Page 46 of Free to Judge (Amaryllis Heritage #2)

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

That night, I don’t know how I made it through. But I’m fairly certain it was being held by my father and being tucked in by my mother. Lying amid my old bedroom, it was an email I received from my mother in the middle of the night that both brought me comfort and shattered my composure.

My darling, Kalie.

I know exactly how you feel right now, and I won’t push you to talk about it.

When you’re ready, know that both your father and I are here for you. In my case, I’m not just able to speak as your mother, but as a woman who has endured a similar agony and heartbreak.

There was a time when I wasn’t sure I’d ever find my way back to our life here. As you know, I was convinced I wouldn’t. On my worst days, while you grew inside me, you became the only light that kept me going.

Let me be there for you when you need that voice to get you through the rough days. When you think you’re ready to come home—like your godfather was for me.

No matter where you go, we’ll always be your home. We’ll be here waiting, armed with all the love you could ever need.

Now. Always. Forever.

I love you, my baby.

Love,

Mama

Her words touched something deep within me, temporarily stemming the bleed on my heart. Her words reminded me of the bond we share as a family and how I needed to not close mine out when they were obviously so stunned on my behalf.

I knew it wouldn’t matter if it was the middle of the night.

I pulled up our cousin’s chat after several hours of locking away the initial agony and found the fortitude to FaceTime Grace, Laura, Nic, and my sisters.

After some initial grumbles about the late hour, I explained to them what had happened with Declan.

I also let them know I was trying to figure out where to go to get a break.

It was Nic who came up with the solution and set about getting the plan in motion. She dropped the call, promising, “I’ll call him right now. I’m certain he’s still on set.”

Not long after, we wrapped with my solemn vow I’d have Mama let them know I was safe. All I really wanted was a few weeks of solitude to lick my wounds, but barring that, what I really needed was to pretend none of the last few months had ever occurred.

Not losing faith that Nic would get ahold of her brother, I forged ahead with my plans. Sometime after dawn, I called my godfather and his husband to stowaway on their corporate jet heading toward the Pacific Northwest that very day.

That’s when I received a thumbs-up from Nic.

Pulling up a contact known only to a precious few, my heart calms and my hands cease trembling. Then, my cousin Peter’s worldwide famous voice is a balm as it holds both fury and concern. “Kalie? What the fuck did this douche canoe do?”

Before I can answer, he asks me a second question.

“More importantly, are you okay?” His loving concern in that simple question breaks the dam I built around my emotions.

A raw sob escapes, one I hadn’t permitted since I hung up on Declan or sent off emails tying my life in Connecticut to a close for the next few weeks.

I fight hard against another sob—until Peter’s anxious tone at the lack of my speaking unravels my restraint completely.

I press a palm hard against my chest, trying to push the anguish back inside long enough for my voice to emerge, but it fails.

With the dam burst, I struggle past the relentless pain, unable to shift into the anger and betrayal I know should be roiling inside me. But I’m not there.

Not yet.

I barely catch a breath when Peter’s voice and his words finally penetrate. “I’m on my way.”

“No,” I croak, my voice raspy with sorrow.

There is a pause, and then he asks, “Are you coming to me?”

“I want to, yes.”

“I’m supposed to be filming in Banff for the next few weeks.”

“All the better. Can you book my room under your name?” I plead, desperate to eliminate any trail for Declan to follow.

“Yes.” He responds without a moment’s hesitation. “What else do you need?”

“Mama and Dad will give me money. If I go through it, I won’t be able to pull out any cash or use my cards.”

He scoffs, “Please. As if that’s an issue.”

“Right.” To me, Peter will always be my annoying younger cousin who attracts too many women for his own good—at least according to his mother, Aunt Corinna. To the rest of the world, he’s celebrity chef Peter Freeman, poised to inherit billions.

“How are you getting here?”

“Uncle Ryan and Uncle Jared are flying to Singapore. They’re refueling in Seattle,” I explain.

“Good. Catch a ride with them. I’ll meet you at the airport. Then we’ll drive over the border, and you can vanish for a few weeks.” Cheekily, because he knows it will bring a reluctant smile to my face, he asks, “Think I can get a ride on the plane home when you head back East?”

“S-sure.” I inhale deeply, trying to keep the tears at bay, but it’s not enough. Another sob rips through me, leaving room for an aching river of sorrow.

