The Summer of Us (Mission Cove 1)

“We’re taking the list one item at a time. Once it’s done, we’ll move on to the next. I’ve closed the bakery for the day so we can concentrate. Together, we’ll get it right.”

I paused, unable to move. I turned my head, catching a glimpse of Sunny. She was beautiful under the lights of the kitchen. She looked as exhausted as I felt, but her smile was firmly in place. Leading her staff. Positive.

Despite everything, I was proud. She was capable, smart, and a real leader.

And better off without me.

She moved her head, spotting me in the back. For a moment, our eyes locked. All the love I felt for her was in my gaze. The words I would never get to speak. The memories we would never create together. I shouted all my pain at her in that glance.

She turned her back.

I walked out the door and left.My mind was blank as I drove to my father’s house. I sat at the desk, motionless, then reached for my phone and placed a call.

“Martha Tremont, deputy mayor, speaking.”

“Martha, it’s Lincoln Webber.”

“How did you get this number?”

I chuckled, the sound without humor. “You should be far more concerned about why I’m calling than the fact that I have your number.”

In truth, it had been very easy to get. The town hall staff really needed to be updated on privacy policies.

“What do you want, Mr. Webber?”

“I’m at my father’s house. You know it well, Martha. I’m sure you’ve been here many times.”

There was silence.

“I’ll be waiting. And Martha, like my father, I’m not a patient man.”

I hung up.I heard her car arrive, the sound of her BMW engine breaking the silence. I hadn’t moved from behind the desk. My legs wouldn’t let me. I felt out of control of my body, as if my limbs were no longer attached.

The front door opened, slamming shut behind her. She stalked into the den, leaving no doubt how well she knew her way around this house.

I swallowed the bile that threatened to escape.

“I am not one of your flunkies you can command,” she announced, crossing her arms.

“And yet, here you are.”

Silence stretched. The ball was firmly in my court. I only had to say a few words, show her the pictures, then assure her they would remain a secret as long as she stopped harassing Sunny. It was a scenario I was certain had been played out many times in this room by my father. Countless people he held under his thumb.

“Slippery slope,” Sunny’s voice whispered. “You are not your father.”

I picked up the envelope, my fingers not cooperating as it slid from my grasp, hitting the top of the desk. Her eyes followed my movements.

“What is that?”

I opened my mouth to start, but the words didn’t come out. Instead, all I heard was Sunny.

“If you do this, you lose me, Linc. Forever.”

“The loss of the man I thought you were is going to wreck me for the rest of my life.”

I cleared my throat.

“You’re forgetting the one common factor here—Mrs. Tremont is a person as well. A fellow human being. You don’t know her story. You are threatening to hurt a person. Think about it. Think hard.”

The words that came from my mouth shocked me. “Why do you hate me? Even as a kid, you did—even though I never did anything to you.”

“You kept your father from me.”

A humorless laugh escaped my throat. “I think, Martha, perhaps you have been misguided in your judgment. My father spent no time with me at all unless he was telling me to do something or punishing me.”

She didn’t say anything. I stood, rounding the desk, leaning on the edge. I copied her stance, crossing my arms over my chest. I started to talk, not stopping for over fifteen minutes. I spoke of the way my father ignored me, held me responsible, somehow, for everything—including my mother’s death. She grew pale as I talked about the inflicted punishments. How he’d pound my chest or sucker-punch my gut.

“Always with the intent to hurt badly—but not leave scars others could see,” I told her.

Silence fell between us as we stared at each other. Looking—perhaps really looking for the first time. Martha gave off a polished vibe. Her makeup was flawless, her hair perfect, her outfit becoming. But when I regarded her, I saw underneath the façade. The pallor the makeup hid. The anxious tremor in her hands she was trying to hide. The fear in her gaze.

I wondered briefly if that was what my father saw when he brought people to heel. If he reveled in it—the power he held in his hands to destroy a fellow human being—because he could. I bet his euphoria was high, his ego swelling at his power, his chest inflating with his own sense of supremacy. I wondered if it turned him on sexually.