Page 70 of A Little More Forgiveness

“Thank you,” I choked. “I’ll never have enough words to express how truly grateful I am, but thank you, Gabe. Thank you.”

He leaned in and softly kissed my forehead. “It’ll be my honor.”

He squeezed me once more before he straightened up. “Okay. Apart from getting the construction contract, how else does your stepfather’s firm benefit if you do get Mitch to go through with the sale?”

“Partly prestige. He’ll have the council wrapped around his finger, and when he hires additional local contractors, it’ll put him in good standing amongst Melrose Bay’s residents. He has some lofty political aspirations, so if he wins people over with the offer of jobs and increased incomes, he’ll have a greater chance of becoming mayor. Plus, making a deal with one of the biggest construction companies in the US will put his company on the map.”

Gabe’s arrogant flash of a smile made my knees go weak. “He’s not wrong.”

“I think he wants to become more involved in the potential resort too. There’ll be extensive maintenance contracts involved, so if he can pick those up as well, he stands to make a hell of a lot of money.”

“Is he so arrogant to believe we’ll actually need him, or that we don’t negotiate contracts every single day with companies far better suited to run our resorts’ maintenance and upkeep?”

I knew they did, even if my stepfather chose to ignore the fact. Dropping my head against the couch, I closed my eyes, completely drained of all my energy. Finally getting everything off my chest turned out to be more exhausting than I expected.

“What else? There’s more. I can tell.”

The man was way too perceptive for his own good, and he’d have made a damn fine lawyer if he’d wanted.

“Despite the threat of cutting off Caitlin’s care, I still don’t think I can go through with it,” I whispered. “I can’t willingly make Mitch do something I know will destroy him. I have until the end of the week, or my stepfather is going to let the staff go. We’re almost at the holidays, for fuck’s sake.” The backs of my eyes were stinging as I desperately tried to hold onto my emotions. “Mitch is hurting so badly and selling his home would be the final nail in the coffin.” I opened my eyes and lost myself in Gabe’s handsome face. “I can’t do that to him, Gabe. I can’t. But if I don’t…”

I failed to complete the sentence. Either way, there’d be a loser. You’d think I’d understand as a lawyer there’s only ever one outcome. Normally, I was on one side of the courtroom, defending a client with a fifty-fifty chance of winning. This time around I’d never win. There was always going to be a loser, and it killed me. I’d be responsible for causing innocent people so much anguish and despair.

“Despite what my stepfather might get out of any contracts, I think building the resort would be good for the community. Yes, we’re getting more tourists than ever coming to Melrose Bay, but every area is struggling, and with the jobs you’d create, you’d be putting money back into the local economy, so the town and all the people living here would benefit.”

Unable to sit still any longer, I stood and paced on the rug in front of the fire. “I’m so confused about what to do, and it’s driving me fucking crazy.”

We both turned our heads at the sound of Mitch opening the bedroom door and entering the small hallway, effectively ending my rant. So relaxed and sexy in an old football jersey, pair of gray sweats, barefoot, and with his hair and beard still damp, he looked and felt so much like home that I ached for him to touch me. But when my gaze strayed to his face, his smile, far too bright, and far too false, didn’t reach anywhere near his eyes.

“Hey,” I greeted him, but he completely ignored me, moving straight past us both to disappear out of sight into the kitchen, causing the pressure of my situation to ratchet up to an unbearable status. I’d screwed everything up with Mitch, but in addition, I was more than likely screwing up Gabe’s chance at something with him too.

Gabe moved off the sofa and over to me in an instant, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in for a hug. Relaxing against him, I hoped some of his calmness and strength would find their way into me.

“Let’s go talk to him, all right?” Gabe suggested, releasing me from his hold. I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if talking to him would do any good at this point. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

He took my hand in his, and I was grateful he still touched me, as I needed the contact more than anything.

We headed into the kitchen, where Mitch worked busily at the counter, marinating the steaks he planned to grill for dinner. He didn’t turn and greet us when we entered, which didn’t seem to bother Gabe in the slightest, as he had no hesitation in walking us both straight over to where Mitch stood and placing his hand at the small of his back. Mitch tensed but didn’t move, his gaze firmly fixed on the food.

“Talk to us,” Gabe demanded.

“Nothing to say.”

“Really? You?”

Mitch snapped his head around to scowl at Gabe, his gaze hard and unyielding, but Gabe remained unfazed. He let me go and, shifting to stand behind Mitch, placed both his hands on his hips to turn him around. He tried to resist Gabe’s request, but the man was persistent, and finally, after a long, low sigh, Mitch allowed himself to be maneuvered around so we were all face-to-face.

The silence stretched on between us, pulling me apart. Mitch’s expression remained shuttered, and he’d reverted to how he’d been when we’d first arrived—wary, angry, and determined not to cooperate—all because of me.

“I would never make you do something you don’t want to do,” I started, needing to make my intentions crystal clear. His snort of disgust showed how little he believed me. “It’s true.”

“The truth?” he growled. “You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you on the balls.” His jaw clenched tight, and I wanted to reach out to him so badly my body physically hurt. Instead, I fisted my hands by my side to prevent me from making the situation any worse. “So, tell me, Leo, whose side are you really on?”

“Yours,” I croaked. “I’m on yours.”

“Typical lawyer. Telling me what I want to hear.” He pushed away from the counter, putting distance between us.

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