Yours to Hold: Ribbon Ridge Book Two (21 page)

Plus, he hadn’t known her. Hadn’t seen her caring and compassionate nature. Hadn’t experienced first-hand the lengths she went to in order to help someone. He didn’t blame Maggie. His family shouldn’t blame her either. Yet they would, at least right away.

Dad was going to be devastated when he found out about Natalie. What would he be if he learned that Kyle was falling in love with Alex’s therapist?

Devastated wouldn’t even begin to describe it.

Chapter Fifteen

M
AGGIE SET THE
last book on the shelf in her office and stood back to survey the results. Another box empty. Another room nearly organized. She picked up her glass of wine from the desk and silently toasted herself as she glanced at the clock on her computer—just after nine. She was surprised she was still going strong after such a long, physical weekend, but she felt great. Better than she had in years.

It might have been the best weekend of her adult life if things with Kyle hadn’t imploded. Or whatever they’d done. He’d come back to the cottage this morning and helped out, but by noon they’d finished everything they could without starting the sprinklers, and he’d taken off with everyone else, which had surprised her.

She’d texted him a couple of times, but he hadn’t responded. She was dying to know what he’d done regarding Natalie. Had he gone to see her after he’d left yesterday? What about the police? Was he okay?

She set her glass down and picked up her phone. No texts. With a sigh, she went to open another box. A sharp knock on her front door gave her a shock of relief. That had to be Kyle.

Hurrying to the door, she smiled when she saw him, but her happiness quickly turned to apprehension as she took in the tense set of his jaw and the lost look in his eyes.

She gestured for him to enter and closed the door behind him. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I know.” He walked farther into the living room.

She sensed his unease but didn’t want to scare him off. He’d come to see her, though, which meant he probably wanted to talk. She’d let him take the lead. “How are you?”

He ran his hand through his hair, the number one sign that he was upset. “I’m not sure the police are going to be able to prosecute Natalie.”

Outrage bloomed in Maggie’s chest and spread angry heat through her body. She went to stand in front of him. “Why not?”

He looked utterly defeated, like every bit of enthusiasm and charm that made him Kyle Archer had been sucked away. “The e-mails alone aren’t enough. Ideally, they want to find drugs in her possession or a clear trail of her activities.”

Maggie wanted to scream. “But Alex died from drugs she sold him.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re the ones he got from her—it’s circumstantial.” He sounded frustrated, hopeless.

“That . . . sucks.” It was a wholly inadequate summation, but it was nonetheless true. “You don’t think she has any drugs?”

“She says she stopped dealing them after Alex died, but who knows if she’s telling the truth.” His lip curled. “But by going to see her first, I alerted her to the possibility of the police investigating. If she had any drugs, she had to have gotten rid of them.”

Maggie stroked his arm, trying to alleviate some of his pain. “Hey, don’t blame yourself. You were upset, angry. You needed to confront her.”

“Not at the cost of not being able to prosecute her.”

She dropped her hand and twined her fingers with his. “I’m so sorry.”

He withdrew from her and walked to the other side of the living room. He stood next to the fireplace and leaned his elbow on the mantle. “I was thinking of gambling, so I came here.”

He wanted her to stop him, and she could do that. “I’m glad you did. Can I get you something? A beer or a glass of wine?”

“Sure.” His eyes were downcast. “No. I mean, wait.” He looked up, and the stark confusion in his gaze pulled at her heart.

This was dangerous. She always reacted to a patient’s pain, but this was so much more because of the way she felt about him. She could easily fall in love with him, if she wasn’t already. She heard her mother’s warning,
you’re too emotional
, and tried to keep her head.

“Tell me what you need,” she said softly.

He turned from the mantle to face her. “I’m trying to figure out how to make this,” he said, gesturing between them, “okay with my family.”

His family.
And there was the cause of his worry. He might forgive Maggie, but would they? And if they didn’t, could he choose to be with her anyway?

