While I know you have a great deal of passion, I cannot represent you simply because you are my daughter. That is not what’s best for my business. Nor, I think, is it what’s best for you. I also worry it would be unfair to lead you on, knowing that you’ll be hurt. Maybe I have indulged this dream too much. Only a very small percentage of writers get published, let alone have the talent and stamina to sustain a career in this industry.
The last thing I want is to see you end up like your mother, tortured and twisted by criticism. I don’t think your writing is at the right level, and I’m honestly not sure if further work will get it to that point. I worry that your beautiful spirit will be broken by this. Maybe it’s time to think about how you can direct your efforts inside the industry in some other way. Perhaps we could talk about training you to be an agent instead.
Your father,
Anderson.
Trent shouldn’t have looked at Cora’s email. It was wrong, an invasion of privacy…yadda yadda yadda.
But he did. He looked. And he read. And his blood boiled as though he were plugged directly into the core of the earth. How dare he try to crush her dreams. How dare he tell her that no amount of work would be enough.
How dare he tell her that she couldn’t grow.
Without thinking, Trent emailed himself a copy of the manuscript file, because Cora’s heart could not be shattered without a second opinion. His dad would be more than happy to read her book and give some honest thoughts. And while Trent himself wasn’t much of a reader, he was certain Cora had talent. There was something musical about her words—the way she spoke and wrote, the way she described things. Plus, that English professor of hers had urged her to write.
That had to mean something, right?
For whatever reason, Anderson Cabot didn’t seem to want to help his daughter. Yet every time he tried to talk to Cora about it, she clammed up and made excuses for him. The whole cruel-to-be-kind thing? Bullshit. If he wanted to help Cora, he wouldn’t tell her not to write. Anyone could see she was passionate about books, and what right did her father have to tamp that down?
Sure, Trent’s family wasn’t perfect. They’d kept a huge secret from him for his entire childhood. Finding out his parents weren’t his real parents had been…well, devastating. He still remembered the day, clear as a bell, still remembered the tears in his mother’s eyes and the choked-up voice of his father.
He still remembered that sick feeling in his gut and the question swirling in his mind: What if Adam and Nick and Jace and Liv decide I’m not one of them anymore?
He understood why it was hard for his mother to talk about losing her twin sister, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that his adoptive parents loved him. So much so, that he didn’t ever think of them as adoptive. They were simply Mum and Dad.
Yet he still hadn’t plucked up the courage to tell his siblings the truth. The longer it went on, the harder it became to think about voicing his big secret.
Which meant Cora knew more about him than most people. He’d never discussed it with anyone aside from his parents—not even Rochelle, when he thought he was in love. It was the card he kept closest to his chest. Maybe he should have been happy that Cora was going away, taking the information with her to the other side of the world where it couldn’t upset the easy balance of his life.
But he couldn’t be happy about it. Not when it’d become obvious that he couldn’t watch her walk away without saying something. Without making it damn bloody clear that this wasn’t a temporary fling to him.
The only problem was…how to tell Cora? When it came to their bodies, they had no problem communicating. Sex came easily and was always good for them. They fit together physically. But emotionally and mentally?
That was a whole other ball game.
Shaking his head, Trent headed out of the house and hopped into his ute. With the window down, he cruised through Patterson’s Bluff, watching all the houses blur by. All these people had put a stake in the ground, built something for themselves. A space, a home.