying to kill the movie. ”
Jackson nodded. “Yes. It was. ”
“Was your dad the leak? About your daughter, I mean. ”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think so. I think the press just did their job and found the court papers in New Mexico. ”
Graham nodded. “Listen, I can’t promise that no one else wil
l hop on, but I can promise they’ll get no support from me. And with you no longer a suspect, the tabloids will back off. I predict they lose interest. ”
“Thank you,” Jackson said, but the simple formality of his words couldn’t convey the extent of his relief. “And congratulations. ”
Graham’s face broke into the smile that made him a household name. “Thanks. It’s pretty amazing, don’t you think?”
“What?”
“Fatherhood. It changes fucking everything. ”
“Yeah,” Jackson said softly. “It does. ”
A few minutes later, the elevator doors closed behind Graham, and Rachel let out a long sigh. “Wow. ”
Jackson smiled indulgently. Considering she’d recently been burned by Trent’s deception, it was nice she’d gotten a celebrity treat. “Is Damien in?”
“Sorry, no. Do you want me to leave a message?”
Jackson shook his head. “No. I’ll tell him later. ” He headed back to the elevator bank, fully intending to take the express to the apartment. Instead, he got into the regular car and descended to the parking garage. His mind was whirring as he strode to his Porsche. They were cut from the same cloth, Sylvia’s father and Jeremiah Stark. But at least Sylvia’s dad was trying to mend what he destroyed, even if murder was a rather dramatic way to apologize.
But not Jeremiah. He just kept hacking away at Jackson’s and Damien’s lives, as if they were gemstones and he was trying to mine a sliver, not caring that he was damaging the whole.
That was something Jackson was damn sure he wouldn’t do as a father. He’d make mistakes as a parent, sure. But he wouldn’t repeat his father’s. Sylvia knew that—he was one hundred percent certain that she believed in his ability to raise his child. Page 97
So why the hell couldn’t she see that in herself?
He was already out of the parking garage before he realized that his destination was Santa Monica. He’d been trying to give her space, but he was done. He wanted her. He needed her.
And he was damn sure she needed him.
Time to go bring back the woman he was going to marry. Time to convince her that she should stay. That this would work.
Because, dammit, he wasn’t going to lose her again.
thirty
I don’t actually know how I got here, but instead of going home after leaving my father, I went to Van Nuys and to the warehouse where Reed ran one of the studios where he so often photographed me.
Now I’m sitting in the parking lot in my Nissan, just staring at those nondescript, weathered walls that seem so dull. And I can’t help but wonder what is going on behind them now. For that matter, who knows what’s really going on behind any walls? Or inside anyone’s head?
I don’t know what my father was thinking back then, but I believe him now. His regret is real, his overture legitimate. I will never be as close to him as Jackson will be to Ronnie, but despite the fact that I never would have believed it before, I really do want to try and heal. To take his apology and his retreat and turn it around, box it up, and move past it.
I slide the car back into drive, not entirely certain why I came at all. Closure? Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to prove to myself that this wasn’t actually hell. That there was no fire and brimstone, and that any of the demons who live here are in my mind—and I can defeat them.
I get back on the highway and head toward Santa Monica, but I take a detour into Brentwood and the house we lived in when I was a kid. This was where I started my hobby of photographing houses, because I couldn’t believe that a house with such a perfect exterior held such horrible secrets. It was nothing but a facade, and I wondered if the rest of the houses I saw around the city were as well.
The house Jackson will build in the Palisades won’t be, though. There will be love—and honesty. And I think that’s what’s most important.
I think about waking up there with Jackson beside me. About Ronnie rushing in and bouncing on the bed. About sitting on a long balcony and sipping coffee in the morning and wine in the evening and watching the ocean that is spread out to infinity.
I think about a little girl and a puppy and the man that I love.
I want that. Oh, god, how I want it.
I’m still scared, but I’ll learn what to do. I won’t be like my mom who checks out when it gets tough. Or my dad who waits decades to try to remedy a mistake or to protect a child.
It won’t be easy. I’ll stumble.
But with Jackson to catch me it will be okay.
Jackson.
Suddenly, I can’t wait even one more second to see him, and I turn the car around and head the opposite direction, back downtown to the Tower apartment.
Traffic is a mess, and every moment is like torture. But I finally careen into my parking place and race to the penthouse. I burst into the foyer and call for him, for Ronnie, for Stella.
But there is only silence that greets me. And in that moment I am certain that I destroyed everything. That I convinced him that I wasn’t worth the risk. That my stumbling efforts would come between him and his daughter.
That it was best for Ronnie not to have me in their lives.
Oh, god, what the hell have I done?
I look blankly around the apartment, not understanding where everyone could be. I call his phone, but there is no answer, and I feel even more lost. Even more lonely.
In the back of my mind, I know that an empty apartment does not mean all those things. But I’m so tired. And I fought so hard to break away that I am having a difficult time believing that now that I’ve seen my mistake, things will turn out okay. In my experience, it’s usually the opposite.
Right now, I tell myself not to think about it. I tell myself it’s time to just sleep.
