Before I could utter a word, the door was opening, and my mind was screaming to stop him. But the sound of multiple people coming up the porch broke through everything else just as I finally managed to turn around.
Beau was standing off to the side, head slanted in an attempt to hide his expression as one of the Rowes’ cousins came in. That terrifying, silent rage, but I could see the anguish lingering in his eyes. I could see the weight he was bearing. The absolute fear.
“Welcome back,” I managed to say, forcing the same smile I’d worn since the guests had arrived the day before.
But their cousin just gave me a wide-eyed look as she turned for the stairs, muttering, “Biggest understatement of my life.”
“Great,” Peter said, voice like steel when he came charging through, pointing at Beau, “you’re still here. I need someone to drink with since that one won’t.” He waved irritably at me, never slowing as he headed for the kitchen.
Beau didn’t move, and I just stood there, too stunned from trying to piece together my wrecked soul to ask Peter what was happening.
My parents followed, looking at once excited to see me and like they were saddened for whatever must’ve happened at the rehearsal and dinner. But the moment they saw Beau, their spirits brightened considerably.
“Oh, honey, hi,” my mom said to Beau, reaching for him and patting his shoulder.
“Glad you’re still here,” my dad said, then blew out a strained breath as he looked between us, scratching at his temple. Focusing on Beau, he gestured toward the kitchen. “Drink? I could use a drink.”
“Let’s make it two,” my mom said, words all an exhausted sigh.
“What?” The word came out a breath, all shock and confusion just as the Rowes’ aunt and uncle came inside, shutting the door behind them and looking about as worn out as everyone else. “Hi,” I said awkwardly, offering another forced smile.
Peter’s uncle clapped his hands together and returned the smile. “Do you have any alcohol?”
My lips parted just as the sound of glass clinking on granite sounded from the kitchen. Pointing in that direction, I said, “I think your nephew might’ve just found it.”
“Fantastic,” he grumbled, towing his wife along with him.
“What is going on?” I asked once they’d disappeared into the next room.
Before my parents could respond, Beau headed for the door again, dipping his head in a nod when he passed them. “Goodnight.”
“Beau, honey,” Mom began, her shaking fingers lifting to cover her mouth when he left without a backward glance. A sharp breath left her as she turned on me, disapproval radiating from her. “Savannah . . .”
“What? Mom, how can you possibly—” I lifted my hands before squeezing them into tight fists. “We are in the entryway,” I said softly, reminding them of how that space carried noise throughout the house.
Without another word, I hurried across the entryway and down one of the halls with my parents close behind.
“How can you possibly be on his side?” I asked once we were far enough away, still keeping my voice low.
“Savannah,” she said reproachfully. “I am on your side. I am on Beau’s side, and I am on your kids’ sides. But, right now, you are only on the side of hurt. You’re taking what happened and holding on to it, and you can’t.”
“Yes, I can.”
“If you want to ruin your life, sure.” She held up a hand to stop me when I started arguing. “You’re treating this situation and him as if what he did was purposeful and recent.”
“He lied to me for thirteen years,” I reminded her. “He helped her leave, and then was there for me when I grieved her. He was mad at her.”
“We never said Beau didn’t make mistakes, Savannah,” Dad cut in. “He did, and he knows that.”
“So, that makes it okay? That means I should just get over it?”
“Of course not,” Mom said wearily. “But, Savannah, you’re shutting him out and you’re closing doors that should never be closed in marriages.”
My stare fell to the side as shame and anguish ripped through me.
“Kicking him out of the house for weeks,” she went on softly. “Not letting him see you or the kids for most of that time. Taking off your wedding ring?” Shock filled her tone at that. “That’s such a huge and damaging statement, and he has to know that.”
“I gave them to him,” I confessed, my shoulders caving as that grief became too much.
As my parents’ deafening silence said more than words could.
“He’s moving out next week,” I whispered shakily. “He told me just before y’all got back.”
After a while, my dad huffed. “I know damn well from talking with him that it isn’t by choice.”
My blurry stare snapped to him. “I didn’t ask him to.”
“Did you ask him to come back?” He lifted his hands in a pleading gesture. “You’re hurting. I know it, we all know it. Your husband knows it, Savannah. But if you aren’t even going to give your marriage the chance to survive this, you might as well have some papers drawn up now. Save him the heartache of wondering.”
“Y’all are talking like everything that’s happened is my fault,” I cried out.
“We’re not,” my dad gently argued. “But after these kinds of shocks and betrayals, what happens moving forward is up to the person who’s been hurt. And you’ve decided to throw away your entire life with him by not even trying.”
“That isn’t—” A whispered sob tumbled past my lips, my head shaking quickly. “I don’t know how when everything feels like a lie. I look back, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to know what was real and what wasn’t because I never even knew something was wrong.”
“You know, Savannah,” Mom said, all strength and encouragement. “In your heart, you do. And if you look carefully, maybe you’ll even see that there were signs during those times that you dismissed or took as something else.”
I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure she was right.
