Chapter 20

Dallas

Willow,

I can only imagine what must be going through your head right now, receiving a letter from a man that you've never met. But the truth is, I feel like I've known you your entire life, and I regret that we will never meet, although that's probably for the best.

My name is Staff Sergeant Michael Sheppard of the United States Marine Corps, and I knew your parents. In fact, I was with them the day they died. Correction: I'm the person responsible for their deaths.

I hate that I even have to write those words, let alone be the one to admit this to you, but please know that your parents loved you. In fact, moments before they died, they were bragging about their daughter and how full of life she was—the little girl with pigtails holding a stuffed duck in the picture your mother was clutching in her hands. I only hope that's still true about the woman you've grown into, minus the stuffed animal, that is.

I want you to know how sorry I am, how much I have suffered with guilt over taking your parents away from you. As a father myself, I can't imagine my children having to grow up without me or my wife, let alone both of us.

But hopefully, after you've read this letter and you visit my attorney, you'll understand that this is my way of trying to make up for my mistakes. This is the only way I could think of to do that, so please at least hear what my attorney has to say.

I hope life has treated you well. I hope you've found love and joy in other ways. And I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me one day for the love that my actions stole from you.

When you read this letter, I will have left this earth as well. If I see your parents, I hope to stand beside them and watch you live your life to the fullest from the other side, if that place even exists.

But most importantly, I hope you find peace and love in my hometown of Carrington Cove—because that town is what saved me.

Best wishes,

Michael Sheppard

***

"Mother fucker!" I slam the heels of my hands against the steering wheel as I speed away from Willow's house—the house my father gave to her.

I swear to God, this better be a dream.

More like a fucking nightmare, Dallas.

I have no idea where I'm headed, but what I do know is that I couldn't be near her for one more second.

She fucking knew.

I wonder when she found out.

Has she known this entire time?

These are all questions I could have asked her if I'd kept my cool, but I couldn't bear to look at her any longer, betrayal clouding my sight and fury racing through my veins.

It's not as if my father and I had the best relationship to begin with, but now this? He's freaking messing with my life from the grave?

How can I not feel like he just fucked up my life completely? Stole yet another choice from me and tainted it with his actions?

There's only one person who can answer these questions, though, so that's where I'm headed—back to my mom's house, hoping to God she can help me make sense of this.

Otherwise, I'm not sure either one of us will recover.

***

When I pound on her door, I wonder if she's already asleep. It's after nine and my mother is usually in bed by eight. But when she opens the door in her robe and sees me, her shoulders drop and she hangs her head.

"She told you."

"She didn't have to. I found the letter from Dad."

Shaking her head, she opens the door wider so that I can enter. But standing in my parents' house feels so fucking wrong right now.

My parents.

My own fucking parents kept this from me.

For years, they've heard me talk about wanting that house, my plans for the future, wanting that place for my own when I was done in the Marines.

And now the woman I'm in love with owns it because of them, and they all kept it from me.

All of them.

I need a fucking drink.

I head for the kitchen, straight to the liquor cabinet where a bottle of Jack Daniels sits, untouched for months. My dad was the one that drank this shit, so I guess it makes sense that I should drown my fury with his drink of choice.

Bottoms up, Dad. I bet you're laughing right now.

"Dallas, come sit."

"I need a minute, Mom. In case you weren't aware, my entire world was just flipped upside down and you're partially to blame for that." I take a swig from the bottle, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand when I'm through. My eyes move around the house, looking at these walls with suspicion of what other secrets they could hold, what other lies have been concocted in the place I called home, in the family I should have been able to trust.

My mother pulls her robe tighter around her body as she moves into the kitchen, standing on the opposite side of the island. "I know that you're hurting and that we have a lot to talk about, but you're in my house right now, and you'll damn sure show me some respect while you're here. Do you understand?"

Sighing, I hang my head in shame. "You're right. Sorry, Mom. I just…" The sting of tears threatens to build, but I grab the bottle instead and tip it back once again.

"Come sit. Bring the bottle if you want, but we need to talk." Grabbing my emotional support drink, I follow my mother to the couch, taking a seat on the opposite side from her, avoiding her eyes.