Going home, I don’t even bother to get in the left lane. I drive slowly, like a drunk who shouldn’t even be on the road but is trying desperately to focus. I sleepwalk up the stairs to my apartment. All I want to do is crawl into bed. Tomorrow, I will try again. And if Jackson is still gone I will go to Cass and get another tattoo, because this is a pain that I must both fight and remember.
My apartment is dark when I get in, and I curse myself for not leaving a light on the way that I usually do. I kick off my shoes, then stumble through the dark toward my bedroom, stripping off my T-shirt and bra as I go, then tossing my jeans over the back of the couch before I finish crossing the short distance to my bedroom doorway.
I’m still there when I hear his voice. Just one word—just my name—but it means everything. Page 98
“Sylvia. ”
I stop in the doorway, entirely naked, and though I have never felt vulnerable in front of Jackson, I do right now. My eyes adjust to the light, and I see him get off the bed and come to me. He stands just inches from me, and suddenly I am very aware of my breathing. Of every hair on my body. Of his proximity. And, yes, of my need.
I lick my lips. “I looked for you at the apartment. ”
“Funny,” he says, his voice gentle. “I looked for you here. ”
He moves a few feet to the left to the chair that sits next to the door. My robe is there, and he picks it up and then hands it to me. And that simple gesture, so seemingly polite, terrifies me.
My breath hitches, and I make a little gasping sound. I hold the robe clutched to my body, but I don’t put it on. “Jackson—I—I’m sorry. ” I try to read the expression on his face, but I can’t. “Did I ruin everything by walking away? I don’t want to lose you or Ronnie because I was afraid. ”
“Was? You’re not afraid anymore?”
I look down. “No,” I say. “I still am. But it’s a fear of what-ifs, and I don’t want to live like that. I’m still terrified of screwing up, but I’d rather risk screwing up with you than not even try. ” I lift my head and meet his eyes. “I love you, Jackson, and I’m so scared that I’ve lost you. ”
I see the break in his expression. T
he glow of tenderness and relief. And when he steps closer to me, I can’t help but notice the way his jeans are tight over the bulge of his erection.
“Don’t you know you can never lose me?” He reaches out and strokes my cheek. “Do you think I don’t understand fear? Being a parent—hell, being in love—it’s about making scary choices. But choosing you—choosing us? That one’s not scary at all. ”
My heart twists with emotion at his words, and I can’t wait any more. I need his touch to match his words. I need to know that we’re truly back, that the world has righted itself.
I drop my robe and without warning, I pull him tight against me, claiming him with my mouth, pressing my breasts hard against him.
I slide my hands down and cup the firm curve of his ass, pulling him toward me until I can feel him beneath the denim. He groans, the sound full of need, and it rolls through me, battering my senses. I’m naked, my skin on fire, and there’s no denying the reaction of my body as his pelvis crushes against mine.
One of his hands is on my hips, and I reach for it, stepping back enough so that I can slide our joined hands between my thighs. I’m wet and slippery.
“I’m yours,” I say huskily, my words stuttering as a small, unexpected orgasm sends electric sparks fluttering through me. “And you’re mine. ”
“Hell, yes I am. ”
He holds my gaze long enough for me to see passion and promise. And, yes, understanding. Then he draws his hand away, the sensation making me melt a little more. He licks his fingers clean and my cunt clenches in response to that simple, erotic action.
He takes a single step backward and pulls his T-shirt over his head. Then he reaches for his jeans.
“No,” I say, then go to him. I unbutton his jeans and ease them over his hips, taking his briefs with them. His cock hardens as I do, and I bite back a satisfied smile.
I slide down his body until I’m on my knees, and his cock is stiff and magnificent in front of me. I tilt my head back to look at him. I meet his eyes, and I can tell he knows exactly what this is. It’s more than desire and need. It’s my apology, my submission, my promise.
I tease him first, licking the length of his shaft and teasing the crown. But I want more than that. I want to get him off. I want to give him that moment when everything disappears and he is reduced to sweet sensation. I want to wash away the pain I caused.
I cup his balls with one hand and take his cock into my mouth, and the taste of him, so very male, so very Jackson, slices through me, making my nipples hard and my own body demand attention. But I keep my focus on Jackson. On the way he’s thrust one arm out for balance. On the low moans he is making as passion builds.
And—oh yes—on the way he holds my head and guides me as he gets closer and closer and then finally explodes in my mouth.
He is holding me in place, and I have no choice but to swallow. And after I do, I stand up and kiss him, sharing the taste of him as he slides his hand between my legs to stroke my slick cunt. “Your turn now. ”
I squeal as he scoops me up, then lays me on the bed. Then slowly, he strokes his hands over me, his touch driving me wild because there is no part of me to which he doesn’t minister. I squirm and writhe under his attention, my skin sensitive, my body needy. He doesn’t relent. Not until every tiny nerve ending is tied to my core, and when he thrusts inside me—when he strokes my clit and sends me reeling—it is like the sun is rising inside me, illuminating my entire body, turning me brighter and brighter until I can’t contain it any longer and I explode into golden rays of sunshine. Page 99