Billionaire's Second Chance (Billionaires #16) - Jennifer Hartley Page 0,27

I’ve been dreading setting foot back in that house. I don’t want any of the stuff that’s in there, but the estate attorney says that I have to get it all out and get a maid to come and give it a solid cleaning before I can even put it on the market.”

“So that’s why you’re still here in town?” I asked. I wanted him to say something super romantic, like the reason that he was still here, was me. But I also knew that would just cause more trouble and that it probably wasn’t realistic.

“It’s one of them,” he admitted.

“Okay. We can do that after the market then,” I said.

“Do what?”

“Go to your parents’ house and sort through their things.”

“Nope,” I said. “Not a chance. That isn’t something that I want to do today. And it’s especially not something that I want to put you through.”

“DeShawn, if you’re going to try to force your way into my life—like you have been doing—then I’m going to do the same. That house may hold awful memories for you, but it doesn’t hold any memories for me. I can be with you and help you with this; let me deal with it. We’re going, and we’re getting it out of the way.”

There was only about another hour left of the market, and then it would be time to clean up. I was satisfied with the money we had made today and glad that we came, even though DeShawn looked like he now wished he had stayed back at the house with Scott. I knew he didn’t want to go over to his parents’ place with me, but he had done so much to help Scott and me on the farm, and this was something that I could do in return to help him.

“Okay,” he said reluctantly.

I thought he had a hard time saying no to me about anything.

We got the car packed up, which took a lot less time than before since we had sold so much. Then, I let DeShawn drive because I couldn’t remember the way to his parents’ house. It dawned on me how little I had been there. When we were younger, DeShawn mostly spent time at our farm, and we rarely ever visited his house at all. I knew that he had a bit of a troubled home life. Scott had mentioned some things about it off and on, like when DeShawn would show up at crazy hours of the night and ask if he could stay over. DeShawn never said anything about it, at least never anything that I could hear. But he must have talked to Scott about it a lot because my brother told me that DeShawn’s parents were both drug addicts and alcoholics. I let that be something that the two guys discussed between themselves and not something that I ever poked my nose into. But now, it seemed different. Now DeShawn and I were going to his parents’ house together, and I wanted to know what I was walking into.

I looked over at him as he drove, and I could see the stress playing out in his body language. His hands were gripping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

“What is it about going here that has you so worried? I asked.

He looked at me through the corner of his vision without turning his head. He really didn’t want to be dealing with this. It was obvious.

“When I left that house,” he sighed. “I told myself that I would never be going back.”

“But it’s different now, isn’t it?” I asked. “Your parents aren’t there, and it’s just an empty house.”

“No,” he shook his head as if he was trying to clear a bad dream from his mind. “It’s not empty. That house is full of tons of shit, and it’s full of memories that I have spent years trying to forget.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I reached my hand over to his lap. I didn’t even think about it; first, it was just a natural reaction to seeing him in mental anguish. “Well, if it helps, I’ll be right here with you,” I said.

He looked down at my fingers and then took his hand off the wheel to put it over mine. I suddenly realized what I had done and that I needed to go back to acting like none of this mattered—like he didn’t matter. I couldn’t let this start to feel serious. When I went to pull my