“Blake!” I screamed, running for the ditch.
Uncle Jack nearly tore my jacket trying to stop me. I surged forward, slipping down the shallow embankment until I stood in a small puddle of water and came face to face with my brother. Dark red blood painted his pale white forehead. It oozed from the gruesome wound tearing his skull apart. It looked like someone had taken a mace to his head, smashing it into his skull until a deep indent had formed.
I crumpled to my knees, my pinstriped pants sinking into the mud. I couldn’t take my eyes off Blake. He stared back at me, his pale brown gaze void of life.
“Oy! Get them back!” a British voice boomed. “Sir! Excuse me, sir! You need to move away. Sir!”
I couldn’t respond. I could barely move.
My chest heaved with disbelief as I knelt in that mud, trying to convince myself that it was all just a bad dream.
We flew Blake’s crumpled body home. The funeral was the worst day of my life. I couldn’t get Blake’s dead gaze out of my mind. My parents became obsessed with knowing details of the accident—who was to blame, how it had even occurred.
I didn’t want to know.
It wouldn’t bring Blake home.
I’d heard some murmurings one night about faults being on both sides. My mother was arguing with Dad about the reckless woman driving too fast, while Dad countered with the fact Blake wasn’t wearing a helmet and he’d accidentally veered onto the wrong side of the road.
“He wouldn’t do that!”
“It was his wedding day! And he was driving on the opposite side to normal. Esther, it would have been the easiest mistake in the world.”
“Oh, just shut up, Carson! I can’t talk about this!” She’d stormed from the room and slammed every door along the way.
That was how my parents had dealt with the loss—anger and tears. We’d visited them in Albuquerque for Christmas, and they’d seemed to have calmed down a little. They were finding their way…unlike Sarah and me.
We hadn’t yelled at each other once.
We’d taken the silent route to recovery. Thing was, recovery had never happened. People always say time’s the best healer.
People were full of shit.
Gritting my teeth, I tried to reread the question. I’d be getting a call from Mom later. Without Blake around, she’d turned all her attention to me and my achievements. I had to fill the void her eldest son had left behind. I’d become the one who had to make the family proud.
My insides quaked as I imagined telling them about my failed marriage. I couldn’t do it. How would I even form the words?
Yeah, Mom, hey, so my wife cheated on me.
She probably wouldn’t even be surprised. Sarah had always been too good for me. Her father thought so. Hell, everyone probably did. They just didn’t have the guts to come out and say it.
Since Sarah had slept with someone else, I was even more worthless.
Before, she didn’t have anyone to compare me with.
I let out a brittle snicker and shook my head. The guy had probably been a fucking stallion, giving her all the pleasure she deserved. Unlike me. The guy who pounded her so hard she’d cried out in pain.
Making a fist, I thumped my exam paper.
Everyone around me jumped. The proctor glared at me, making the shh symbol with her finger to her lips. I looked away then shook my head.
I couldn’t do this.
Jerking out of my chair, I snatched the paper and marched to the front of the room. I still had ninety minutes left to complete the test, but I slapped my unfinished work on the main table and walked out.
Who gave a rat’s ass about law anyway?
I was about to lose my wife. Failing an exam was nothing.
Swinging the door back, I marched out of the room and set out to do something that would be the end of me. But I had to.
It wasn’t fair to string Sarah along.
I had to set her free.
Chapter Nineteen
Sarah
It’d been a week. Seven soulless nights since I’d torn a hole through my marriage. I spent the weekend shut up in the house. I switched off my phone and drowned in a sea of mournful music.
“Hello” by Adele lapped against me as I lay on the couch and stared at the blank TV screen. I blinked slowly, wondering if I’d ever find the courage to call Justin and apologize again. Rubbing a hand over my stomach, I clutched his loose T-shirt—the one I’d taken from his drawer the night he left. It’d become my favorite nightshirt, and I never wanted to take it off again. It was stained with tears and snot, but I didn’t want to wash it. I didn’t want to lose his smell. Lifting it to my nose, I inhaled his masculine scent and closed my eyes.
As much as I wanted to call him, I couldn’t.
I still didn’t know if I was pregnant or not. I took a test and it came up negative, but these things weren’t always accurate. My sister had taken a test that came up negative, and a few days later she was positive. She’d just taken the test too early. I didn’t have the courage to take another one. Fear still pulsed through me. I’d always suffered from irregular periods, so I had a vague idea of when it was due, but no certainty. Did that make my chances of getting pregnant less or more?
How the hell did I know! I didn’t want to spend hours researching on the Internet. Terror had shut down all my senses, and I was nothing more than a beached whale, lying on my couch and listening…
Listening to songs that were turning my heart to useless specks of ash.
Joan Osborne’s version of “Ain’t No Sunshine” started to play and I rolled away from it, gripping the cushion under my chin and curling into a ball. The ring Justin gave me when he proposed dug into my chin. I pulled back to gaze at the ceylonese sapphire sandwiched by two small solitaires. The stone was a pale, bright blue that matched my eyes. That was what Justin had said anyway. The way he’d smiled at me when he slipped the ring onto my finger. And his proposal. Oh, man, his perfect proposal.
