More of Us ( A Love You More Rock Star Romance #3) - Laura Pavlov Page 0,100
and Lennon was rubbing her back like he was consoling her.
“What’s going on?”
When Mom pulled her hands away, tears streaked her face and her eyes were red and puffy.
“It’s your father, Cruz,” she said, her words broke on a sob. “I just received a call. His body was found a few hours ago in a hotel room not far from the house. He overdosed. He’s gone.”
“Jesus. Who was there? Who found him?” I asked.
“No one. He was alone. The housekeeper found him.”
“What the fuck?” I said, looking up to meet my brother’s gaze. He wasn’t crying, and he didn’t look surprised—but I saw the sadness. The disappointment.
“Are we sure it’s him?” I asked.
“It’s him.” Lennon nodded as he spoke.
“I’m so sorry, Juliette,” Jade said, bending down to embrace my mother.
My brother and I stood there like motionless fucking robots, because I don’t think either of us knew how to feel.
Our father was dead.
The man was the devil dressed in Armani—but he was still our father.
And the fucking irony was not lost on me. He was the final Winslow to take his addiction too far. The difference—he had nothing to live for. Mom, Lennon, and I…we did. And we’d fight every day to be better. To live well. To fucking contribute to the people in our lives. The people we loved.
My father never did.
He’d never loved anyone more than himself.
And he’d died alone. Just like he’d lived.
“I need to make some calls,” my mother said suddenly, as she hurried to her feet.
Lennon, Bailey, Jade, and I went back to the house with her. Though my mother hadn’t been with my father when he died, he’d been the love of her life, and I don’t think she truly ever got over him. She’d learned how to live without him because it was her only chance at survival—but she’d given him her heart, and I don’t believe she ever got it back. And right now, she needed our support.
The days that followed were both difficult and exhausting. We stayed with Mom at my parents’ sprawling Santa Monica beach house, and we talked more and shared more than we ever had before. Seeing my mother’s strength through her grief gave me hope that she would be okay. She’d made peace with my father’s death, and she’d worked hard to tune out all the outside noise. The media was all over this story, and it was hard to escape all the negativity as all of my father’s dirty little secrets had surfaced. He’d lived large—and everyone had an opinion on his lifestyle. None of it was a surprise to us, but at the same time, we didn’t want to relive it all with everyone’s eyes on us. Mom, Lennon, and I had wounds that had yet to heal.
As we sat in the mortuary on the day we put my father to rest, I listened as friends and family members spoke about him. Some shared fond memories of Dad as a young boy, while others talked about the adventures they’d had with him. The grand parties and the over-the-top vacations. The yachts and the private planes and the extraordinary gifts they’d received from him. As I listened, I wondered if any of them truly knew the man I’d had a tumultuous relationship with my entire life. For many, he’d been the life of the party. He’d been generous with his money, because that was the only way he’d known how to show love. Or wield control. I guess I’d never really know what his motivation was.
Maybe I never really knew him at all.
Jade’s fingers tightened around mine as we pushed to our feet and made our way out of the mortuary. Mom invited everyone back to our house for a reception, but I wasn’t feeling social. I couldn’t pinpoint what I felt—it was a combination of sadness, disappointment, and anger. Disappointment over the relationship I shared with my father, and anger that we’d never get the chance to rectify it.
When we got back to the house, I tried to make small talk with the many acquaintances my