Page 59 of The Malibu Destiny

Then I look at Max and feel that familiar burn rising in my chest. My fists clench at my sides. Max—all of them—have welcomed him back like some prodigal father. I can picture it now: Dad sitting on Cam's leather couch, nursing a beer while my oldest brother passes him photos of Alecia cradling baby Stephanie. That little face he'll never actually see. That tiny coffin he wasn't there to carry. His own granddaughter, gone before he bothered to return. His daughter-in-law, who he’ll also never know. I hope whatever he found out in England was worth missing all this.

I slam the folder down on the desk. "Your proposal shows promise. But there are things I'd change."

Dad leans forward. His knuckles whiten as he grips the chair's armrests. Behind his eyes, I see it—that desperate hunger to breach my defenses, to force his way back into my life with his goddamn apologies for vanishing when we needed him most. Does he actually think the word sorry fixes anything?

"Son," he says, voice cracking. "Whatever you say. You're the expert."

I lock eyes with him, jaw clenched. "I'm an expert at running resorts that don't give a shit about carbon footprints. Not eco-friendly designs. But I've got sustainability architects and engineers—absolute geniuses—who tore your proposal apart and found every weakness. Things you never even considered."

Dad's eyes light up like he just won the fucking lottery. "Go ahead," he says, and I can read his thoughts without Lilith's tarot cards. He's practically doing backflips in his head because I'm talking to him instead of hurling him through the plate glass window.

Max has that same puppy-dog hope plastered across his face. I shake my head hard. Goddammit. I'm sending the wrong message. I want to cut this man out of my life like a tumor. But I can't let him crash and burn—he'd crawl right back inside a bottle and end up at Uncle Thomas' farm again, leaving my brothers shattered. Christ. They'll break in ways worse than if this walking disappointment had stayed dead to us all along.

"Let me summarize just some of the changes my experts suggest.” Then I go through some of the suggestions with my father, whose eyes widen at my red-inked changes.

"Roman, Jesus—I can't believe you actually took this seriously." His voice cracks slightly. "What did your sustainability team say? Can we make this happen?"

I lock eyes with him. "It'll work. But you need serious capital—fifty million, minimum." I slam my palm on the table. My jaw tightens. The truth burns in my throat: with the Roman Kensington name attached, investors would be climbing over each other, throwing cash at his feet. Without me, he won’t get funding. But I’m not ready to help him—not yet.

He nods. “I’ll talk to Dad.”

Max leans forward. "Roman. If you put your name behind this, Dad wouldn't have to get a loan."

My molars grind together so hard I taste enamel dust. Blood rushes to my face, pounding in my temples. I slam both palms on the table and stand, sending my chair crashing backward.

"This meeting is over." I lock eyes with Max, daring him to say one more goddamn word. The little shit ambushed me in front of my father, put me on the spot, and he knows he’s wrong.

I storm out without another word. Outside the coffee shop, I pause and glance back through the window. Dad's head is bowed, shoulders shaking slightly. Max has his arm around him. My chest tightens and my throat burns. Damn it. Am I the asshole here? I take three steps back toward the door, then stop. I turn away, then back again. My fist clenches, unclenches.

Twenty-two fucking years and he ambushes me with Max like this. I reach for the coffee shop door handle, then jerk my hand away like it's electrified. I exhale slowly, run a hand through my hair. Max catches my eye through the glass, nods once. Whatever. Max will handle it. He always does. That's his thing, not mine. Isn't it?

After swinging by Mystic Tides and finding the CLOSED sign hanging in the window, I drive straight to Lilith's place. It's just past seven when Jack swings open her front door, his eyebrows shooting up.

"Well hello, gorgeous! Perfect timing. Lilith's wrapping up her meditation circle—first one in ages. The ladies are about to hit some fancy cocktails. Well, except our girl. She'll nurse some mocktails, as she don’t drink so much, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"They're still at it?" I ask, glancing toward the living room.

"Just finishing. She used to host these weekly before your resort snatched up all her free time. Tonight's the big comeback—five of her closest girlfriends in there getting their zen on."

I stare down at my calloused knuckles and exhale slowly. What am I even doing here? Her world: crystal healing and group meditation. Mine: boardroom battles and buried rage. I'm a walking disaster with daddy issues and a mean right hook. Someone like her—all light and genuine goodness—deserves better than getting dragged into my darkness. And how long until I take away all her light with my vortex?

Goddamn it, I'm a fucking parasite for being with her. She's like oxygen to me—the only thing that silences the goddamn hurricane raging between my ears. But what the hell does she get? A quarter-million crystal pendant? A store makeover I threw money at? That's not love—that's just me buying the right to drain her light until there's nothing left. Christ, I'm no better than my father.

I shake my head. “Uh, I shouldn’t have come here. Don’t tell Lilith I stopped by, okay?”

Jack knits his brows. “Okay, but-”

I clench my jaw. "Got an early meeting tomorrow and I haven't been sleeping much lately." My body aches with exhaustion, but I'd sacrifice every minute of rest to feel Lilith writhing beneath me again. For three straight nights, I've stayed over with her and devoured her until dawn, pinning her against the headboard, the wall, the floor—anywhere I can claim her. The sound of her gasping my name has become an addiction I can't shake. She probably hasn't closed her eyes for more than an hour at a time either.

I drive back home with a jackhammer pounding behind my eyes. What a goddamn train wreck I am. Just thirty minutes with my father and my mind's a war zone again—worse than before. How do you forgive someone who taught you that trust is for suckers? The old man's like a virus in my system—infecting everything from how I run my hotels to how I look at Lilith when she smiles at me. She's the only person who's ever made the noise in my head quiet down, who's made me feel... Christ, I don't even have words for it.

But I'm damaged goods. Period. And Lilith? She's got her little bookshop, that Jack guy who makes her laugh, those crystal-clutching friends who probably chant under the full moon. She radiates light. Meanwhile, I'm over here dragging around twenty-two years of daddy issues like a ball and chain.

I've got to end this. Cut her loose before she drowns with me. It'll gut me, but she deserves better.

Chapter Thirty-Four

LILITH