The Billionaire's Christmas Son - Leslie North Page 0,48

for your own sanity. A person can’t keep this up indefinitely.”

Jonas held his grandmother’s hand. He found he couldn’t let go. They were all right—of course they were. It was only logical. His heart cracked open; Jonas was finally willing to admit it was something he’d known all along but refused to admit. You couldn’t fall asleep with an aching jaw and tense shoulders for years without knowing it on some level. Now it was at the forefront of his mind, waving at him, yelling at him. Cheering him on, even, because he’d finally figured it out.

“Jonas,” his grandmother’s voice broke through the introspection. He raised his eyes from where they held hands and looked into her eyes. “I forgive you for what happened with Rachel and Scott. And...” She shook her head, stopping him from interrupting. “And I forgive you for not telling me.”

“Thank you,” he said, getting a full breath of air for the first time in what seemed like years. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you, too. I love all of you.” The color had come back into her cheeks, and the knot at the pit of Jonas’s gut loosened. This wouldn’t be the end for her—he could see it in her face. Grandmother nestled back against the pillows. “Now, go have something to eat, the three of you. Don’t hang around here. I’m going to rest today, and I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.”

They said their goodbyes; each leaning in to kiss her forehead before they left to head downstairs for lunch. It was a quiet, subdued affair, and at the end Jonas excused himself. He spent a few hours in the office, making sure everything at the resort was going smoothly. He could be unsettled. He could be wrung out from sharing so much with Grandmother. But he couldn’t let things slip at his job.

It was evening by the time he left the lodge to go home.

Crisp air and starry skies guided his walk home, helping to clear his mind. The storm had rolled over and disappeared into the night. His misery hadn’t. His grandmother’s forgiveness was a relief, but a deep sadness had settled in him. He’d lost Rachel. And in a horrible catch-22, the only way to prove his respect for her was to give her the space she wanted.

His home greeted him with a burst of warmth from the front door and another layer of quiet. Unwelcome quiet. It hadn’t been silent when Scott stayed here, and Rachel had her own ways of creating sound, her own patterns on the steps. Jonas closed his eyes and let himself imagine them there one more time. Then he hung up his coat and went in, sitting on the sofa and opening his laptop.

There were always things to check on at the lodge, and he went through his email on autopilot. It was Rachel’s name that stopped him in his tracks. Her name, there with the subject line Extra Photos.

His heart rocketed up into his throat as he clicked on it, trying to be nonchalant. And failing. Who was he pretending for? He laughed at himself in his empty house. Jonas ran a hand through his hair and braced himself for what might or might not be inside the email.

Jonas,

These were some photos that didn’t make it into the scrapbook. Wanted to make sure you had them anyway. Enjoy!

–R

Promising, right? It was probably something she did with every client, but Jonas thrilled at the friendly tones. At least she wasn’t telling him good riddance. Jonas clicked on the link at the bottom of the email. Another page opened, featuring a photo gallery with photos of his family.

Complete with vivid colors and natural smiles. She’d even caught his brothers with their new partners, looking so in love it took his breath away. But it was the photos of him with Scott that stole his heart completely.

Walking on the trails, holding his little hand, grinning down at his son. Tossing him up in the air by the Christmas tree. The two of them on the floor in this very room, Jonas helping Scott ride around on the stuffed elk.

In the photos, there was no sign of the man he’d been two hours before—the broken, anxious man who had desperately tried to keep his family together with his bare hands. The man in the photos was happy. Satisfied with the moment he was living in. He looked happier than Jonas realized he could be. Or had been.

It