Page 66 of Her Ex's Father
I step closer, laying a trembling hand on his arm. “Please. For me. Let it go—for now. You know him. He runs. That’s what he does. Let him run.”
His chest heaves, muscles taut under my fingers. For a long moment, I think he’ll ignore me, storm after his son, and end it with blood.
But then he exhales, long and sharp, and turns back to me. His hand finds mine, gripping too tightly, protective, and desperate. “If he comes near you again, I won’t stop myself.”
“I know.” My voice cracks. “I know.”
We walk back together in silence. His hand never leaves mine, his stride always half a step closer than usual, like he’s shielding me from shadows.
But his face is closed off, colder than I’ve seen it in weeks.
And inside, as much as I cling to the relief of escaping Derrick’s grip, another fear takes root.
Because part of me prays Derrick really will disappear, that this will strip him of any credibility. That if I finally tell Ben about Jack, about the marriage I kept hidden, Derrick’s word won’t matter.
But looking at Ben’s profile now, carved in stone as he leads me back to the lodge, I can’t help but wonder?—
Even if Derrick vanishes, what will Ben do when the truth comes fromme?
Chapter 24
Benedict
The chopper’s blades cut the sky like knives, their roar vibrating through my bones as we stand on the landing pad behind the resort. The pilot gives me a nod, waiting for us to climb aboard, but Derrick lingers on the edge of the gravel, arms crossed, sunglasses hiding his eyes.
“This is ridiculous,” he mutters.
“It’s two days,” I say evenly. “You used to like fishing.”
“I was a kid.”
I bite back a sigh. “You were happy then.”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment I see the boy he used to be, before Georgiana’s illness, before his nights became a blur of liquor and tabloid photos. Back when a Saturday morning meant dawn light on the water and the thrill of a trout on the line.
Hugh is standing in front of the French doors that lead to Bronson Hall’s interior. His dark gaze is distrusting, his mouth set as he looks at me as if to ask:Are you sure?
Only days ago, Hugh told me that Derrick has been sneaking around. Not just Bronson Hall, but the lodge. It’s why he was there that day, following Maddie in the woods. The question is, why?
I’m so far removed from my son that I can’t be sure; he was drunk enough that on the way back to the resort, I’m told he puked in the backseat of the car several times. That he woke up apologizing incoherently, scared.
Of me. Of what he thought I might do to him after what he tried with Maddie.
The realization was like a nail in my heart, and it’s still there as I look at my son—who used to be a boy, and used to trust me. Losing his mother made him vulnerable. Unfortunately, it also made him listen to the whispers about what had happened. That I’d been involved somehow.
I know he’s angry. I know he’s hurt. And I want to salvage our relationship, if I can, but I need to know that he won’t try and harm Madeline.
I’ve booked the retreat because of that boy. If there’s even a shard of him left, maybe I can reach it. Maybe we can fix this before it breaks completely. Hugh, though, doesn’t agree; he thinks that for once Derrick would be better off countries, continents, away.
The pilot checks his watch. I gesture toward the helicopter. “Coming?”
Derrick huffs, mutters something I can’t hear, then finally climbs aboard. Progress, however reluctant.
I follow, settling into the seat opposite him as the machine lifts. The lodge shrinks below us, the town beyond fading into a patchwork of green and brown. Mountains rise ahead, jagged and timeless.
For a while, we don’t speak. The noise is too loud, but even if it weren’t, Derrick’s gaze is fixed on the window, headphones muffling any attempt at conversation. His reflection stares back at me in the glass—my son, my failure, my burden.
And yet. My boy.
