In Name Only (A Pine Falls Novel Book 2)

by Jennifer Peel

  I hesitated to give him my hand. I wanted him to reach for mine like he had when he’d first come home. To not waste a second before his fingers locked securely with mine. My hand ached for his thumb to brush across it. This imitation affection was like having only seawater to drink. It would wet your lips, but before long it would steal your life away.

  Brock stretched his hand out farther while tapping his foot.

  “I don’t want to pretend today,” I pleaded.

  He dropped his hand before using it to rub his forehead. “We don’t have a choice, Dani. The news crew will be here any moment.”

  I braved stepping closer to him. The way my heart raced said it probably wasn’t my brightest idea, but I needed him now more than ever—my best friend. It was unfair, I know, but I had never been more afraid or lonely in my life. “We have a choice.” My sorrow bled through, making my voice hitch. He could try to forgive me. It didn’t mean we had to jump right to man and wife. We could be friends again, or at least not the adversaries we had become.

  His hand fell to his side while his wide eyes captured mine. Incredulity swirled in his.

  I didn’t let it deter me. I took the hand he had offered me moments ago and held it up, between my own, close to my heart, which was pounding. For a beautiful second, he and his hand relaxed under my touch. Then anger became the victor once again. Brock pulled away from me. “You made your choice, Dani.” He turned to walk away.

  I choked back my tears. “Yes, I did, but so did you.” My own anger appeared.

  He stopped but wouldn’t face me.

  “For years I watched you choose the wrong women over and over again while I was very much alive and in love with you. By your own admission, you knew my feelings for you ran deeper than friendship. Still, you chose your career and convenience over me because you didn’t want to be tied down to one woman. You could have chosen me a long time ago,” my voice cracked. “This baby could have . . . should have been ours,” I cried. “I’m not trying to excuse what happened, but just remember I didn’t give you a front-row seat to my choice.”

  I strode right past him and into the house to pay the price for my choice.

  Chapter Three

  I leaned against the kitchen woodblock counter for support, slowly sipping water in hopes of staving off dehydration, and trying to soak in the vitamin D from the glorious warm rays streaming in through the wall of windows. I needed to stay healthy. If I had to go to the hospital now, the secret would be out. And not even Sheridan or my family knew about my pregnancy. I reveled in the few minutes of alone time and reprieve. If only it didn’t smell like the pot roast Sheridan was cooking in the oven. Normally I loved that smell, but today it added to the squeamish feeling.

  The rest of the Hollands were in the living room preparing for the arrival of the news crew. John was going over talking points with Brock and Brant while Sheridan was probably straightening her couch cushions for the hundredth time. Jill was sure to be following her future mother-in-law around, trying to prove what a dutiful daughter she would be. Everything was supposed to be perfect—even the people.

  “How are you?” Brant startled me.

  I turned around to find him leaning against the doorframe, looking worn despite his perfectly pressed dress slacks and button-up. If I had to guess, I would say he’d even lost a few pounds. His angular face was looking thinner. His skin, normally tan this time of year, was gaunt.

  “Fine,” I lied. What else could I say? While his care was meant to bring comfort, all I could think was that he shouldn’t be here with me alone. Not because I didn’t trust him or myself around him, though. Brock had warned him to stay away from me, and I didn’t want him and Brock to get into it again.

  Brant took a brave step forward. “I’m sorry, Dani.” Throughout the last several weeks, he had said it more times than I could count.

  “Stop apologizing. We both . . . well . . . you know.” It was a mutual choice. A mutual mistake. I didn’t believe in casual sex and one-night stands. I had seen how sex ruined lives—almost ruined my life when I was a teenager. I’d never meant to be so careless. Even so, I had been so overcome with staggering grief that night and had sought comfort where I shouldn’t have.

  His eyes zeroed in on my midsection. “You’re carrying my child,” he whispered. The ache in his voice was apparent.