“Your mom and I have been thinking,” Dad began, the hesitance in his voice capturing my attention, “and after this conversation, I’m pretty positive in our decision.”
Mom made an agreeing sort of hum in her throat as he continued.
“We’re going to take the kids back to Utah with us for a week or so.”
“What?” It might’ve been a breath or a scream or a cry, I wasn’t sure. All I knew was they were trying to take the rest of my heart.
All that was keeping me going.
“No,” I said quickly. Harshly. “No, you can’t.”
“Savannah, take a second and just think, sweetheart,” Mom said softly. “Right now, you need to focus on your marriage, and you can’t do that when one thousand percent of your focus is on your kids and this business.”
“Of course my focus is on them. That’s my life. My kids are my life.”
“If any part of you wants to save your marriage, then your focus needs to be on that. You need to spend time thinking about what’s happened and what is happening without those constant distractions fighting for your attention. Also,” she added with a shrug, “we want time with our grandbabies. Are you really going to deprive us of that?”
My body sagged at the unfair jab. “But they have school.”
They shared an amused look before my mom met my pleading stare. “They’ll miss, what, the last two . . . three days of school? It’s kindergarten and first grade, it isn’t a big deal.”
“Mom, please don’t,” I begged, my chin wavering when she set her hands on my shoulders.
“I love you,” she said softly. “Your dad and I love you. We are doing this for you.” With an exaggerated sigh, she turned to my dad. “I could use that drink now.”
I stood there, shaking and shaking as they started down the hallway, trying desperately to hold myself together until they turned into the kitchen. Staggering back to the wall and bending, my hands on my knees and my chest pitchin
g with sharp, broken breaths. Struggling to pull myself together when I had a house full of people—when my world was breaking.
In the back of my mind, I knew my parents were right. Knew I needed that time to let myself truly be consumed in the pain of what happened so I could start healing from it. But I was afraid.
Any time I had to myself, my mind went wild with what I knew and thoughts of my life with Beau. Anytime that happened, I hurried to shut the memories and pain down, busying myself with my kids or baking or cleaning until all that was left was an echo of pain and anger.
And I couldn’t do that forever.
“Anna-Hannah.”
I straightened, wiping at my cheeks and trying to force a smile when I met Peter’s knowing stare.
He gestured to follow him, drink in hand. “Let’s go. Time to talk it out.”
A stuttered breath escaped me as I tried to come up with another excuse to get out of talking about my misery, but I eventually pushed from the wall and followed after him.
“That’s two nights in a row that your husband has left around eight-ish,” he said when I caught up to his side. “He also wasn’t here at breakfast.” One of his shoulders jerked up. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, except your mini-me said he’s never here for breakfast anymore.”
Pain sliced through me, stealing my breath and forcing my eyes to shut.
When I managed to open them again, Peter was holding a drink out to me.
“Uh . . . no. No thanks,” I whispered, then reached for a coffee mug and headed over to the pot of decaf I’d brewed while Beau was putting the kids to bed, eyes lingering on where my parents and Peter’s aunt and uncle were outside by the fire pit.
Once I had my coffee made, I bent to open one of my cupboards, pulling out my secret stash of goodies and setting them on the counter.
Peter’s brows lifted. “What are those?”
“Death-by-brownies,” I answered numbly as I pulled one out and held it out to him. “Want one?”
He snatched it like I might take it back, glancing around as I grabbed one for myself before closing them back up. “How many desserts do you have made right now?”
I shrugged. “These don’t count. These are mine.”
“Leave those out,” he groaned around a mouthful. His eyes widening in warning when I started putting them away. “I know where they are now.”
“I’ll hide them somewhere else later,” I said, unaffected as I shut the cupboard door again.
“What’s in these?” he asked as he took another giant bite.
“A peanut butter cup is in the middle of the batter, but the batter has a little something special in there.”
He stopped chewing, eyes narrowing on me.
“Not like that,” I said with a scoff. “It’s just my extra something.” When he continued watching me expectantly, I slanted my head. “I can’t tell you. It’s mine.”
“Okay, four-year-old.”
I stuck my tongue out at him like we were kids again, earning a soft chuckle. “So, what happened tonight?” When his stare drifted to the side, I went on, prodding, “Y’all were just going to the rehearsal and dinner, right? I was surprised when everyone came back the way they did.”
After a while, he exhaled quickly and said, “My brother happened,” before knocking back the rest of his drink.
A hum of acknowledgment climbed up my throat. “Funny how that explains so much.”
A huff fled from Peter, and he reached across the island where we stood, making a grabby hand. “Brownie.”
“Who’s four now? Also, no. I made so much for y’all to eat.”
He gave me a look that was at once pleading and conceding. “I’ll tell you what happened if you bring the brownies back out.”
I studied him for a moment before sighing in defeat. “If you eat them all, I’ll have to kill you.”
One of his full laughs burst from him, his eyes dancing when he met my stare again. “I’d like to see you try.”