"Look at me, Dallas," she commands. It takes me a minute to do so, but when our eyes meet, I see the hurt in hers as well.

Fuck. This is going to suck, isn't it?

"How long?" I ask her, not wanting to waste any more time getting down to the truth. Perhaps the rage coursing through me will subside faster if I get some fucking answers.

"How long did I know about the house?" I nod. "Since you were five."

"Jesus Christ. That fucking long?"

"That's when your father set up the trust for Willow, honey."

I shake my head, taking another swig from the bottle. "All this fucking time."

"We never meant to hurt you, Dallas."

I shoot my eyes back over to my mother. "Why leave her the house?"

"I thought you read the letter?"

"I did, but I want to know everything."

Sighing, my mother settles into the couch deeper. "Your father came back from Iraq honorably discharged, but we never told you kids what happened because"—she chokes back a sob—"I didn't want you to live with the image of what your father survived…what never allowed him to be the same again."

I lean back, swallowing down the lump in my throat. "What happened?"

"He was in a Humvee with Willow's parents, Dallas. They were journalists, overseas to report on the war. They stopped for a civilian who was flagging them down, and your father stepped out of the vehicle to approach him. Within seconds, there was an explosion. The Humvee was destroyed by an IED."

Holy shit.

"It took me two years to get your father to speak about it."

I think back to all the shit I saw in Afghanistan, stuff that still haunts my dreams, dreams I haven't had since the night of the storm with Willow. "That's why he never wanted me to join, huh?"

She nods. "Yes, because the guilt that he lived with after that almost killed him."

My brow pinches together. "What do you mean?"

She shakes her head, staring off across the room. "I found him with a gun in his hands one day, Dallas. He wanted to kill himself, said he couldn't live with the guilt." My eyes start to burn. "You and Penn were little, and I was pregnant with Parker. I couldn't lose my husband, so I begged him to get help. He started going to the Veteran's Center, doing talk therapy, taking medication. Those were some dark years, getting him healthy again. And when you were five, he decided that part of his way of making things right would be to leave the Bayshore house to Willow. It was all he had to give her. He knew it wouldn't bring her parents back, but he had so many memories growing up there with his grandparents that he wanted to give her that joy too."

That house belonged to his grandparents?

Shaking my head, I say, "I can't believe you never told me this."

"I knew I would have to eventually, especially after he died."

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"You know that he had his feelings about you joining the Marines, and that it had already strained your relationship. He didn't want to strain it more, so I agreed to be the one to tell you. That was a sacrifice I took on and I'd do it again."

I stare at the fireplace, the mantel decorated with family pictures and my father's medals, the smile on his face hiding years of trauma he had to work through.

Guilt.

He was responsible for Willow's parents dying.

I know what that guilt feels like.

I wish I could have told him that.

"But he never supported me, he always criticized my decision to serve." I point to the side of the room. "He would help at the Veteran's Center and help other Marines, but he couldn't help his own son!" My voice booms through the room as my mother's tears glisten in her eyes.

"Do you know how many times I said the same thing to him, Dallas? How much we fought about that very thing?" She sniffles and wipes her nose against the sleeve of her robe. "Your father became a different person, but he never wanted to share that part of himself with you, and he regretted it. I know he did."

"I do too, Mom." I pound my fist against my chest. "I do too because I should have told him how he made me feel!"

"What good would it have done?" she whispers. "The best thing you did was serve your country and show your father the strength you have inside of you, Dallas. I know you must have seen your own horrors overseas, but you kept yourself together when you came home. You bought a business and you give back to your community just as much as your father did. He was proud of you, even if he never said it." One tear slips down her cheek. "I know he was."

I let my mother's words settle in my mind.

I hate feeling this sense of regret, of letting words unspoken affect my life still to this day. I guess the question is, do I want them to affect my future, too?

And can Willow still be a part of that future?

"Willow said that you told her not to say anything to me about this," I finally say, breaking the silence.

She nods. "That's right."

"So when did she find out?"

