Page 59 of The VIP Package

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he repeats, a dark cloud falling over his face. The pain in his eyes steals my breath.

“She decided to drive,” he continues. “It was only four hours, and she chose to take Grayson along.”

I gulp back an urge to pass judgment. “To visit her lover?”

“Her parents.” He wets his dry lips and continues. “Grayson adored his grandma and grandpa. Brigitte arranged to spend two nights with the man in a hotel just outside town. Her mom and dad would watch Grayson, under the pretense of giving her a much-needed weekend with friends.”

A sour slick of dread pools in my gut. “What happened?”

There’s another long pause and I sense that he’s gathering courage. That we’ve reached the most gut-wrenching part of the story.

“They were less than an hour from Brigitte’s parents’ home when a drunk driver slammed into them. Ran a stop sign and just kept going.” His throat makes an audible click. “Brigitte died instantly.”

“Oh, Ash.” I already know his young son hung on in a coma for weeks. “Honey, I’m so fucking sorry.” I stroke my hand over his breastbone, fingertips grazing the scar. “It’s a sick, horrible tragedy and there’s absolutely nothing I can say to make it any better.”

He doesn’t respond to that. “I gave up flying for pleasure after that. I don’t deserve the privilege of piloting a plane, since I couldn’t be bothered to do it for Brigitte.”

“Oh, sweetie.” I’m truly at a loss for words.

“And I started the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club as a form of redemption for Brigitte. She was never granted the marriage she deserved. Thelifeshe deserved. I betrayed her in the worst possible way, and she never got to even the score. To seek the satisfaction that was owed to her—toeverywoman…” He trails off there, shaking his head. “I can’t ever make up for what I did. But I want to believe the women who come here can find some of what Brigitte was seeking.”

I hold back the urge to tell him that’s noble. Saying so didn’t go well the last time I said it.

But I can’t let this go without offering something.

“You made mistakes,” I say softly. “I won’t try to pretend that you didn’t. But it sounds to me like you’ve owned them. Owned them and learned from them and tried to make up for your sins.”

His steely jaw clenches, but he doesn’t respond. Some little voice implores me to keep going.

“I’ve counseled a fuck-ton of people who won’t ever do that, Ash. Who don’t have it in themselves to acknowledge they’ve done the wrong thing. It’s so very human to find other people to blame, to point fingers anywhere else but themselves, but that’snot what you’ve done, Ash. Not once since I’ve met you have you tried to pin your failures on anyone else.”

If anything, the man beats himself up for things outside his control. Can he hear what I’m telling him? Does Ashton believe me?

He studies my face, then shakes his head slowly. “You will never,everhear me suggest that any force besides my own selfishness and my greedy libido caused me to betray my wife. To destroy my family.”

There’s something behind thatgreedy libidoremark that Ash would be wise to explore on his own in therapy. But I’m not the clinician to do that. All I can do is be here for him right now.

“You won’t let me pay you a compliment,” I say. “So I’m not going to tell you that what you’ve done—the way you’ve owned your mistakes and atoned for your failings—is a rare act of bravery. But I will say, Ashton, Isee you. I see a good man who made mistakes and learned from them. I’m not sure you realize how uncommon that is.”

He closes his eyes, and this time I know it’s a signal he’s done. That Ashton Holyfield is finished telling the terribly tragic story of his lost wife and son. That what he’s just shared is a gift.

So I give him the gift of my silence. Planting a kiss on his temple, I curl up beside him. With a hand on his chest, I stroke the small scar over his heart until he falls asleep in my arms.

CHAPTER 12

ASHTON

“Thank you for the news.” With the phone to my ear, I glance at Camille. She’s sitting in a sunbeam with a forkful of blackened rockfish halfway to her lips. “I appreciate you keeping me apprised of the situation.”

As soon as I put down the phone, Camille pounces. “Is it over? The pilots’ strike? What did they say?”

“You’re very eager to escape.” I pick up my fork and twirl it through thick strands of clam linguine. Crystal Bliss won’t reopen for two days, or possibly longer if the strike precludes guests from arriving. But several key staffers with their own private boats have returned from vacation, including the head chef at Halcyon. “Sorry to disappoint you, but that wasn’t the airline exec on the phone.”

“Oh.” Camille makes a face. “For the record, I’m in no hurry to leave. I can do telehealth therapy from anywhere in the world, and I’m rather enjoying my time here.”

This news delights me more than it should. That’s something I’ll need to control. “To answer your question, that was the head of my legal team with the answer to a question I posed in yesterday’s meeting.”

---