Page 55 of On His Knees

, collect myself. “Everything between us has been a lie. I get it.”

He angles his head, the fine lines around his face tightening when he says, “Not everything, Summer. You know that.”

My knees wobble. “I never want to see you again.” I turn and walk away, and it takes all my concentration to place one foot in front of the other. I’ll be damned if I stumble in front of him. I climb into the elevator and when the doors slide shut, I sink to the floor, a quivering mess of tears and grief as the elevator ascends.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Tate

I PACE GRANDDAD’S STUDY, those astute blue eyes of his burning into my back as I walk around his desk and go to the window, a restless energy inside me that I just can’t shake. I scrub my face, the bristle scratches, and I glance down at my wrinkled dress pants and crooked tie. Christ, I’m a fucking mess.

“Stop moping,” Granddad says, the ice clinking in his glass as he takes a drink of brandy and then carefully places it back on the coaster.

“I’m not moping.” It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve returned home, and I’ve not heard a word from Summer, not that I expect her to take my calls, or come running to me with open arms. I hurt her, made her feel used, like those bullies from her youth. God, the last thing I ever meant to do was hurt her. She’s the kindest, sweetest, most compassionate woman I’ve ever met. Here I thought women like her no longer existed, and when I finally found one, I did everything wrong. I could be the poster boy for screwed-up good intentions.

“Come have a drink with me.”

“I don’t want a drink.” I look out on Sixty-Fourth Street below, search the crowd hustling down the sidewalk, their coats bundled as snow falls and dusts the ground. Many have boxes and bags as they shop for Christmas, but I’m dreading the holiday. The only one I want to kiss under the mistletoe is the one woman who hates me.

Well done, Tate. Well fucking done.

I step away from the window and stab my hands into my pockets as I walk to the bookshelf. The books bring my mind back to my years at Harvard. I scoff. Summer and I were probably there at the same time, for Christ’s sake. If only I had met her then, under different circumstances.

“I’m glad Henry is going to be okay,” Granddad says, changing the subject. “Good thing Dr. Love and her friend were there to take care of her,” he adds with a laugh.

Okay, so maybe he’s not changing the subject at all.

“Yeah, good thing,” I agree. A call from the nurse let us know there was no blockage. Henry will go on nitro as needed and after some much-needed rest, he’ll go back to work. Personally, I’d like to see him retire, but he actually loves what he does, and he treats us all like family.

Luca called me after I returned home, and he’s going to stay on and help Henry until they hire more staff; then he’s thinking about taking a trip here. I still have no idea why a man with a law degree is working behind a bar, and when it comes down to it, it’s not my business. I just know he jumped in when I needed him, and we hit it off. Upon my request, he emailed his résumé to Helen, and I think he’d be a good fit at my office.

My phone pings and I fish it from my pocket, but disappointment settles in my gut when I see it’s a text from one of my old college buddies. I swipe to dismiss it, not in the mood to talk about the upcoming reunion.

“That her?” Granddad asks, even though he knows it’s not. He just likes keeping her name on his lips and in my head.

“No,” I say.

Granddad coughs, and I eye him. He glares at me. “I’m fine,” he says, but I worry about his health so much. I love the man, despite his damn meddling, but I get why he did it. He’s been telling me for a long time now that I need to enjoy life more—because it’s short. I ignored him, so I guess he figured out a way to show me instead. And boy oh boy did he ever show me. At least Summer hasn’t totally given up on Granddad. She arranged for in-house care with a colleague, who relayed the message that Summer would return after she’d taken care of some things. She’s as pissed at Granddad as she is at me, but deep down she cares greatly about him, and in the end she’ll find forgiveness for him.

Deep down she cares about you, too, Tate.

Does that mean she’ll ever find a way to forgive me, too? Do I dare hope?

“She’s a real looker, isn’t she?” He holds up that beloved Polaroid he has of her and smiles at it.

“What were you thinking?” I ask, for the hundredth time. “Why didn’t you just introduce us like normal people do?”

“Where’s the fun in that, and you know you wouldn’t have given her the time of day outside the sack. I know what you’re like, son. You’ve got quite the reputation.”

I cringe. Jesus, I am so not about to talk about my bedroom exploits with my grandfather.

“This one’s a keeper though.”

I tug at my hair as I drop to the arm of the chair across from Granddad. “Yeah, well I screwed that up, didn’t I?”

Grandad’s head lifts slowly, and one corner of his mouth turns up in a coy grin. “You think it’s too late?”

I shake my head and smooth down my tie. “Of course it’s too late.”

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