Sliver of Truth (Shattered Hearts of Carolina Book 3)

by Jody Kaye

  “Mom, I’m hungry,” my daughter declares on the ride home in Dusty’s truck.

  Front the passenger seat next to me, Holly swipes two bananas from a knapsack. She hands them back to the kids like six-shooters making pew-pew noises.

  “Thanks,” Sylvie says. “Oh, I got one!” She leans forward, affixing a sticker upside down to my parka.

  “I love it, Chiquita!” I tell her. She’s getting old for sticker books, but blue produce stickers will always be our thing. When Sylvie has her own child—someday far, far, down the road—I hope, even if they don’t maintain the tradition, this is a memory she shares. I also have every last one of her teeth that have fallen out so far. They’re tucked away with my own.

  The road curves and I press the brake, slowing to turn onto our property. There are still a few weeks before the leaves bud, but we still have a good deal of privacy before the driveway opens up to the field where the house stands.

  Last year was lucrative for everyone at the mill. Dusty and I used the investment portfolio profits to add on to the little cabin in the mountains. We wanted to spend more weekends up here and had outgrown the space we had.

  “Hon, this place is so impressive. I’m so happy for you, but it might kill me if you move out here all the time.” Holly spends her vacations at the beach.

  “It’s a someday plan.” I smile, pulling up behind a myriad of other vehicles parked in our driveway.

  “You and your plans,” she pokes fun at me on our way inside. “Throw a little caution to the wind.”

  “If we did that, we would be here permanently.”

  Holly trails her lacquered fingertips over the hood of a classic station wagon with shiny chrome accents. It’s all her. A full ski rack is on the top. “Then forget I mentioned anything,” she calls over her shoulder as we’re greeted by a houseful of guests.

  I can’t believe how lucky we are to have such good people in our life to share our mountain home with. This is the first chance Dusty and I have had to entertain our friends in Boone. The contractor met with the building inspector and took down the building permits on Monday. The furniture for the guest rooms got delivered in the nick of time.

  We had the ceiling in the living room vaulted and a two-story addition put on the opposite side of the house. Dusty’s done the lion’s share of the finish work because he had a vision of how he wanted it to turn out—a plan I teased him mercilessly about when he took an extra month to approve the architectural designs, unable to decide on how many garages we needed.

  The answer is three. One for my car, one for his truck, and one for his tools.

  Across the room, I can see smoke from the grills fired up on the back porch as my husband walks in through the open back slider. Kids of all ages mill about.

  It smells of charcoal and barbecue and Dusty tastes like the scotch he, Trig, Cary, Carver, and Morgan are passing around.

  “Have fun?” Dusty asks, tugging at my waist.

  “Yeah.” I glance around the living room to make sure everyone has what they need. Most of the girls are sitting on the couches, nursing glasses of wine.

  “But?”

  “I missed you.” I worry my lip with subtle intent.

  “How can you miss daddy? He’s right here!” Sylvie flails her arms in the air like a duck.

  “If you’re using the hot tub, get your suit on now,” I instruct her. It’ll get cold once the sun goes down and not everyone is staying at our place. A few booked rentals by the nearest ski resort. “Bhodi’s leaving at bedtime.”

  I turn my attention back to her father.

  “Missed you too.” Dusty grins, dipping his lips to my ear. He whispers naughty words and that his intent would be to strip me out of the ski pants I’ve got on if guests weren’t here.

  Bhodi and our daughter zip between us with towels.

  “Sorry, Uncle Morgan!” I hear before a big splash on the deck as they dive into the water.

  Seeing my brother coming, Dusty pecks me on the lips and goes in search of his favorite grilling tongs.

  “Do they always have this much energy?” Morgan asks, holding a jumping baby out to me.

  “Yes, they do. They do. They do.” I baby talk to the chunky eight-pound, twelve-ounce baby girl I delivered last year. The spitting image of her daddy, Delilah is even bigger now. Dusty’s daughters are my entire world, and he’s the universe. The one thing I have more faith in than anything else is my marriage because of my husband’s faith in me.

  “Ma-Ma-Ma-Ma,” Delilah squeals as I brush our noses together.

