Page 53 of Best Kept Secret (The New York Thunder #3)

LOGAN

“ A re you sure you want to do this?”

I’m pulled from my intense focus on the road ahead, glancing at Millie in the passenger seat.

She offers me a soft smile, her hand gently squeezing my thigh in that way she does to try and calm me, and it’s only then that I realize just how tight my grip is on the steering wheel, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath for I don’t even know how long.

I relax as best as I can, releasing a steady breath, nodding once. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“I’m proud of you, Logan.”

I glance at her to see her soft, reassuring smile, and it immediately eases the tension in my chest. Placing my hand over hers on my thigh, I give her a squeeze.

When I see the sign for the exit up ahead, my heart lurches up and into the back of my throat.

Flicking on the blinker, I turn off the 208, my pulse hammering.

There are so many horrible thoughts racing through my mind.

So many things I’m imagining going wrong.

But I couldn’t sleep last night. I know I need to do this.

Even if only to make myself feel better, I need this, and I’m so fucking grateful that I have my girl by my side .

Ten minutes later, I pull up to the curb and shut off the engine. As silence settles through the car, I close my eyes and count to three, steeling myself.

“Are you ready?” Millie asks carefully.

I nod once, unfastening my seatbelt and, grabbing the envelope from the center console, I tuck it into my pocket and hop out of the car.

Opening Millie’s door, she steps up onto the curb and takes in the house, an awed gasp falling from her lips as she takes my proffered hand.

“This is where you grew up?”

“Yep,” is all I can manage as I lead her up the path to the front door. Fuck, my chest feels like it’s on fire.

I press the doorbell and wait, my heart racing, thumping hard in my ears as I stare at the black door.

After a few moments, the latch clicks and the door opens, my father appearing in the doorway.

His eyes dart from me, to Millie, down to our joined hands, and back to me, an unreadable expression on his face.

With a deep breath, I lift my chin a little higher, my gaze unwavering as I say, “I’m sorry for punching you.”

Dad’s hairline shifts in that way that tells me he’s shocked by my apology. His throat works with a rough swallow, and he looks back over his shoulder. “Do you w-want to come in?” he stammers, clearing his throat, another tell that I’ve rendered his inner-narcissist shocked.

I glance at Millie, and she offers me a small, encouraging smile, squeezing my hand. Looking at my father, I nod, and we walk inside after him.

The foyer looks exactly the same as I remember.

I haven’t been inside this house in years.

Not since my mom was transferred to Treetops.

But this place hasn’t changed at all. The photos still hang on the wall lining the stairs, the silk flowers still sit in the vases dotted about.

It’s like stepping back in time, and it’s unnerving because I always thought I’d hate coming back here, but there’s an unexpected sense of peace that comes over me the longer I stand in my childhood home.

Maybe it’s because this was where we all existed together.

And sure, there weren’t always happy days, but we were, once upon a time, a family in this house, with Thanksgivings and Christmases and birthdays.

My father moves aside, looking down at Millie, and I feel the need to step in between them. I don’t know why. It’s my protective instinct. But before I can move, Millie smiles up at him, holding her hand out.

“Hi, I’m Millie.”

Fuck, she is too damn sweet.

Dad glances at me quickly before shaking her extended hand, his smile tentative yet genuine as he introduces himself. “Geoff Cullen.”

“This is a beautiful house, Mr. Cullen,” Millie says, looking around the grand foyer.

“Please, call me Geoff,” he insists, his smile charming.

“Afraid I can’t do that, sir.” Millie grins. “I was raised in Texas.”

With a low chuckle, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his khakis, rocking nervously on his feet. “This place is probably a bit big for just me, but—” His gaze flits to mine as he continues, “I can’t find it in me to downsize.”

Millie’s smile falters, and she looks at me, placing her hand on my back and giving me a gentle push.

“So, um,” I begin, clearing my throat. Folding my arms across my chest, I look down, avoiding his eyes. “I was thinking maybe we should talk.” I lift my gaze in time to see a flash of relief in my father’s eyes, his broad shoulders dropping a touch.

“Come on in.” He juts his chin indicating the sitting room to the left of the foyer.

I rub my hands together and walk through the archway, taking a seat on one of the sofas. Millie sits down next to me and places her hand on my knee, and I flash her a tight smile, telling her with my eyes that I’m so damn thankful that she’s here. She winks at me, and my racing heart eases some .

My father takes a seat on the sofa opposite us, crossing one leg over the other, and for a long moment we just sit here staring at one another, the tension between us thick and obvious, uneasy like a timebomb that’s going to blow if it’s not disarmed.

“Do you know what my first memory of you is?” I ask, my voice low and a little pitchy, raw with emotion.

Dad arches a brow but says nothing, waiting.

“When I was, like, four…” I shake my head thinking back to the moment that lives so vividly in my head.

“We were all at the rink. I was just messing around, and you were helping Levi with his stickwork. And I shot a puck straight past you guys, all the way to the back of the net from the blue line. I was four, and I was so damn excited, doing my own little celly.” I shake my head, sniffing a laugh.

