Page 92 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

I get up and move closer, sitting on the wide arm of the chair. I lean down and give him a hug. “I’m so glad you’re doing better.”

“This is not exactly how I wanted to spend my early retirement, but this is the hand I’ve been dealt.” He shifts to make sure that eye contact is solid. He always believed it was important to have a firm handshake and to look people in the eye. “I need to speak with your mother, but there’s more to the story with the Christiansens. I’ve spoken to Corbin a few times.”

“I didn’t know you were on speaking terms with them?”

“We weren’t for a few weeks, but now we’re both eager to work things out. A lot has been said. Some true and some . . . let’s just call it stretches of the truth.”

Moving to the fire, I hold my hands down toward the flame. “Mom told me everything, Dad. We don’t have to go over it again.”

“I think we do.”

Dread and curiosity fill me equally. As much as it’s not a door I want to reopen, maybe getting his thoughts on it will help me move on. I sure hope so.

He says, “Your mom has good intentions. She’s a smart woman, but she leads with her heart. I’ve always said it’s what made her successful. People just like working with her. We were sort of a good guy/bad guy team.” He rolls his eyes, and I grin, knowing where I got that bad habit from. “I was always the bad guy.”

“Not to me.”

“Eh, you were easy. I used to keep chocolate candy in my pocket. You very quickly figured out how to sweet-talk me right out of it. That’s from your mother’s side.” He takes another sip of water and clears his throat.

“I can put out the fire if you’re too hot.”

“No, it’s fine. What I was saying about your mom is that I’d just had a heart attack. She reacted from fear of losing me, looking to blame anyone but the culprit.”

Leaning against the mantel, I ask, “Who’s the culprit?”

“Me. I was told years ago to lower my blood pressure, work out, work less, and reduce my stressors. I worked out, ate better, but the stress was always there.” He takes the blanket off and stands, stretching his legs and arms. He’s not feeble by any means, thank God, but he’s careful. The trajectory of his healing is helpful and inspiring. Joining me in front of the fire, he says, “I was selling the company not to only give Martine and me a new start—a slower life we can enjoy—but to also give Jackson the funding he will need to start his own venture. And for you, Natalie, to keep supporting your dreams—financially, if you needed it, and emotionally . . . if you needed that as well.”

“I don’t understand. Mom said you were fighting for my company, and that’s what caused the heart attack.”

Reaching out, he takes me by the shoulders. “That’s been an awful burden you’ve had to bear for weeks now. I’m sorry I let it go on this long.”

“But I was told Nick signed the contract. He signed a contract to dissolve my dreams. I’ve put everything into building a career, doing something I love, and he signed his name to a piece of paper that would end it.”

“Would it? I don’t ask that lightly or rhetorically. I ask that with genuine curiosity to what you truly believe.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“He can’t end your dreams. No one can.”

Do I dig deep and admit a weakness I’ve carried just as long, or do I protect him by hiding the truth? Standing before me is a man I admire, one who has shown nothing but strength. He can handle it. “Through everything I was told, I never stopped loving him. But I can’t get over the fact that he would do something to purposely hurt me that way.”

“Facts are funny like that. The fact that you were dating Nick came as a surprise. The fact that it was serious in such a short time was another shock. But the fact that I get stuck on is why you broke up with him.” He wanders to the windows to look out, shoving his hands in his pockets in quiet contemplation.

With a lump in my throat, I find it hard to speak to any of that. I’ve revealed more than I thought I would already, but here he is, making me want to vomit the rest of my feelings. Where will that leave me, though? Empty again.

He angles back, and says, “He signed the papers. There’s no getting around that, but what I’ve been wrestling with is why?”

“You and me both.”

“No, I don’t understand why you haven’t talked to him about it, asked him directly? Why aren’t you going to the source itself?”

I raise my finger into the air, my lips parting as I’m about to say something, but then I lower it down again and stare at him.Was this the best advice ever, or did I just get the blame? My dad usually isn’t one for subtlety, but I see what’s he’s doing in the nicest way possible.“I should have. I should have known what was happening behind the scenes and been on top of my loan. I trust you, but that doesn’t mean I could be so hands-off. STJ is my business, my baby. I need to take some of the responsibility.”

“There’s a lot of gray area in this matter, but the resolution rests solely in your hands.” His words remind me of what Nick had said.“This isn’t black and white. She’s in the gray area of understanding.”

“It seems I’ve been stuck in that same gray area.”

“You’re not alone. I’ve learned we weren’t being represented the way we should have been. Garrett Stans saw an opportunity to weasel his way into their good graces at our expense.”

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