This conversation would be so much easier for her to stomach if she could go full therapist. So that’s exactly what she did. “You won’t know until you talk to them about it, until you open yourself up to them. You have a lot of unresolved issues with your family—and I’m not the primary one.” She didn’t say it, but she meant his addiction. It was part of him, and some of his family didn’t even know about it. And those who did were in the dark because he hadn’t discussed it fully with them.

His eyes widened with a flash of ire. “You’re saying that you’re not the problem here, I am?”

“No. I’m saying I’m not the first thing you need to address with them—your addiction is.” There, she’d said it.

His features relaxed. “You’re therapizing me again.”

Anger sparked in her brain. “Isn’t that why you came? You said you wanted to gamble but you came here instead.”

“Fuck.” He’d whispered the word, but she caught it. He turned to the side, looking toward the front window, which was covered with an outdated set of sheer drapes. “I came here to forget.”

Now he was just making her mad. “How? You wanted to screw instead of talk?” She took a deep breath, told herself not to react emotionally. “You want resolution. I know you can’t see it, but you do. Contrary to what you might think,
I
can’t fix you, I can only suggest how
you
can fix you.”

He pivoted, and she started at the coldness of his expression, the absolute ice in his gaze. “This is perfect coming from you. A therapist whose track record of fixing things, including herself, is abysmal.”

His words stung, but she reminded herself that she was counseling him and hearing the truth pissed him off. So, she smiled and quoted Amy: “Do as I say, not as I do.”

He stared at her a long moment, swore again, then started toward the door.

“Hey, where are you going?” She almost asked if he was running away again, but that would have been his not-quite girlfriend asking, not the therapist. And if she allowed herself to be his not-quite girlfriend right now, she was going to lose it completely.

“Coming here was a bad idea.”

She moved toward him, touching his elbow as his hand closed over the door handle. “You have this wound in your life from four years ago. Whatever happened to drive you away—it’s going to do it again unless you confront it and resolve it. Just make your peace with your family—with your dad and Derek—and move on.”

He didn’t turn his head, kept his body positioned toward the door in total flight mode. “You make it sound easy. It’s not.”

She moved around him and squeezed behind him and the door, pressing her back against the wood. “Tell me why.”

“I was in a lot of trouble.” He kept his gaze averted from hers. “I owed Shane a shit-ton of money.”

“How much is a shit-ton?” It really didn’t matter, but the more specific he was, the more honest he would be—with her and with himself.

His gaze flicked to hers. “Thirty grand.”

Holy shit.
She exhaled and schooled her features to keep from showing a reaction. “What happened?”

“Derek knew I was gambling. He’d met Shane a few times. I was late with payments, and I ended up with a black eye.”

She lost the reins on her counseling for a moment as she recalled the beefy build of his former bookie. “From Shane?” How could he remain friendly with a guy who’d beaten him up?

Kyle shook his head. “One of his associates. Shane did everything he could to keep me safe, but it was too much money. Derek figured it out—the bruises, my behavior—and talked to Shane. Then he told my dad, who paid it off.”

She didn’t have to ask what had happened next. Kyle had been livid with Derek for telling his father. He’d struggled with being the Archer who just wasn’t good enough—no college degree, no successful career path, with or without the family company . . . and then this utter failure. He’d seen no choice but to run as far away as he could.

“You’ve never discussed this with them,” she said softly.

“No.” His voice was tight, strained. “I still get so angry.”

“Understandably so. Can I ask . . . what did you do in Florida? Did you get treatment at all?”

He let his hand fall from the doorknob. “I went to Gamblers Anonymous meetings for a while. That whole situation with Shane scared the shit out of me, and I never thought I’d do it again.”

“But you did.”

His answering nod was almost imperceptible. “When Alex died. I came home for the funeral and for the reading of the trust. Everyone was so sad and angry. It was like the situation I’d escaped had worsened, intensified.”

“So you went back to Florida and looked for a way to lighten the load.”

He looked at her like he had once before—like she was the only person who truly understood. “Yes.”

The relief in his voice made her want to hug him, but not yet. She was getting somewhere, and she wasn’t ready to stop. “How much did you lose?”

“I don’t know. It was fast—two months and I had to sell most of my stuff and then my car.”

