Only You (Adair Family #5)(51)

Sobbing, I turned my back on him and on the years spent and lost between us.





20





Brodan





Years ago, when I first lost Monroe, I didn’t think I could ever feel as bad as I felt in those months afterward. They were the reason I sought out acting. I wanted to lose myself in other characters, in other lives, so I didn’t have to dwell on all I’d lost in mine.

Then a few years ago, I’d received a letter that fucked with my head, and I didn’t think I’d ever feel guiltier, or more of a failure, as I had at that moment. Though the damage Fergus wreaked upon my family because of me certainly did its worst.

Nothing in my life, however, could prepare me for my current state of agony.

Once upon a time, Monroe Sinclair was so vital to me, I would have protected her against anyone who tried to hurt her, no matter what it took to make her safe and happy.

How was it possible that I could be the source of so much of her pain?

I think I’d allowed myself to believe that she hadn’t loved me like I loved her. It had made it easier to let her go.

But as she tore me to shreds with her confessions, realization dawned.

Stunned, I let her leave me on that beach. I’d given her that space. Because I had a truth to uncover first before I spoke to Roe again.

I was like the walking wounded as I banged on Mrs. Sinclair’s door the next afternoon. Waiting, I could feel my fury building, as if I needed that emotion to cope with how much everything bloody well hurt. I didn’t sleep last night. I’d forced myself to stay away from Monroe’s mum’s door until I couldn’t anymore. Answers were required.

They were essential.

She took a while to open, but finally Mrs. Sinclair appeared before me, looking as if she’d aged forty years in the eighteen since I’d last seen her. If she’d done what I was pretty certain she’d done, I’d blame her black soul for her physical decline.

She squinted at me, and then recognition slackened her wrinkled face. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk.” I barged in, brushing past her as she blustered and gawped like a goldfish.

Finally, with a beleaguered sigh, she closed the door and followed me in, her walking stick thumping on the carpeted floor. Standing in her cottage was like going back in time. Barely anything had changed since the last time I was here. Speaking of which … I turned to face her as she eased herself into an armchair.

“The letter I left for Monroe all those years ago … you didn’t give it to her, did you?”

Her lips pinched together, and then her eyes narrowed. “Are you the reason Monroe has been behaving like a petulant child recently? I thought you were off in Hollywood with your Hollywood sluts to keep you company. What do you care about Monroe?”

“Answer the question.”

“Oh, you think because you’re rich and famous, you can come into an old woman’s home and interrogate her? I don’t think so.”

“The letter?”

She sneered at me and, for the first time, I saw pure malice on that woman’s face. It destroyed me knowing this was what Monroe had been subjected to her whole life.

“You didn’t give it to her.” It wasn’t a question. I already knew.

Fuck.

Stupid fucking arsehole for trusting this negligent cow to do one good thing for her daughter.

Before I could lose my temper, the front door slammed, and footsteps sounded down the hallway. Suddenly Monroe was there, clutching two grocery bags. Her eyes widened in shock, and her gaze moved from me to her mum.

Mrs. Sinclair huffed, “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

“I only came by to drop off one last shop and to ask you where Dad is buried.” She glanced between us again as I froze at the news her father was dead. “What’s going on?”

“This boy was just leaving, that’s what’s going on,” Monroe’s mum snapped.

“Monroe, put the bags down. Please,” I requested.

“Get out!” Mrs. Sinclair snarled.

I glowered at her. “Not before she knows the truth.”

“Oh, God, what now?” Monroe dropped the bags, as if she couldn’t hold them anymore, groceries spilling onto the carpet at her feet.

I took a tentative step toward her, drinking in her beautiful face, wishing I could hold her as I told her the truth. Knowing that I might never hold her again. Swallowing hard against that thought, I said, “I never abandoned you, Monroe.”

Her chin jerked back. “What do you mean?”

“That’s enough!”

I pointed a finger at Mrs. Sinclair and clipped out, “You shut up.”

Her lips slammed together like she couldn’t believe I’d spoken to her like that. Auld witch.

Turning back to Roe, I explained, “When you ran off that night, you left your phone. I couldn’t get in touch with you. And honestly, I didn’t know if you’d want me to, so I came here.”

Monroe shook her head slowly.

“I came here with your phone and a letter. In the letter, I apologized for how I reacted and I told you I just wanted to know you were all right. That you were”—emotion thickened my voice—“that you were still my best friend, and if I was still yours, then just to call me.”