In Name Only (A Pine Falls Novel Book 2)

by Jennifer Peel

  The other patrons in the store did their best not to stare, though it was hard not to be interested. I, myself, was completely enthralled.

  After several minutes, Brock gave the man his card and told him to call him anytime. The man wished him the merriest of Christmases and left with his wrapped gifts, looking more hopeful than when he’d walked in.

  Brock stood and caught my eye.

  “I love you,” I mouthed.

  His smile said he loved me too. He went back to work wrapping gifts while I organized donations at the back. People’s generosity never ceased to amaze me, especially this time of year. Without fail, people would stop by and make large cash donations, wanting nothing in return, not even a gift wrapped.

  Around midafternoon, we had a surprise visitor. Sheridan came strolling in, carrying several bags from some of the swankiest stores at the shopping complex. While always beautiful, she looked dead on her feet in her cream cashmere coat that was buttoned up to keep the cold out. It had stopped snowing, but there was a chill in the air.

  I set down the Tonka truck I’d been adding to the spreadsheet on my laptop and rushed toward her. “Mom, how are you?” It had gotten easier while living with her to use the term of endearment. I reached for her bags.

  She easily gave them up, which wasn’t like her at all. “Thank you, darling. I thought I’d donate some items.”

  I looked at the designer store bags. Some lucky kids were going to be over the moon; that is, if they’d even heard of these stores. “That was kind of you. Thank you. Would you like to come sit with me in the back?”

  “I would love that.”

  Brock placed a big red bow on a package before waving to us as we walked by. He must have known Sheridan needed some girl time.

  I helped her get settled on the chair next to mine before getting her a cup of coffee in the back room. She looked like she could use the caffeine and something warm to drink. I was back in no time, and she gratefully accepted the Styrofoam cup. “Thank you, dear.”

  I took the seat next to her. “How are you?”

  “Better now that I’m with you. You look absolutely radiant today.” She took a sip of the coffee before setting it down on the table.

  I stared down at my red fitted sweater and skinny jeans.

  “I’m not talking about your clothes, though you always look beautiful. I’m referring to the smile in your eyes.”

  “I’m happy Brock’s home.”

  “I had a feeling you would be.”

  I took her delicate, manicured hand. “You didn’t have to leave,” I whispered. “There’s plenty of room at the house.”

  She squeezed my hand. “You and your husband need some time alone. I wouldn’t intrude on that for the world.”

  “We wouldn’t mind.”

  “You say that now.” She smiled a tired smile.

  I supposed it would be harder to explore all the wonders of Brock if she were there, but we would make it work. For her, I would do anything. “How are you really?” I had to know.

  She staved off her tears with shallow breaths. “I’m not sure. I’m taking it a day at a time. The public facade is tiring, though.”

  “You don’t have to keep it up.”

  “I do for Brant, right now. After that, I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she choked out. She recovered quickly and sat up tall with a fake smile.

  “Mom, don’t pretend for me.”

  She looked up front at all the people waiting to get gifts wrapped or to donate. “A mom does what she has to for her children. Now where can I help today?”

  She was incredible. I hesitated to give her an assignment, but her eyes pleaded with me to give her something to do. “I think Brock could use some help wrapping gifts. Your brilliant doctor son has a steady hand, but somehow that hasn’t translated into wrapping paper around boxes. People aren’t complaining, though, because it’s him. Like it’s an honor to get his crappy wrapping job.”

  She laughed. “I’m on it.”

  Before she could go, I wrapped my arms around her. “I love you, Mom. I’m here for you.”

  She held on to me fiercely. “That’s good news. I’m going to need you. Maybe you can show me where to get that five-dollar shampoo.”

  I leaned back. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Was she planning on leaving John?

  She patted my cheek with a sorrow so deep washing over her features. “Dear daughter, a woman needs to know when it’s time to stay and fight and when she needs to step out of the ring to fight another day. You belong in the ring, and I,” her voice quavered, “I am stepping out.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Over the past several months I’d had many surreal moments. Watching Brant from the side of the Holland Industries auditorium stage during his press conference was another one of them. I clasped Brock’s hand so tight I was probably cutting off the blood supply, though he didn’t complain. We were both fixed on Brant, standing so regal in his navy suit and red power tie at the microphone, ready to change the course of his life at the same spot he had announced his candidacy only months ago. The American and Colorado flags provided a backdrop, while the glaring lights shone down on him. He stood there with no teleprompter or note cards. He was speaking from the heart today.

  There were already rumors going around about why he’d called the press conference. Some speculated he was announcing that he and Jill had split up. It had been noted that they hadn’t been seen together, and his absence at the Copeland’s Thanksgiving soiree hadn’t gone unnoticed. Brant wasn’t going to address his relationship status today; he would let the rumors speak for themselves.