"The night of the veterans' dinner. I went over to her house after the dinner and introduced myself. I ditched your sister and told her I wasn't feeling well because I had to speak with Willow as soon as I could." Sounds about right, my mom escaping my sister's watch. "Willow told me she put two and two together when she saw you go up on stage to accept your dad's award. I am the one who asked her not to say anything, so please don't hold that against her."

"It hurts that she kept something from me, but the person who's really to blame for all of this is Dad."

"Your dad didn't do this to punish you. He did this out of guilt for how he affected Willow's life. This is way bigger than you and how you think your father felt about you, Dallas."

"Oh, I know how Dad felt about me. He made that clear when I left for bootcamp, and every deployment after that."

"Can't you see that he wanted more for you?" She leans forward, locking her eyes onto mine. "Do you know what it was like watching him blame himself for years, fight through demons and struggle with just surviving? There was a point where I thought I would lose him, that he contemplated taking his own life, Dallas. Did you hear me? Don't you get that?" My stomach drops from the way her voice shakes. "We almost divorced when Penn was two." She inhales and then continues. "Being a spouse to a Marine is sometimes just as hard as being one yourself. He didn't want that struggle for you—because he loved you, Dallas. He didn't want you to have to sacrifice a part of yourself out of obligation. He wanted to protect you from the horrors he experienced, despite the honor it was to watch you serve."

It's those words that make me break.

I reach up and pinch the bridge of my nose as I fight back sobs.

The couch dips beside me as my mother scoots closer and holds me to her chest, letting the emotions overtake both of us.

My father didn't want me to live a haunted life like he did.

"He could have said that to me, you know?" I manage to croak out.

"Your father wasn't the best at communicating, so maybe he tried in his own way, but please don't hold this against him. He only did what he thought was best, and I had to support his decision about the house because it helped me get part of my husband back." And then she forces me to look at her, tears clouding both of our eyes. "So please don't hold this against me too."

I lunge for her harder, soaking up her hug, holding onto the woman who has always supported me, and now I realize just how much she gave of herself to support my father too.

Talk about strength and love that is indescribable.

She squeezes me tighter. "I love you, Dallas. And I'm so, so sorry."

"I love you too, Mom."

"Please don't let this ruin what you have with Willow." She releases her hold on me as we both wipe our faces. "I saw the two of you together tonight, how she fit in here so seamlessly. She's the one, honey."

Nodding, I declare solidly, "I know she is."

"I've never seen you like that with a woman before." Because they've never been like her. "And as upset as you might be with your father, in a way, he actually brought you the love of your life." Tilting her head, she says softly, "How can you be mad about that?"

Repeating those words over again makes me feel like a weight has just been lifted off my chest.

My mother is right.

My dad brought me Willow.

He may not have been there for me in other ways, but even though he's gone, he's still trying to lead me down the path he thinks is best—one that leads to the woman I'm head over heels in love with—my future, my life—the one I belong to.

I don't want Willow to be a ghost that haunts me, catching me off guard everywhere I turn with memories of how she waltzed into my life in her Louboutin's and lit a match under my ass, one that had me admitting how lonely I'd been.

No.

I'm not going to settle for her ghost. I need her to know how I feel, and hopefully from there, we can figure out the rest.

"Now I know you're probably itching to talk to her, but you've been drinking and there's no way I'm letting you drive." She holds her palm out. "Keys."

"You could drive me over there…" I slap my keys into her hands, pushing my bottom lip out for good measure.

Looks like the alcohol has done its job.

"You need to be sober when you apologize to that woman, and I think our talk tonight gave you enough information to absorb. Give her some space tonight, and then fight like hell for your girl tomorrow."

"I can't let her get away, Mom."

"Don't Dallas. Please. For all of our sakes." She cups the side of my face with her hand, but then her eyes go wide. "Oh my God. I almost forgot." She launches from the couch, practically racing down the hallway toward her room, returning just a few short seconds later. "You need to give her this the next time you see her."

The old polaroid picture she hands me is faded and singed on the corners, but the little girl standing in the center, holding a duck is still crystal clear.

"Is that…"

"That's Willow, Dallas. Her parents had that picture with them the day they died. I know she'd want it."

