Last Heartbreak (A Nolan Brothers Novel Book 5)

by Amy Olle

  “I’m sorry.”

  Another sob escaped her and she sucked it in, but she couldn’t stem the onslaught of pain.

  “Why?” Her strangled cry pierced the still night air. “Why did you do that?”

  “When he came to me, I don’t know, I felt sorry for him.”

  “You felt sorry for him? What about me? I am your wife.” Her own words gashed a hole in her chest and shrank back. Shaking her head, she twisted away. “No, you know what? Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Isobel, wait. Please. Tell me what happened between you and your dad. I want to understand. Help me understand.”

  “He threw me out. Like I was a dog that’d misbehaved.” Her voice broke.

  When she risked a glance at him over her shoulder, his eyes blazed with an intensity she couldn’t bear. She turned her face away once more.

  “Isobel, please, don’t shut me out. Not this time.”

  With a gasp, she whirled. “I shut you out?”

  His jaw clenched tight. “Yes.”

  “You were gone, Shea. I was alone and I was scared and you weren’t there.”

  “I know. I worked too much—”

  “No.” Her hand shot out to silence him. “Don’t say another word. Not one more word. I—I want to go home.”

  The trembling in her hands reached her voice, so she yanked open the door and ducked inside the car.

  A tear slid down her cheek while, on the empty sidewalk, Shea stood with his head hanging down.

  God, it hurt. She’d dealt with the pain of unexpectedly bumping into her dad so many times it was merely a dull ache, but to hear Shea defend her dad had cut straight through her flesh to the strike bone. And just when she’d started to soften toward her husband.

  Shea rounded the hood of the car and when he climbed behind the wheel, she turned her face to the window. With the back of her hand, she swiped at the silly, ridiculous tears spilling over.

  Shame on her for so quickly forgetting he was not someone she could trust. Certainly not with her heart. He never had been.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fear and regret snarled and snapped at him, mauling his fragile faith in himself. In them.

  On the drive home, the anger leached from her, taking with it the color from her cheeks. Silently, he followed her inside the house, but let her retreat down the hall and disappear behind the bedroom door.

  He poked his head into Finn’s room to let him know they were home, then peeked in on Connor and Maisie, whose heavy, rhythmic breathing told him they remained asleep.

  At the doorway to their bedroom, he hesitated.

  What the hell had just happened to them? One minute they were like they used to be, and the next it’d all blown up in his face. At the first inkling of trouble, all their worst instincts came rushing forth. Anger and disappointment warped reality, and the hurt made it all feel so damn real.

  Their old patterns, like well-worn ruts in a muddy road, pulled them along, entrapping them and preventing them from treading a different path. Any other path.

  Dammit, they could do better than this. He could do better.

  He stepped quietly into the room and, with a soft click of the latch, closed the bedroom door.

  She sat on the end of the bed in the dark, gazing at the wedding dress before her. Moonlight streamed in through the windows and picked out the tiny crystals scattered over the gown’s full skirt like stardust.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Her clipped reply came too quick.

  He crossed to the nightstand and switched on the table lamp. The soft light failed to banish the shadows from the room.

  Moving to the end of the bed, he searched her expression. “Seeing your dad upset you.”

  “Hmmm? Oh.” Her small hand floated through the air. “No. I’m just tired.”

  Her fingers touched the gown and the slight tremor in her hand gave her away. She was not detached. She was barely holding herself together.

  “I have to finish this dress tonight if I’m going to stay on track,” she said, rubbing the flimsy fabric between her thumb and forefinger. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  A frown dragged at his features while he considered the dress. “We need to get you some help. Did you talk to Ginny?”

  “She’s on vacation next week.”

  “What about Ava? Does she sew? Or Sophie?”

  She gave her head a small shake. “Anyway, they’re busy right now with work and planning Finn’s birthday party.”

  Disappointment nipped at him. “We’ll think of something.”

  After a beat of heavy silence, she exhaled a low, leaky breath. “I’m not sure it matters.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If the designs aren’t any good, it doesn’t matter if I get them done or not.”

  “What do you mean, if they aren’t any good? They’re incredible.”

  She withdrew her hand and tucked it neatly in her lap.

  “An editor from a national bridal magazine loves them enough to put her name behind them.” He spoke to the top of her head. “Where is this coming from?”

  “I’m just trying to be realistic.”

  He lowered his body to sit beside her on the edge of the bed.

  “Doubt is natural. The ability to self-reflect, even self-criticize, can be the difference between a successful startup and a failed one.” He studied her profile. “But that’s not what you’re doing.”

  She lurched to her feet. “I should get back to work.”

  Her back to him, she riffled through the scattered bits and pieces of her sewing supplies laid out on the dresser.

  She’d retreated behind her walls. A part of him wanted to take her cue and walk away. Leave it alone. For years he’d let her build those barriers because it was easier, safer, than forcing the dark out into the light.

  But not anymore. Adding more bricks to the walls would be the end for them. He knew it in his gut.

  Pushing to his feet, he crossed to the dresser, turning to lean against the wall beside it.

  “You never told me what happened between you and your dad.”

