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I stiffened, too shocked to do anything but stand there.
His warm breath tickled in my ear. “I’m so, so damn sorry, Kendall.”
I pulled back, stunned, and blurted, “What?”
“I overreacted,” he said, his gaze tender on me. “I was such an asshole. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I should have never blamed you for what your father did.”
“Oh…” My brain started to catch up to what he was saying. Unbidden, a slow smile crossed my lips. “You mean… you’re not angry with me?”
His hands slid down my shoulders and arms to catch our fingers together. He looked down at me with a serious expression. “I never really was.”
I gave him a look. “Come on, now.”
“Really,” he insisted. “My anger was always towards Stephen, and I… misdirected it at you. It was stupid and unfair.”
Still a little bit stunned, I drew back and let out a breathless laugh. “I am surprised about how easy this was. I was ready to do anything to make you listen to me.”
“Anything, huh?” Deacon let out a little chuckle and turned to gesture to his cell phone which sat on a nearby table. “I admit, it took a few days to get my head out of my ass. I was just about to arrange a flight back to the resort to beg for your forgiveness.”
My breath caught. “Deacon… there is nothing to forgive.”
“I still need to ask: Would you be willing to give me a second chance?”
I laughed aloud “Yes!” I threw my arms around him in a hug. We kissed, sweet and perfect. The taste of him was like coming home
* * *
Deacon and I eventually moved to a nearby couch. He wrapped one strong arm around my waist and pulled me in. I was happy to sit tucked up against him. We kissed again, soft and languid, taking the time to enjoy each other and the moment.
“Okay,” I said, “now that my brain has kicked back into gear, I have to know: What changed your mind?”
Because I didn’t fully believe that Deacon’s anger had been misplaced. It had been fully justified and I needed to know his thought process to accept his forgiveness… and yes, forgive myself.
“I didn’t realize—No, I didn’t let myself realize that you were so young when everything fell apart. You had no more say in your father’s business than I did at that age.”
“But my mother and I did reap the benefits of what Stephen did,” I said because my damned stupid sense of honor wanted to be completely clear.
I wanted no more chances of mistrust between myself and Deacon ever again.
He nodded. “I know, but my family did the same thing.” He sighed. “The way Stephen cooked the books made it appear like the company was a lot more profitable than it actually had been. I love my father, but he never had an independent third party verify the numbers. I know he blamed himself for that, until the end.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” I said. “He just trusted the wrong person.”
“He did, and I almost made the same mistake—except I mistrusted the wrong person,” Deacon said. “I knew deep down inside as soon as I left that I had made the biggest mistake of my life, but I didn’t want to admit that to myself. Kendall,” he cupped my cheek, “I should have never been so cold or dismissed you like that.”
“You’d just received one hell of a shock.” My lips pressed together at the terrible memory. “And I meant what I said, too. I should have told you about my past as soon as I put two and two together, but I was afraid—I’ve let fear guide me for so long that I wasn’t sure how else to act.”
His arm tightened around me. “What are you afraid of?” he asked.
I snorted. “A lot of things: That people would think I was just as guilty as my father. That the media would find me again and make me relive the trial, and all the baggage that came along with it. That the world would look at me and see my father instead.” I went silent, allowing myself to really think about and remember those awful times in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to do in years. “It was so awful, Deacon. The worst time in my life. I looked up to my father as a great businessman and a provider, all the while he was secretly ruining lives. You have to believe me; my mother and I had no idea what my father was doing.”
“I believe you,” he said.
I looked up at him. “I’m not complaining, but why?
I had to hear it from his own lips, if only to be absolutely sure in my heart that it was true. The rug had been ripped out from under me too many times before.
Deacon let out a long sigh and shook his head ruefully. “My mother told me, actually.”
