I blink up at the ceiling and wait for the blurry chandelier to come into focus. It takes a minute for my vision to clear, although my brain is still a blurry mess.
Why am I on the ground?
“Oh, thank goodness you’re awake. Are you okay?” Lana leans forward. Her dark waves brush against my face, tickling my skin. She smells like snickerdoodle cookies, reminding me of the nights we stayed up after curfew together, eating raw cookie dough while We hang out on the dock. My attempt to stop myself from taking another deep breath fails, and I get a second inhale of her cinnamon scent.
I can’t remember the last time I dreamed about Lana. Months? Years? This one is more vivid than my others, nailing the smallest details like the small heart-shaped birthmark on her neck. and the scar on his cupid’s bow.
I reach out to brush the faint white mark over his lips, making the tips of my fingers tingle. The world stops existing around me when her gaze crashes into mine.
God. Those eyes.
His brown eyes remind me of the earth right after it rains; Because they are so dark, they look black in certain types of light. It’s an underrated color.
which rivals all the others, although Lana always disagreed.
My thumb accidentally brushes her bottom lip, drawing a loud gasp from her.
“What are you doing?” She walks away.
I wince at the sharp pain piercing a hole in the back of my skull.
You’re not dreaming, idiot.
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make it hurt worse.” She lifts my head from her lap. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three,” he growled.
“What day is it?” “Third of May.”
“Where are we right now?” His nails graze my scalp, sending sparks down my spine.
“Damn,” I hiss.
“Did it hurt?” She repeats the same movement. My skin burns from her touch, and the heat spreads through my veins like wildfire.
“Stop. I’m fine.” I move away and slide across the floor until my back hits the wall opposite her. Despite the distance I gain, the spicy cinnamon smell of her body wash clings to my clothes. It’s the same addictive she’s been using for years.
I take another deep breath because clearly I must enjoy torturing myself.
God. You are pathetic. I bang my head against the wall, and it throbs in retaliation.
“Here, sir. For your boo.
Oh shit.
Alan has a daughter. A five-year-old daughter with dirty blonde hair and big blue eyes eerily like mine. With me sitting, we are almost the same height, although she is a couple of inches taller than me from this angle.
Alana’s son, possibly my son, looks at me with round eyes and poorly buttoned pajamas. His hair color borders on light brown, with most of the wavy strands falling from his poorly constructed ponytail.
It’s mine?
God, I hope not.
The thought is bullshit but true. I’m not ready to be a father yet. Hell, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready. Until that point, I was content with becoming the cool guy who never managed to get his life together in time to have kids. How could he do it when I can only do the bare minimum for myself?
The girl shakes an ice pack in front of my face as she bounces on the tips of her toes. I reach out without thinking and take it from her.
“Are you OK?”
I shudder at the sound of the child’s voice. He reminds me of Lana’s, right down to the slight rasp she has. Another dizziness hits me.
Lana stands up and kisses the top of her daughter’s head. “Thank you baby. It’s so sweet of you to help.
“Do we need a doctor?”
“No. He just needs some rest.” “And a strong drink,” I complain.
Lana turns to her daughter. “See? It’s good enough to go back to making bad decisions. All is right with the world.”
His nose twitches. “That makes no sense”.
Lana sighs. “I’ll explain it to you in the morning, my love.” “But-“
Lana points towards the stairs. Go to sleep right now.
God. He looks and sounds just like his mother.
Maybe because she is a mother. My body goes numb.
Are you having a heart attack?
From the way my left arm tingles and my heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest, I wouldn’t rule it out.
The boy points a chubby finger at me. “He doesn’t look so good.” He’ll be fine. He just has a headache.”
“Maybe your kiss will make everything better like my boos.” “ No,” Lana and I say at the same time.
“Okay. No kisses.” The girl crosses her arms with a pout.
Lana’s eyes sink into my mouth. Her tongue darts out to trace her bottom lip, turning the tips of my ears pink.