  Then I give my brother a smarmy look that he returns with a smirk.

  “Oooh, your time is coming!” I taunt. “Make sure your wife has a water bottle while I change your niece’s diaper.”

  Dusty’s strong calloused palm tugs on my thigh, spreading my legs, and he works his magic on my clit. Somewhere between sleep and awake, I let out a needy whimper. Bucking into the sensation from the three fingers he uses to ready me, it doesn’t take much before I’m soaked. He bites my shoulder; a gentle reminder to keep my voice down. I look through the crack of our door to where the one for the girls’ room is shut.

  Once they’ve grown a little older, the plan is to move the girls into their new rooms for more privacy. But for now, I like having them close—Bathroom rendezvous are commonplace. So thank goodness we have experience, and a lock.

  His hand moves, cupping my pussy.

  “No, don’t stop,” I beg for more of the stretch I love, rubbing his rigid cock through his sleep shorts.

  “Mmm… Cees. Wanted to fuck you all day.” His warm breath blows past my ear. His fingers go back to massaging my cunt.

  I sneak my hand below the elastic waist of Dusty’s pants, trying to pleasure him as much as he is me. “I want all of you,” I whisper, greedily.

  Dusty sheds his only article of clothing. He maneuvers between my legs, pushing my knees open and shoving up my top. After palming my breasts, he thrusts inside of me, covering his body with mine.

  “Shh… You’ll wake the house,” he chastises, covering my mouth with his lips. With slow steady thrusts, Dusty brings me to the brink, making up for the hours apart this afternoon while we entertained.

  Like molasses in the winter, it takes me a while afterward to move. I pad to the bathroom to clean up. While I’m in there, the baby starts crying.

  I search for my ratty gray sweatpants in the dark. By the time they’re over my hips, Delilah has settled. Still, I tip-toe out of the master bedroom, telling Dusty I’ll be back soon.

  It’s surprising to find the door to the girls’ room open and Delilah’s crib empty. I hear a sound in the kitchen and follow the soft ray cast by the light.

  “I hope you don’t mind. She seemed to want to be held.” Aidy leans against the sink with Delilah straddling her baby bump.

  A sippy cup in her mouth, my younger daughter twirls Aidy’s shoulder-length red hair in the other for comfort. I often mix Aidy up with Kimber nowadays. It’s still unusual to see Aidy without the streaks of lavender.

  I tip-toe over and run my fingers through Delilah’s dark sweaty locks. She’s a hot sleeper. I was an inferno from the point I’d conceived. No test needed, I knew Dusty had left a piece of himself to grow inside me. Realizing I was having a baby was one of the best moments of my life, next to telling Dusty, and us letting Sylvie know she was going to be a big sister.

  “No, I was about to pick her up to snuggle anyway. Let me know if your arms get tired.”

  Aidy pats her swollen belly under Delilah’s bottom. “We’re using the bump for all it’s worth.”

  “It’s worth a lot.” I hug Aidy from the side. I can’t wait to meet my brother’s child. I never met my own aunts and uncles and, in a million years, I hadn’t expected we’d be raising babies alongside one another. “I’m so excited for you and Morgan.”

  I’m also envious. Dusty and I have talked about more, but we’re compromising, waiting until Delilah is out of diaper
s. Dusty’s schedule allows him to be home with the girls as much as possible. I have guilt over pushing my luck. How many mothers are fortunate enough to have a sexy house husband and an amazing grandma like Renata who helps out at the drop of a hat?

  “Thanks. I can’t wait for this part.” She looks dreamily at her niece. “Aaand the heartburn to be over.”

  “Is that what got you up?” I grimace. We had spicy southern barbecue with vinegar at dinner.

  “No, sweetheart, what woke her was the same thing that woke everyone else who wasn’t sleeping; You.” Sloan sashays toward us with a wicked grin.

  I cover my face, glad the dim lamplight hides the crimson seeping into my cheeks. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize to me. Carver wasn’t ready to sleep either. There’s something to be said for loving a man who takes care of your every toe-curling need.” She winks in my direction, adjusting her robe as she sits down on a stool.

