“Ma’am,” I said, as I took a step back and looked around. I noticed how her gaze raked my body, and I felt a little unclean. She was the client, and she hadn’t done anything too overt. And, honestly, I was probably just sensitive.
“Anyway, can you give me an update? We can go somewhere a little quieter and a little more private if you’d like.”
I held back a sigh and smiled softly. “We can do it right here.”
“Oh, that sounds fun,” she said, drawing out the words.
I smiled through my teeth and went over the updates we had since the last time she came to the jobsite to check out the beefcake and touch everybody’s arms. I didn’t want any of my workers to have to deal with her, so I threw myself on the proverbial sword each time. If she’d gone any further than she had, I would have said something or dealt with it. Maybe she was just someone who liked to touch people’s arms when she talked to them—to make a connection. There were never any innuendoes—except for her comment just a bit ago—and I never really felt off. She was just handsy.
Or maybe I was overreacting.
I went over everything for a full hour, tired, a little cranky, and now behind.
By the time she left, Clay winced, and I shook my head. I didn’t want to deal with anyone. I just needed a hammer, maybe a saw, and to get to work. So, I did. I was sweaty, grumpy, and hungry, and by the end of the day, I was ready for a beer and a nap. I couldn’t. I had to go over to Eliza’s to help her.
She was my friend, damn it. Still, all I really wanted to do was scream into the void and forget that I had to do any of this shit.
It had been a long fucking day, I was woefully behind, and I felt like I had no idea what I was doing.
And why did it always feel like I had someone standing on my chest, digging in their heels, taking my breath?
Something was wrong, and I needed to fix it.
Though I had no idea how.
I ignored those thoughts and headed over to Eliza’s. Because that was at least something I could control. Something I could help with. Something that made me feel as if I were making a difference.
Chapter 6
Eliza
* * *
My fingers cramped on my pencil, and I rolled my shoulders, telling myself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. I just needed to breathe. I needed to do something. It felt as if an anvil were on my chest, and I couldn’t quite keep up. I closed my eyes once again and tried to calm myself. And then I looked at my drawing and cursed. This was for another project, something I was doing on the side, and I couldn’t focus. It was a commission. I had work to do, and if I didn’t catch up, I would be late turning it in. And I was never late with work. That was my number one rule, always be on time for those who depended on me.
And yet, I couldn’t figure it out. I couldn’t focus.
My husband had cheated on me.
No, I hadn’t seen the child, I didn’t have DNA evidence or paperwork or anything to prove that it wasn’t just hearsay, but Marshall’s parents believed it. They had come right out and asked me for money for Marshall’s love child. For this Madison. She had his smile. His eyes. And so much more, apparently.
I had a feeling that Beverly had been one moment away from whipping out her phone and showing the likely hundreds of photos she had of her precious granddaughter.
I didn’t know if I could blame her for loving the child. How could I? The little girl had done nothing wrong but exist. Was that wrong?
No, Marshall had been wrong. And Natasha. And now Marshall’s parents. They had always chosen Natasha over me. Only I hadn’t realized until just now there had ever been a choice for Marshall in the first place. I had never been their ideal daughter, but I had done my best to become that person. When we moved to Colorado, I had included them in every family gathering we had. I had missed time with my friends when Marshall was overseas to spend time with his parents. I had helped them decorate for the holidays. Put art around the house. I had given them so much of myself to try and be the perfect daughter. Yet, I wasn’t. I hadn’t been good enough.
I hadn’t been good enough for Marshall.
I hiccupped a sob and wiped the tears from my face. I hadn’t even realized I’d been crying.
My husband had cheated on me.
My perfect husband, who had been fighting for our country, who had been killed in an IED blast. I had buried him, not knowing that he had betrayed our vows. He’d broken everything I’d thought we stood for. He’d changed who we were, and he hadn’t even told me. Somehow, I wasn’t his anymore, I was only part of him, not everything. He’d altered my past without my knowledge, and now I had nothing to stand on.
I should have been the tangled threads of our love and strength woven into the woman I’d become. Instead, part of me had unraveled, and he hadn’t had the grace to let me in on the secret.
I had stood by his casket as the honor guard laid him to rest. As each rifle blast had made me jump. I had gripped Annabelle’s hand so hard, I knew I had left bruises. Brenna had been on her other side, and I could feel her strength through Annabelle. The Montgomerys had shown up in force. Every single one of Annabelle’s siblings. They all came for me. Even Lee came. And Archer’s boyfriend… Paige’s. Annabelle’s Jacob. They all came to help me. To help me bury my husband when I hadn’t known what to do. I had been stoic. Stood there and tried to catch my breath as I tried to figure out who I was supposed to be now that he was gone. They had handed me the folded flag, murmured words to me. Marshall’s parents had been on my other side, breaking down in front of the mourners as they shattered for their lost son.
