The What If Guy

by Moss, Brooke

  The woman was tall—much taller than I. And slender, like a model. Her shoulder-length, caramel-colored hair had been highlighted to frame her heart-shaped face and professionally blown out to perfection. She’d crossed her arms across her perky breasts. A wedding ring with a rock the size of a pancake sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

  “Who in the hell is this?” she demanded.

  “Autumn Cole, Laurel Tobler.” Henry’s face contorted into a mortified grimace.

  Everything inside of me went into some kind of spasm. For a split second, I thought I might lose control of my bladder. I immediately tried to cover my bare lower half with my hands. I couldn’t breathe.

  Laurel raised her chin, then sauntered over to me.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said formally, but her polite manners didn’t reach her eyes. She stared at me as if I were a bug that needed to be squashed.

  At that moment, I wanted to be squashed.

  I nodded at her, careful not to let the hem of Henry’s shirt rise too far. “Laurel,” I said hoarsely. “What brings you to Fairfield?”

  Her lips pulled into a tight line. “I should have known you were here. I never understood why Henry wanted to move to the middle of nowhere. It makes sense now. I’ve been competing with you for over eight years.”

  I actually felt the color draining from my face. “I, um, we—”

  “Laurel, stop.” Henry demanded. “She didn’t know I lived here. This was as much a surprise to Autumn and me as it is to you.”

  Her expertly made-up eyes shifted from my naked legs to Henry’s bare chest. “It appears you were pleasantly surprised.”

  I wanted to get the hell out of here. This could have been a scene from a soap opera, and I was officially the skanky other woman wearing the husband’s shirt. “I…I should go,” I stammered, backing up.

  “No. You don’t have to go.” Henry scowled. “Laurel, you should have called.”

  She turned to face him and her hair swung beautifully. “Since when does a wife have to make an appointment to see her husband?” She looked back and glared at me. “You realize he’s still married, don’t you?”

  Heat crawled up my neck and spread across my cheeks.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Then you wouldn’t mind if I had a word with my husband, would you? It seems as though he and I have much to discuss.” She waved a hand, dismissing me. “You can see yourself out, can’t you?”

  I turned on my heel and scrambled to find my clothes. I didn’t bother to do anything more than pull on the slacks I’d worn to the funeral and jerk my hair into a quick ponytail. I burst out of the bedroom, gripping my and Elliott’s things in my arms, my bare feet slapping on the hardwood floors.

  “Autumn—” Henry followed me to the kitchen.

  Laurel sighed impatiently. “Henry, I’m speaking to you.”

  “I’ve gotta go,” I mumbled to Henry, yanking my car keys off the counter before scrambling to open the door.

  “Autumn.” Henry positioned himself between me and the door. “Laurel, you have no right to tell her to leave.”

  I raised my eyes to his, my temper bubbling just below the surface. This was the most humiliating experience of my life. “I’m going home,” I said, my words drenched with anger. “Are you coming with me, or staying here with her?”

  “Laurel is leaving.” Henry reached for my hands, but I busied them with my clothes.

  “No, I’m not,” she snapped.

  “Let me out,” I demanded, heat spreading beneath my hair and down my back.

  “Let me get that for you.” Laurel crossed the room, her heels clicking on the floor. She squeezed in between us and held the door for me.

  “This is absurd,” Henry snarled at her. “You’ve officially lost your mind, Laurel.”

  I clambered down the front steps and across the driveway to my car. I waited for Henry to follow, to come home with me and leave the supermodel oncologist who stood in the doorway with a sneer on her face.

  But he didn’t move. He just stood there, glaring at her.

  Hot tears rolled down my face. What the hell had just happened? Our afternoon had shattered into a million pieces.

  I started my car and drove away, alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “You all right?” Holly sounded worried.

  I gripped the phone with white knuckles to keep from crying. Again. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said unevenly. “I’m sort of emotional. It’s good that Elliott wants to sleep over. It might be hard for him to stay here right now.”