  With her index finger, she flicked frantically through her sewing stuffs. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “What did he say to you when he told you to get out?”

  “What does it matter now?” She risked an uneasy glance at him. “It was a long time ago.”

  What does it matter? she’d said. Not, ‘I can’t remember the exact words that were said nearly twenty years ago.’

  “It matters. You might not want to tell me, but it does matter,” he said, his voice low and not entirely even. “A great deal, I suspect.”

  Her stormy eyes filled with apprehension. “I… I don’t like to think about it.”

  “Neither do I.” A cold knot twisted in his stomach and he reached for her fumbling hand. “I never once asked you to tell me what happened because I didn’t want to hurt you, and because I was a coward. But we’ve put it off long enough, don’t you think?”

  At his quip, her tremulous smile broke his heart as, for just one slight moment, she appeared so like the girl he’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

  She’d been seventeen at the time, Finn’s age, and she’d lost her mom a few months before. He had only wanted to comfort her, to love her and take away the pain of her grief. Instead, he knocked her up.

  Extracting her hand from his, she shoved her palms into the back pockets of her blue jeans and took a measured step away from the dresser. “I managed to hide my pregnancy from him until I was seven months along.”

  “You hid it from me, too.”

  “I didn’t know how to tell you.” Her heavy lashes swept down to hide her eyes. “And after the way my dad reacted, I was afraid to.”

  “I wish you’d trusted me.” He swallowed thickly. “But I don’t blame you for being afraid.”

  When she glanced up, relief swept the storm from her eyes. “W
ell, I do blame you for talking to him tonight.”

  “I never once took his side over yours.” He stared into her eyes, as though he might drive the truth of his words directly into her heart. “What he did was unforgivable and he doesn’t deserve to have you in his life. But I’m not gonna lie, I relished the opportunity to tell him exactly that. I’d do it again if given the chance.”

  A secret smile softened her lips.

  “But I am sorry if I hurt you,” he said. “That was never my intention.”

  “Thank you for saying that.”

  “You’re welcome.” He folded his arms over his chest. “You were going to tell me about your dad.”

  A spool of thread on the dresser snagged her attention and she plucked it up. She toyed with it a moment before she pushed a huff of air between her lips and set it back down with a clank.

  But her gaze remained fixated on the spool. “It’s hard to say the words.”

  “Luke thinks we should text.”

  One eyebrow lifted. “Excuse me?”

  “He says it gives him and Emily time to choose their words more carefully. I imagine it’d also help if the words happened to be difficult to say.”

  Her brow puckered as she pondered that, then she shrugged. “I don’t want to type it out either, so I guess I’ll just tell you.”

  “I’m okay with that, too.”

  She studied her trinkets for a long, drawn-out moment. When she finally spoke, her voice had dropped to a quiet murmur. “He was so angry.”

  “Did he lay a hand you?” The burning question burst from him.

  “No. He told me I’d dishonored my family. That my mom would’ve been ashamed of me.” Her throat worked when she swallowed. “Then he told me to get out.”

  His dread spun into a wild fury. When he had found her, she’d been sleeping in the park for days. She was dirty, hungry, and so spooked she’d flinched when he drew near. He’d loaded her in his car to take her with him back to campus and she’d cried nearly the entire four-hour drive.

  His rage must’ve showed on his face because a flicker of alarm chased across her features. “I can’t believe he would’ve thrown me out unless he thought I had somewhere else to go.”

  “You should’ve come to me.”

  “You were four hours away, and I didn’t have any money.”

  It took all his willpower not to argue with her. “So you slept in the park?”

  A shudder passed through her. “The second night, it stormed.”

  He swallowed bile. “How long were you there before I found you?”

  “Five nights, I think. Maybe six.”

  Outrage overcame him. “Jesus, Iz. Why didn’t you call me?”

  “You had enough pressure already.”

  He’d taken a short leave from work on the freighter to attend fall camp ahead of his junior year football season.

  “Do you honestly think I wouldn’t have left camp or made them dock that damn boat so I could get to you? You were sleeping in the park. You were pregnant and alone, and goddammit, you should’ve called me.”

  She’d clenched her fists so tightly at her sides that her knuckles had turned white. “I was afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?” His heart shattered. “Of me?”

  “Yes. No. I—I don’t know.” She lifted a trembling hand to cover her face. “When my dad said those things, everything changed. I changed. All of a sudden, I doubted everything and everyone. If my dad put limits on his love like that, maybe everyone else did, too, and all it’d take was one more mistake and I’d lose everything. Even you.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut with the agony slashing through him.

  “And then I had Finn.”

  His eyes flew open.

  “And I realized my dad’s rejection had hurt more than I’d let on. I was afraid to love him, Shea.” Her voice broke with a sadness he couldn’t endure. “He was just a baby, and I couldn’t let myself love him.” The tears were flowing as freely as her words now. “I didn’t want to hold him. He’d cry and I couldn’t comfort him. For days, weeks, Noah had to do everything for me.”

  “It’s okay,” he rasped.

  “It’s not okay. What if Noah hadn’t been living with us? How could I have been afraid to love my baby?”

  He tugged her to him, as much for support as to give it, and because he needed to touch her. “He’s a great kid, mo chuisle. It’s okay.”