  Out of all of us, I knew Brant was giving up the most. His father was forcing him to watch his child be raised by the brother who hated him. Yet it didn’t change the facts or the danger his words carried. I looked around, praying that no one had heard him.

  “They’re all still in the living room,” he answered in response to my panicked state.

  “You should be there too.”

  “How do we keep doing this?” he begged to know.

  I held my glass tight, to the point of almost shattering it. “A minute at a time.”

  “More like second by second.”

  I nodded, feeling more truth in his words than I could bear.

  Brock suddenly strode in, practically knocking Brant over, not only with his body but with his withering glare. “What are you doing in here with my wife?”

  Wife? It seemed laughable for him to refer to me as such.

  Brant stood defiant. “I thought someone should at least check on her.”

  “What are you saying?” Brock’s fists clenched into balls.

  “That Dani deserves a better husband,” Brant fired back.

  Brock blinked a few times, as if his brother had sucker punched him, before poking Brant in the chest. “I bet you would love to take my place. You always wanted to.”

  Brant got in Brock’s face. I gripped the counter, wondering if it would come to blows and what I should do, but I couldn’t form any words, and I was too tired to try to put myself between them. More than anything, it broke my heart to see them at odds. Brock wasn’t himself without Brant and vice versa. They were the dynamic duo—best friends bound by blood.

  “Maybe there was a time that was true, but we always knew who she loved.” Brant backed away and hung his head. “By the way, it was your name she whispered when we made love.” He breezed past his brother, leaving me in a state of shock and embarrassment. I didn’t remember saying that. I didn’t remember a lot about that night. It was a pain-laden blur.

  Brock spun on the heels of his pristinely shined shoes. His troubled eyes locked with my own. I could tell Brant’s words had shocked him too. He searched and searched my eyes, almost as if begging me to take away the agony we were all in. He opened his mouth to speak several times. If only he could say something to make it all better. Honestly, he did have that power. He could forgive me. He could take me in his arms and tell me we would face the world together. Instead he only said, “The reporter from Channel 9 is here.”

  Right. It was showtime. I took another sip of water before dumping the rest in the sink and placing my glass in the dishwasher. Anything to delay putting on the act. I also needed to give my cheeks some time to lose the blush Brant had placed there. The burn didn’t want to seem to leave—not while Brock’s eyes were still firmly on me. Regardless, I couldn’t stall any longer. My heels clicked against the tile floor as I moved to pass by Brock. I was done begging for his affection and forgiveness. Which was why I was surprised when he reached out for me.

  My eyes drifted toward our clasped hands. I noted the way Brock’s clung to mine and how his hand felt moist, as if I were making him nervous.

  “Can I get you anything?” He tripped on his words. The kindest words he had said to me in weeks.

  There were so many things I wanted to say, but I felt as if I had no right to, so I replied with a simple, “No.”

  “We should go.” He tugged on my hand and led the way.

  I wasn’t sure if he kept my hand for appearance’s sake or not, but it felt different than it had as of late. There was almost a feeling of comfort associated with it.

  “You look beautiful, by the way,” he
mumbled.

  I paused a moment before responding, surprised by the compliment. “Thank you. You look nice too.” He was wearing a suit coat and dark jeans that fit him snugly in all the right places.

  The corners of his mouth twitched, though he couldn’t or wouldn’t follow through. I hadn’t seen his smile since before he left on his joint allied training mission. Even when he’d first come home, before he’d known about Brant and me, he didn’t smile. The horrors he’d lived through were too fresh. And now we were all as unhappy as we’d ever been.

  The remainder of our walk through the grand house was a quiet affair. I glanced around me, taking in the house that had been built to look like an English country home with wood beam ceilings, an abundance of natural light, and greenery. We followed the sounds of cheery, light voices welcoming the reporter and her crew. I felt Brock tense the closer we got to the living room.

  “We don’t have to keep doing these,” I whispered. I hated that Brock was made to relive his harrowing tale on a regular basis.