I wasn’t sure if Natasha had shown. I hadn’t seen her, though I had casually looked. But I couldn’t think about her then. I hadn’t realized Marshall had cheated on me. Had no clue in that moment. Didn’t know that a little girl was alive with his smile and part of his soul. While I had always had something against Natasha in the back of my mind because of the way his parents treated me over her, I honestly wouldn’t have minded if the other woman had come. Marshall had been a huge part of her life growing up. It would have only made sense for her to be there. To say goodbye.
Had there been a child there? I could barely remember anything but the scent in the air from the rifle fire. The cool breeze on my skin as I tried to catch up with everything around me. I remembered the touches on my shoulder, the deep hugs from those who loved me. My brothers hadn’t been able to come. They’d all been overseas themselves, and every time I thought about it, I could barely catch my breath. Because what if they didn’t come back? What if they died over there, just like Marshall had? They had all been spread across the world in different places at the time, though I had known they were coming back soon. To their home in Texas.
Maybe I should go there. Perhaps I should go and let my brothers take care of me for a little while as I figured out what to do. Could I share the same state with people who hated me? Who wanted nothing from me but the money their dead son had left me? Could I share the same state with a woman Marshall had loved, one he’d taken to bed that eventually gave life to a little girl? A child with his eyes.
I swallowed hard and set my pencil down. Then I looked at the sketch in front of me and shook my head.
“What a waste,” I whispered. I crumpled the paper, knowing it wasn’t nearly good enough nor salvageable. I would start over, and I would have time. I had two more commissions to start before I could take a break. First, I had to get through these.
I couldn’t just sit here and mope, thinking about Marshall and the fact that everything I’d known was a lie. I needed to do something. I needed coffee. I didn’t want to make coffee. I had to get out of the house.
“I’m going to get coffee,” I told myself. I had reached the point where I was talking aloud to the emptiness of my home, trying to encourage myself to actually leave the house. I was officially losing my mind. I really needed to get out. I shook
my head, put everything away, made sure I at least had on a bra, and made my way to my car.
Annabelle and Jacob were at work, and nobody was outside when I got into my front seat. My garage was full of things from my old house that I wasn’t sure what to do with, mostly Marshall’s stuff, and a lot of Jacob’s old things that they hadn’t fully integrated into Annabelle’s place. I didn’t mind sharing the space, and I still had enough room to park if I wanted to. I had been too tired the night before to bother.
There was something truly wrong with me if that was the case.
I made my way to my favorite coffee shop a few miles down the road and figured maybe I should just go in and order something rather than going through their small drive-thru. I picked up my bag, made sure I didn’t look like a horror show, and walked inside. The place was decently empty since it was the middle of a workday and not around lunchtime. I went up to order my drink. The barista smiled brightly at me, her red and curly hair piled on top of her head, an eyebrow ring glittering in her brow. She looked hot with it. Maybe I should get an eyebrow ring. Or my tongue pierced. Or dye my hair pink.
Or I needed to get some sleep.
“What can I get you?” she asked.
“A non-fat, sugar-free, caramel latte,” I said. “No whip.”
“Sounds good to me. I take it you don’t want any extra caramel sauce on top, then?” she asked with a wink.
I frowned, wondering why I was ordering my usual when nothing about my current situation was usual. “You know what, give me all the sugar. I’ll still take the fat-free milk, but I want sugar. And the caramel sauce. And whip. It’s been that kind of day.”
The girl’s brows rose for a second, and then she grinned. “You know what, I can do that. And since I’m the manager, I’m giving you a cookie on the house.”
I nearly started crying. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Sure, I don’t. But I want to. Because…yay, sugar.”
I held back a sigh.
“Yes, sugar is amazing. Thank you. Seriously. Thank you.” I said that all through gritted teeth because, apparently, I looked like I was manic enough to need a free cookie. I would take it. I would take anything to make me smile again.
Because my husband had fucking cheated on me. There was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t just go and tell everybody that the man they thought was a hero, who had done so much for everyone and was such a nice and kind person had cheated on me.
His parents wouldn’t lie to me. It had to be true. I didn’t have a path before me. No directions for what steps I needed to take or how to feel.
I looked around, and my breath hitched as I saw a woman with dark hair, and a little girl with curly black hair—the same as Marshall’s. The little girl danced around. She had to be a little over two, but I couldn’t see faces. The mom bent down, picked up the little girl, and the little girl giggled. That giggle went straight to my heart, and I swallowed hard.
They left, and I still didn’t see their faces. I knew it couldn’t be Natasha and Madison. They wouldn’t be at my coffee shop just a block from my house. I didn’t even know where they lived. I knew nothing about them. I had ignored Marshall’s parents’ phone calls and emails. I knew they would probably stop by my house at some point to talk about everything, and I would deal with it then. Or, I’d just wait for whatever legal issues might come up. I needed to talk to my family. My friends. I needed to get it out. I would pretend that I hadn’t just thought that two strangers were my husband’s mistress and love child.
That wasn’t the case. It couldn’t be.
I swallowed hard as the nice manager said my name, and I took my order.
“Thank you so much,” I said, “Seriously.” I left a ten-dollar tip, and the girl grinned and winked.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m here most days if you ever want to talk. Or, you know, have coffee.”
