Page 35 of One Billion Reasons

“I’m saying that I don’t think it would have made a difference.”

“Of course it would have,” I huff. But would it have? Would I have forgiven him for the accident and the circumstances?

“Things weren’t right between us for years, Lane. The accident might have been the last straw, but it wasn’t the cause.”

“Well, you hated me, too.” A juvenile response, but this conversation is making me feel awkward and young again.

“No, I didn’t.”

A disbelieving sound tears from my throat. “That’s a lie. You tormented me for years.”

“Is that how you saw it?” His voice is cool, but he looks irritated from what I can see of his face.

“Isn’t that how you meant it?” I shoot back.

“Not at all.” His arms tighten. “I have never hated you, Lane.”

I’m stunned into silence. He never hated me, but I hated him. Is he telling the truth? Does that make me blind? Or vindictive? I’m not sure which is worse, so I don’t respond, and he carries me in silence for a while. I try not to think about how good his arms feel every time he shifts my weight.

“I’m sorry I ruined the outing,” I say quietly. He sighs, his stomach pressing against me, all hardness and warm muscle.

“It’s okay. I’ll have another chance later today to talk to Catherine. I think there’s another cocktail hour.”

I groan slightly. “But I’ve barely recovered from the last one.”

“Hungover a little this morning, were we?” He smiles faintly, and the curve of his lips makes my stomach flip. “You never could hold your liquor.”

“Speak for yourself. I can drink like a champ.”

He laughs softly. We both know it’s a lie. He walked me home enough times from shitty dive bars to know I can’t hold my liquor, beer, wine, you name it.

“You didn’t ruin the outing, Lane. I just really want that property. I know you think it’s dumb, so please don’t say anything.” His jaw clenches, and his throat works. There’s a little patch of skin that’s barer than the rest, the perfect size for you to cover with your lips. I have the sudden, insane urge to do just that. My face flames, and I lean my cheek against his chest and close my eyes. That doesn’t make it better. His heart thumps against my face, steady and sure as he maneuvers down the hill with ease.

“Why do you need it?” I ask.

“You really want to know?”

“Yes. Please tell me.” I keep my eyes closed, and his voice rumbles under me, a soothing hum.

“It’s the property next to the Montauk house. You know that little strip of land?”

“I remember.”

“My dad always wanted to buy it. We used to play there. He built me a treehouse on that property. Our plot didn’t have any trees strong enough. You never saw the treehouse because it was torn down when I was a teenager. Presumably by Catherine’s family, or the person who sold it to them.”

“Your dad was the best,” I say quietly.

“I know. He was.” Miles’s voice is rough with emotion. “He wanted me to have the childhood he didn’t have. I mean, he was proud of his roots, don’t get me wrong. But his family could never afford to buy an apartment. He certainly never had a treehouse. He wanted to buy that land with money he’d saved from before he met my mother. He never got the chance. I’ve been waiting for it to be on the market for years. Finally, it is. And now these stupid roadblocks keep popping up.” His arms tighten, like steel bands.

“Fucking Mark Taylor wants to buy it just to spite me. He’s going to ruin it, I know it. That can’t happen. My father didn’t have a legacy. This is my chance.”

His throat works again, and he falls silent. My chest constricts.

“I’m sorry for calling it stupid. I didn’t understand why you wanted it, but I do now.”

“Maybe it is stupid.” He shrugs as much as he can. “It’s the dream of a little boy.”

“A little boy who looked up to his father.”

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