“What about your trust fund?” She knew all of the Archer kids had one from their paternal grandfather—except Derek, as he’d joined the family after Benjamin Archer had died.

Kyle’s eyes widened briefly, and his nostrils flared. “You know about that?”

Crap.
She shouldn’t have said anything. She’d gotten too deep into the therapy session. “Forget I asked.”

He exhaled sharply. “No, it’s fine. We all inherited at twenty-five—but you probably know that. Except me. Dad was the trustee, and he changed the terms of my trust. I get the money whenever he sees fit. Which means never.”

She couldn’t stand it anymore. She reached up and touched his jaw. “I doubt that. You have to talk to him. Tell him why you gambled, how you struggle with it in terms of your place in the family. Help him understand so that he can support you.”

He exhaled. “I don’t know if I can. And Derek . . . I felt so betrayed. I only ever wanted him to apologize, to understand that what he did hurt. We were best friends and brothers—nobody was closer to me. Nobody should’ve understood me more.”

She moved her hand to the side of his neck and then down, lightly massaging his shoulder. “Have you asked yourself what would’ve happened if he hadn’t stuck his nose in?” She purposely used words that Kyle would to characterize the situation—she didn’t want to lose him now.

His gaze darkened, and his mouth tightened. “I had a plan. I had the trust fund coming in just over a year. Shane knew he was going to get paid, and he was working on convincing the other guys. I didn’t need Derek’s ‘help.’ He completely fucked everything up, especially with my Dad, and he never even said sorry.”

“I don’t disagree that Derek owes you an apology.” At the very least, he could’ve told Kyle what he’d planned to do instead of going directly to Rob. “However,” she said, taking another deep breath, knowing there would be a storm coming, “you also owe him a thank-you. Whether you could’ve paid that money back isn’t the issue. Derek gave you a wake-up call that put a stop to your gambling, and he did it in the face of your denial. That
is
friendship, Kyle. That is family.
That
is love.”

He stared at her, his expression inscrutable, and she held her breath.

“You can wait forever for him to apologize, or you can be the one to end this rift.”

Finally, emotion entered his gaze, but it was anger. “I should be the one to make things right? Because I’m always the one in the wrong.
I’m
the fuckup. I’m so glad to hear that you’re no different than the others. Great therapy session. Thanks, doc.”

He pulled the door open, heedless of her having to jump out of the way, and strode through, slamming it behind him.

The vitriol in his tone pricked her skin like tiny razor blades. She was breathing hard, as if she’d run a mile.

His words rang in her brain:
I’m the fuckup
. But she wasn’t thinking of him. She was thinking of herself.

She’d endured a horrid relationship and chosen a career that she really didn’t like. And for what? Because she was a fuckup? No, because she’d been rebelling. Mom said Mark was awful, so Maggie embraced him harder. Mom said counseling would ruin her, that she’d never withstand the emotional strain, so she’d worked her ass off and graduated a year early.

You can wait forever for her to apologize, or you can be the one to end this rift
.

Her advice came back to haunt her. It might not be a rift with her mother, but it was some sort of chasm—a space she kept between them so that Maggie could say she’d never be like her. But why? Maggie had grown up loved and cared for—unconventionally—but she hadn’t been abused or physically neglected. So her parents hadn’t always been there emotionally. Maggie had turned out all right. Did she want to spend the rest of her life holding a grudge, or did she want to try to find some common ground?

She locked the door and tried not to think of the hurtful things Kyle had said. He was angry, upset, and maybe—maybe—coming to terms with what he needed to do. She’d be here for him when he needed her.

If
he still wanted her.

Chapter Sixteen

K
YLE SPENT A
mostly sleepless night after leaving Maggie’s. As he unlocked the door at Archer Enterprises and disabled the alarm, he yawned as if he could swallow the world. Exhausted, he double-timed it up the stairs to make some coffee.

He’d never been in the office this early. What was it, five o’clock? He glanced at the clock near the coffee pot. Just barely.

Once he had the coffee brewing, he turned and looked at Natalie’s workstation. He wanted so badly to search every nook and cranny, but the police captain said he preferred for Kyle to leave it alone until they could get here at nine.

