Page 69 of Paging Dr. Summers

“I will. I’ll be back soon.” At least, that was the plan.

I RANG THE HARRINGTONS’ DOORBELL, my fight-or-flight response warring inside me. While I had this overwhelming need to protect Brooke, the bravado I’d felt on the drive had waned now that I was standing on their doorstep. The truth was, I didn’t know what I was going to say—or if I’d even have the chance. It was nearly eleven, and for all I knew, Maxwell still believed his lie was intact, the missing envelope undiscovered. For a moment, I wondered if I was jumping into a battle I wasn’t prepared for. I wasn’t normally a confrontational guy.

Minutes passed, and the war inside me raged on. Just as I turned to leave, the faint sound of the door hinge froze me in place. Slowly, I pivoted back. And there he was—Maxwell Harrington, looking like a shadow of himself.

His button-up shirt was untucked, and his hair was a tousled mess as if he’d been running a hand through it in frustration. But it was his eyes that stood out, red rimmed and watery.Good,I thought grimly. It gave me some pleasure to imagine him crying and uncomfortable.

“What do you want, Logan?” he rasped.

“I think you know, you bastard,” I replied, sharply.

He let out a humorless laugh and swung the door wide open, his face twisted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “That’s the nicest thing I’ve been called tonight. Come on in. Let’s get this over with.”

I stepped in with a strange sense of having the upper hand. As we walked silently toward the great room, there was an unmistakable lingering air of disarray—and even loss.

Lola peeked hesitantly around the corner, her face pale, her eyesas red and swollen as her father’s. Her small frame was shaking, as though she were bracing herself for the next wave of unpleasant news.

“Where’s Brooke?” she asked, her voice tight with worry. “She’s not answering my calls.”

“Brooke’s safe,” I assured her, softening my tone in an attempt to ease her mind. The news had clearly rattled her. “She’s at my place. She left her phone at home.”

Relief swept across her features, melting some of the tension in her expression. For the first time, I noticed how much she resembled Brooke. They shared the same pouty lips, the same delicate nose. How had I never noticed it?

“Will you please ask her to call me?” Lola’s voice quivered. “I need her to know how sorry I am—thatour fatherisn’t the man I thought I knew.” She shot Maxwell a scathing look, her words striking like a physical blow. He crumpled into the chair behind him, his face ashen, as if his daughter’s condemnation had drained the last of his strength.

I wanted to take pleasure in Maxwell’s pain, to let it fuel the anger that had driven me there. But as I stood there, watching him disintegrate under the weight of his daughter’s words, I found it harder than I’d imagined. It was clear I wasn’t the only one currently seeking justice for Brooke.

I turned my attention to Lola, recognizing how much she needed reassurance. “Brooke is anxious to talk to you,” I let her know.

It was perhaps the one bright spot in all this chaos for Brooke—the discovery of a sister. Even though she was unsure how Lola might feel about it, I was confident she had nothing to fear—the love and concern in Lola’s eyes were undeniable.

“Okay, good,” she breathed out, relieved. She threw her father one more piercing glance, full of loathing, before she disappeared back down the hall. Maxwell sank farther into his chair.

Without an invitation, I took a seat on the couch across from him, feeling a measure of moral superiority. Maxwell deserved all the discomfort he was experiencing.

“How’s Brooke?” he braved asking, though he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Do you really care?” I spat.

Maxwell flinched but slowly lifted his head, his eyes flashing with a hint of defiance—or maybe desperation. “Of course, I do,” he murmured.

“Pardon me if I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Maxwell replied, his voice fraying at the edges. “But it’s the truth.”

“Is it?” I pressed, leaning forward. “Then why didn’t you tell her who you were the moment you met her? Or better yet—why did you abandon Brooke and her mother in the first place?”

Maxwell buried his face in his hands, his fingers digging into his forehead as if trying to rub away the shame. “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, his voice muffled.

“You’re right; I don’t. And neither does Brooke. You’ve failed for years to tell her who you are. And twice now you’ve tried to buy her off.” I raised my voice. “Do you know what that’s done to her? Her self-esteem is shot because of you. What kind of man does that to his own daughter?”

Maxwell lowered his hands, his face haunted by the ghosts of his past. “The last thing I want is for her to feel that way.” His voice shuddered under the strain of his guilt. “You can’t possibly understand the burden I’ve carried all these years. Roxanne warned me—told me this day would come, that I’d have to answer for my choices and their impact. That I would have to face Brooke and explain it all. But I didn’t believe her. I wasn’t ready.”

His shoulders slumped as he released a heavy breath. “I should have known better than to underestimate her, but after thirty years, I figured she’d moved on, and my penance was not being able to. Every day of my life, I’ve thought about Brooke, wondering if she was okay. But I was too much of a coward to find out, too afraid of what it would mean for my wife, for Lola.”

“You sound like you’re trying to paint yourself as the victim here,” I sneered, not letting him get in another word. “What about Roxanne? She carried your child while you turned your back on her. Instead of stepping up, you ran—and threw money at her like that could absolve you of your responsibility. She raised Brooke on her own, even while she was sick. And do you know what that meant for Brooke? She spenta good part of her childhood and nearly all of her adult life caring for her mother. She shouldered responsibilities no child should ever have to face. Did you know that?”

“I gathered from conversations over the summer,” he sighed, sounding trapped in the hellish nightmare he’d created. “Why do you think I was trying to help her? I wanted to make up for what I could. I knew it would never be enough, but I had to try.”

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