  I stole a glance at Sheridan and John, who stood directly across from us near the stairs leading up to the stage. They were each dressed smartly in black business suits, like they were going to a funeral. In a way they were. They stood close to each other, yet they were a million miles apart. John had been forewarned not to touch Sheridan. While Sheridan was all for showing a united front for the cameras and her son, she refused to be comforted by John or to offer him any. John looked like a man without a compass, lost and afraid. Sheridan kept her gaze fixed on her son, her eyes shimmering with determination and admiration. Her son had done what her husband had not. Brant was giving up life as he knew it to save his family. If only John had been willing to do the same when he’d found out the truth. Who knows—he could have possibly taken Edward Copeland down. He could have stood up to the bully instead of becoming one himself.

  Not to say I didn’t understand some of his choices and the reasoning behind them, but not only watching his son take the fall but pushing him off the cliff into the grasp of Edward Copeland in the first place—that I couldn’t fathom. Neither could Sheridan. That, more than anything, was why she was leaving him. Whether that was forever or not, no one knew. Not even Sheridan. I believed she still held out hope that her husband would do the right thing. The problem was, John believed he had and was. He felt like he’d done his part and threatened Edward. But, what had it cost him? It was Brant who had to pay the price.

  Brant gripped the sides of the podium. “Thank you all for coming today,” he began, a slight tremble in his voice.

  Sheridan stepped toward me and took my other hand, trying to hold it together.

  “If you don’t mind, I would like to start off with a quote from Thucydides. ‘The secret to happiness is freedom. And the secret to freedom is courage.’”

  Was is it me, or was that aimed at his dad?

  “For most of my life I have dreamed and planned to follow in the footsteps of my father and become a senator for the great state of Colorado. A place I love and am proud to call home. To serve the wonderful people of Colorado would have been the greatest honor I’ve had thus far in my life. However . . . ,” he paused, trying to maintain his composure.

  The press in the audience seemed to wait on bated breath. Even the camera flashes came to a halt.

  Brant stood a little taller
. “However, I have realized I was not meant to follow in my father’s steps. I must forge my own path.”

  The press went nuts, lobbing questions at him, while John hung his head. His son no longer wanted to be like him. His son was courageous enough to seek freedom from the Copelands. Something John had been too afraid to do.

  “Please, I will answer your questions in just a moment. First, though, I want to thank those who have campaigned tirelessly for me already—especially my campaign manager, Tyler Rothstein. To my donors, I am taking steps to return every dollar donated to my campaign. I also want to thank my family for standing by me, especially my brother, who has shown me what true courage is.”

  Brock wiped an errant tear that trickled down his cheek.

  The press relentlessly peppered him with questions.

  “What will you do now?”

  “How does your fiancée feel about this?”

  “Where is Jill?”

  “There are rumors that you are no longer together. Is that true? Did that affect your decision not to run?”

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “Are you afraid this will ruin your chances for a future run?”

  Brant, with grace, skipped over the questions about Jill and answered everything else the best he could. His party had already told him he’d betrayed their trust and confidence, and he was basically dead in the water for any future run. Brant didn’t share that with the press. He only said he would be taking time to reevaluate.

  As I watched Brant personify courage, I thought about Charlotte. If she’d had the chance to grow up, she would have done well to follow in the steps of her father. He was a great man. I prayed he would find his happiness. I prayed we all did. Even John, who was notably standing on the outside. He had chosen his fragile reputation over the strong family he had built. I wondered if he still believed that consequences were more important than his conscience. Could he live with the choices now?

  For the next half hour, we watched Brant take a beating from the press. He walked off that stage and into his mother’s arms figuratively bloodied and bruised, yet he was free.

  Brock and I watched mother and son embrace while John stood back. His silence said everything his family didn’t want to hear—his legacy would be his empire, not his family. I wanted to scream at him that it wasn’t too late. That we would stand and fight with him. But he had to be willing to take off the gloves he’d been hiding behind, dodging Edward’s punches. He had to be willing to be knocked out. To trust that we would help pick him back up and figure out how to win the matches that really mattered. Instead, he watched while his family stepped out of the ring.

  None of us said a word to John as we walked past him, though he did reach out for Sheridan. For a moment she stopped and looked between their joined hands and John. A deep longing in her eyes cried out.

  “It doesn’t have to be this way,” he finally spoke.

  She let go of his hand. “You’re right.” With that, she grabbed Brant’s arm and walked out.

  Brock and I followed them.

  John headed in the other direction to no doubt try to appease the press.

  Our heels clicked and clacked down the desolate hall leading to the private parking garage.

  “Come with us to Ariana and Jonah’s,” Brock broke the heavy silence and encouraged Brant.

  Brant and Sheridan stopped and turned around.

  “That sounds like an excellent idea,” Sheridan mustered up some enthusiasm for her son.

  Brant rubbed the back of his neck. “I have so many loose ends I need to tie up, and I don’t think I would be good company tonight.”