  “If only that were true. It’s good for the polls.” Resentment wove through his words.

  Of course. Once again Brock’s happiness was sacrificed for the greater good, as John would call it. I could hear him now. “Just think of what Brant will do for our state and country. We need good men and women like him leading the way.” Yes, Brant was a good man—one of the best. But, John wanted the legacy and clout so badly he could taste it. And taste it he would, at any cost. His words to me after finding out about the baby still sent shivers through me. “I’ve worked too hard and too long for someone like you to ruin it all. You have no idea the kind of sacrifices I’ve had to make. So, you’ll keep your mouth shut, and we’ll all be one big, happy family, or I’ll bring you and your family to their knees.” After his tirade, he’d handed me a document filled with every sin I’d ever committed, even the ones from my supposedly sealed juvenile record. Sins that would make every donor of my foundation question my integrity. That wasn’t the worst of it. Ariana’s mother’s list was longer and more fatal than my own. Things I was sure not even Ariana and Grandma and Grandpa knew about Joanie Kramer. Things that would kill them if they came to light. Things like prostitution and attempted murder. Charges that had all been dropped, but there were pages of evidence lending to their validity. Then he’d kissed my cheek and whispered, “Welcome to the family, dear.”

  I stared up at Brock. No matter how much he resented our situation, he was determined to protect me. I was sure John had told him about my past misdeeds. Yet, not once had Brock ever brought it up. If only he knew how much more it made me love him. Though his kindness shoved the knife farther into my chest. If I could set us both free, I would.

  Brock squeezed my hand, and we walked on to meet our fate.

  As soon as we entered the living room, every head turned our way. Instinctively, I stood tall and proud. It was one of the only ways left for me to stand up to John. I wondered if Brock knew what I was doing as he inched closer to me, almost as if giving me some support. I wasn’t going to read too much into it—I was trying not to get my hopes up. I was prepared to go it alone. Anything for my baby.

  Sheridan was all smiles as she walked toward us with arms opened wide. “Here they are.”

  Yes, here we were. I plastered on my fake smile. Sheridan placed the back of her hand on my forehead as if I were a child. “You feeling okay, honey? You look a little peaky.” Was she just now noticing?

  “I’m great.” I felt bad lying, but as always, I could feel John’s scrutinizing gaze.

  “I can make you some soup,” she offered, obviously not buying the act.

  Soup sounded better than pot roast, but it probably didn’t matter what I ate—it would come up later. And I needed to keep my pregnancy under the radar. “That’s sweet of you, but I think I just got a little warm.”

  “John, turn up the air conditioner,” Sheridan fretted. “You should have said something, honey.” She patted my cheek. “This is your home now too.”

  Internally, I winced. She had no idea how her words killed me. How I had longed for these moments. Now here they were, under false pretenses. “Thank you,” I choked out.

  Sheridan seemed tickled by my show of emotion. “My boys have made me so happy, finally giving me daughters.” The lovely woman kept up the emotional punches.

  “We should probably proceed with the interview,” Brock not so subtly suggested.

  “Of course.” Sheridan turned back toward the reporter, Allison Mitchell. She had flawless cocoa skin and the richest brown eyes that seemed to read you like a book. Which was probably why she did her job so well. Like right now, I swear she was looking at me like she knew there was more to the story. I stood my ground and didn’t flinch. I had stories in my past that would make people’s hair stand on end. I wasn’t proud of them, but I wasn’t ashamed of them either. The fact that I’d survived them made me who I was. A fighter. I wore those experiences as a badge of honor. However, they could interfere with my mission. Children to Love was my life’s work, and this baby would be my life—and no one was going to take either one away from me.

  Allison approached us, dressed in a smart cream pantsuit. She held out her hand to me first. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Holland.”

  Ugh. Another punch. “Please, call me Dani.”