I sucked in a ragged breath and sniffed against the tears. The song soaked into my back, taunting me with questions. Was this my life now? A sunless, lonely room?
I shuddered and bit my bottom lip, trying to stop the quivering.
The ringing doorbell made me jerk. I gasped and bolted upright, gripping the couch with wide eyes.
“Justin?” I whispered, throwing off the blanket and lurching for the door. The blanket wrapped around my knees, tripping me up. I thumped onto the wood floor. “Shit. Coming! I’m coming!”
I didn’t want him changing his mind and taking off before I could talk to him.
Wrestling out of the blanket was like waging a war with a sea monster. I kicked and bucked but didn’t manage to unhinge myself completely until a few steps before the door. Tossing it aside with an angry huff, I brushed the hair off my face and stopped to take in a breath.
It wasn’t until I was reaching for the handle that it occurred to me—this was Justin’s house too. He didn’t need to ring the doorbell. My hopeful smile morphed into a frown as I yanked the door open to find my best friend gazing at me with a bemused smile.
Her eyebrows popped high as she took in my sloppy appearance.
“Wow. No offense, but you’ve looked better. Are you sick?”
I stepped aside to let Jane in. She brushed past me, dumping her handbag in the basket by the door and dropping her keys on the table. She looked around the house on her way to the kitchen.
“I’m in desperate need of a tea. Do you want one?”
“Sure,” I mumbled, crossing my arms and shuffling after her.
I should have been happy to see Jane so upbeat. Blake’s death had pretty much ruined her. I’d tried to be the best friend I could, but I was dealing with an emotionless robot and it was kind of challenging. We were all in shock, trying to understand how something so unfair could have happened. Widowed on her wedding day. That sort of thing should be reserved for nightmares and horror movies.
Technically, she wasn’
t a widow, but she and Blake had been sharing a bed since their sophomore year in college. Their wedding day had actually been their five-year “first kiss” anniversary. Way to shit all over a happy memory, right?
The kettle whistled. Jane snatched it off the stand and poured boiling water into each mug.
She glanced over her shoulder at me, her pale brown eyebrows rising. “Seriously, are you sick? Or do you just have your period?”
I swallowed, stark fear scraping through me as I shook my head.
“Just had a rough week,” I muttered before turning away from her and slumping into a chair.
Jane carried the mugs over and placed them on the dining room table. Sitting adjacent to me, she carefully studied my pale complexion while quietly steeping her tea.
A year ago, we would have been chattering away like magpies. Death had killed us both, like a silent gas that had been swirling around us, eating our joy, chipping away at our personalities.
Wrapping cold fingers around my mug, I lifted it to my lips and blew on the hot liquid.
“Sorry I haven’t been by in a few weeks. The end of the school year is always so crazy, but my students left on Friday and I’m free of pubescent tweens for a while.” Jane’s voice was so flat and wooden. Would I ever hear her sing again? Laugh?
Hell, she barely cried.
I guess I understood it better now. Having lived without Justin for a week, I finally caught a glimpse of what she went through every night she slipped into an empty bed with no promise of waking up beside her man.
Robot mode was easier—the safest bet.
I attempted a smile, but only managed a fleeting, closed-mouth grin. “I’ve been busy too. Work is crazy.”
“Vegas go okay?” Jane sipped her tea, and I lost the ability to speak.
My head bobbed.
“Really? I know you were nervous.”
“It was good,” I clipped. “Great show. People loved it.”
“And the big boss?”
I clenched my jaw. “Mmhmm, he was very impressed.”
“Well done, you.” Her lips curved up at the edges, the closest to a smile anyone got these days.
She reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. “So, what’s next then?”
“Paris,” I whispered. “I’m not sure if I’ll be invited to go, but hopefully some of my designs will be on the catwalk.” I scratched my cheek and rolled my eyes. “If I can get my shit together and actually finish them.”
Jane tipped her head. “Of course you will. You’re Sarah Doyle. You’re the most talented designer I know.”
Hearing my married name made my eyes glass with tears.
Jane sat back and pointed at me. “Okay, if you don’t have your period yet, it’s definitely brewing. You are seriously emotional today.”
I sniffed and swiped at my tears. “I’m just…” I shook my head. “Rough week.”
Her eyebrows dipped together, and I knew my number was up. I’d never been able to lie to Jane. We were born to be besties. We may have not met until my freshman year at college, but the speed with which we clicked was a testament to how close we’d always be.
I clung to that truth as I drew in a ragged breath then spilled the beans. “I screwed up, Jane. Justin’s left me.”
Jane choked on her tea, spurting it back into her cup before slamming the mug down on the table. She snatched a tissue from the box in the middle and wiped her mouth before regaining her composure enough to sputter, “What?” Her bottom lip was slack as her green eyes flashed with worry. “He’d never do that. What’s going on?”
So, I had to tell her.
Every little detail…at least the ones I could remember. It was like I left my body while I talked. I couldn’t recall the exact words I used or how I sold it, but I must have come off looking pretty bad because before I’d even finished, she lurched out of her chair so fast it fell backward, scarring my parents’ wooden floor.