  A sob slipped from her throat. Another wrenched open his heart, and another. He buried his face in her hair.

  “It’s okay.” He repeated. “I felt it, too.”

  She snuffled. “You did?”

  “I was terrified of him.” He brushed a strand of her hair off her forehead. “My God, Izzy, we were so young. I didn’t know anything about babies, about being a dad, or a husband. Between Finn and my brothers and my dad, we had the weight of the world on our shoulders, but we were kids ourselves. Of course we struggled. If we hadn’t, I’d doubt we were taking things seriously enough.”

  With the heel of her hand, she scrubbed the tears from her cheeks. “I was so afraid to tell you that. All these years…”

  “I’m glad you did. I didn’t understand before, but I’m starting to now.”

  When she started to move away, he gripped her nape and tugged her close, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. Believe me when I tell you, I’ve never forgotten that knowing me, loving me, ruined your happiness.”

  She pulled back so she could see his face, then her expression changed from shock to tenderness. “That’s why you worked so hard all the time, isn’t it? You thought you had to. To make me happy.”

  “I wanted to be able to give you anything you wanted. Everything, because you deserve it all.” A painful lump lodged in his throat. “Instead I made you miserable.”

  She pushed up on her tiptoes and brushed her mouth over his. He closed his eyes and inhaled her love. Her tongue came out to take a tiny taste of him and a slow lick of arousal curled through him.

  “You were always a great kisser,” she murmured against his mouth. “So at least there’s that.”

  With her smile, the anguish released him. He cupped her face and kissed both of her red, puffy eyes. A smile played on her soft lips while he dropped kisses on her nose, the curve of her cheeks, her forehead.

  Her fingertips skimmed down the side of his face and danced along his jawline. “You’re not awful to look at either. Especially with your shirt off.”

  With a flash of motion, he reached back, grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt, and yanked it over his head. Her husky laugh filled the hole in his heart when he tossed the shirt aside. Lacing his fingers with hers, he drew her toward the bed.

  But her amusement died and she tugged on his hand.

  He turned. “What is it?”

  Her troubled gaze slipped to the bed. “I don’t want to do it here. It’s… where we got lost.”

  A small pinch tweaked him in the center of his chest. His fingers still entwined with hers, he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss between her knuckles. “We’re not lost, mo chroí. We know exactly where we are.”

  “We do?”

  “Come.” He walked backward toward the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. Pulling her between his thighs, he lifted the hem of her shirt and kissed her stomach. Over the fabric, his eyes found hers. “Let me show you.”

  The proof of her consent rushed into her cheeks and showed in the way her fingers feverishly fumbled with the top button of her blouse. The fastening gave way, and so did the next, and the next, in a wanton striptease that revealed her shimmery butterscotch skin to him inch by glorious inch.

  Familiar, hot longing squeezed his balls.

  When her blouse parted, he reached up and slipped the material off her shoulders. As she reached for the clasp of her bra, her back arched, thrusting her full, heavy breasts before his face. A fierce flare of desire ignited in him and then her bra fell away.
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br />   The circlet of her wedding band nestled between her lush tits. He pressed the palm of his hand flat against her stomach and smoothed upward. Inserting the tip of his pinky finger inside the white gold ring, he cupped her with both hands. The necklace’s chain grazed her beaded nipple and he dragged his tongue across the ripe bud, tasting warm flesh and cold metal.

  Her breathing became shallow and rapid. Her breasts rose and fell with her ragged breaths.

  “You’re so goddamn beautiful, my wife.”

  At the base of her neck, her pulse throbbed as his hands roamed down her body and hooked a finger in the waistband of her blue jeans. The button popped and he dragged down the zipper. She shimmied out of the body-hugging material to stand before him in only her bright pink panties.

  Hunger consumed him and he feasted on her voluptuous curves. He catalogued every dip and hollow with his fingers and tongue, lingering at a few key places—her hipbone and navel, the underside of one breast. Slowly, he stroked and tasted, licked and nibbled her skin, becoming drunk on her intoxicating softness.

  His fingers skimmed the delicate skin of her inner thighs. Gripping her knee, he parted her legs and stroked her panties over the heart of her.

  With her moan, her head lolled back. He toyed with her while erotic whimpers fell from her lips to stoke the fire building inside him.

  When she begged him, he pulled aside the scrap of fabric and pushed a finger into her warm, wet recess. He teased her lips apart and tormented the hidden morsel. A wrinkle formed between her brows and she rolled her hips against his hand until she purred beneath his touch.

  He tugged the pink panties down her thighs and then with one last, languid stroke of his fingers, he stood. Sucking his own fingers into his mouth, he tasted her. Her eyes went wide and her lips parted with her soft gasp.

  He shoved his jeans and boxers down over his hips, his erection rearing hot and hard.

  As he eased her onto the bed, huge guileless eyes ate him up. His cock jumped and he kneeled between her thighs on the bed. Their bed.

  Emotion surged and, pressing the length of his body against hers, he touched her everywhere, her small rib cage and spine, shapely breasts and thighs, the decadent swells of her lush bottom.