  Aidy’s snort startles Delilah. “Ma—” she bleats like a baby goat.

  I reach for her, but Sloan says, “My turn,” with gimme hands.

  “When is your turn?” Aidy asks, watching Sloan cradle Delilah in her arms. “Morgan joked if Kimber and Trig have another they’ll be saying there’s something in the mill’s water.”

  “Babies are catchy. We could start a mill-sponsored softball team,” I suggest.

  Our friend’s age’s run the gamut, but we’re all as close as can be. It’s not surprising we’re all having kids at the same time.

  Sloan rubs Delilah’s feet through her sleeper. “My time passed.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” I harrumph. “You’d be the best mother. It’s not like you have zero experience with kids.”

  “If you mean Hailey, that’s different. I should have managed the situation a lot better, and made more than my fair share of mistakes.”

  I’m trying my hardest not to but, “Isn’t that part of the charm of parenthood? Saying we’re won’t be like our own moms and dads and screwing our kids up in a completely different way?”

  “Ugh, you should see the teens I deal with at the high school.” Aidy shudders. “Maternity leave can’t come soon enough.”

  “Are you going back after the baby is born?”

  “Of course, I am. These kids need me!” Her voice raises enough to hear beyond the walls of the large room.

  As our laughter fades, Carver appears shirtless on the landing to the second floor. His flannel pants hang low on his hips, showing off a delicious V. I’m all set to go back and enjoy the warmth of my bed and Dusty’s company. Carver’s physique gives Dusty’s a run for the money, but he doesn’t have those enormous pecs or massive biceps that keep me—

  “I’m not drooling. And if I am, it’s pregnancy hormones and neither of you are to tell Morgan,” Aidy remarks beneath her breath. “Hi, Carver, what can we do for you?”

  “I’d like my wife to come back to bed. We’re here for two more days. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not share her at midnight when you’ll all be clucking tomorrow.”

  “Clucking?” I put my hand to my chest in mock horror. “I don’t cluck!”

  “No, you moan,” Aidy titters. “Loudly.”

  “Really loudly,” Sloan agrees.

  I gasp at their cheek and hit Aidy’s shoulder before taking my daughter back into my arms. Smiles hide our giggles.

  Delilah sighs in her sleep again and my heart swells. It would be so great if Sloan could experience this.

  “Sloan. Bed. Now,” Carver orders.

  “I’m coming, Mister Bossy Pants.” Sloan’s already slipped up the stairs, but he swats her ass for the flippant remark.

  “I’m headed back to our room too.” Aidy yawns and kisses Delilah’s temple. “Sleep tight.” She waves, disappearing into the darkness.

  Swaying back-and-forth, I rock Delilah for a few minutes longer and bring her back to her crib. I pull the covers up over Sylvie, touch her damp and frizzy honey-colored braids, wondering how she’ll want to wear her wavy hair in the morning. Then I kiss her the way Aidy had Delilah. “I love you, Sylvie Rhys.”

  “Love you, Mommy,” she answers in her sleep.

  Mommy. I’m their mommy.

  This is not how I saw my future pan out. I thought I’d meet the man I’d make a life with after practicing medicine for a few years. I knew I wanted to be a mom, but never once considered my child would have another mother first. I was positive I’d mourn the loss of not ticking off everything on my checklist. Yet, what I wound up with was so much more.

  I lean against the door jamb, soaking in the sounds of the quiet house settling in the cold. Dusty comes up behind me. His lips trail the nape of my neck. Our fingers intertwine as he pulls me back to our massive bed. I snuggle up next to him, absorbing the heat of his body. His palm caresses my lower belly, content to stay there. He’d held me like this while Delilah grew inside of me.

  I take a deep breath.

  “What’re you thinking, Cees?”

  “Baby?”

  “The girls are fine.”

  “No, Dust. I want another one.”

  He moves his massive frame and the bed rocks. I can make out the silhouette of his bicep, shoulder, and his head leaning on his elbow. “Puts a crimp in the plan.”

  “We could throw the plan out the window? Move. Raise snow bunnies?”

