“I can’t fucking believe this, Gretchen.”
“The longer you stand here, the harder this gets. Please.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not making it easy enough for you to kick me in the balls?”
“You’re the one who’s making this hard.”
He took in the scene, detail by detail. Her white-knuckled grip on the door handle. Her quivering bottom lip. The shifty eyes desperate to avoid meeting his gaze.
He should’ve seen it coming. The choked, tearful confession in the middle of the night. The desperate way she clung to him when they made love. The forlorn, distant look on her face in the window as he was hauled away.
He should’ve known. A cornered rabbit always ran. “You’re a coward, you know that?”
“What?” The word came out in a shocked quiver.
“You’re not doing this for me. You’re doing it for you.” The words were jagged shards, but he couldn’t stop spitting them at her. “You’re using this as an excuse to do what you were always going to do . . . run when you started to feel something worth fighting for. Because despite this tough act you put on, you’re just a scared little girl hiding in that damn tree house wishing someone would come find you and take you home. But it’s not going to be me this time, Gretchen. I’m done trying to convince you to stay.”
He was panting by the time he was done. Panting and shaking and ready to spew the meager contents of his stomach onto her floor.
“See,” she finally sniffed, “I was right. The old Colton would never raise his voice like that.”
“Yeah, well, the old Colton had never had his heart ripped from his fucking chest.”
Tears quivered on her lashes, swollen dams of sorrow ready to burst, and despite everything, he still wanted to drag her into his arms. Why was she doing this to them? To him? He tried one last pathetic time. “I love you.”
“I’m sorry. I never should have let it get this far.”
And that’s when it hit him. She hadn’t said it back. Not just now and not in the wee hours of the morning. It hurt not because he feared that she didn’t feel the same but because he knew she did. She just wouldn’t admit it. She’d rather tear him to shreds than let herself be vulnerable.
The adrenaline from being arrested and charged and paraded in front of the press fizzled into hollowed-out numbness. His feet were heavy as he forced himself to walk to the doorway and stand next to her.
“I was wrong before,” he said. “You’re not a coward. You’re selfish. So you know what? I’m sorry too. Sorry I wasted my time.”
Her fingers clenched the edge of the doorframe. When she spoke, her voice was robotic, detached. “Merry Christmas, Colton.”
He stomped out and didn’t look back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
By five p.m., it was done.
Gretchen had forced Evan to put the call on speaker phone and listened as he explained to the district attorney that he no longer wished to press charges. He’d been drinking, he said. There was a misunderstanding. He was as much to blame as Colton. The security tape didn’t show the entire incident, and, unfortunately, the company’s system had already erased the original video, so whatever evidence existed was now gone.
The DA pushed back. Said it would look bad if he let a country star off the hook without so much as a hearing. That he’d be accused of giving preferential treatment to celebrities. To which Evan, in his casually sinister way, reminded the man how happy the Winthrop family had been to so generously support his previous campaign.
And that was that.
It was done.
Now, all that was left was for Gretchen to sign the two-page document that Evan slid across the desk. “Need a pen?”
“No.” She leaned forward in the chair where she sat, brought the document onto her lap, and skimmed the key points. Just as she’d promised, the document stated that she hereby relinquished all inheritance from Frasier James Winthrop and that all of her shares in the company were transferred to Evan William Winthrop.
Gretchen pulled a pen from the purse at her feet. Then, in bold, sweeping letters, she gave up more than seventy million dollars.
A small price to pay for the man she loved.
She slid the document back across the desk, gathered her purse, and stood. “I’ll have a copy sent to your office,” Evan said, as if this were just another business deal to him. And, frankly, it was. If not for his swollen, purple eye and the bandage over his eyebrow, there’d be no reason to suspect this was anything more than a normal day. All he cared about was winning. Winning at all costs. Defeating the person who stood between him and what he thought he was entitled to.