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She grinned at me before saying, “No, I’ll need a place to crash after I buy my yacht.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Kierra
Tanerélle crooned softly in the background as I performed an unnecessary tune-up on Rory’s bike. I’d been in a daze since leaving Jonathan’s office, unable to wrap my head around the fact that I was a multi-millionaire. Being the empath that Jonathan was, he offered to take a half day and pick up the girls from Simone and the boys from school. He also volunteered to make dinner and help with bath time. I took him up on his offer, and I’ve been in the garage ever since.
“We won today, baby,” I whispered. “It’s over, and I feel like shit because I almost gave up. Thank you for sending Jonathan my way.”
Knocking at the garage door interrupted me. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I wanted to check in and figured you could use some coffee.”
I smiled at him faintly and wiped my hands on a rag I kept in the back pockets of my coveralls.
“What time is it?”
“A little after 10:30.”
I snorted. “It’s funny.”
“What’s funny?” he asked, softening his voice as he approached me.
“Rory used to do the same thing. He’d lose track of time, and I’d come shuffling into the garage with his dinner that I had to reheat and a beer. Thank you,” I said, accepting the coffee mug.
“No, thank you for doing the oil changes on the vehicles.”
“You’re welcome. It was no sweat off my back.”
“Maybe not,” he murmured, wiping at what I assumed was oil I smudged on my face with his thumb. “But I appreciate it all the same. How much longer will you be out here?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m so keyed up right now. I probably shouldn’t be drinking this.”
“You shouldn’t. That’s why it’s decaf,” Jonathan remarked with a soft smirk.
“Oh, you’re good.”
We shared a laugh, but it died down shortly, and awkward silence replaced it.
“Do you want to talk about what you’re feeling?”
“I don’t know what I’m feeling if I’m being honest. I’m in limbo—stuck in the middle of happiness and something else,” I confessed.
“Survivor’s guilt.”
There goes that pesky phrase again.
“I remember a client who won a few million against a negligent hotel who failed to complete maintenance on their elevator in a timely manner. Her husband died when it plummeted from the 12th floor. She received her settlement and donated every last penny. She called it “blood money” and said she didn’t want anything to do with it because it couldn’t bring her husband back. She said all that money would’ve been wasted on her as she sat in a big, fancy house and cried all day. She felt it was better to give it away and make a difference in as many lives as possible.”
I nodded. I could understand the widow’s position.
“Rory had insecurity issues surrounding his self-worth because of being an orphan. He used to tell me, ‘Kierra, I ain’t worth much, but I can love you.’ His love was worth more than $18 million, and I hope he knew that.”
“Well, if you treat me only a small fraction of how you treated Rory, then trust me, he knew.” I placed the mug on the workbench and returned to the bike. “I’ll leave you to it,” Jonathan said before strolling out of the garage, leaving me in my silence as Tanerélle’s mesmerizing voice filled the space. I didn’t mean to be cold, but what else was there to say?
I continued working in the garage for another hour before tiptoeing through the house. I showered, rinsing away all the dirt, grime, and oil down the drain, and sped through my skincare routine before seeking out my solace.
I found Jonathan in his bed, propped against a few pillows, reading a book with his arm casually resting on top of his head. Silently, he closed his book and returned it to the nightstand when I approached. “What are you looking for, Kierra?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, stopping in my tracks.