All I can do is nod slowly. "Yeah, Mom. I think you're right, yet again."

***

The next morning, I wake up with a stiff back from passing out on the couch in my mother's living room, smelling like alcohol and feeling the effects of it as my head pounds. But the first thing that pops into my head when my eyes open is Willow.

I have to make things right.

But before I get very far, an envelope addressed to me sits next to my keys on the counter. My mother is nowhere in sight, so I slide my finger under the seal and extract the folded piece of paper, nearly falling over when I see the writing on the inside.

Dallas,

Son, if you're reading this, then you now know about the Bayshore house.

I can only hope that your mother was able to explain the situation to you more eloquently than I ever could. Please don't be mad at her. This was my decision, and as my wife, she supported it because your mother is the kind of woman who loves with all of her heart. She loved me even when I felt like I didn't deserve it, and she loves you and your siblings with everything she has.

That house belonged to my grandparents. Much of my childhood was spent there, running across the sand, enjoying summers in Carrington Cove. It's why when I had a family of my own, I knew this was where I wanted to raise them.

I just never knew how difficult being a father would be sometimes.

I wish I had the courage to say these words to your face, but after spending years in heated arguments with you, the last thing I wanted was to get in one last one before I took my last breath. So, I hope you'll accept this letter from me instead… because the last thing I ever wanted was for you to live with regrets like I have.

I should have told you this years ago, should have understood your decision and supported it instead of fighting with you about it. And even though you may never believe me, I want you to know: I. Am. So. Proud. Of. You.

My son. My firstborn.

You signed up to sacrifice your life for peace, freedom, and your country.

You followed your dreams even when I didn't want to risk losing you.

And when you returned home, you did the work to live as normal a life after your service as you could.

I'm proud of you.

I love you.

And I hope you can trust that even though our relationship was futile at times, I have never been more honored to be your father.

If Willow doesn't want the house, ask her if she'll sell it to you. But selfishly, I hope she keeps it. I hope she falls in love with Carrington Cove. I hope the people here can help her heal like they helped you and me.

And I hope you'll help her see that.

I love you, Dallas.

Love,

Dad

By the time my eyes find the last word, I can barely see through my tears.

My mother knew I'd need to process this alone, I'm glad because I feel like I'm about to break in two.

My ass finds the couch again as I reread his words, my father giving me what I needed from him when he was alive. But I guess I should be grateful that his words are at least reaching me after his death.

I stare off into space for so long—numb, angry, remorseful, and shocked, that I have no idea how much time has passed. But as I read through the letter once more, my brain flips back on when I see Willow's name again.

I need to talk to her. I need to make things right.

So, I find my keys on the counter again and head back to the restaurant so I can shower because I smell like ass and feel pretty shitty too. I practically run back to my car once I'm clean and speed to her house, hoping to God she won't shut the door in my face.

This woman had no part in our complicated connection. I know that now.

She was just this innocent little girl that lost her parents and inherited a house as a peace offering.

My mother was right. I have no basis for placing blame on her, and if it weren't for this crazy situation she never would have crashed into my life.

I just hope she'll let me tell her that.

When I pull up to the house, her car isn't there.

Maybe she went to the bakery for muffins? Or out to run an errand?

I wait on the porch for two hours before I finally decide to text her. I wanted to surprise her, but at this point, I want to make sure she knows I'm trying to make this right.

Me: Hey. I'm at your house. Where are you? I want to talk. There's so much I need to say.

My phone is silent for about fifteen minutes before I finally get a reply.

Willow: I'm halfway to D.C. Stopped to charge my car.

No. Shit. I'm too late.

Me: Fuck. Turn around, Willow. Please. I'm so sorry, baby.

Willow: I can't. I need to go home for a while. I have a lot to think about.

Me:I'm so fucking sorry, Willow. I can make this right, I know it. I talked to my mom. She told me everything. Please don't leave like this.

Willow: I'm sorry too.

Me: When will you be back?

Willow:I don't know.

Me: Please come back to me.

But I don't get a reply, and that's when I wonder… Have I lost her forever?