  “We thought we’d set up some sleeping bags on the living room floor and let all the kids watch some movies. Cody will sleep on the couch, so you don’t have to worry about Elliott and Tabitha being together.”

  I chuckled. “Thanks. I don’t think El would know what to do if he was alone with her, anyway.”

  “He seemed to have a great time at the rodeo. He got a bit sad before we left, but I took him for a soda, gave him a hug, and he pulled through.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “He’s lucky to have you. We both are.”

  “Likewise. Do you want me to come over?”

  “No.” I looked out the window for what had to be the hundredth time. No sign of Henry. “I’m waiting to hear from Henry. I’m sure he’ll come over.”

  I could sense Holly’s smile through the phone. “Good. Enjoy the privacy tonight.”

  Biting my lip, I squeaked, “Will do.”

  “Call me tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” I rubbed my temple and snapped my phone shut.

  I’d left Henry’s house six hours earlier—six hours—and I’d received no word from him at all. I was getting paranoid. Images of Henry and Laurel in the throes of passion scrolled through my mind. Nausea roiled in my stomach. My belly growled and I pressed my hands against it. When was the last time I’d sat down to consume something other than a cup of coffee that someone had shoved into my hand?

  I decided to eat.

  There was plenty of food to choose from. Elliott and I would be eating salads and frozen casseroles for months. Apparently, when people didn’t know what to say to you after the death of a loved one, they fed you. I opted for a bowl of macaroni salad and sat at the kitchen table to eat in silence.

  No sound came from the next room. No sporting event blared from the TV. No creaking of my father’s recliner, no pop-and-hiss of one of his cans opening. I took a few bites, but nothing tasted good. It was so quiet that I thought I might just crawl out of my own skin.

  “Can’t eat,” I said aloud, pushing back my plate. “No wonder I passed out yesterday.”

  No answer.

  I stood and walked upstairs to my bedroom, deliberately avoiding the door to my father’s room, then fell, face first, on the bed. I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. Maybe being alone wasn’t such a good idea after all—too much quiet, too much time to think.

  Where the hell was Henry?

  I pictured Laurel, her perfect hair swinging around her perfectly heart-shaped face, and gritted my teeth.

  I should have cussed her out. I should have jumped on her and ripped her perfectly glossed lips right off.

  Instead, I’d pussyfooted around, sidestepping her as if she were an international diplomat. When in all actuality, she was a bitter wife trying desperately to keep her claws in a man who didn’t want her. But beneath Laurel’s cool exterior, I’d seen something in her eyes that struck me.

  Pain.

  She loved Henry. She’d pledged her life to him, and she’d meant it. Laurel just wanted her husband back.

  I drew a deep breath. The shirt I wore smelled like Henry.

  What the hell was I doing with another woman’s husband?

  Sure, Henry had said he’d always loved me. That the whole time he’d been with Laurel, it was because it was better than being alone. But what if I hadn’t shown up in Fairfield last fall? Maybe Henry would have decided to reco
mmit to his marriage. After all, Laurel had a heck of a lot more to offer him than I did.

  Laurel was beautiful and successful. She came from a prominent family and could give him financial security—something that many teachers didn’t have in this economy. Her love for him was obvious. How many people would fly clear up to Washington, rent a car, and drive into the middle of nowhere, just to beg for another chance? And she’d never done something to Henry that I had.

  Laurel had never broken his heart.

  I moaned pitifully, rolled over, and looked out the window. The sun had begun its descent, casting an orange hue across the fields. But my mood was gray and dismal. Another woman loved Henry just as much as I did. Someone who’d already established a life with him, who didn’t bring a dump-truck load of baggage with her, like I did.

  Someone he’d made a vow to, at an altar.

  I rubbed my chest where my heart bumped pitifully below.

  “Autumn?”

  Henry’s deep voice cut through my thoughts. I sat bolt upright in bed. “I’m up here,” I called, wiping my face on my sleeve.