She didn’t apologize. She was too busy huffing like a dragon and glaring at me. Her thin chest heaved while she bunched her long fingers into fists. The emerald engagement ring Blake had given her looked massive against her white knuckles. I wondered how long it would take for her to remove it. I glanced at my ring and figured…a hell of a long time.
“How could you?” Jane’s voice shook.
I closed my eyes and dipped my head, summoning the courage to look back up at the dragon. “I didn’t mean—”
“You have a husband! You have everything I want! And you just throw it away?” She threw her hands wide. “What is wrong with you?” This was the most emotional I’d seen her since Blake’s funeral. Her pale cheeks were burning red, her green eyes vibrant with disgust.
“I was drunk,” I punched out. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“I don’t understand how you could let something like this happen! You’re blaming alcohol? Give me a break, Sarah! You disgust me.” She spat the words at my head, towering over me with her fiery red hair and wild eyes.
I deserved it. I disgusted myself. If Jane had ever cheated on Blake, I would have taken her to the cleaners.
As much as I wanted her support, I couldn’t expect it. So I just sat there and let her stare at me like I was the world’s biggest tramp.
“Justin’s a good man.”
“The best.” My face bunched as I choked out the words.
“You don’t deserve him.” Her voice was deep and metallic, made even more brutal by the thumping of her feet as she marched for the door.
I stayed where I was, staring ahead as I identified each sound—the flick of the doorknob, the snatching of the keys, the hitching of the handbag, and then the harrowing door slam that made me flinch.
The music had stopped playing while Jane visited, and now all that remained was a thick, gloomy silence.
I sat in it—small and alone at my dining room table. I had no motivation to get up or do anything other than blink and stare at the upturned chair and the uneven groove scarring the polished floor.
Chapter Twenty
Justin
It was dark out. I’d had a shitty Saturday visiting the courthouse and finding out what I had to do. Hours online researching and downloading documents put me in a foul mood. By Sunday, I could do nothing more than sit on my stale motel bed and stare at my computer screen.
Images of Blake’s and Jane’s smiling faces filled the space. They were a mix of live action and still shots. “I Love You Always Forever” played in the background of the wedding video I’d made them. I had planned to use it as part of my best man speech. While Sarah had stayed up in the early hours making Jane’s dress, I’d hunched over my computer, cutting, editing, splicing until I’d created the perfect four-minute video for them.
I’d chosen one of Jane’s favorite Donna Lewis songs to accompany the collage of their life together. Sarah had swooned when I played it to her, sitting on my lap with her slender arm around my shoulders.
“You’re so amazing,” she’d whispered, her eyes sparkling as she watched the screen.
I’d loved doing that. Editing, creating beautiful images like that made me so incredibly happy. I’d been doing it ever since I was a kid, taking photos and video clips of any and everything. Turning them into mini-movies. We’d watch them on the weekends sometimes, or I’d make a special one for family occasions like Christmas and Thanksgiving.
Blake had tried to convince me to pursue it in college, but my parents were pushing law so hard it was easier to keep my technical talents as a hobby.
Making video clips for fun won’t set you up financially, son. You need to get yourself a decent career first.
My dad had made a good point, and I followed his advice. It was just easier than putting up a fight. After I met Sarah and she’d trusted me enough to divulge her wedding business dreams, I’d had even more reason to pursue a stable career that could support her.
Everything had fallen into place so easily—our lives mapped out for us by everyone
who cared. It’d been simpler to let people take charge. We’d been so happy together we hadn’t even noticed it happening around us.
Where had that left me?
In a job I hated, working like a dog to please the people I loved.
And I was fucking miserable.
I double-clicked on the next clip in my folder. Blake’s smile hit me first. It was vivid and eye-catching. He winked at the camera and pointed. “You ready, bro?”
“Yeah, go for it.”
He shifted in his chair, resting the guitar on his knee and tucking a long curl behind his ear before starting to strum.
I panned the camera to the door. I remembered the way my heart kicked when Jane and Sarah slipped into the room.
“What’s going on?” Jane barely had time to ask her question before Blake started playing “The Book of Love.”
Her lips parted when he started singing. Her eyes misted over. Blake’s voice stretched across the room, drawing her toward him. I followed her slow steps, zooming in on her face while she basked in the glow of Blake’s love.
Nestling at his feet, she rested her long fingers on his faded jeans while he sang to her. A couple of tears tracked down her cheeks as he came to the end of the song then softly whispered, “Wanna marry me, Janey?”
She giggled. “You know it.”
I caught Sarah’s eyes on me through the camera lens. They were sparkling like sapphires, telling me she loved me.
I touched my computer screen, running my finger over her face. Had she known then that my proposal was in the pipeline? Had she known then that, only two and half years after I shot that clip, she’d be standing by Blake’s graveside, trying to comfort a girl who’d lost the love of her life?
If only we’d been able to see into the future back then. I would have stopped Blake from playing that song. I would have told him to just live with Jane for the rest of his life, to never fly to England and get married in a beautiful stone church.
Rough Water (Songbird #7) Page 9
