Enemy Dearest

“Please don’t do this. Don’t make this harder than it already is.” Her voice is a whisper a million miles away. She inhales. Mutters a fraction of a word, as if she’s going to say something more.

But then line goes dead.

Maybe she thought I’d argue or say something that would only make it worse.

“August.” My father’s voice steals my moment—and steels my façade. “Who was that you were just talking to?”

“No one,” I say.

“It wasn’t, by chance, Rich Rose’s daughter, was it?” He takes the chair next to mine and reclines. “You can tell me. I know all about it anyway. Gannon let the cat out of the bag.”

Fucking Gannon.

He called my bluff. He knew the Cassandra threat was bullshit. Though if it were true and I had proof, I’d throw his traitorous ass under the bus so fucking fast …

My fists clench until my knuckles turn white, and my blood flashes ice cold.

“Was actually hoping I’d get a chance to meet her one of these days.” He slides his hands behind his thick neck. “So … what are your intentions with her anyway?”

I rise. I don’t have the energy for his information fishing.

“All right, fine. Don’t answer me,” he says. “But just know that you don’t have to hold back on my accord. If you like the girl, that is.”

I rest my hands on my hips, studying him. I learned long ago that any conversation with my father requires you to stay one step ahead of him at all times, which can quickly become exhausting if you’re not careful.

“I thought you hated the Roses,” I say.

He laughs, readjusting his lounge chair. “Once upon a time, I hated the ground they walked on and the air they breathed. But honestly, August, who has time for all of that? The past is in the past. What good would it do any of us to stay angry about something we can’t change?”

“I’ve just never heard you talk like this before. For years, all you did was talk about ruining Rich for what he did …”

“People are allowed to change.” He puffs his chest, as if I should know better than to question him. “It isn’t healthy to hold onto grudges. Maybe this would be a good way to bury the hatchet? And heck, if you marry the girl someday, it’d make for some powerful PR, that’s for sure.”

I roll my eyes. Inevitably his train of thought always circles back to the business and how he can benefit from something in the end.

“So you forgive Rich for what he did?”

He sucks in a humid breath. “When tragedy strikes, August, the first thing people do is point fingers. We want to make sense of it all. And at the time, Rich made the most sense, given our past and a few specifics surrounding what happened. But at the end of the day, he was never charged because there wasn’t enough evidence. No one could prove it.”

I hold my breath as disbelief washes over me, searing hot.

“I guess what I’m getting at here,” he continues with a half-shrug, “is maybe I was wrong.”

I’ve never heard my father admit he was wrong about anything … ever.

“So you’re saying if I date her, you’re not going to disinherit me or punish me or anything like that …”

My father chuckles, his middle-aged belly bouncing and his pristine white teeth almost glowing in the dark. “What do you take me for? A monster? Come on, you’re my son. All a father ever wants is for his kid to be happy. If she makes you happy, son, then by all means, don’t let me stand in the way of that.”

“Okay, baby, I’m ready,” Cassandra calls from behind us. “Oh! Didn’t realize we weren’t alone.”

In my peripheral, she grabs a towel from the cabana and wraps it around her lithe, Malibu-bronzed body.

I don’t even want to know …

Heading in, I let my father’s words play on a loop in my head all night, examining them from every angle.

It’s possible for people to change—I’m living proof of that.

But this is a complete one-eighty.

Still, it’s a step in the right direction. If my father is open to moving forward, maybe the Roses would consider doing the same, too. If I could just have a minute of their time, they’d see I’m my father’s son, but I’m not my father.

Lying in bed, I re-read old texts from Sheridan. And before I crash for the night, I send her a message.

ME—Sher, call me when you wake up. I have big news.

The message delivers, but it’s never read. I’m sure she’s sleeping. It’s been a fucking day.

I shove my phone under my pillow and close my eyes, drifting off with something I didn’t have an hour ago … hope—and relentless determination to bury the past so that Sheridan Rose can be my future.