A Brand New Ending (Page 25)

When he spoke of a second chance, he meant temporarily. Maybe he wanted her back in his bed. To relive the raw intimacy they’d shared that only the very young and very in love could experience. Maybe it was even all for this screenplay he was writing, in order to steep himself in the emotions of the past. Once he was satisfied and the screenplay was complete, he’d move on.

He’d agree to the divorce and never look back.

And she’d be left alone with a broken heart. God knew she’d barely survived the first time. It was as if a piece of her had been ripped away. She’d been forced to live without him and carve out her own path. Yes, she’d discovered her strength and eventually became happy.

But to put herself through such agony again? To watch him pick his career over her?

She may not survive.

She needed to keep herself emotionally distant and safe until then.

On her drive home, she passed the road to Patrick’s house and spotted flashing lights glimmering from the thicket of bare trees. Frowning, she made a quick right turn and followed the path to the farmhouse.

An ambulance was parked in his driveway.

She jumped from the car and raced toward the door, pausing at the scene in front of her.

“I told you to go away!” Patrick bellowed, waving the two medics away. He was seated in a battered mud-brown chair, a blood pressure cuff wrapped around his upper arm. “I told you it was a mistake!”

They exchanged glances. The younger man held a stethoscope, and it seemed like they’d been there for a while, trying to cajole him. “You called 911, sir. Your blood pressure is definitely low. We’d like to get you in for a quick check.”

“I’m fine. Now you’re wasting valuable time when you could be helping people who really need you. Get this thing off me.”

“Patrick? Are you okay?”

Three glances swiveled toward the door. The medics looked relieved. “Ma’am, are you a family member?”

The ridiculous thought that he was technically her father-in-law floated by, but she pushed it away. “No, I’m his neighbor. Is there something I can do?”

“Yeah, get them the hell out of here,” Patrick grunted, ripping at the cuff. “I felt faint so I called 911, but now I’m fine. They keep pressuring me to go to the hospital. I don’t need it.”

“Technically, we can’t make you go, sir. But your pressure is low, and with your prior heart attack, I’d recommend some extra tests. We can do an EKG right now.”

“Heart attack?” she asked in a high voice. “I didn’t know about that.”

Patrick grunted again. “Happened years ago. Don’t need no EKG. I’ll rest and drink water, okay? I’d appreciate it if you’d go now.”

The medics exchanged a few words, and then the younger one nodded. “You’ll have to sign a waiver for me. There may be charges for coming out for a false alarm.”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a pen.”

They gave him the waiver, he signed it, and they packed up and left. Ophelia drifted into the house and sat beside him.

“You never said you’d been ill,” she said quietly. “I didn’t even hear about it in town.”

“’Cause I know how to keep a secret. Been practicing my whole life.” He leaned back his head in the chair and groaned. “I’m just tired. Pushed myself today and paid.” He shot her a suspicious look. “What are you doing here?”

“I was passing by and saw the ambulance. I got worried.”

“False alarm.”

Ophelia surveyed the room. She hadn’t been in Kyle’s house for nearly eight years, but what she remembered still looked the same. Basic furniture, scarred wood floors, spartan décor, and the usual quirky characteristics of an old farmhouse. The walls were thick with various built-ins, a Dutch door led to the kitchen, and the drafty, high ceilings echoed their voices. Her practiced eye also surmised Patrick hadn’t cleaned in weeks—it was obvious from the dust and clutter. Empty boxes of prepared foods littered the kitchen counters, and dirty mugs stuffed the sink that she could see.

“Ever think of bringing in some help?” she asked, trying to sound casual. She steeled herself for an angry outburst and swore she’d leave if he lost his temper. She’d done her Good Samaritan thing. Kyle’s father didn’t need anything else from her.

Instead, he nodded. “I did. Hired a local girl for a while to do light cleanup, but most of the time she didn’t show. College students aren’t the most dependable.”

“What about meals? Are you eating?”

“Sure. Got my freezer stocked full of meals, even veggies.”

She winced. His diet was packed with sodium and preservatives. Definitely not heart healthy.

Not her problem.

“Okay, as long as you have what you need. I better get back to the inn. You should rest today.”

“I will.”

Uneasy just leaving him, she scooted toward the door and tried to tell herself he’d be fine.

Why did the silence sound so lonely? Did he have anyone who cared enough to check in on him?

“Listen, if you need anything, give me a call. I’m right down the road.”

“Okay.”

She stepped outside the door and glanced back. Head tipped back, eyes nearly closed, his body seemed half the size she remembered when she was young. He was no longer a fierce monster who consistently hurt Kyle and refused to be social with her family. Suddenly, he was just an old man alone in a house with no one. His choices had finally caught up with him.

She waited for the surge of emotion that would tell her he was getting justice, but it was eerily absent as she got to her car. She slid into the driver’s seat, trying to push the image of Patrick’s face out of her mind.

She was avoiding him.

Kyle cracked his knuckles and stretched his neck side to side. Dinner had been perfect. Reconnecting with Ethan and Harper was special, and Mia was now part of their inner circle. And cooking with Ophelia made him realize how much he’d missed her.

He figured he’d collect on his dinner date debt and keep things moving forward. He already knew he wanted to go to Crystal’s—a fabulous steakhouse with intimate décor. Unfortunately, he’d already mentioned the date twice and she’d waved him off, citing her calendar as too busy.

He rubbed his head and pondered his next move. He’d tried to talk to her various times, but she was back to her chilly, distant self. She just kept asking him about the damn lawyers and if he’d made a choice.

Yeah, he had.

He chose neither.

No lawyers. No papers. No divorce. But he needed to ease her into the idea.

Maybe he could use the whole divorce mess to arrange more time with her. It might be the only excuse that would get her to sit down and talk. An evil plan, yes. But necessary?

Yes.

He looked back at the last chapter and did a quick read-through. The shiver that raced down his spine told him the truth.

It was good. Really good.

Once he’d given up on writing it as a screenplay, the story had begun to flow. He’d never reached a level of raw emotion in his work like this. It was as if he were reaching deeper, fleshing out characters instead of moving them frantically forward to deliver a stunning plot.

The characters were the plot, along with their emotions. He was showing how they affect everyone and drive decisions that could end up haunting you forever.