“You haven’t been hungry in two days.”
“Congratulations,” I said. “You diagnosed heartbreak, doc.”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
I let my head tip back against the high leather wing of the chair and stared at the ceiling beams. Dark wood. Old. Solid. Everything in this place was built to last, except the one thing I’d actually wanted: my future with Chrissy.
“You know,” I said, “the last thing she said before she walked out was that she would’ve jumped in with both feet with me without the lies, without the games, without any of this.”
Henry was quiet for a long moment.
“Sounds to me like you should have led with that four years ago,” he said.
I huffed out a humorless breath.
“Yeah. That would’ve required me not being a coward.”
“If I recall, I did suggest that you do exactly that, but you refused to go out in public again after the hardware store incident.”
“I remember, Henry, but like I said… I’m a fucking coward.”
Silence reigned again, except for the low crackle of the fire gathering strength.
“Ben,” Henry said finally, “we need to talk about Vivian.”
There it was. The thin thread of obligation tethering me to a world I didn’t want to exist in anymore.
“No, we don’t,” I said.
“Yes, we do.” His tone sharpened. “You’re running out of time.”
“I was always running out of time.”
He moved around to face me fully, blocking the firelight, arms crossed over his chest.
“Christmas Eve,” he said. “You’ve got six days.”
“Five and a half,” I corrected automatically. “The clause specifies before midnight.”
“Five and a half days,” he allowed. “To get married and stay married for a minimum of five years, or Vivian gets everything.”
“I know how contracts work. I’ve had lawyers on retainer for my entire life, remember?”
“You also have staff,” he said, voice low. “People who live on this estate and depend on it. Contractors. Charities you fund. Town projects. The hockey program you wanted to build at Stonewood University. Vivian will dismantle all of it.”
“I’m aware,” I snapped.
“Are you?” His eyes flashed. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re sitting in the dark trying to pickle your liver instead of giving a damn that the woman who murdered your father is about to be handed the keys to his legacy.”
The words hit harder than I liked.
I clenched my jaw.
“You think I don’t care about my father’s legacy?”
“I think you’re drowning,” he said bluntly. “And you’re pretending that if you sink fast enough, none of this will be your problem anymore.”
I opened my mouth, ready with some sarcastic reply, something that would deflect, distract, anything… but nothing came out because he was right.