Kyle had spent half of yesterday at the police station. They’d called him after obtaining a warrant and searching Natalie’s house. Unfortunately, they hadn’t found any drug-related evidence and couldn’t press charges against Natalie. They’d impounded her cell phone and laptop, both of which had met with tragic accidents involving water and extreme droppage since Kyle had stupidly visited her. And no,
that
wasn’t suspicious.

But given how lazy she’d been regarding her e-mails with Alex, Kyle was certain there had to be something incriminating on the Archer servers. The police agreed.

What the hell was he going to do for the next four fucking hours?

Talk to Dad, for one. He had to tell him why Natalie wouldn’t be here today—or ever again—and why the cops were showing up at nine. Was that all he would tell him? Or would he finally breach the topic he’d made forbidden?

Maggie had made a compelling argument last night. He’d been a real jackass about it, too. He’d apologize to her. Later. He could only handle one crisis at a time.

By the time Dad arrived at eight thirty, Kyle had downed two pots of coffee. He’d staved off the exhaustion but now felt as jittery as if he held a full house, aces high, in the World Tournament of Poker. He got up from the couch in Dad’s office as Dad came inside.

Dad stopped short in surprise. “Kyle. I didn’t know you were in here.” He glanced back at Paula, but she shook her head.

“I’ve been here a while. Can I have a few minutes?”

“Sure.” Dad came further into the office and circled around his desk as Kyle closed the door. “Everything all right?”

“No.” Why sugarcoat it? Kyle steeled himself. “I’ve been working on something the last few weeks. Something I thought would help us—you especially—deal with Alex’s death.”

Dad’s face turned a bit gray. “I’d rather not discuss this.”

He moved closer to the desk. “I know, but hear me out. I wanted to find out who sold Alex the drugs.”

Dad’s eyes widened, and his pallor faded even more. He sank into his chair as if he simply couldn’t bear his own weight any longer. Kyle wished the worst wasn’t yet to come.

“And did you?” His voice sounded like a croak.

Kyle sat in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, his body tense. “Yes. I wish it had been someone else, but—”

“You’re not going to say it was
you
?” Dad went fully white. His hand covered his mouth.

Kyle blinked at him, uncomprehending of what he’d said for a moment. Then it hit him like a fist to the gut. Repeatedly. Over and over, the accusation swung at him like a merciless heavyweight going in for the knockout. “No.” The word was barely audible.

Dad slumped in his chair. “Oh, God. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . . but your demeanor . . . You scared the hell out of me.”

The pressure in Kyle’s chest lessened but didn’t completely go away. “Do you really think I’m into drugs too or that I could do that to anyone, let alone my own brother?”

“No, I don’t think you could do that, which is why I reacted that way.” He looked up at Kyle, his gaze desolate. “But, Kyle, you don’t talk to me. You don’t talk to anybody. I have no idea what you’re into. Or out of.”

Kyle wanted to be angry, but Dad was right. In the absence of information, he’d made up his own. Could Kyle blame him? Yes, but he didn’t want to. He was just . . . tired. “I’m not into drugs, and I never have been. Yes, I’m a gambling addict, but I haven’t been doing that either—at least not since I’ve been home. But listen, we can talk about that . . . later. I need to tell you who sold him the drugs.” He took a deep breath. “It was Natalie.”

“
Our
Natalie?”

Kyle nodded, hating that Dad had used the word “our.” It made this too personal, but then Kyle had known that was how it would be.

Where Dad had gone pale before, now color rushed to his face until Kyle worried that his head might blow clean off. “Dad?”

“Natalie Frobish. Derek and Hayden’s—your—assistant?”

“Yes. I hired a computer forensics specialist to evaluate Alex’s computer. He found e-mails.”

His tone darkened. “I want to see them.”

Kyle picked up the printed e-mails he’d set on the corner of Dad’s desk. “Here. But, Dad, I’ve already confronted her. And fired her.”

Dad stared down at the paper, and his hands began to shake. “I can’t believe . . .” His voice trailed into nothingness.

