Final Offer (Dreamland Billionaires #3) by Lauren Asher

My heart rate picks up at the very idea. “But I don’t want to sell it.”

“Do you have the money to buy me out of my half?” The way he asks the question without a hint of condescension makes me wonder if he actually thinks I can.

A metallic taste fills my mouth from biting down on my tongue. “No, but if you give me a year or two, I’m sure I could figure it out.”

His head shakes. “I don’t have that kind of time.”

“What’s the rush?”

He swallows hard. “I need to move on with my life, and I can’t do that if I have this house hanging over my head like a ghost of summers past.”

My chest feels as if it might split in half from his words. “So, you just expect me to uproot mine instead?”

“I know it’s not ideal, but I’m hoping that the money will at least partially make up for it. For what that place is probably worth, you could get a new house and set up a decent savings account.”

“And you care about that because…”

His gaze cuts into mine. “I want what’s best for you, and no amount of time or distance will change that.”

I make a noise in the back of my throat because I don’t trust my voice. His words have the unique power to thaw some of the ice around my heart. Bits and pieces of ice break off, melting from the way he looks at me like I might still mean something to him.

If you did, he would have gotten sober and come back to fight for you.

He taps his fingers against the table in a mindless pattern. “I’m not asking you to move out tomorrow. You can spend one last summer there with Cami before we close on the house.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“Do we have a deal then?”

“Stop making it sound like I actually have a choice,” I lash out.

He raises his hands in front of him. “I’m not here to cause problems.”

“Except you are the problem, Cal. Always have been and always will be.”

“At least I’m consistent at something.” He dares to smile.

My fingernails embed themselves into my thighs. “Have you changed at all in the last six years?”

“Of course.” He raises his chin.

“But you’re still drinking.” And using God knows what else.

There is no point in pretending Cal doesn’t have a problem. I already did that once, and it only caused me heartache in the end. It took me a long time to realize loving someone didn’t mean accepting them for all their faults, but to call them out on their issues because you care enough to not want them to suffer.

I was just too young when Cal and I first got together to understand that concept.

“Contrary to popular belief, my addiction doesn’t make up my entire personality, although my brothers and the media sure like to make it seem that way.” He keeps his voice light despite the tightness in his jaw.

“I know that.” Which is exactly why having a front-row seat to him spiraling was that much more painful. I knew the person he was while on opioids and alcohol didn’t hold a candle to the man I knew he could be.

He sighs. “I don’t expect us to pick up where we left off given our past and the fact that you’re in a relationship.”

In a relationship? What the…

Before I can ask, he continues, “But I hope we can at least be civil with each other.”

“Why bother? It’s not like you plan on sticking around for long.” I keep my face expressionless despite the sting of pain over my heart.

“About that…”

No.

“Since I plan on being very involved in the house sale from start to finish, and all the rentals around the lake are already booked solid from May to September, I’m going to need to stay at the house until it’s sold.”

Hijo de puta. “No.”

“You can’t keep me out of my own house.”

My fingers itch to wrap themselves around his neck. “What’s wrong with the motel?”

“Do you want the short or the long list? Choose wisely because we might be here all day.”

Deep breath, Alana. “You can’t seriously expect us to live together.”

He shakes his head hard enough to make some of his hair fall in front of his eyes. “Of course not. I plan on staying at the guesthouse. That way I can have access to the main house whenever I need it while still giving you privacy.”

In theory, Cal’s idea isn’t terrible. The guesthouse is located at the back of the property with its own private entrance to the main road. I could easily pretend Cal isn’t there, so long as we don’t run into each other by the lake.

You can’t seriously be considering this.

What choice do I have? Cal is right. I can’t keep him out of the house with him being a co-owner, and his idea to stay at the guesthouse is far better than him asking to live at the main house.

“Why do you need access to the house?”

“Because I need to pack up whatever stuff was left behind by my family, including that special little collection you mentioned in the attic.”

I almost feel bad for him. The attic is a hoarder’s dream, packed to the rafters with stuff Brady collected over the decades. It would take anyone at least two weeks to work their way through all those belongings.