Lovers at Heart (The Bradens, Book One: Love in Bloom Series)

Chapter Twelve, Lovers at Heart

SAYING GOODBYE TO his father would be the hardest part of the evening. Even harder than accepting that he would never set eyes on Max again.

“I’ve been waiting up for you, son,” his father said. “Figured you might need to talk.”

Treat told his father everything. Every sordid detail, from the way he’d made Max feel that night in Nassau to the intimacy they’d shared and the way they were torn apart by her memory of his hurtful actions. He told his father about the cake, the walk, and the feelings that had taken him off guard and left him floundering—and he told his father about the fear he’d secretly carried his whole life.

Hal Braden wasn’t a man who talked just to hear his own voice. He chose his words carefully and rarely doled out unsolicited advice to his children. So when he asked Treat to listen carefully, Treat did just that.

“Treat, I’ve been waiting for you to figure out what was holding your heart back all these years. For a while, I wasn’t sure if it was something I did when you were growing up. I did my best, but being both mother and father had its trying times. Then I worried that maybe you just hadn’t met the right woman yet. But when I looked into your eyes earlier today, I saw the fear in them. And I saw the love, too. I knew that what I’d worried about for so long was true. Son, your mama didn’t die because of our love for each other. Surely you know that.”

Treat felt something on his cheek and wiped it away. A tear. He nodded, unable to form a response.

“This life we’re given is so short. It’ll be gone before you know it and, son, you’re a good man. You’re a loving, kind, generous man with so much more to give than flashy resorts. Always have been. Just because you allow yourself to love doesn’t mean that some higher power will steal that person away from you—or steal you away from her. If you don’t allow yourself to love, to fully saturate yourself with someone else’s life, someone else’s feelings, if you don’t allow your ego to disappear and your heart to beat for another person, so that every breath you take is taken for that person, well, then, I’m afraid you’ll be missing out on one of life’s only blessings. And besides your family and giving life to children, it’s the only blessing that really matters.”

His father handed him a small velvet bag. Treat knew what it contained. He could feel the circle within his fingers.

“She wanted you to have this, and somehow, today, she knew it was the right time.”

“Dad,” Treat said with a tinge of disbelief mixed with pity for his father’s constant belief that his mother continued to speak to him even after her death.

“It’s yours, son, to do with as you wish. I’m just doing what I’m told.”

FOR THE SECOND time in less than a week, Treat tossed aside his worries about flashing his wealth and chartered a small private plane. He wasn’t ready to go back to Nassau—not nearly ready. He didn’t know if he’d ever be ready. He had to go someplace that didn’t remind him of Max, even though he knew that anytime he sat in a restaurant—any restaurant—he’d always see her beautiful face staring back at him. If ever he was to touch another woman—who was he kidding? There would be no other woman for a very, very long time. He wondered how he’d ever gone from one woman’s bed to the next like he was changing his socks. The thought sickened him.

As the plane touched down, he reiterated his promise to himself not to get in touch with Max. Why make things any more difficult for her? She deserved a relationship that was right from the get-go, not some guy who screwed up so badly that it hurt her to look at him.

It took some finagling to get a car at that hour, but where there was money, there was always a way. The streets were crowded, which surprised him. October in New England wasn’t exactly high season for tourists. The sun came up as he drove the rental car down a dirt road on a narrow strip that led to the bay. He rounded the last curve slowly, avoiding the enormous rosebush that he continually forgot to ask the gardener to trim back. He stopped the car. Knock Out roses. Max’s favorite flowers. Sadness tugged at his heart. A second later, the bungalow came into view and Treat let out a long, relieved sigh.

He breathed in the salty air. It had been too long since he’d last been to the Cape. He pulled his bags from his trunk and headed for the front door. Smitty, the caretaker who had been watching over the house since Treat purchased it eight years earlier, had known Treat’s mother, and he’d always had an affinity toward Treat. Treat felt guilty for calling him at such a crazy hour to prepare the bungalow for his arrival, but he paid him handsomely for his trouble.

He smiled at the weathered cedar shingles. The Cape had been one of his mother’s favorite places. They’d visited a few times, before she was too sick to travel, and each time he arrived at the little cottage, the very things that used to make her smile brought the same joy to him. He’d bought the place from the owners who had rented it to his family each of those times they’d visited.

He could almost hear her sweet voice as he unlocked the door and stepped inside. Oh, Treaty, look! The shingles have weathered. Don’t you just love the graying and the texture of them? She’d shake her head and tell him how she loved a house where each of the pieces that held it together was different from the rest.

The curtains whipped around the open encasement windows. He could count on Smitty to do just as he’d asked. He stood in the breeze and stared out over the bay. Goose bumps formed on his arms, and he found his father’s thick, gray cable-knit sweater right beside the sofa table. Good old Smitty. He slipped it on, and a strange feeling came over him, as if he was not alone. He looked around the cozy space, and a shiver ran through him. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought his mother were right there with him in the cottage, smiling about him wearing the sweater she’d knitted for his father. A strand of guilt tugged at his heart for dismissing his father’s beliefs so easily.

He shook the wishful thought away and turned his phone off. The last thing he wanted was to be bothered with resort issues. His assistants were capable and efficient. They could deal with any emergencies that came up. That’s why he paid them so well. And he definitely didn’t want to talk with Savannah, who he was sure would be angry about him leaving without saying goodbye. She’d calm down once she understood the reasons why he’d left. Of course, that would mean owning up to the way he’d made Max feel, and that was just one more thing he couldn’t deal with at the moment. He tossed his phone and keys into the pottery bowl on the dining room table, then threw a few logs into the fireplace, remembering how his mother had taught him to build a tepee out of bark. Once the fire caught, he lay down on the large sofa thinking about Max. Why hadn’t she come after him when she read the notes? Maybe she hadn't read them. Maybe she never would.

He wondered if his father had bared his soul to his mother, and if so, how his mother might have handled it. But he couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of his parents being in an unhappy situation to begin with. All he envisioned was his mother’s smiling eyes, and all he could feel was the warmth of her generous heart. He kicked his feet up on the sofa’s arm, hunkered down in his father’s sweater, and—with the mixture of cool air flowing through the window and warm air from the fire—he fell asleep to the soothing memories of his mother.