  His footsteps sounded heavy on the stairs. He came into my bedroom, an expression of dread on his face. My heart leapt into my throat.

  “Hi.” I stood and crossed the tiny room to hold him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my face against his chest.

  Henry stroked my loose hair. “Hi.”

  I drew in his scent. “I missed you. I was getting worried.”

  “I know.” His arms held me so tightly, I could feel his heart beating through his T-shirt. “How are you? Have you been holding up all right?”

  “I’ve been avoiding looking at my dad’s things.” I raised my head and stared into his eyes. “I’m better now that you’re here.”

  His face softened. “My love.” Our lips met tenderly. A rush of relief made me feel faint. Everything’s fine. He’s here now.

  “I have to tell you something.” He pulled away and held me at arm’s length.

  That’s not good.

  “I have to leave for a while.”

  “Now?” I pulled my hands away from him, and they hung limply at my sides. “How long?”

  “I’m really not sure.” His eyes were cloudy and distant.

  I swallowed. “Are you going alone?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No.” He offered no further explanation, just frowned in the diminishing light.

  “So, you’re going with Laurel.”

  “No,” he answered quickly. “Well, yes. But it’s not like that.”

  My insides froze and I backed away from him. “Then what is it like?”

  He cast his gaze downward. “She came all this way.”

  “Yes, I realize that. I was there.”

  “Laurel’s desperate to keep me.” Henry closed his eyes as if the words pained him. “I know that her timing is rotten. Laurel didn’t know about your dad. She sends her condolences.”

  “How noble of her. Where is she?”

  He grimaced. “At my place.”

  My heart stuttered. “I see.”

  Henry reached out to touch my face, but I flinched. “I need you to be understanding about this.”

  I stalked out of the room. Away from him. He wanted to go back to California with Laurel, and was trying to soften the blow. I got it. My throat was tight when I croaked, “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t.” He followed me down the stairs.

  I blinked my eyes and willed them to stay dry. “This is what’s best. I’m actually glad Laurel showed up.”

  “Excuse me?” Henry had a hard time keeping up with me as I rounded the corner.

  “She loves you. Am I wrong?” I opened the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a garbage bag, snapping it open.

  “Yes, she does,” he said. “And I hurt her very badly.”

  I shoved past him and stomped into my father’s room, avoiding Henry’s eyes. “You obviously feel guilty about it.”

  He sighed. “Yes. I shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did. Marrying her was misleading, and—”

  “And you feel like you owe her.” I yanked open one of my father’s dresser drawers. My heart jerked, but I ignored it and pulled his clothes out, jamming them into the bag.

  “Yes, I do,” Henry admitted. “I owe it to her to go to San Francisco, and—”

  I slammed the empty drawer and opened another. “Right. Got it. I understand.”

  My throat clenched. Henry was leaving us. I’d just told Elliott this morning that I hoped to marry Henry, and now he was going to California. My head swam. Damn it. I should have finished the macaroni salad.

  Don’t pass out, don’t pass out.

  Henry owed Laurel another chance. Sure, he hadn’t gone into their marriage with the right mindset, but she was his wife. He needed to give her the chance she deserved. She loved him, for Pete’s sake. We’d had fun, acting on a thirteen-year-old fantasy, but now it was time for our roll in the hay to end. Time for him to face his responsibilities.

  “What are you doing? Stop that.” Henry took the mound of shirts out of my hands and set them on the bed.

  “It needs to be done,” I snapped, a fresh crop of tears sprouting in my eyes.

  His expression was pained. “Not tonight. It can wait.”

  I finally met Henry’s eyes, shooting daggers of mistrust at him. “What else can wait? Why put off the inevitable? Just go.” Acid dripped from my words. “Just go with her to California. Start over. Give it another shot.”

  Henry opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “I get it. You owe it to her. Believe me, Henry, I respect what you’re doing. And to be honest, I deserve this.”

  I threw the shirts into the heavy bag and dragged it from the room.