  “Business can wait, brother,” Brock wisely advised. “You need to unwind.”

  “And there will be spiked wassail,” I sang. “That will put anyone in a good mood.”

  Brant tugged on his tie as if it were choking him. “Kinsley’s wassail?”

  “We’re still all friends. Everyone loves you,” I read his mind. I couldn’t imagine breaking up the gang after everything that had happened. We had informed our little group about what was going down today so they weren’t taken by surprise when they saw it on the news. We couldn’t tell them all the ins and outs. Regardless, they all wanted to support Brant, even Kinsley.

  “Is Tristan still in town?” Brant asked.

  “He went home yesterday.” Kinsley was brokenhearted about it, which was good. It meant they’d had a great time together. She was planning a trip to London over Christmas and New Year’s.

  Brant sighed while mulling it over.

  “Come on, man.” Brock grabbed his shoulder. “You need to be with family and friends tonight.”

  Brant looked at Sheridan. “What about you, Mom?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I have some packing to do, and I want to do it alone.”

  “Let us help you later. Come with us too,” I begged her. I couldn’t stand the thought of her being alone, especially while she was preparing to leave the house she loved so much and the man she loved more. She was planning to stay with Brant for a while until she figured out what to do.

  “There’s always too much food, and I know you love to decorate a Christmas tree,” I added in, trying to coax her.

  She waved her hand in the air. “You kids go and have fun. Please,” she begged. “I need to be alone,” she reiterated.

  We knew she wouldn’t be persuaded, so we stopped pestering her.

  As we were all about to part to walk to our separate cars, Brant received a text. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and while he read the text, we could all tell by the way his face exploded in red that it wasn’t pleasant. Without a word, he held up his phone so we could read it for ourselves.

  Jill’s name stood out first.

  If I can’t be happy, neither can you. You think you’ve bought your freedom today, but I swear I will see you pay for leaving me like you did. I gave my life for you. No one will ever love you like I love you.

  A chill swept through me. She was psychotic.

  “Save that text and any others she sends you,” Brock counseled him. “You can nail her for harassment. You might even need a restraining order.”

  Sheridan’s face turned white. “Has she contacted you like this before?”

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle, Mom,” Brant skirted the question, yet said all we needed to know. The answer was yes. “This will all blow over soon.” He didn’t sound very confident.

  I, for one, didn’t believe it. The Copelands wouldn’t go quietly into the night. They would seek their revenge. That I was sure of. The question was, How and when?

  “Just be careful.” Sheridan hugged Brant. “I’m so proud of you.” She was on the verge of tears. When she released Brant, she looked between all of us. “I’m so proud of all of you. The love and forgiveness you have given each other gives me hope for our family.” Tears began trickling down her smooth cheeks. “Now go have some fun. That’s an order.”

  None of us seemed keen to leave Sheridan, but she shooed us all away.

  Brock wrapped his arm around me and kissed my head as we walked toward our car. “Are you sorry you joined this family?”

  I stopped and looked up into his worried eyes. “My only regret is how it came about.”

  Brock pulled me to him, flush against his body. The heat from him instantly warmed me through my blush sheath dress.

  He swept back my hair. “If I could change that, I would. But I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make sure you never question again how I feel about you.”

  “And how do you feel about me?” I flirted with my husband.

  He leaned his forehead against mine, his warm breath bathing my face. “Dani, you’ve saved my life twice. First in Afghanistan, and then again when you gave me another chance when I didn’t deserve one. Without you, I’m not me.”

  I brushed his lips with my own. His words touched my soul and erased any remaining doubts and fears that I’d had sinc
e his return. “Do you think Ariana and Jonah would mind if we were a little late tonight?”

  Brock leaned away, a Cheshire grin on his face. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I’d like to make love to my husband.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “We should really go in,” I said breathlessly, leaning my head back so he didn’t miss a spot on my neck.

  Brock’s warm lips brushed across my skin. “I’m good where we’re at. Unless you want to go home. I vote we stay in bed all weekend.”

  “That sounds wonderful, but I have to run the gift wrapping shop this weekend, and then I start delivering gifts. Which you promised to help with.”

  “Right,” he groaned, pushing me farther back against the leather car seat. “Just promise me we’ll go straight home every night.”

  “If we must,” I teased, though I could think of nothing I wanted more. Making love to Brock had been what I’d always hoped it would be. I finally fully understood what it meant to make love. To share myself with someone so wholly. For the first time in my life, there was no guilt or shame. No wishing I could take it back. For the first time, I wanted to give more and receive more. I knew now what it meant to be one with someone. My someone.

  “Believe me, we must.” He nuzzled my ear.

  Though I hated to, I pushed him away. “We really need to go in there before they notice that we fogged up the windows again.”

  “Like I care.” His lips crashed against mine.

  “Brock,” I spoke against his lips.

  “Fine.” He sat up, disgruntled.