“But instead of cheering me on, or showing any kind of encouragement, you told me to go sit out on the side because I was getting in the way.”

Dad looks down a moment, not saying anything, barely showing any semblance of recognition let alone regret. So, grabbing Millie’s hand and linking my fingers through hers, I continue.

“And then when we were playing juniors, and I scored my first game winning goal, but you missed it because you were too busy yelling at Levi for something he did wrong.” I narrow my eyes when my father’s gaze meets mine.

“I have so many memories of you from when we were kids, and none of them are good. Not even one. I was like a second-class citizen to you. And I wouldn’t even care if I knew it was because you treated Levi like a fucking king.

But you didn’t. You treated him worse. The constant pressure you put on him was borderline abusive.

Man, sometimes I wanted nothing more than to at least be on your radar, but then I’d see what you’d do or say to Levi, and I was fucking glad you ignored me. ”

He swallows. Hard. Something flickering in his eyes, like he might finally be starting to get it.

With a sideways glance at Millie, I see her eyes shine with emotion despite the gentle smile toying with her lips.

She nods at me, and I reach into the pocket of my jeans, pulling out the folded-up envelope.

Taking a moment, I look down at it, at my name and this very address scrawled across the front in my brother’s messy-ass handwriting.

It used to be white. Now, it’s sepia, worn at the edges like it could tear if handled the wrong way.

Hesitating a moment, I glance across at my father before handing it to him.

He looks from it to me and back again, hesitating before reaching over and taking it, and when realization of what he’s holding dawns on him, he releases a heavy, shuddering breath, dragging a hand down his face.

And, for the first time, I see just how old he’s gotten.

Taking the letter out of the envelope, he doesn’t read it for a long moment, just stares at it, tears welling in his eyes as he trails a finger over the ink. Then, shifting in his seat, he clears his throat, glancing at me momentarily before reading the words.

I’ve read it so many times, I know exactly what that letter says.

Word for word. It’s been ingrained into my memory where I’m sure it’ll stay forever.

I could recite every single word, every syllable, every goddamn comma, and I still remember exactly how I felt the very first time I read it.

Shock. Sadness. Betrayal. Anger. And as I watch my father read Levi’s final words for the very first time, six years after he wrote them, I feel those same emotions all over again, my own tears stinging the backs of my eyes.

A few minutes pass and the silence is loud. Deafening.

Sighing heavily, Dad sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees and, with shaky hands, he folds the letter, tucking it carefully back into the envelope before staring down at it for another long moment, his face void of any and all expression.

But then suddenly, and totally out of character for Geoff Cullen, a sob bubbles out of his throat, anguish twisting his features.

He buries his head in his hands, broad shoulders heaving with the cries that rip through him .

I just sit there, staring at him as he falls apart for the first time. I’ve never seen him cry. Never. Not when Levi died, not at his funeral, never. He’s always been so big and strong, stoic to a fault. Seeing him like this is confronting to say the least.

From my periphery, I see Millie quickly swipe at her cheeks, and I place my hand on her knee, comforting her as I continue watching my father, making no effort to console him because yes, he deserves this, but in a fucked-up way I think he also kind of needs this.

“Oh, Logan,” he finally manages through a stifled sob, sniffling and wiping his tear-streaked cheeks as he looks up at me.

“Son, I’m… I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head, looking down at the envelope still in his trembling hand.

“I’m sorry for not being the father you and your brother deserved.

I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t enough.

But mostly I’m sorry that you’ve had to carry this for…

six years.” He holds the letter in the air, shaking his head.

“I didn’t come here for an apology,” I say flatly.

Dad sniffles again, scrubbing a hand over his face again and nodding.

“I just… I wanted you to know the truth. Not because I wanted to hurt you. I mean, I did… yesterday… but then I realized that’s not what Levi would’ve wanted, and I felt like shit all night.” I swallow around the wedge of emotion clogging my throat. “I came here because I needed this.”

“Will you ever be able to forgive me?” Dad asks, his voice cracking.

I consider his question long and hard, and as I look into his eyes, for the first time in my adult life, I spot something that resembles remorse, and I know it’s my time to be the bigger man. “I forgive you.”

His face cracks again, and he rubs his chin. “Do you think we can ever… have a relationship?”

I shrug a shoulder. “Maybe. With time. I don’t know. ”

He nods once, looking down at the letter again before reaching over and handing it to me, but I shake my head.

“I don’t want it,” I say thickly. “I’ve held onto that for six years. You can do with it whatever you feel like you need to.” I glance at Millie, my gaze flitting between her watery eyes, and I smile at her. “It’s time for me to finally move on.”

She squeezes my hand, and I see the telltale glint of fresh tears well in her eyes.

“I’m happy for you,” my father croaks.

I turn back to see him watching me, a small, contrite smile ghosting his lips. “And, believe it or not, I only ever wanted was best for you. And for Levi. I just had a really… shitty way of showing it.”

I nod.

“You look happy.” He tilts his head in Millie’s direction.

“Happiest I’ve ever been,” I say, looking at my girl.