I swallowed hard. Okay, maybe it hadn’t been pity in her eyes before. Or perhaps I was just seeing things. “Well, um, seriously, thanks for the sugar.” Then I got into my car, took a sip of my nice, sweet, and far too sugary coffee, and bit into my cookie.
I was doing okay with money. Marshall and the military had taken care of me, and I had a good job. I would be okay, even if I gave some to Madison. Would I really do that, though? Maybe. If the little girl needed something, I could help. Even if it broke me emotionally. But I needed to know more details. Meaning, I had to actually face the problem.
I stopped at the stop sign, looked both ways and sighed, taking a drink of my coffee as I pulled into the middle of the intersection. I slammed on my brakes as a car shot past their stop sign and nearly sideswiped me. I cursed, hot coffee spilling down my shirt and onto my leggings—and all over me.
The drink wasn’t too hot thanks to the whipped cream, but it still hurt, and damn it, there went all of my sugar.
“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I sped out of the intersection, used the single napkin I had in my car to try and dab at the mess, and held back tears.
I would not cry. I would not let anybody see me cry.
I would not give this day the satisfaction. I would go home, shower, clean up my car, and make my own goddamn coffee. And then I would work. I would make sure that everyone knew that I was self-sufficient and didn’t need anyone.
I pulled into my driveway and cursed as I saw a vehicle on the opposite side of where I usually parked.
I knew that truck.
Beckett Montgomery was here. To see me in all my foibles and glory.
My now-coffee-stained glory.
He was here to help because, apparently, I couldn’t take care of myself or actually do anything around my house. A place I didn’t even own because I rented it. I was an adult woman who had never been able to afford a house on her own because she’d moved around far too much when she was a child and an adult. Nothing was ever actually mine. It was always my husband’s and the military’s. Everything that I had ever done was because someone else had told me to do it.
I was officially having a fucking panic attack.
I almost put my hands to my chest to try to calm myself, but I was sticky with sugary coffee, and now I wanted to cry. I wouldn’t. This day would not get the fucking best of me. I would not give it the satisfaction.
Beckett wasn’t in his truck, meaning he must be in my house. Where I’d told him to go when he stopped by before. He had a key, and he was on a tight schedule. I had given him permission. I couldn’t be angry about this. Damn it, I was exhausted.
I walked into the house and slammed the door behind me.
Beckett looked up from his toolbox and blinked. “Jesus. Are you okay? What happened? Dear God, hold on. Let me get you something to dry off.”
“Why is today such a horrible day?” I asked, my voice cracking.
He looked at me, blinked, and I promptly burst into tears.
I covered my face with my hands and shook my head. “Please don’t look at me. Pretend I’m not doing this. I do not cry.” I hiccupped through the words, sobbing, hating myself. I could not break down. I hadn’t broken down at the funeral. I hadn’t broken down in front of my friends. Nobody needed to see me as a widow. The woman they thought was so strong because she could handle everything. Nobody needed to see me break down.
And, of course, I had to go and do so in front of Beckett fucking Montgomery.
Strong arms pulled me against an even stronger chest, and I wanted to push at him, to pound on his pecs and tell him to go away. I couldn’t. Instead, I just cried as Beckett held me, and I tried to catch my breath.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
“No, you don’t,” I whispered. “Nobody does.”
Marshall had used to say that to me. He used to say that he had me and would always. Had he said that to Natasha, as well? Oh, I was sure he’d damn well said it when they were together before. I was just the rebound.
“Rebound?” he whispered.
/> “Did I say that out loud?”
“Who is Natasha?” he asked.
I almost didn’t say anything. I almost held my tongue and walked away and left to cry in my bed. I was tired. So tired.
I pulled away, and he reached out and wiped the tears from my cheeks. I tried not to wonder what it would be like to have him touch my face when I wasn’t sobbing and looking like a coffee-stained, panicked mess.
That wouldn’t have accomplished anything.
“What’s going on, Eliza?” he whispered, pushing my messy hair from my face.
I might as well tell him everything. He’d already seen me at my best. “Apparently, my husband cheated on me. With his high school girlfriend. The woman my in-laws love more than anyone else. The one they chose for him over me. He cheated on me with her, and according to them, he has a little girl—a daughter. Everybody knew but me. My husband is dead. Gone. There’s a little girl out there with his eyes. I don’t know if I’m supposed to believe it, but of course, it has to be true. Because why else would my former in-laws ask me for money for her?”
My voice shook, and it felt as if the world tugged at me, taking everything from me.
“Why wasn’t I good enough, Beckett? Why wasn’t I good enough for him to stay faithful? Why did he have to go back to her? Why did they have to lie? Why did he have to go? He could have stayed here, and we could have fought, and I could have figured out what to do. But I can’t hate a ghost. I can’t hate a dead man. Instead, I have to live here in my misery and pretend that I’m going to be okay, no matter what. I can’t hate a man who can’t speak for himself.”
The tears fell, and Beckett just stared at me and then cursed under his breath. “Come here, let me hold you some more.”
Inked Obsession Page 6
