Page 70 of Paging Dr. Summers
I scoffed, leaning back on the couch. “As far as Brooke is concerned, you were just trying to write another check to make her go away. You know what I don’t get? Why would you keep the letters and Roxanne’s memories lying around if you didn’t want to get caught?”
Maxwell dragged a hand through his disheveled hair, his expression turning into something close to confusion—or maybe self-loathing. His lips parted as if he wanted to respond, but no words came. It seemed even he didn’t know the answer.
“You have to understand, when Roxanne told me she was pregnant, my father had just announced he was running for governor, and my parents didn’t approve of my relationship with her,” he finally breathed out, reluctantly. “She didn’t fit their mold, and for me that was part of her appeal. She was my one act of youthful rebellion.”
I scowled, disgusted he would trivialize Brooke’s mother in such a way.
Maxwell held up his hands. “This is not me saying I didn’t care for Roxanne. I did. Deeply. More than anyone will ever know. She was like no woman I’d ever been with before. She was a force of nature. Hell, if she’d told me I could jump off a cliff and survive, I would have believed her. I would have done it. But I was under a lot of pressure. My parents ... they convinced me the baby wasn’t mine. Told me I was being played because of who I was and the Harrington name. They said the best thing I could do was walk away before I ruined my life—and theirs—with a mistake that wasn’t even mine to fix.”
He broke off, his hands falling into his lap. “But no matter how much I tried to convince myself that my parents were right, in my heart I knew the truth. That’s why I kept the letters—and why I never stopped listening to Roxanne’s music. It was my way of holding on to her, of holding on to what I lost—my child. I kept hoping, even knowing howimplausible it was, that one day I would hear something in Roxanne’s songs and I would know she’d forgiven me ... and then maybe I could forgive myself. But that day never came. Instead, I’ve lost the confidence of my wife, my daughter ...” He hesitated, correcting himself with a pronounced swallow. “My daughters.”
I wanted to tell him he had no right to refer to Brooke that way, but I figured he knew. It gave me some satisfaction that he felt the gravity of what he had done. That this time, he couldn’t ignore the consequences of his actions.
Not that any of this would heal Brooke’s heart. But at the very least, I hoped she would finally see the truth—that she wasn’t a failure. The real failure sat before me, drowning in his own regret. He was the one not worthy of her.
Seeing that he already knew what a bastard he was, I stood. “Good luck,” was all I could think to say before I walked away to let him stew in the aftermath of his choices.
“Please tell Brooke how sorry I am,” Maxwell pleaded.
A derisive laugh escaped me. “If you want her to know, you’ll have to tell her yourself. That’s not my message to deliver.” I headed back the way I’d come in.
“I know it’s not my place to say, but be careful with her heart,” Maxwell warned.
I froze mid-step, my shoulders stiffening at his audacity.
“Brooke told us about your ... arrangement. Your summer fling,” he continued. “But anyone with eyes can see it’s more than that—for both of you. Your feelings for her go deeper, and so do hers for you. You wouldn’t have come tonight otherwise.” He paused, his tone imploring. “Don’t let Roxanne’s and my history repeat itself.”
“If you think I’d get Brooke pregnant and abandon her, you’re mistaken,” I said firmly. “I would never do that to her—or to our child.” My words had me feeling things I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.
The thought of Brooke and me having a child stirred something deep within me—the possibility for a life I had sworn at the start of summer I could never have with her. Yet, just as quickly, a cold reality doused it. Despite our growing feelings for one another, there was an unspoken divide in our way—
Erica.
Maxwell nodded faintly, his expression somber. “I didn’t think you would. But the history I was referring to wasn’t about abandonment—it was about regret.”
Unfortunately, I knew all about regret. I’d been living with it every day since Erica died. The last thing I wanted was for Brooke’s and my story to end that way. The problem was that I didn’t know which path would lead us there. Did we stay on the temporary course we’d agreed upon, or did we risk veering off and trying to bridge the divide? I knew I was going to have to figure that out sooner rather than later, for both our sakes.
I WOKE UP, DISORIENTED AND heavy, as though fighting my way out of a drug-induced coma. Shadows swam as I blinked, trying to focus, and my throat burned so fiercely, it was hard to swallow. My fingers twitched instinctively, clutching at something in my hand.
The crinkling sound brought me back to reality. The envelope. A jarring reminder of where I was and why I was there.
Immediately, my gaze fell to the empty chair where Logan had been sitting after he’d sweetly tucked me in and kissed me good night, careful not to let it go too far. I loved his gentlemanly caution, but I knew it was more than chivalry. His heart belonged to someone else. That truth was starting to hurt.
I was angry with myself that I couldn’t just stick to the plan: a summer of carefree fun—nothing more. That was all it was supposed to be. But there was nothing fun about discovering my father had rejected me—not once, but twice. Honestly, my entire life.
And the first person I’d thought to run to was Logan. That thought scared me. There was no denying I was falling in love with him—a man whose heart I could never truly claim. That was definitely not on any bucket list.
Letting the envelope fall to the side, I sat up, flipped on a lamp, and grabbed Logan and Erica’s wedding photo off the nightstand. For a moment, I just stared at the image, letting it suck me right in.
Erica was breathtaking. Her fiery red hair cascaded in flawlesswaves and framed her delicate porcelain features. She looked like a younger Nicole Kidman, with her svelte figure, poised elegance, and a confidence that radiated through the photograph. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was magnetic. It was easy to see why Logan had fallen so hard for her.
And I knew she didn’t have some soap opera past like me. Her life sounded more like a classic romance movie, the kind that everyone wanted to star in. You know, the one where the successful, gorgeous, admired woman makes all her dreams come true, including snagging a ridiculously handsome doctor who adores her. Sure, her death cut it short, and she didn’t get a proper happy ending, but she appeared to have had it all while she lived.
Meanwhile, my movie was turning out more like a CW drama, complete with a tangled web of secrets, heartbreak, and strange plot twists. I almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but the ache in my chest reminded me it was my real life, and there was nothing funny about it.
I tortured myself some more by gazing at Logan in his tux, beaming at his bride. His smile said he was the luckiest guy in the world. The photo was pure bliss, but it stung. He’d never looked at me like that—and I knew he never would.
I clutched the photo to me, holding it against my aching chest, wondering where Logan was. He was probably sleeping on the couch, dreaming of Erica and thanking his lucky stars he’d only agreed to a fling with me after the night’s revelations. Assuming it was the same night. I didn’t even know what time it was. But I knew I needed something to drink.
