Page 81 of Scrooge

“I don’t care. It’s yours,” he says, regripping my hand.

“You need to leave. We need to break up. He can’t go to the press… It will ruin you.” My voice is laced with panic as I try to stay strong, hating the thought of him leaving.

“Ruin me. I don’t care about any of that. I just care about you. Our agreement is null and void. Shredded, there is no evidence of it anywhere. My feelings for you are genuine, so much so, that I am in physical pain seeing you here in the hospital like this. Logan, I thought was a friend, but I am not blinded enough to not notice what an arrogant asshole he really is. I will take care of it. I will handle him,” he says with such conviction that I have no doubts. I fully trust what he’s saying, and for the first time since I opened my eyes today, I can feel my body relaxing.

“I just don’t want you to suffer. I don’t want the media to ruin you. Me. Us,” I tell him my fears one more time, and he leans forward, his lips pressing against my forehead. He remains there, close to me, and my eyes flutter shut.

“Nothing and no one will ever come between us. I love you. That agreement was the best damn thing I have ever done because it brought me closer to you,” he whispers against my skin, and a lone tear falls from my eye.

“I love you,” I whisper back as I tightly grip on to his hand.

“Oh, I knew you would make her cry! Time’s up, Alex, you need to go,” Jillian says as she holds the door open for him, and he leans back, looking at me, his eyes searching mine, full of concern.

“I’m fine,” I tell him with a smile, wanting to reassure him. He needs to go and get things sorted, before this all blows up in our faces.

His hand cups my face, his thumb catching my tear. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he says, and I nod, knowing he will be.

“Rest up, Sunflower,” he whispers, before leaning down, kissing my forehead. and then turning and walking out the door.

39

ALEXANDER

Iwalk out of the hospital, my body thrumming with fear, heartbreak, and anger. I don’t want to leave her, but I push myself forward, needing to get a few things organized before I run back to her. I can’t believe she was willing to throw us away for the sake of saving me. She is as stubborn as she is sassy, and I love her even more for it. I still have the issue of Logan to fix, and now, as I look at her father, I grit my teeth, our conversation way overdue.

“We need to talk,” I tell him, and he nods, then looks at his wife, and her lips thin.She knows too. I strut down the hallway, not even having to look to know they are both following me into my doctor’s office that I’ve been utilizing today.

They follow me in and close the door.

“Do you want to tell me why I found this agreement with yours and my father’s signature?” I ask, jumping straight into it, pulling out the yellow envelope I found in the Hamptons. Something is amiss. I’m not able to understand exactly what is going on, at least not on my own.

He doesn’t even open it. He knows exactly what it is. They both look at me with remorse and pity before John speaks.

“We knew your father,” he says, and I nod, expecting as much.

“Go on,” I prompt, pacing a little, not able to sit. My heart is still back in that hospital bed, feeling empty without her near me.

“I was close with your mother,” Wendy says, her tone melancholy, and my steps falter.

“My mother?” I ask, swallowing past some long-hidden emotions now rising to the surface.

“She was my best friend. We grew up together. She always used to have sunflowers with her. Said they always brightened her day,” she says with a smile as her eyes become glassy.

“It was a saying I said to the girls as they grew up, and now giving Wendy a sunflower is our thing,” John tells me.

“Haylee?” I say, and she nods. My own eyes watering, I drop my head. “Go on.”

“We didn’t know your father very well, and when she passed, he went into a hibernation of sorts. We lost contact for a while,” Wendy says, giving me a somber look when my eyes meet hers again.

“But then he started to bring you into the store as a child and we reconnected,” John adds.

“As much as you can with your customers. We never socialized with him or saw him out of the store,” she says, and I look between her and her husband, wondering what the hell is going on that would explain the documents I found.

“He came to us needing help,” John answers my unspoken question, and my steps cease as I glance back up at him in shock.

“Help?” I clarify. I don’t know how they would be able to help my father. He had money. He had connections.

“He got himself into some trouble,” Wendy says, and I frown.

---