Kyle got up and went to stand beside Dad’s chair. “I couldn’t believe it either, but she didn’t deny it. She couldn’t.”

“We have to call the police.” He reached for the phone on his desk.

Kyle put his hand over his father’s. “I’ve already done that. They searched her house yesterday. Unfortunately, they didn’t find any evidence.”

Dad’s hand tensed, and he drew it back, slamming it on the desk.

Kyle looked down at him. “Dad, they’ll find something here at Archer—on our servers or even on her computer. She wasn’t very smart about it. Just look at those e-mails.” He pointed to the papers on the desk.

Dad was quiet for several minutes as he read. His breathing was audible, sounding like he’d just crested a hill on his bike. Finally, he looked up at Kyle. “You took care of everything.”

The grateful look in Dad’s eyes was everything Kyle had ever wanted, and it was almost enough to keep him from saying more, but if he was going to make this work, he had to go all in. “I tried to. But if I hadn’t gone to see her first, she might not have destroyed whatever evidence she possessed.”

Dad stood abruptly, sending his chair skidding backward. “Don’t. Son.” He put his arms around Kyle and hugged him.

Kyle felt the well of pent-up emotion and self-loathing and angst splinter and fall away. It wasn’t gentle or easy; it blew through him like a storm. He grasped at his father and held onto him as an anchor, never imagining how badly he’d needed this comfort.

It was a good, long minute—or ten—before they drew apart. Dad touched the side of Kyle’s head. “Son, you did everything I would’ve done and more. I’m proud of you.”

And there it was. The brilliance of his father’s approval was as soul-satisfying as he’d imagined, but would he lose it if he said all he’d planned to? It was a risk he had to take.

Kyle backed away. “I’m glad you’re proud of me. It’s all I ever wanted. But I’m still a gambling addict. I’m still the son you bailed out four years ago. The son whose trust fund you’re keeping away from him—and that’s fine. You were smarter about that than I was.”

Dad’s brow furrowed. “I’ve read about gambling addiction—that it can lead to other addictions, like drugs and alcohol.”

“Yeah, that’s true. I’ve been to Gamblers Anonymous with plenty of people who were also members of Alcoholics and Narcotics Anonymous. But so far, that isn’t me.”

Dad’s eyebrows rose. “You go to meetings?”

“I used to, in Florida. Before . . . Alex. Then I sort of went off the rails.”

Dad winced. “How bad?”

“Not like before. Don’t get me wrong, it could’ve gone that way, but I came back here to try to put my life back together—the life I want.” He worked to rein in his defensiveness. “I’m not as big of a loser as you all thought.”

“I never thought you were a loser.” Dad sat back down in his chair and gestured to the seat Kyle had vacated. Dad’s complexion turned a bit gray. “Sit, please. I want to tell you something. There’s a reason I’ve been more worried about you than anyone else.”

Tensing, Kyle sat, setting his forearms on the armrests of the chair. “Harder on me, you mean?”

He folded his hands together on the desktop. “I didn’t mean to be. You were always less focused than your siblings, Alex, Sara, and Evan notwithstanding. Your behavior was always so much larger than life, like you were the star of the family. I worried you were maybe manic.”

“Like manic depressive?”

“Yes.” Dad’s lips thinned, and his hands started to shake again. He laid his palms flat against the desk and then, perhaps thinking better of it, put his hands in his lap. “I’ve never told anyone this, but mental illness runs in my family. Your grandfather was manic depressive—bipolar.”

Apprehension tightened every one of Kyle’s muscles. “I had no idea.”

“No one did. Your grandmother wanted it that way. He didn’t die in a hunting accident.” Dad’s voice broke. He looked up at the ceiling and blinked furiously. “He wanted it to look that way, but he shot himself.” He lowered his head. Tears glistened in his gray eyes.

Kyle had been nine when Granddad died, and he’d vowed never to go hunting. He started to rise. “Dad.”

Dad waved him back down. “Let me finish. He committed suicide, and we covered it up. Your mother doesn’t even know the truth.”