  Dusty told me the first time I visited he wanted this house to be somewhere he didn’t have to leave if he didn’t want to. And from the moment we started coming here as a family of three, it’s become the place I’ve wanted to bring our children home to. This weekend has proven there is room for everyone here.

  Dusty rolls on top of me.

  “What are you doing?” I squirm.

  “Catching up.” His lips trail my neck and chest. “You’re one stop ahead, Cees. And if you’re on board, then so am I.”

  There will never be enough words to express how much I appreciate the time you took to read this book. My goal is to make the characters come to life on the pages. I hope any imperfections didn’t take away from your enjoyment!

  If you believe you’ve found an error, it has slipped by multiple software programs and several sets of human eyes.

  I’d be glad to look at it myself and take the time to make necessary corrections. All you have to do is screenshot and circle the issue, then e-mail it to me at jodykayewrites@gmail.com.

  Thank you so much!

  Some characters are easy to write. Despite the research I did on how to incorporate stuttering into readable flowing dialogue, turning Dusty into a whole person wasn’t as difficult as my second guessing made it seem when I’d first decided to write a hero with a disability.

  I love how he accepts who was, who he is, and what’s important in life. He had the chance to achieve his own dreams before his accident and wants the same satisfaction for Celine.

  Cece? She’s another story. If you haven’t realized it yet, many of the themes in Shattered Hearts of Carolina exist to make you explore the way you react.—And me… I’m totally including me in that statement.—Even in the silence of our minds, people don’t like being faced with their own preconceived notions (Again, I spent a lot of my time over the winter and in the early spring sifting through my bias because the last books I’ve penned have dealt with heavy topics!) It’s hard to admit there are times we wonder what others think of us. It was difficult to make Cece’s misgivings realistic without planting a seed that a human reaction made her unlikeable. Believe it or not, writers don’t ever want readers to disengage with a character because of their flaws. Many times if I don’t like heroine it’s not based on their actions or inactions, but rather not liking the idea I might have made similar choices given the circumstances. Reality sucks. It’s why we look to books as an escape, right? But I’ve also learned that storylines that don’t shy away from hard topics are a hallmark of modern romance novels.

  A “writing rule” to remember I’ve had poste
d in my office for years is characters struggle with who others think they are. I had to skew this a bit and make part of Cece’s struggle be what will I think of myself I can’t defend someone else I claim to care for. While Cece protected Morgan from tid-bits of their family history, she’d been protecting her heart too. She didn’t need a hero to save her as much understand she’d become someone with the power to help the people she cared about.

  I’ve had a lot of questions about the hints I’ve dropped about what goes on at the mill and how many books will be in this series. The latter is easy. I started 2020 with plots for eight and am working on books four and five. It may not be until six when the scope of what the guys have gotten their hands dirty with unfolds, but I hope you have better insight surrounding Carver’s nature now.

  This is the part where I’m supposed to thank people. I’ve always circled back to friends, Quinters, writing peers—like Suzanne Winslow (who was awesome enough to answer my odd questions when I ran into a stumbling block)—and MJA. But this time I need to acknowledge my sons.

  Like so many kids, 2020 hasn’t been easy on them. They lost out on huge milestones, which should have been celebrated with pomp and circumstance. We’ve become insular with virtual learning and the dynamic of our family changed with one leaving the nest. I’ve had to reengage and re-become the parent I was for them when they were little, tugging at my knees, and in need of my full attention. They’ve had to understand the balance of mom’s job, and make sure I don’t take myself too seriously by joking about all the half-naked men in my stock photo light boxes. (Want to actively reflect while doing your best to raise respectful feminist? Take a close look at the other side of the coin and how you’d feel if they had bikini-clad women on their laptop screens.) However, my biggest “thank you” is this: I understand for the last 5 years, mom’s unconventional and embarrassing job has opened you up to criticism during a point in life when all kids struggle with who they are and worry about how others view them. And during a time in history when it seems as if everyone is focused on nit-picking shit they have no true interest in ever understanding, it makes everyone knowing your mom is a romance writer more difficult. I appreciate the support you give, the enormous hearts you have, and the men you are becoming. I will never have bigger fans than you, and I’ll be the greatest fan of your lives.