Page 53 of The Malibu Destiny

“I wish I could. But I don’t know where to start.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

ROMAN

At my next sparring session with Caspian, I step onto the mat carrying every scrap of tension, grief, and anger I’ve been hauling around—and I’m determined to turn it all into focused power. The gym’s air hangs heavy with the smell of sweat and leather, punctuated by the metallic clang of weights dropping and the steady thump of gloves on heavy bags.

I breathe deep, tuning out the chatter, centering myself on each jab, each kick, until, by the end of our drills, I feel a calm I haven’t known in weeks. Silas’s words—that my brothers truly have my back—echo in my head, soothing like warm sunlight on chilled skin. Caspian catches my eye as I wipe sweat from my brow. He can sense it too: I’m not scattered anymore.

“So, Rome,” he says later, as we lean against the juice bar counter, cold plastic bottles of protein shakes sweating between us. The bright blender lights flicker behind the counter, illuminating rows of fresh fruit and green powders. “You were laser-focused in training today. What’s behind your newfound… serenity?”

I shrug, twisting the cap off my coconut and banana protein shake. I know he expects me to credit some truce with Lilith, but that’s not it. It’s simpler—and bigger. I’m beginning to believe my brothers will stop harassing me about Dad. If I can keep my heart open, maybe they’ll stop viewing my refusal to forgive as betrayal.

“I—” I start to explain the shift in my head and heart, but then I spot Max weaving between treadmills, his running shoes squeaking softly against the belt. I’d assumed he only ever trained at the Patrician Country Club gym—emerald walls, polished marble floors, strict dress code. Seeing him here, in the grit and grind of Caspian’s place, surprises me. He tenses when our eyes meet, like he’s bracing for another blast of my anger from our last conversation—when he sided with Dad and I took it as a personal attack.

I force a grin and open my arms without thinking, and he relaxes into a hug. “What are you doing here?” I whisper, pulling back to search his face. “I thought you always worked out at the country club with Gianni.”

He lets out a soft laugh that rumbles in his chest. “I am—mostly. But I’m training for a triathlon now, and my coach is based here.” He glances around at the punching bags and mats. “I’m raising money for breast cancer research, in honor of Mom.”

His voice catches on that last word, and I feel my chest tighten. My little brother, lifting weights for a breast cancer, the same thing that took our mother and the reason why all of our family’s fundraisers - our galas, our charity matches and races - center on that disease. “A triathlon?” I echo, stepping back to take in his lean frame, the sinews in his forearms. “Where?”

“In Hawaii. The Ironman World Championship." He flexes a bicep and grins, the veins popping beneath his sun-bronzed skin. "26.2 miles running under that brutal Kona sun, 112 miles biking through black lava fields that shimmer with heat, and 2.4 miles swimming in the Kailua Bay. They call it the ultimate endurance test for a reason. Celeste thought it’d be a meaningful way to honor Mom. All I have to do to qualify is complete a different Iron Man this spring and pay a fee and I can get in through the Iron Man Executive Challenge.”

A swell of pride warms me. “If anyone can complete an Iron Man, it’s you.” I rest a hand on his shoulder. “But how do you sleep? You’re running a movie studio, there’s a new baby at home—Celeste⁠—”

He shrugs, eyes bright. “I make it work.” He puffs out his chest and lands a playful punch on my arm. “Hey, you want in? I was planning to ask one brother to train with me—and you’re the obvious choice. You’re doing that MMA charity tournament for breast cancer research too, right?”

My throat goes dry, and I swallow hard. Max wants me by his side in Hawaii, not Ansel. After all the harsh words I’ve spat or nearly said to him, here he is offering me a place on his team. My heart stutters in my chest as I look at him—his hopeful smile, the steady confidence in his stance—and wonder how I ever doubted his loyalty.

I shrug. "Sure." Like I'm agreeing to grab a burger instead of committing to the most grueling triathlon on earth. The Ironman. I've got this. While my brothers all maintain decent physiques—Connor for his shirtless scenes, Kalen for his stage presence—Max and I take it to another level. He's the only one who matches my 5 AM workouts, my protein-obsessed meal prep, my constant tracking of metrics. Swimming 2.4 miles in Kona Bay? Thank god it's not open ocean. Biking 112 miles under the Hawaiian sun before running a full marathon? It'll be hell. But I've never met a challenge I didn't want to conquer. And if it means more time with Max, even better.

Max’s face breaks into a smile and he embraces me again. “Well,” he says. “Let’s coordinate our schedules. I mean, maybe you’ll start training after your MMA tournament. I won’t be participating in this year’s triathlon, of course, because it’s in a matter of months - this October. So it’ll be next year. Plenty of time for you to transition from MMA to triathlon training. I’ll be looking forward to doing this with you, Rome.”

At that, Max goes back to what he was doing - running on the treadmill. I turn back to Caspian. “Well, what do you know? Max wants to train for a triathlon with me. Not Ansel, but me.” This gives me a strange sense of pride, like a brother finally chose me for something as opposed to somebody else. And not just a brother, but Max, the guy I’ve been resenting my whole life, a fact that I never acknowledged until Lilith brought it out with one of her tarot spreads.

“See,” Caspian says. “And they all got your back as much as Max does. You just have to open your eyes.” He looks at me meaningfully. “Now, to tackle your feelings about your father and Lilith…”

“One thing at a time,” I say with a smile.

Chapter Thirty

ROMAN

I decide to go ahead and do something I've been avoiding like the plague - review my father's proposal for the eco-resort project. The thick manila folder sits on my glass desk, its edges worn from where his hands touched it. When I finally crack it open, the business plan inside is immaculate - crisp white pages with precise charts and projections.

While I'm not shocked that my father remembers how to put together a proposal - he ran Kensington Pictures' international distribution with an iron fist before he vanished into the misty English countryside to milk Holsteins and down pints with ruddy-faced farmers for twenty-two years - I’m caught off guard by how meticulously he's thought through every detail.

I call Cameron, my phone pressed between ear and shoulder as I flip through the glossy appendices. "Cam," I say, my voice echoing in my cavernous office. "I read Dad's proposal. It's actually quite good. I'm thinking I'll test some concepts at the Verde, see if they hold water. No pun intended.”

"That's great, Rome," Cameron says, his voice warm through the speaker. "You should call Dad and meet with him."

"Not quite ready for that," I reply, mentally noting the "quite" slipping into my vocabulary - a hairline crack in my resolve.

For the next two weeks, I implement Dad's ideas at the Verde, after lengthy consultations with my sustainability team - three earnest engineers with identical wire-rimmed glasses. And throughout those two weeks overseeing the resort's eco-friendly renovations, Lilith keeps slipping into my thoughts. She wouldn't know the first thing about sustainable HVAC systems or gray water recycling, yet I find myself wanting to tell her about every solar panel we install. I catch myself imagining her smile when I mention I’m taking Dad’s proposal so seriously. Or how her eyes would light up hearing that Max convinced me to sign up for the Ironman after my MMA tournament wraps. The timing works perfectly—I need this muscle mass for the cage, but distance training will strip me down to something leaner, more efficient. Different bodies for different battles.

She hasn’t been at the resort in weeks. Miranda tells me she’s taken some time off. I remember Jack telling me about Lilith taking some time off for a retreat in Big Sur, so that’s probably where she is.

But I can't take another day of this. Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm behind the wheel of my Range Rover, cutting through Venice Beach traffic toward Mystic Tides. The steering wheel feels slick beneath my grip. What the hell am I doing? We haven't spoken in a month, yet here I am, desperate to loop her into every detail of this project like she's already mine.