I frown, but he’s staring at Grant now.
“Vivian was a good woman, son. The lengths she went to for all of you, well, it’s not something I see a lot of in my line of work.”
Grant swallows thickly.
“I assume you’ll help Clover access her inheritance once we sort through the legalities of it?” Lamott asks.
“Of course,” Grant says tightly. “That was never in question.”
“My what?”
Agent Lamott smiles down at me. “Clover, the Harringtons aren’t the only billionaires in the room. You’re the last remaining O’Connell heir.”
Holy. Shit. How the hell did that slip my mind?
The next morning,I’m standing on the front porch of the inn, watching the sun rise over Happiness.
I haven’t slept. I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, I see Valen’s face in the clearing—the horror, the recognition, the complete and utter devastation as his memories came flooding back.
The door creaks behind me, and I don’t have to turn around to know who it is.
“You should be sleeping,” Chief says, settling into a chair beside me with a groan. His head is bandaged, and he’s holding ice to his swollen lip, but his eyes are as sharp as ever.
“So should you.”
“Eh.” He waves a hand dismissively. “There’s plenty of time for sleep when I’m dead.”
A weary laugh escapes me. Leave it to Chief to joke about death after what we’ve been through.
“You know,” he says after a long moment, “I’ve only known that boy for a couple of months now, but I’ve known you for years. And I know human nature, kiddo. So I can tell you with absolute certainty that neither one of you is going to survive this if you don’t talk to each other.”
“Chief—”
“I’m not sayin’ you have to forgive him. I’m not even sayin’ you have to love him—though you’d be a damn fool to walk away now. Hell, all I’m saying is that boy upstairs is drowning in guilt for something he did when he was barely old enough to tie his own shoes, and you’re down here drowning in guilt for not knowing how to move forward.”
He fixes me with that no-nonsense stare that has never once allowed me out of a self-defense lesson. “Seems to me like you’re both drowning but you’re too stubborn to grab hold of the raft. Leave the drowning to Romeo and Juliette, huh? Or was that Ophelia?”
“Chief, regardless of which Shakespearean tragedy you’re horribly misrepresenting, that’s still terrible advice.”
“Probably.” He shrugs. “But it’s the best I’ve got at six in the morning with a concussion.”
I wince, remembering the dried blood on the side of his head.
“You never should have put yourself in harm’s way,” I grumble. “I’m still mad at you about that.”
“You can be mad because you’re alive, Clover. I wouldn’t have done a damn thing differently to keep it that way neither, so you just let me know when you’re done being mad. Good?”
When I don’t reply, he reaches over and pats my hand. “You’re out here ’cause you’re scared of what the future holds now, Clover.”
I swallow hard.
“And he’s up there ’cause he’s scared of what the past has done. One of you is gonna have to take that leap and trust thefall. Now.” He leans back in his chair and folds his arms behind his head. “I don’t know who the bravest will be, but I’ve seen you do some pretty incredible stuff these last few months.”
I meet his gaze.
“My bet’s on you. I’m always bettin’ on you, kid.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