Grabbing the brownies and my coffee, I headed for the large kitchen table that overlooked the back of the property and had a perfect view of the people sitting around the fire pit. Laughing and drinking and looking so much happier than when they’d first come back.
“Philip gave a toast,” Peter said as soon as he was in a chair and stealing the brownies from me. “Asshole.”
“That bad?”
He gave me a look before glancing out the window. “He thanked everyone for coming, for wanting to share in their weekend,” he went on, rolling his eyes as he did. “Then he turned to me.”
“Oh no.”
The corner of his mouth ticked, all frustration and resentment. “Said something like, ‘Glad you actually made it. Now pay attention. I’ll show you what it takes to keep a woman around.’”
Shock ripped from me on an exhale even though I shouldn’t have been surprised. This was Philip we were talking about. Still, you’d expect someone like him to grow up. “What a dick.”
“What else is new?” Peter mumbled. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back in his seat and put his attention on me. “All right, your turn. The hell’s going on with you and Beau? Because it sure as shit doesn’t look good.”
My shoulders jerked with a muted sob, and I reached for the brownies.
Peter whistled. “That bad, huh?”
* * *
I told Peter everything exactly the way it happened.
That day Hunter and Madison came over—what was said. What I found out later and what was currently happening between Beau and me.
By the time I finished, we’d eaten half the brownies, and Peter had switched to coffee.
“Okay, I have a question,” he asked a while after I’d finished, fingers tapping on his mug. “Do you want your marriage to end?”
Pain exploded from me. “Why would I want it to?”
He lifted his hand before resuming his tapping. “Because it’s been . . . how many weeks did you say?”
“Three.”
“Three weeks, and it seems like your anger with him is growing. Like you tried to go through these stages of processing what happened and got stuck in a cluster of all of them. And now you’re sabotaging any chance of fixing this.”
“Why is everyone saying that?”
His brows lifted in a way that screamed I should take a hint. “You finally let him come over to see the kids, then tell him he can’t talk to you. He tries talking to you, and you basically tell him y’all are over and give him your goddamn ring,” he said, whispering the last part. “He tells you he’s moving out, and you let him go without telling him that’s a bad fucking idea.” He sat back in his chair, head shaking. “I think your parents are right. I think you’ve been so focused on your kids and this place that you haven’t actually taken time process what happened the way you need to, and it’s gonna ruin y’all.”
I stared into my empty mug for a while before saying, “But what happens when I do process it, and I find that I can’t forgive him?”
“You’re not forgiving him now, and it could end up being a huge mistake,” he said soberly. When I didn’t respond, he smacked the table and sat up. “All right, answer this: Have you ever been so blackout drunk that you don’t remember what happened?”
“Yes, that same week,” I explained with a huff. “But they knew what they did. It seems convenient that they didn’t know it was with each other.”
“Or they legitimately could have pieced it together the way they’re saying happened,” he offered dryly. “The way people tend to piece together those kinds of nights.”
I pulled the brownies back to my side of the table. “You don’t get any more.”
A breath of a laugh left him. “Savannah, that guy has always been in love with you. He stood up to your parents and took everything they had to say about him because he loved you. There’s no way he was doing all that and cheating on you.”
“And what about the rest?” I asked, not wanting to go around
and around with him on what might’ve happened that night.
Peter looked away, the corner of his mouth ticking up with indecision. “Okay, yeah,” he finally relented. “The whole part about Madison leaving and him not telling you is fucked up.”
“Exactly.”
“But there has to be more to it,” he quickly added. “You glossed over Madison’s part in that and focused on the fact that Beau kept it from you for all those years—that he lied about it.”
“Because he is my husband.”
“He is the one who stayed,” he said softly, but his words rang with meaning. “There has to be more to it.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Don’t I? Because my wife—” The same agony I’d been living under these weeks flashed across his features. “My ex,” he corrected slowly, then cleared his throat, “told her family and friends that I neglected her and left her to fend for herself in what I found out she referred to as a prison.” He waved a hand to the side as if what he was talking about was just outside my windows. “Except I was fucking there, loving her every day unless I was on a mission. She had friends on the base. And I did everything to save us even though they think I could hardly be bothered to sign the divorce papers.”
Sorrow and sympathy bled from me as I watched him try to force back the emotions breaking free. “Peter . . .”
His stare darted to mine. “You don’t know his side, and unless you’re just done and this is your way of getting out of a marriage I know you don’t want out of . . . then he deserves the chance to say it.”
My head dipped after a beat of hesitation. “Yeah, okay.”
“The fuck?” I yelled and swung—and immediately regretted it when it felt like my head split open. “Oh fuck.”
The last was a groan . . . and it was still too loud. Too painful.
My back was stinging from the slap Hunter delivered to wake me, the throbbing from the blood rushing to the site beat in time with my aching skull. I was going to kill my brother.
I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth when I tried to push to my knees, feeling like I’d taken a knockout punch and was about to get laid out. Pass right the fuck back out where I was . . .
Fire Page 19
