Page 7 of Dr. Stone (Billionaires’ Club #9)
SEVEN
Andie
After getting home early from my crazy one-nighter, I smiled when I saw how much brighter and beautiful my condo appeared to be again.
I wasn’t sure if having a man worship my body all night long had reignited my spark again, or if it was just the act of getting out and doing something wild, crazy, and completely unlike me.
Who knew, who cared? Whichever it was, it’d served the purpose I’d set out to accomplish far better than I had planned.
I tossed my keys on the counter, jumped in the shower, and giddily freshened up before making the hour-and-a-half drive to Santa Barbara to pick up my son.
After a short nap, feeling like a million bucks, I slid into my Porsche 911, dropped the top, and headed up the coast on a perfectly warm, sunny day. Everything looked bright and vibrant, matching the way I felt inside.
The dark clouds of depression were gone. I couldn’t wait to see Brandon. From here on out, he would see a strong woman who fought for her life and his, not someone letting the weight of the world dull her spirit.
“Baby girl,” my mom said as I walked through the charming beachfront cottage they’d owned since I was a child. “Did you have a—” she stopped, stepped back, and framed my face with her hands. “You look radiant. You look…happy?”
“You say that as if you’re questioning whether you can trust my smile,” I chuckled and hugged the petite woman I loved with all my heart. “I think I’m finally back, Momma,” I said, feeling a tear slip out of the corner of my eye.
She rubbed my back before pulling away. “Dad and I knew you’d bounce out of this. I figured it would take something to jar you out of it, but we knew it would happen eventually.”
I smiled. “And here we are,” I said, somewhat nervously.
If only my religious mother knew what I’d done to climb out of the hole I’d been living in since Jonathan left me like he did.
She smiled in that sweet, unmistakable way, her dark bob framing a face that radiated warmth.
Barely four foot nine and delicate in build, she somehow filled every room she entered.
Her laugh was quick and infectious, the kind that made strangers smile without knowing why.
She gave without keeping score, loved without hesitation, and had a way of making you feel like the only person in the world.
My dad, Mr. Harry Miller of Marina Vista Yachts—the brokerage he built and lived for—was her polar opposite.
Where Mom sparkled, Dad was steady. It pained him to see his only daughter in despair, though he’d never say so outright.
He wasn’t one for big displays of emotion; silence was his way of caring, even if it didn’t always land that way.
I took after him in that, though I’d inherited just enough of Mom’s openhearted nature to make life interesting to navigate.
“So? Are you going to tell me what brought you out of this depression? You know I’ve had the church praying for you,” she questioned, looking at me like she was waiting to hear a secret.
“I really have no idea,” I lied. My mother, the quintessential kindergarten Sunday school teacher and devout choir member, did not need the details about how those prayers were answered.
“I just had a really fun night with Ashley and her friends on their beautiful yacht,” I said. Technically true. I’d been having a great time with the ladies long before the evening took a more athletic turn.
“Honestly, I don’t even care what turned things around for you. I’m just thrilled something did,” she said, guiding me through my childhood home. “Let’s sit out on the back porch and enjoy some fresh air while we wait for Dad and Brandon to get home. Do you want some hot tea, honey?”
“I’d love some,” I said, noticing tears of happiness well in Mom’s eyes before she turned toward the kitchen to put on the kettle, just like she always did when I was a kid. Some things never change, and thank God for that.
Mom and Dad’s cottage was a single-story retreat along the sunlit shores of Santa Barbara, the kind of place that felt pulled from a seaside daydream. Weathered cedar shingles, softened by a patina of sea salt, gave it a timeless warmth.
I had countless memories here, from Mom brewing tea to teaching me to make spaghetti, to Easter egg hunts in the yard and Halloweens that smelled like caramel apples. I’d been lucky to grow up in such a loving home with parents who cared deeply, even if they sometimes drove me nuts.
Still, even here, the thought of Jace had a way of slipping in, bringing with it the memory of his smile and everything about last night, every look, every touch, every breathless moment.
I settled into one of the wicker rocking chairs on the wraparound porch, identical to the others lined up in a row.
The white wooden shutters framed the windows perfectly, a finishing touch my dad had installed as a Mother’s Day surprise.
He had stayed up all night putting them in, and I’m pretty sure they were the only material gift that ever made Mom cry happy tears.
Beyond their manicured backyard, the sparkling ocean stretched to the horizon.
I’d lost track of how many times I’d walked through the little wooden gate, stepped off the lush green lawn, and onto warm sand to build castles between Mom’s Adirondack chairs.
If childhood had a postcard, mine was right here.
For the first time in too long, I felt like I was stepping back into it—with a certain blue-eyed doctor still tugging at my thoughts, refusing to let go no matter how far away he was.