You are desperate. Completely and utterly hopeless.
“Will you read me a story?” The girl interrupts us, her voice having the same effect as an ice cube on my mood.
Could she really be mine? Would Lana hide a child from me for years just because she hates me?
The room spins around me. I closed my eyes to avoid looking at my mini-me and Alana.
“ Camila ,” Lana warns.
“They both still owe the swear jar,” her daughter reminds her.
I can imagine Lana rolling her eyes as she says, “Remind me in the morning.”
“Well!” The sound of feet tapping against the wooden stairs echoes off the high ceilings.
Lana doesn’t speak until a door closes in the distance. “She’s gone now, so you can stop pretending to be asleep.”
I look towards the spider. “Is she-” No matter how hard I try, I can’t finish the sentence. Lana never seemed like the type to hide a secret like
um, but people do crazy things to protect the ones they love, especially from those who will hurt them.
Maybe that’s why Grandpa gave Lana the deed to the house. I might have thought he was doing a shitty job supporting my son, so she took over.
Assuming he left her the house in the first place.
“She’s what?” Lana presses. “Mine?”
She blinks. “Did you really just ask me that?”
“Just answer me.” My fear transforms into agitation. I’m not quick to give in to my anger, but between the first signs of a headache and finding out about a child I didn’t know existed, my patience is wearing thin.
“Would it matter if it is?”
Lana’s question feels like a trap, but I willingly fall for it anyway. “Yeah. No, maybe. Shit! I don’t know. Is that her?” I run my hands through my hair and pull the strands, making the tender skin throb.
“If you’re really asking me that, then you must not know me at all.”
I stand up, ignoring the instability as I rise to my full height. “What do you expect me to think? It’s not like we left things on good terms the last time we saw each other.
“So you assume I would keep your son away from you because of my personal feelings?”
“Either that or you moved pretty quickly from the looks of it.” It’s a horrible thing to say. An angry, judgmental, stupid statement that I regret the moment it comes out. I can’t even blame the alcohol this time, which only makes my outburst that much worse.
The temperature in the room drops. “Get out,” she whispers.
I remain frozen in place. “Shit. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I mean, I know why I said it, but I shouldn’t have…
Get out of my house before I call the police to come with you. She walks away from me. The way her shoulders shake with each deep exhale adds to the churning feeling in my stomach.
“Alana—”
She turns on her heel and points to the door. “ Get out! ”
I don’t need Google Translate to help me with that.
I raise my hands in submission. “Okay. I’m leaving now.”
Are you still going to get no response?
Unlike what? The Lana she knew needed to calm down before she started talking. I learned a long time ago that if I pushed her too hard too soon, she would only push me further.
I grab the handle of my suitcase and walk out the front door.
“Wait.”
I stop at the doormat, my feet pressing against the faded letters of No Dessert No Entry .
“Give me the spare key.” She steps forward and extends her hand. His left hand of hers without a ring.
Does matters? It’s not like you’re here to get her back.
I hold on to that thought, repeating it twice before placing my usual smile in its place.
His nostrils flare. The key, Callahan.
I take a second to pull the silver key out of my pocket. When Lana reaches for it, her fingers brush against my skin, sending an electric shock straight through my body. She pulls her hand back and shields it against her chest.
She must have felt the same.
Great. At least I can go to sleep tonight knowing that even though she hates me, her body is not on the same page.
You’re ridiculous for thinking that’s some kind of achievement.
She slams the door. I jump back to avoid a possible broken nose and tip over my luggage.
I hit my head against the wooden door with a groan. “What were you thinking sending me here, Grandpa?”
The bolt slides into place before the light above me goes out.
“You couldn’t be bothered to wait until I got in the car?” I don’t expect a response, but I say the words out loud anyway.
One by one, the lights surrounding the wraparound porch go out, further emphasizing Lana’s point of view.
Get lost.