  “Dani it is.” She turned toward Brock and offered her hand to him. “I served in Desert Storm. It’s an honor, sir.” She was obviously in awe of him.

  Brock didn’t like being thought of as a hero. He thought of himself as lucky. He’d watched two of his friends die while he’d lived. “The honor is ours,” he graciously replied.

  I saw John in the background, his eyes alight with how Allison and Brock’s interaction went. Brock had nailed his response. It was sad how loyal his sons were to him. I’d once asked Brock why. He’d said there had never been a more dedicated parent than their father. No matter his busy schedule, he had attended every sport and school event for his sons. He was their greatest champion. To me, John was his own biggest advocate. Brock had also mentioned that when his father spoke or entered a room, people paid attention and wanted to act. It’s the kind of men Brock and Brant wanted to be. I prayed they would use their powers for good and not evil, the way John had. Though, in John’s story, he saw himself as the hero. I think the idea that he was the villain was laughable to him.

  After the introductions, Brock led us to the sacrificial couch where Brant and Jill sat all cozy at one end, as they were part of the interview as well. Brant’s campaign manager loved the photo ops and free publicity. Brock’s hero status was pure gold. Brant was way ahead in the polls against the incumbent. It was still early, and a challenger had plenty of time to join the race since the primaries weren’t until next June, but John thought it was the perfect time to strike. He hadn’t been wrong. Honestly, with the way Brant was performing, I was sure it was discouraging to any other potential candidates.

  When we sat down, Brock made sure he sat next to Brant, who was seated toward the middle of the couch. Not sure what he thought Brant and I would do. Hold hands? Honestly, I wouldn’t mind holding Brant’s hand. Not in a romantic way, but because he would at least try and offer me the comfort I so desperately needed. And I could perhaps offer him some of the same. However, Brant and I both knew we were off-limits to each other, even as friends.

  As soon as we were settled on the blue velvet couch under the glare of the filming lights, Brock did his duty and took my hand in his. This time, though, he gave it a squeeze and rested them together on his leg. In return I gave him a small smile. He didn’t smile back, but he gave me a nod. I used to be able to read him so well, yet I wasn’t sure what the nod meant. I took some consolation that at least his eyes weren’t as cold as they had been.

  Allison sat in front of us on a high-back stool. She gave us all a toothy grin. “Are you ready?”

  No, Allison. No, I’m not.

  Chapter Four
<
br />   “Tell me, Dani, what were those days like after you received the initial report that your husband had been killed?”

  I’d answered that question what seemed like a hundred times. You would think I could just spout it off with ease. Instead, every time it took my breath away. From the moment Sheridan had called me to deliver the awful news—the racking sobs, the comfort Brant and I had sought in each other’s arms, the devastating pain that followed—to the spark of hope given to us from John’s connections in Washington that perhaps a mistake had been made in identifying Brock’s body. To this day, I felt the sting of every low and the joy of every high.

  I also had to be careful about answering that question so as to not reveal the inside information we had received during that time from the top levels of government. Namely John’s connection in Washington—the Secretary of Defense. John was at least good for something. Not to mention I could always feel Brock tense when that question came up. I could practically hear him accusing me of callously not giving him a second thought while every moment he had been held captive and tortured it was me who had consumed his thoughts. It was me who had given him the will to survive. Those words cut my soul in ways that would never heal. I wasn’t sure he would ever believe my answer.

  I placed my hand on top of our already-clasped hands and took a deep breath in and out, trying to compose myself. “I’m not sure words can properly convey the agony of those days. There was no sleeping, no eating. I was on my knees praying more than standing. My world suddenly didn’t exist anymore.”

  Allison leaned in closer, intently listening to my response. Her cameraman made sure to capture her look of sympathy. Once I’d answered, she shifted more toward Brock. “You’ve been quoted as saying that it was Dani who gave you the courage to live during those grueling days of captivity. Did any final words come to you that you wished you would have said before departing for the last time?”