“I remember about a week after Savannah and Gigi came home from the hospital, I had a dream that I was still pregnant and that my babies—the ones I’d held and fed and loved—they were just a dream. And I panicked, because I didn’t want any other babies. I wanted my girls. And when I woke up, I stood over their cribs, and I just cried, because they were real.” She looked back up at Grayson. “So there is no what if I’d chosen a different life or fallen in love with someone truly capable of loving me back. There is no what if I knew then what I know now. No regret. There can’t be. Because as much as I want a different life right now, I want to be their mom more.”
Breathing shouldn’t be so difficult, Grayson thought, but it was, because he had never in his life been that for anyone, least of all Skye. And suddenly, he wanted to play what-if himself, because having that—it would have changed everything.
It would have meant everything.
Regrets are a waste of your time and mine, the old man whispered from somewhere in his memory. Do I strike you as a person who has time to waste?
Grayson focused, because that was what he did—who he was. “I know about the FBI and IRS investigations, Acacia.” He softened that conversational pivot as much as he could. “I know that he was stealing from your parents. I know he drained your accounts.”
Acacia Grayson breathed through the pain.
“But Savannah and Gigi don’t need to know any of that,” Grayson said softly.
Acacia swallowed. “You think I should just turn the safe-deposit box over to the feds?”
There was no time for Grayson to second-guess his approach here. “No,” he said evenly. “I don’t.”
Acacia stared at him for the longest time. “I hadn’t pegged you for wanting to protect my husband.”
“It’s not him,” Grayson said, his voice low, “that I am trying to protect.”
That was the truth, and really, it wasn’t just Avery he was trying to protect now, either. The bombing of Avery’s jet had killed two of Oren’s men. Sheffield Grayson was a murderer—and none of the members of this family needed to have to live with that. Not Acacia. Not Savannah. Not Gigi.
“Give me a day.” Grayson did not phrase that as a request. “You won’t ever have to know what’s in that box, and you won’t be the one who kept the contents from the feds.” Grayson could have stopped there. Maybe he should have. But he’d been taught from a very young age how to get a yes. “Your name is on the box, too, Acacia. He used fake identification for himself but your real name—and likely forged your signature. Beyond that, he’s not the only one that the IRS could charge with tax evasion.”
Acacia closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were watery, but not a single tear fell. She gave Grayson an almost compassionate look. “You’re just a kid.”
Grayson’s heart twisted in his chest. The only person who’d ever said that to him before was Nash. “My mother likes to say that Hawthornes are never really children.” Grayson hadn’t meant to bring up Skye—not to this woman. Not after all that talk of what-if. He course-corrected. “Did the country club take you up on your offer?”
“No.” Acacia shook her head. “I don’t understand why they wouldn’t, but—” She cut herself off. “Like the contents of that safe-deposit box, my financial situation is not your problem.”
Grayson had the Hawthorne ability to flat-out ignore assertions that weren’t to his liking. “My grandfather had his faults,” he told Acacia quietly, “and then some. But he taught me to put family first. I am not without means…”
“No,” Acacia said firmly. “Absolutely not.”
“You grew up with Kent Trowbridge.” Grayson pivoted again. “His son doesn’t deserve Savannah.”
If he’d gone straight for discussing her relationship with the lawyer, Acacia might have refused to discuss it, so Grayson went for another tactic.
“Duncan and Savannah have known each other forever,” Acacia said. “I’ve never pushed the relationship on her.” She paused. “But my mother might have.”
“The way she pushed you and Kent?” That was a leap, but a strategic one. “I saw him touch you the other night.”
“It was nothing,” Acacia said, looking away. “He’s a friend of the family. He’s trying to help.”
Grayson leaned forward. “Is he?” No response, so Grayson made another leap. “He’s the one who told you about me. Isn’t he?”