Page 73 of Scoring Grey

“I’m sorry I put you on the spot. I should have prepared you, but it’s difficult for me to talk about it.” He turns back toward the hospital. “I love doing this. It’s not easy, but I somehow feel closer to my mom when I do this type of work.”

He puts his arm around my shoulders, and we return to the truck.

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but do you know any of the details surrounding your mother’s death? Did she have any issues during her pregnancy?”

When we get to the truck, he opens the door. “My father never talked about my mother, and when I was younger, I told myself it was because he lost someone he loved too. The older I got, the pain I thought he carried with him over her death morphed into resentment toward me. I existed, and because of me, she didn’t, but I’m not sure what I believe anymore. I know that’s not what you asked me, but it’s a partial explanation.” He closes my door, and when he climbs into the driver’s seat, he turns on the car before saying, “My mother died of postpartum preeclampsia. I only know that because I had her records pulled a year after I cut ties with my father.”

My eyes cut to his as I follow his charge. “That sounds a lot like an accusation.”

He rubs his jaw. “For it to be an accusation, I need proof I don’t have, but it’s a strong suspicion. My mother died from complications after childbirth while in a hospital. Clearly, signs were missed, and we both know how money-focused my father is, yet he never filed one malpractice suit. He’s taken people to court for less over the years, and my mother dies, and he stays quiet.” His palm hits the steering wheel, and I can’t help but startle. “I’m sorry.” He reaches for my hand, the connection calming both of us. “If she had preeclampsia like the death certificate states, then there were signs, symptoms that went unnoticed or intentionally neglected,” he says in an even tone as he tries to keep his feelings in check. “Did she suffer? I’m not sure, but at the very least, she didn’t feel good, and then she was gone.”

Here I thought we were at an impasse over discussing his father because he didn’t care to confront his father over his mother’s money, but it’s clear it’s more than that. I now understand why he’s gone to such great lengths to keep him away. “Cal, I’m so sorry. I wish I could help. I wish I could take away the hurt.”

His amber eyes flash to mine, and for a second, there’s a flicker of something unrecognizable, something I can’t place, and then he says, “You do help. More than you know.”

“So how did Mr. Bronson get involved with Project Hope?” I say as I swirl my wine.

“Because he’s nosy.”

“What?” I ask with a small laugh as I sip my red wine at dinner.

“The first year I signed with the Kings, I was at the hospital when I wasn’t playing hockey or coming home to visit Adler. I know that sounds strange. However, I didn’t just start frequenting hospitals on a whim. One day after practice, I was walking out of the stadium when one of the cleaning staff women fell to her knees in the parking lot. I rushed over to help her and ended up being her emergency ride to the hospital. I stayed with her once we arrived until her husband showed up, and by the time he made it, I was thoroughly invested in seeing it through. As I waited for her son to enter the world, I watched and listened. There was a lot of joy and happiness but also grief. Out of that grief, an idea was born.”

“Wait, are you saying you started Project Hope?”

“I did. I’m the founder.”

“Really?” My eyes widen in surprise. “I guess I assumed Mr. Bronson was the founder since he’s hosting the gala.”

“Mr. Bronson is the face of the charity, and it’s close to his heart too, which is why he’s one of the charity’s biggest donors, but I started it. He saw me leaving the stadium one day, got curious, and followed me. The rest is history.”

“Callum Balfour, you amaze me, but why do you allow Mr. Bronson to parade around as the front man?”

“Like I said, it’s difficult for me to talk about. You saw me today. I clam up. I had a vision and put in the work. He brought in the muscle with his deep pockets. Plus, I’m in love with a girl who doesn’t like the spotlight.”

He puts his arm around me and pulls me closer so that our thighs are now mashed together in the booth.

“I’ll step into the light for you.”

I turn to give him my complete focus, and his hand finds my jaw.

“I want whatever you want and nothing else. Don’t do anything for me. Do it for no other reason than it’s what you want.” His lips brush over mine, and he kisses me softly but not nearly enough before pulling away. “We’ve done a lot of talking about me and my parents, but your reasons for wanting to maintain a simple life out of the public eye are not lost on me. I’m not blind. Your mother gave it up for your father until she didn’t. They were from different worlds, and in your mind, it tore them apart.”

I take a big drink of my wine. My parents separated a few years ago. It destroyed my dad in a lot of ways. His love for her was so profound and deep. There’s no length he wouldn’t go to for her. They rarely fought; they were more than lovers. They were best friends until she returned to Massachusetts and claimed her birthright at the helm of High Tower. That move wasn’t reason enough to leave my father.

My entire life, we split time as a family between Copper Falls and Nantucket. Before my parents married, my father bought a failing boat company. He didn’t come from money like my mother and worked hard for every penny he had, and when they met and fell in love, he didn’t give up his business to be with her, and she didn’t want him to. My mother loved his passion. They met on a boat, and she never wanted to change him. If anything, she wanted to be part of his world, not her own, until something snapped, and she turned it all off. To this day, there are still no hard feelings between the two of them, and for that reason, my father still lives in the home they built together in Copper Falls, leaving everything as it was when she used to live there in hopes that she’ll return to him.

“If we’re going to do all the breaking, we’ll get it all done at once. We’re not our parents, Eloise. We get to choose what our lives look like. Is that why you signed away your shares of High Tower? Was it because you didn’t want to be like your mom?”

I run my finger over the spine of the fork on the table. “I don’t know, maybe. If I didn’t have those shares, I’d never have an excuse to leave like she did.” I shake my head and squeeze my eyes closed before turning to him. “I’ve never had a plan. I’m not a planner. I wasn’t the girl who couldn’t wait to get married and settle down. I didn’t dream of weddings, I didn’t have a list of schools I wanted to attend, and I had no clue what I wanted to do with my life. I’ve been making decisions on the fly for as long as I can remember. I didn’t suddenly get my shit together because I had Adler. I put him first, and the rest is just me faking it until I make it. So when you ask me about my parents, I don’t have some profound response that absolves all my choices. Did my childhood influence my decisions? Absolutely, but as for the rest…” I lean back against the tufted backing of the booth, disheartened by my response. I don’t have good reasons for the state of disarray my life is in. If anything, I’m to blame. “You have real problems. You lost your mother, and your father is a narcissist. I’m a rich girl with divorced parents who are still in love. We’re not the same, so can we please not do this?”

“I disagree.”

“There’s nothing for you to agree with. I simply stated the facts.”

“Well, your facts are wrong.”

I raise a brow in challenge.

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