  He followed me. “You deserve what?”

  “What you’re doing.” I moved past my father’s recliner and pulled the bag out the front door. If Henry wanted to draw this out, I wasn’t going to let him. I was well aware how deeply I’d hurt him long ago, and I knew what I had coming. I was going to get dumped right on my ass. Hard.

  Henry’s voice lowered. “You’ve got this all wrong.”

  Damn it. I had officially started crying. “No, I don’t. You’re leaving with Laurel tonight.”

  “Yes, but—”

  I put up my hand between us. “No. You said you owed her. You said you needed to go home with her.”

  “Not home. To California. There’s a difference, and if you’ll just shut up for a second, I’ll explain.”

  “There’s nothing to explain,” I thundered, making the neighbor’s dog bark. “We had our fun. We had our fling. Now it’s time to go back to your wife. I’ve had it coming the whole time.”

  I turned and dragged the bag of my father’s clothes to the garbage can on the curb.

  Henry stayed right on my heels. “What are you talking about?”

  “You leaving me for Laurel.” I hoisted the bag into the can. “It’s better that way.”

  “You’ve made up your mind, and I haven’t even explained yet.”

  “I don’t need to hear the speech,” I said. “I’ve used it on you before, remember? I was pregnant, which was my excuse for giving another man a second chance. You’re married. You’re not even close to being divorced, obviously. If that isn’t a great excuse for dumping me and giving the other woman a second chance, I don’t know what is. Hell, she’s not even the other woman. I am.”

  My stomach knotted. Laurel’s presence in Henry’s house had said it all. She was a woman desperate to hang on to the man she loved. Who was I to keep him from her? I’d managed to unknowingly keep them apart for eight years, and I refused to do it again. If Henry felt like he owed her another chance, then I wouldn’t be the one to stand in their way. Not this time.

  I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and shoved my hair back from my face. “Go,” I yelled, pointing at his truck. “I want you to go back to California with Laurel. It’s the right thing to do.�
��

  Henry looked like he’d been slapped. My words hung in the air between us, his angry eyes searching my face.

  “I said go.” My voice cracked. “Just get in your truck and get the hell out of here.”

  Henry’s jaw flexed. He backed up. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice jagged and rough. “I never stopped. I never will. I am going to San Francisco to end things, once and for all.”

  “Is that what Laurel thinks?”

  He hesitated. “No, but that’s the way it’s going to be.”

  I wanted to grab him. To pull him against me and beg him not to go. I wanted to draw in his scent and tangle my fingers in his hair. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, that I’d never stopped, either.

  The words burned my tongue, but never passed my lips. I folded my arms and stared at the ground. I stood like a statue while he fired up the engine of his truck and let it run while he watched me, his mouth downturned and eyes filled with agony. Finally, after what felt like an hour, he put his truck in gear, and slowly rolled away.

  “I love you, too,” I whispered as soon as I was left alone in the dark.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Henry didn’t call.

  A day passed. Then two. Then three days, no calls.

  I finally broke down and called his cell, but it had been disconnected. I considered that a very blatant sign that he didn’t want to be reached.

  A week passed. Then two. I’d seen a moving company arrive to remove Henry’s meager belongings from his tiny rental house. Laurel had obviously won. And as despondent as I was over it, I was angrier with myself than anyone else. Laurel deserved Henry. She was his wife.

  July arrived with weather hot and dry enough to make my hair generate power for half the town. Elliott went camping with Cody and three of his boys, then attended a symphony camp with Garrett and Marshall.

  Elliott was really angry. For the first week after Henry left, my son had barely said two words to me. Without my father puttering around the house, the silence was crippling. Eventually, mainly out of necessity, El had spoken to me again, but his despondence etched itself on his face.

  He wanted a father. I knew it, and he knew it, and he knew that I knew that he knew it. Whatever. The bottom line was: Henry was the closest thing Elliott had ever had to a father, and now he was gone. In El’s mind, it was all my fault.