I let out a deep sigh as I return to my Aston Martin DBS. The engine roars to life and I hold my breath for a few seconds, half expecting Lana to come out holding her gun and threatening to call the police again. A full minute passes without the front door opening, so I consider it safe to turn on the dome light and look in my glove compartment for Grandpa’s letter.
The envelope is hidden in the back, right where I left it almost two years ago when he passed away. While my brothers hurried to complete my grandfather’s tasks to receive his inheritance and shares of the Kane Company, including Rowan working at my family’s fairy tale theme park and Declan getting married, I did what I do best.
Avoid what scares me.
Procrastinating never brings you anything but problems.
I trace the broken wax seal of Dreamland Castle before removing the letter from inside. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths before unfolding the sheet of paper.
Callahan ,
If you are reading this version of my last letter, that means I must have passed away before we talked about our differences and forgave each other for what we said. While I am devastated that this is the case, I want to make things right between us with my last will and testament. They say money can’t solve everything, but I’m sure it can motivate you and your siblings to get out of your comfort zone and embrace something new. Of my three grandchildren, you were always the risk taker, so I hope you are up to one more challenge for me.
Between us, I tried not to play favorites, but you made it almost impossible.
There is something special about you, something your brothers and father lack, that attracts people. You always had this light inside you that couldn’t go out. At least not by anyone but you.
It hurt me to see what made you anxious disappear as alcohol and drugs became your crutch. At first, I excused it because you were young and immature. I thought maybe you’d get over it. After rehab, you seemed better. It wasn’t until I actually spent some time with you at the lake a few years later that I realized you’d gotten better at hiding it.
I will always regret the things I said to you during our last talk. Back then, I was angry at myself for not intervening sooner, for not at least checking up on you once you were permanently banned from hockey, and for doing the bare minimum because I was too consumed by my job to take the time. You were suffering after your injury in a way that none of us could understand, even though we should have made an effort to try.
I wish I had swallowed my pride and apologized sooner, so you wouldn’t have to read it in this letter. Better yet, I wish I had never used your addiction against you and said all those hurtful things I did in the first place, thinking it would be a push in the right direction.
You were never a failure, boy. I was.
Invisible claws sink into my chest, digging their way through years of scar tissue to stab my heart. Grandpa might regret what he said, but he was right. I’m a failure . What else would you call someone who tried to get sober? two separate occasions, only to relapse not long after? Weak. Pathetic. Miserable. The options are endless, but I think failure sums it up perfectly.
I take a cleansing breath and continue reading.
Getting sober is not a goal, it is a journey. Your trip. And as much as I wanted you to be healthy, I did it the wrong way. Not a day goes by that I don’t wonder what could have happened if I had stood by you instead of turning my back on you. Would you have been interested in finding your place within the company because its connection to me no longer bothered you? Or do you
Would you have liked to marry Alana and work to give Mrs. Castillo all the grandchildren she wanted?
There are hundreds of different ways I want to show I’m sorry, but my options are limited from beyond. Hopefully, one day, if you pull yourself together and everything, we can get together. But until then, my will is the best I can do.
So, to my little risk taker, I have one thing to ask of you in exchange for 18% of the company’s shares and a twenty-five billion dollar inheritance:
I spent one last summer at the Wisteria Lake house before selling it on the second anniversary of my death.
I reread the sentence twice until everything falls into place.
Oh shit.
He wants me to live here with Lana.
Of course. And to top it all off, as if they weren’t already, my grandfather puts the final nail in my coffin with a single request.
I ask that no one outside of your brothers and my attorney know the real reason behind the sale of the house until it is sold.
Fantastic. Any chance I had to appeal to humanity or Lana’s pocketbook is stolen with a last wish from my grandfather. I swear I’m probably drinking a strawberry margarita from beyond, gleefully watching my life implode.
It seems that all I need to do to earn my company stock and twenty-five billion dollars is convince Lana, the only woman in the world who would rather kill me than save it, to let me sell the house.
It’s time to invest in a bulletproof vest.
