I sacrificed a lot.
But am I still? Didn’t I let Coop talk me out of my duty to my brothers—to mymom—so we could present two other names to the GM?
“Is that Lee?” Logan says in the background. A moment later, his handsome face appears on the screen. He’s also wearing one of Mom’s Christmas sweaters. She got us a new one every year, and we used to open them the day we put up the Christmas tree so we could wear them all season long.
When Mom realized her illness had progressed to the point that the end was in sight, she ordered us every Christmas sweater she could find. Dad has boxes of wrapped Christmassweaters in the attic, and he gives us a new one every year. Her handwriting was too shaky for her to write a note, so he found an app where he was able to upload and print out her handwriting based on whatever she dictated.
So on top of the Christmas sweater, we get a new card every year, too. A new card in her computerized handwriting that makes me feel like my heart is getting ripped out againevery year.
It’s a family tradition to wear our Christmas sweaters all season long, but I never will again. I hate them. I hate remembering what I used to have. I hate missing my mom so much, I can’t breathe. And now, getting confronted with reminders of her at the same time that I’m wondering if I’m failing her by hurting their careers, I can’t take it anymore.
I don’t want to talk to my brothers. I don’t want to see either of them when I may have just made the biggest mistake of their lives.
“Sorry, I have to go,” I say. “See you when I get back.” My smile looks like a grimace, but I stab the screen and hang up the call before they can call me on it.
My chest is tight, and I have to pant to draw in breath. And why is it so hot in this room? And why do there have to be so many reminders of Christmas?
Of Mom?
I rush outside to the balcony, my breath bursting from me in something between sobs and hyperventilation. My eyes fly everywhere.
Name five things you can see!I cry to myself.
My shaking hands. The twinkle lights around the balcony. The green of the golf course. Pinnacle Peak in the background. The sun setting behind it.
Four things you can touch.
I close my eyes for this exercise and strain my senses to really feel each of them.
My clammy forehead. The velvety texture of my navy blazer. The cool metal of the balcony railing. The light breeze stirring my hair.
Three things you can hear.
I tune the world out, letting my ears hear dozens of sounds. I fixate on only a few.
My shallow breathing. The ringing of a phone in the distance. The crack of a driver hitting a golf ball.
Two things you can smell.
I breathe deeply, in and out. In and out. My lungs are moving slow now, and my pulse has steadied.
I smell fresh, dry desert air, so different from home. Spiced sandalwood …
Spiced sandalwood?
My eyes open and I whip around.
Cooper is leaning against the doorframe like the roguish heartthrob of every romance reader’s dreams. He’s wearing a rich, dark green suit that fits him far too well. Men like him shouldn’t be allowed to wear suits so perfectly tailored to their bodies. It’s like giving them an arsenal no woman could defend against.
Except me.
I give him my sternest, most piercing look. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
He shrugs. “The clerk saw me come up last night, and when I told her my date was late for cocktail hour, she called upstairs. You didn’t answer, so we agreed that I should check on you.”
“You flirted with her to get up here?” I push past him to get inside my suite. “And you lied! I’m not late.”
“That’s what you think I lied about? Not you being my date?”
