The Billionaire's Christmas Son - Leslie North Page 0,49

was what he wanted more than anything.

To be happy with Rachel and Scott.

He stared at the computer screen until his eyes burned and the images blurred in front of him, flipping through the pictures repeatedly. Down to his bones, they were what he wanted in life. Nothing else. Nothing more.

Finally, he flipped the laptop closed and went hunting through his desk for a pen and paper. He took it back to the sofa and sat down, using the laptop as a writing surface.

Jonas was going to write Rachel a love letter. He wanted to paint the life together he saw—show her what they could have together.

The decision, however, would be up to her.

Jonas wrote tens of emails every day on behalf of the Elk Lodge. None of them would ever come close to the weight of the words on this single sheet.

He rubbed at his eyes, trying to get them to cooperate, then took the pen in his hand.

Dear Rachel.

Once he started, the words began to flow until the paper was covered in his neat writing, front and back.

He’d said everything. Now all he could do was send it special delivery to her address, and hope.

20

Rachel’s shoulder felt better after a night’s sleep. Apparently, you could cry out a shoulder injury. It just wasn’t as easy for heartache. It was New Year’s Eve day, but there was nothing to celebrate—not for the year going out or the new one coming in.

Annabeth only stayed for breakfast, promising to call later in the afternoon to check on her. She’d been gone three minutes when there was a knock at the door.

“Beth,” Scott cried, sprinting for the door. He reached for the doorknob but couldn’t quite make it. Which was a good thing considering his hands were still sticky with syrup from the pancakes Annabeth had whipped up. They’d been excellent—fluffy, light, and delicious, and Rachel had eaten six, making her more than a little tired.

“I’m coming, buddy,” Rachel said. Things were going to be okay, she promised herself as she made her way to the door. More than likely, Annabeth had forgotten something and had returned. Rachel pulled open the door with her non-injured arm. “What’d you forget, your—Mom?”

Her mother stood impatiently in the hall outside her apartment, snowflakes melting in her hair. “It’s time for us to have a conversation.”

The carb-coma Rachel had been about to enter disappeared in a flash, replaced with a stiffness in her back and a tension she didn’t want or need. She couldn’t believe her mother had followed her here after she’d specifically told her to go away. The woman had some nerve.

“Gamma,” Scott piped up, grabbing her by the leg. “Pick up.”

“This isn’t a good time, Mother. I think it would be better if you headed out.”

“Hi, Scott,” her mother said ruffling Scott’s curly hair. “How’s Grandma’s little boy?” It was just like her mother to ignore Rachel’s request.

“Goodbye,” Rachel said. “We can talk when it’s a better time.”

Susan held out a hand to block the door from closing, then pursed her lips like she was tasting something sour. “I’m sorry.” The words clearly hurt her to say. Susan Lincoln hated apologizing even more than she hated bad photos of her in the press, which was a lot. “I’m sorry for the pressure tactics,” she continued. “Could I come in?”

Rachel did not want her mother in her apartment, but Scott had different ideas—her son ushering his grandmother in through the front door via tugging on her pant leg. “Come,” he said. “Come.”

Rachel took a steadying breath; the sound of the door clicking into place meant she wasn’t going to get what she wanted. Again. It didn’t help that she felt every inch of her apartment around her right now, every inch of the carpet that wasn’t high-end and the paint that they’d left intact from when they first moved in. It wasn’t like her mother’s oasis at home, something her mother never stopped judging her for.

“I just want you safe.” Her mother’s expression brightened into a parody of excitement and love. “And I want you to be cared for.”

She stopped herself from rolling her eyes, but it was a near thing. “I’m an adult, Mom. I’m managing fine on my own.” Never mind that Annabeth had stayed the night—that wasn’t a sign of a bad mother or an incapable one. People needed help sometimes. Something she needed to keep reminding herself.

“But wouldn’t it be better if you married Jonas?” Ah—that was why she looked so