“Hey, no tears are to be shed for assholes,” he admonishes softly.

“That’s all he left me with, Pete,” I confess.

After a brief silence, he growls, “When do you get in?”

I close my eyes and whisper, “Tomorrow.”

“Good. Not enough time for me to fly my ass back home and commit homicide,” he threatens half-heartedly.

“You don’t even know what’s going on.”

His voice is as smooth as the Chantilly cream he often uses in his cooking. “But someone will text me soon enough, won’t they? I’m certain of it.”

I exhale a shaky breath. He’s right—once my mother shares with her siblings where I’m headed and why, Peter will be provided with every detail they think can help mend my heart.

Before I give much more thought to logistics, Peter’s next words remind me why I have to start healing from these sharp, brutal wounds. “You don’t have to be anyone here, Kalie. Whatever you need—space, love, or even someone to let out all the hurt—I’ve got you.”

My throat clenches tight, but I manage, “Thanks, Pete.”

“Always. You’d do the same for me.”

After the call ends, I stare down at my cell.

My recently changed backdrop shows an image of me and Declan I took the night when I went selfie crazy on my couch.

It was what I hoped was a glimpse into our future, even if it was only a sliver of our reality.

In such a short time, I grew accustomed to having his presence in my life, yet now it feels completely wrong. A heavy weight settles over my chest.

Stop hesitating, I chide myself silently.

I switch the background to a cherished picture of me, Laura, and Grace from Laura’s engagement party. With one last act of finality, I set an away message on my personal email explaining that I will be unreachable indefinitely, and then I move on to the most daunting of tasks.

Acceptance.

Though I had sworn to my godfather and his husband I’d nap in the rear cabin of the Lockwood Industries jet, my mind is relentlessly replaying the painful episode of seeing those photos.

My fingers dig frantically into the soft, luxurious sheets, as if trying to anchor me against the storm raging inside.

Was I just someone to hold him tethered to this reality? Was I just a person to protect? Was sleeping with me a convenience?

I allow myself to replay every word of his whispered, honeyed lies and future promises.

I let him weave a spell around me of fascination—leaving me open to whatever fabrication he wanted to ply me with.

I shouldn’t be surprised—he’s a master. Then again, he never said anything to the contrary.

It was me who convinced myself I meant something unique to him.

I was wrong.

A tear drips down my cheek despite my clenched jaw, a quiet betrayal of my personal strength. I let him in with a détente, but I have no one to blame for not resisting him. In the end, I still refuse to call love weak. After all, I stand as a testament to its strength and power.

Instead, I focus on the betrayal, the insult to who I am as a woman, a person.

How could he touch me as though I were a rare treasure when clearly his words, not mine, brought me to a place where I would assume he wanted more? Instead, I was treated as disposable—a fleeting placeholder in a life that was anything but genuine.

I listened to his journey—a story hard to endure because of how it affected him. I felt the first stirrings in my heart when I realized he was a man like my father—one who sought redemption for love—even if that person was a friend.

I wonder if he’d now walk the same path he did then with his investigation knowing how much he’d hurt someone who didn’t deserve it. With the amount of time he’d been undercover, would he have become the man he swore he wouldn’t?

My stomach churns violently. I yank the covers off and sprint to the tiny en suite before a surge of bile overtakes me, forcing me to heave over the sink.

Gripping the counter, my eyes shut tight as I berate myself for believing Declan’s words—merely seductive lies to drive us to the point his body would have the opportunity to thrust inside mine over and over as we made love.

No, I correct myself bitterly, after he fucked me and I made love to him.

Because if a picture could speak a thousand words, then the image of him with a stripper all over him on Sexy & Social’s website illuminates the fact I was nothing more than a fleeting moment. And I’m worth more than that.

Forcing myself upright, I realize that I’m not responsible for rebuilding the trust Declan shattered. He is, and not just with me. The only thing I’m responsible for is taking back control of what happens next in my life and moving on.

Digging deep for the strength of my amaryllis roots.

After rinsing my mouth and splashing cool water across my face, I crawl back into bed. As sleep slowly begins to claim me, a bittersweet truth unveils itself in the dark. I’m running toward something, just like I always do.

At the end of this finish line, there will be a new beginning where I choose to put myself first.