“Here you go. It’s still hot,” Mom said, sitting down and taking in her home’s glorious views. “Not a day that goes by that I don’t sit out here appreciating how blessed we are to have this home.”
I smiled. “How was Brandon this weekend?” I asked. “I know it’s not?—”
“Stop,” she said, knowing I hated inconveniencing my parents with my one-year-old son. “You always act like he’s a burden to your Dad and me.”
“Well, Mom,” I answered, “he is my responsibility. I decided to raise him on my own, and so I feel bad when you and Dad take him.”
“You feel bad that we get the privilege of having our adorable grandson to ourselves so that our daughter can live her life a little?”
“I guess so,” I said.
She chuckled. “I understand how you might feel, but knock it off,” she said.
“Don’t you dare feel guilty for enjoying yourself.
You need time to get out occasionally,” she gave me that mom look, and I chuckled.
“Besides, your father and I told you we would be here for you all the way. And how many grandparents do you know who wouldn’t jump at the chance to be with their grandchildren?
We would kidnap him if we could, you know,” she winked and sipped her tea.
“I know I’ve been out of it for a while now,” I acknowledged, “and I can’t thank you enough for the times you have come down to help me. I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you.”
Tears streamed out of my eyes as soon as I said it, like a dam had burst. I certainly didn’t see this coming.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said. “Let’s go take a walk along the shore.”
She took my tea and hers and set them both on the balcony ledge. We walked arm-in-arm down through the picket fence gate and toward the wet sand where the waves caressed the shoreline.
Both of us had removed our shoes and left them where they wouldn’t get wet and continued, feeling the wet sand squish under our toes.
“I have no idea where those tears came from,” I said, sniffing and looking towards the waves.
Mom’s hand covered mine resting in the bend of her arm, and I leaned my head on her shoulder, truly needing my mother for the first time since I’d pushed everyone away.
We continued to walk. “I know exactly where it came from, honey,” she answered. “You’ve been pushing everything down, unwilling to talk about how hurt you’ve been. You were always like that, even as a little girl.”
“I know,” I answered, knowing she was right.
I hated feeling emotions when they hurt.
“The thing is this, sweetie,” she said. “You must feel those painful emotions to heal from them and move forward. It seems you’re doing that now, or at least you’ve allowed yourself to crack open a bit. You mustn’t close yourself off again.”
“I know,” I answered, a bit scared that these happy feelings would be gone when I woke up the next morning.
Mom stopped and turned me to face her. “Listen,” her eyes grew more somber, “you will have highs and lows after what you’ve been through with that cowardly fool—” She stopped herself, and for the first time in my life I thought my mom might curse, but alas, I suppose her harshest words about that bastard were cowardly fool .
“You will get through this just as I got through my own grief after having all those miscarriages before I was blessed with you. If I didn’t have your father to help me through those losses, I am sure that you wouldn’t be here. I probably wouldn’t either.”
“You’ve never talked about it,” I said, feeling sad for my mom. She’d always wanted a bunch of kids and would’ve been the happiest woman on the planet raising a tribe.
“Well, it’s not because I didn’t trust you with the information, but even after all these years, it’s still difficult to think about.
I fell into a deep despair, and I became terrified of getting pregnant again because I just knew I couldn’t bear another loss. So, I told your father no more trying.”
“How did you manage to conceive me, then?”
“Little did I know I was already pregnant with you when I made that proclamation. Your father was understanding of my wishes not to try again, and he was already looking into adoption when I found out for sure. I was terrified when I got the news. We both were, but then came you…”
“Then came me,” I smiled.
“Yes,” she smiled. “The biggest blessing we could ever ask for, and now we’re blessed with beautiful Brandon because of you, too.
I know in my heart there is an amazing life ahead of you and Brandon, so you must start living it.
” She paused for a moment before continuing. “I wanted to run something by you.”
“Okay,” I said, wondering where this was going. “What is it?”
“Well, your Dad and I have been thinking,” she started, “and if you’re okay with the idea, we want to offer to take Brandon a couple of weekends out of the month to allow you some space to breathe and get out and live a little.
We’ve talked about this for a few months, hoping to give you some time to get out of your funk, but it looks like you’ve popped out of that sucker and are ready to hit the ground running,” she laughed.
“You don’t need to watch him that often, but since you’ve offered, maybe now I won’t feel like I’m burdening you when I ask,” I chuckled.
“Never ever a burden, my darling,” she said. “We love having precious baby time again.”
“I love you, Momma,” I said, hugging her, grateful I had her when I needed her most.
Her grief was different from mine, but hearing her share her intimate stories was healing. The love she poured into me filled every empty space, and I was determined to give that same love to my son.
I’d spent too much time in the dark. No more. I promised myself that no matter how hard life got, I’d keep my head up, fight, and find our silver lining.