Since I was a kid, making it into the World Hockey League was the ultimate goal. No relationship could match my first love, and after my rough childhood, I wasn't putting my heart on the line.
When Bellerive makes a successful bid to move the Califo...
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Sawyer left my apartment at the crack of dawn to meet one of her pro bono clients at the clinic. Her hours are often scheduled around whatever shift someone else is working. The time she dedicates to people who couldn't otherwise afford a service like hers is impressive. It's hard to resent her for being so dedicated to people who'd be in pain or struggling otherwise.
Months ago, I meant what I said when I told her that what she's doing for the working class people of Bellerive would have been a game changer for me as a kid for the few times I'd have benefitted from a little extra help.
Last night, it broke my heart to ask her to consider coming with me, even when I knew it was a long shot. But I couldn't leave the question mark over my heart for the rest of my life, so at least now I know without any uncertainty where she still stands.
Which is why I got into the car with my driver this morning after Sawyer left, and I asked to be taken to the one place I should not go. Since I didn't talk to Sawyer first, I don't know how she's going to feel about what I'm doing. But I can't leave this island without being sure I've done everything within my power to protect her, to keep Dalton from being able to get a grip on her again.
The Tucker family home isn't a house, and I'm not even sure I'd call it a mansion. I've been in some pretty nice places since I got into the WHL. This is an estate or, I might even go so far as to call it a palace. Unbelievable wealth. And while I knew Sawyer came from a lot of money, her lifestyle feels closer to those of my peers in the WHL than whatever is happening in this palatial estate.
When I ring the doorbell, I stand with my hands shoved in the pockets of my shorts. A cooler ocean breeze blows through the front of the property, moving the humid air around. The hot weather is just starting to arrive, and I might be gone before the worst of it. Or best. I don't mind the heat.
The door swings open, and a classic butler stands at the door in an outfit that'll probably cause me to chuckle later when I remember. Coattails, a bowtie, and strict black and white. I can't help a little smile at how pretentious it is.
"Can I help you?" the butler asks, all formality.
"I'd like to speak to Celia Tucker."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"Nope."
"Who should I tell her is calling?"
"Logan Bishop," I say, hoping she's kept up enough with what's been happening on the island to know who I am. But then I think better of leaving it to chance. I need in the door. "I'm dating her daughter, Sawyer."
"One moment," he says, shutting the door in my face.
I turn around and survey the massive property, and I wonder how much wealth the Tuckers have in land alone. It's an expensive commodity, since it's so limited. I've heard the family even runs an ocean front campground, which seems like such a waste of prime real estate.