Kyle realized Dad was sharing this with him of all people for a reason, but he couldn’t fathom what it might be. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I thought you might’ve inherited his illness. I worried you were going to struggle the way he did. When I found out about your gambling, I wanted to talk to you, ask you to see someone, but then you left and I just . . . didn’t. I didn’t want you to end up like him. But I was so focused on you that I completely missed who was really in trouble.”

“Alex.” The answer hit Kyle harder than anything else he’d heard that morning.

A tear snaked down Dad’s cheek. Kyle didn’t remember him crying once after Alex died. He wished there was something he could do to take the pain away—wasn’t that why he’d gone after the drug dealer in the first place? Now, looking back, why had he thought that would solve anything? There was no bringing Alex back, no erasing what he’d done. “You can’t blame yourself, Dad.”

“I can, and I do. I should’ve seen it.” He slapped his hand sharply on the desktop as his sad remorse turned to angry regret. “Hell, I’d been looking for it, just in the wrong place. I’d subjected you to unfair criticism all while I should’ve been seeing the signs in Alex.”

Kyle wanted to argue that none of them had seen the signs, but he hadn’t even been there. “We all have guilt. I should’ve been here.”

Dad leaned back in his chair, looking utterly defeated. He wiped his hand over his eye. “Yes, we all have guilt.”

Seeing Dad like this nearly broke Kyle’s heart. “Can I hug you now?”

Dad managed a weak smile. “I’d like that.” He stood and met Kyle around the side of the desk.

When they broke apart, Dad cleared his throat. “Can you keep the stuff about Granddad to yourself for now? I need to tell your mother myself.”

“Of course.” Kyle was glad to hear they were maybe doing better. “How are things with you guys since she got back from France?”

Dad’s coloring had returned to normal, but now he frowned. “I won’t lie—it’s been a little rough. Losing Alex has changed everything for us. I know it has for you too, but we’re his parents. It’s just different.”

“I can imagine.” Kyle’s heart ached for them, but he knew it was a path they had to travel together—or apart, if that’s what they chose. “Your kids will do anything for you, you know.”

Dad smiled. “I do. And Kyle, this,” he said, gripping Kyle’s bicep, “this means more to me than you can know. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Dad.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to talk to Derek? I know he wants to. But the only person I know who’s more stubborn than you and Liam is Derek.”

Kyle had thought about what he would say to his former best friend. What could he say? Maggie had been dead right. Derek
had
saved his ass, and Kyle had been a total douchebag. None of the other particulars mattered anymore.

“Yeah, I’m going to talk to him. I don’t know that I want to burden him during his wedding week.”

Dad’s eyes narrowed briefly. “That’s a cop-out; don’t go there. He’s busy, yes, and he’s taking the week off to prep for the wedding, but he’ll always make time for you. Especially now. Nothing is more important to that boy than family.”

“You’re right. I’ll talk to him.” Kyle smiled, then glanced at the clock. He was surprised to see that it was nearly nine. “Crap, the police investigator is going to be here any minute. Are you up for seeing him?”

Dad’s eyes hardened. “Hell yes. Let’s take that bitch down. You and me. Together.”

Kyle nodded, feeling better than he had in years. It seemed things were finally falling into place—at least with his family. His mind strayed to Maggie, as it liked to do more and more often. With things going so well, did he dare take their relationship public? Or was that only inviting disaster?

Looking at his dad, feeling the warmth of his love and approval, he wasn’t sure he could risk losing it again. Not even for love.

S
ONNY AND
C
HER
barked happily as Maggie opened the screen door and went into her mother’s house on Monday night. She’d spent a long day at the wedding cottage overseeing and assisting with the sprinkler installation and talking to Sara about some additional outdoor decorating ideas—planters, a stone path, and a water feature. They wouldn’t have time to implement them all before Saturday, but Sara was excited about every one of them. Maggie doubted she’d be around to see the execution, but she tried not to dwell on that.

She’d also spent all day thinking about how she wished she could spend every day like that. How she’d never felt more at ease, more challenged, and more excited about work. It hadn’t even
felt
like work. And when she thought about going back to her real job, she froze up, her entire body going rigid with anxiety and loathing.