Graham nodded. “Listen, I can’t promise that no one else will hop on, but I can promise they’ll get no support from me. And with you no longer a suspect, the tabloids will back off. I predict they lose interest.”

“Thank you,” Jackson said, but the simple formality of his words couldn’t convey the extent of his relief. “And congratulations.”

Graham’s face broke into the smile that made him a household name. “Thanks. It’s pretty amazing, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“Fatherhood. It changes fucking everything.”

“Yeah,” Jackson said softly. “It does.”

A few minutes later, the elevator doors closed behind Graham, and Rachel let out a long sigh. “Wow.”

Jackson smiled indulgently. Considering she’d recently been burned by Trent’s deception, it was nice she’d gotten a celebrity treat. “Is Damien in?”

“Sorry, no. Do you want me to leave a message?”

Jackson shook his head. “No. I’ll tell him later.” He headed back to the elevator bank, fully intending to take the express to the apartment. Instead, he got into the regular car and descended to the parking garage. His mind was whirring as he strode to his Porsche. They were cut from the same cloth, Sylvia’s father and Jeremiah Stark. But at least Sylvia’s dad was trying to mend what he destroyed, even if murder was a rather dramatic way to apologize.

But not Jeremiah. He just kept hacking away at Jackson’s and Damien’s lives, as if they were gemstones and he was trying to mine a sliver, not caring that he was damaging the whole.

That was something Jackson was damn sure he wouldn’t do as a father. He’d make mistakes as a parent, sure. But he wouldn’t repeat his father’s. Sylvia knew that—he was one hundred percent certain that she believed in his ability to raise his child.

So why the hell couldn’t she see that in herself?

He was already out of the parking garage before he realized that his destination was Santa Monica. He’d been trying to give her space, but he was done. He wanted her. He needed her.

And he was damn sure she needed him.

Time to go bring back the woman he was going to marry. Time to convince her that she should stay. That this would work.

Because, dammit, he wasn’t going to lose her again.

thirty

I don’t actually know how I got here, but instead of going home after leaving my father, I went to Van Nuys and to the warehouse where Reed ran one of the studios where he so often photographed me.

Now I’m sitting in the parking lot in my Nissan, just staring at those nondescript, weathered walls that seem so dull. And I can’t help but wonder what is going on behind them now. For that matter, who knows what’s really going on behind any walls? Or inside anyone’s head?

I don’t know what my father was thinking back then, but I believe him now. His regret is real, his overture legitimate. I will never be as close to him as Jackson will be to Ronnie, but despite the fact that I never would have believed it before, I really do want to try and heal. To take his apology and his retreat and turn it around, box it up, and move past it.

I slide the car back into drive, not entirely certain why I came at all. Closure? Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to prove to myself that this wasn’t actually hell. That there was no fire and brimstone, and that any of the demons who live here are in my mind—and I can defeat them.

I get back on the highway and head toward Santa Monica, but I take a detour into Brentwood and the house we lived in when I was a kid. This was where I started my hobby of photographing houses, because I couldn’t believe that a house with such a perfect exterior held such horrible secrets. It was nothing but a facade, and I wondered if the rest of the houses I saw around the city were as well.

The house Jackson will build in the Palisades won’t be, though. There will be love—and honesty. And I think that’s what’s most important.

I think about waking up there with Jackson beside me. About Ronnie rushing in and bouncing on the bed. About sitting on a long balcony and sipping coffee in the morning and wine in the evening and watching the ocean that is spread out to infinity.

I think about a little girl and a puppy and the man that I love.

I want that. Oh, god, how I want it.

I’m still scared, but I’ll learn what to do. I won’t be like my mom who checks out when it gets tough. Or my dad who waits decades to try to remedy a mistake or to protect a child.

It won’t be easy. I’ll stumble.

But with Jackson to catch me it will be okay.