“We didn’t hurt her,” Beau says.
“You threatened her. You disabled the elevator so she couldn’t get away from you. Believe me. I’ll make charges stick.”
“Fuck you,” Peter says.
“Shut up, Peter,” his father commands. “We’ll just forget this happened.”
“I’m afraid not,” Braden says. “The cops are already on their way. You’re both going to be arrested.”
“We didn’t hurt anyone,” Peter says.
“You scared Skye. You threatened my doorman, and you held Skye and me at gunpoint. Plus, you’ve been drugging women for years.”
“You can’t prove that.”
“I can. Ms. Logan and Ms. Davis are both willing to press charges against you”—he eyes Peter—“and Mr. Ramirez. But Mr. Ramirez will walk. You want to know why?”
Peter looks like he’s about to hurl, but Beau remains calm. On the outside, at least.
“Probably because he hasn’t done anything,” Beau says.
“To the contrary. I approached him after Ms. Logan was hospitalized. All it took was a little prodding and he sang like a coloratura soprano. How he and your son drugged Ms. Logan and Ms. Davis with substances you provided them. How you’ve been drugging clients for years to get them to sign contracts with your firm.”
“You can’t prove any of that.”
“I can,” Braden says, “and I will.”
“What do you even care?” Peter demands. “You have everything. Why don’t you just stay out of our lives!”
“I did, for many years. I shouldn’t have, but I did. Until it hit close to home. Tessa Logan and Betsy Davis are Skye’s friends, and consequently they’re important to me.” He looks down at me. “I’m sorry it took me so long to put a stop to this. If I’d done it when I first suspected, Tessa and Betsy wouldn’t have been in any position to be taken advantage of.”
“It’s not your fault,” I tell him. “No one asked you to save the world.”
“That’s what I’ve always told myself. But I was wrong. What good is my fortune if I don’t use it to help others?”
Peter drops to the floor. “Please. It’s all my dad. I never wanted to do any of this. But he—”
“Get up, you sniveling piece of shit.” Beau scoffs. “I’m embarrassed to have you for a son.”
As angry as I am, I can’t help feeling sorry for Peter in that moment. Being raised by Beau Reardon couldn’t have been any kind of picnic.
Sirens blare in the distance, and two patrol cars pull up to the building. Five blues enter, and Beau and Peter are cuffed and charged, their Miranda rights read.
Everything passes in a blur as the cops take both Beau and Peter away.
Finally, when they’re gone, I step out of Braden’s arms, but then nearly fall. He steadies me quickly.
“You okay?”
“No,” I say. “Not even a little bit.”
“You seemed so calm.”
“It was an act, Braden. They had me cornered. I didn’t know what to do. I’m so glad you showed up.”
“I had a feeling Beau wouldn’t take this lying down. But I underestimated him. I figured he’d come directly to me.”
“Why? He’s obviously been exploiting women for years.”
“Not just women. He uses the drugs to get what he wants in business as well.”
“He’s a coward.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Braden says. “I won’t make this mistake again. He found my Achilles’ heel. I’m so sorry to put you through this, Skye.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“I know you will. You’re strong. The strongest woman I’ve ever known. Well, you’re tied, anyway.”
“Oh? Tied with whom.”
He exhales slowly. “With my mother, Skye. You’re tied with my mother.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Back at Braden’s place, he pours a bourbon for each of us.
I take a sip, letting the smoky liquor burn my throat. It’s a good burn. A burn I need at the moment.
My heart is still thumping from having a gun pointed at me.
I always thought I could imagine what that might feel like. I was wrong. It’s terror. Sheer terror. Your life doesn’t flash before your eyes. All you see is fear. Fear with its ugly black-and-red head, laughing at you in a satanic, mocking way.
I don’t want to experience that again any time soon. Like ever.
“I’ll always protect you,” Braden says.
“I know.” And I believe him. I know he’ll always try. And I know doubly that if he ever failed, he’d never forgive himself.
And with that thought, I know something about his mother.
“You blame yourself,” I murmur. “Not just for feeling repulsed by her scars when you were a little boy. You blame yourself for her death.”
“Yes. I do. I always will.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” I don’t know what happened, but already I know it wasn’t his fault. Braden was six years old. Braden could never be at fault. I know that as well as I know my own name, Skye Margaret Manning.
“She survived the fire,” I say. “She was strong.”
“She was. She made sure Ben and I got to safety.”
“Any mother would save her child first.”
“I know. But she was never the same. Even though she was still beautiful.”
“I’m sure she was, if she was your mother.”
He simply nods.
“You don’t have to tell me, Braden.”
“No. I want to. It’s time.” He shakes his head. “I’ve never told this story to anyone.”
I smile. “Then I’m honored.”
“I haven’t even told my therapist.”
“I’m doubly honored.”
He draws in a deep breath. “She and my father stayed together, and he did get sober. He tried, but he wasn’t cut out for marriage, really. In his way, my father loved her.”
I nod.
“But she was never the same after the fire. She fell into depression.”