In Name Only (A Pine Falls Novel Book 2)

by Jennifer Peel

  Oh. That was a new one.

  A few red blotches appeared on Brock’s neck, indicating he wasn’t prepared for that question. I could see his Adam’s apple bob repeatedly while he thought.

  John stepped forward in the background; I was sure the motion was meant to remind Brock to give a million-dollar response. Now I would never know if Brock was speaking his truth or his father’s. What else was new? I’d felt like that for weeks. I had questioned whether or not Brock had ever truly cared for me. Or was it his near-death experience that had temporarily made him feel more for me than he really did? Even before he left, he couldn’t or wouldn’t just come out and say how he felt about me. He had only said he wanted to talk about “us” when he returned. Who knew what he would have said had it been a run-of-the-mill training mission.

  Brock looked straight ahead, past Allison and out toward the large window that provided a view of a nearby meadow graced by the surrounding mountain peaks, golden from the aspens changing leaves. He cleared his throat. “I think when you’re in the situation I found myself in, you can’t help but think about the last moments you had with those you care the most about. I was fortunate enough that when I returned, I was able to express those sentiments.”

  I felt the sting of what he did and didn’t say. I wanted to yank my hand out of his, but all I could do was sit still and keep the fake smile on my face.

  Allison leaned back, disappointed that she didn’t get the touchy-feely, good-for-newsclips sentiment out of him. As such, she turned to other topics that focused more on his mission. I was grateful that all I had to do was sit numbly and listen to Brock recount how they had been in Afghanistan so he could train his counterpart—an Afghan doctor in field medicine. The doctor, who had become his friend, had asked for Brock’s help treating a patient in a local village who wasn’t able to travel. Brock had agreed, and their vehicle was attacked by a radicalized faction during their journey. The doctor and another American soldier—both Brock’s friends—lost their lives. The attackers took Brock because he had survived and was an American. They thought they could use him as leverage. For three days they questioned and tortured Brock. It was a child who was fond of American soldiers because they played soccer with him and gave him his very own soccer ball who ended up telling the SEAL extraction team where they could find Brock. I would be forever grateful to that little boy.

  Most of the specifics Brock had to leave out, as they were classified. Especially those surrounding the rescue itself. And I didn’t think he wanted to articulate any of the grueling details. Details I knew he was thinking about constantly when locked up in his room. Or when he did emerge, I noticed the vacant stares. Behind the stares I knew he was replaying the horror he’d lived through.

  I had heard the story he’d given the media so many times, my mind started to wander. I didn’t even realize when the line of questioning shifted back to both of us. It caught me off guard when Allison, out of the blue, asked, “So was it love at first sight for the two of you?”

  Without thinking, I lied and said, “No,” while Brock said, “Yes.”

  I was so stunned I whipped my head his way. From how red his cheeks were, it was obvious he was more surprised by the admission than I was.

  His brooding eyes locked with my own, and confusion and pain swirled in the sea of blue. Had he lied, like me? Was he looking for a way out? Of course he was—he didn’t want this marriage. He certainly didn’t love me. Even when he’d gotten off that plane and during the days we’d spent after holding on to one another, he’d never said he loved me. We talked about the future, sure, but those three words had never been spoken between us. Though I’d loved him since the day he sat next to me my sophomore year in college during our abnormal psychology class. He was a senior, and there was something about him that had drawn me in. I could tell he was different. He cared about school. He’d paid even more attention than me during class. We ended up being study partners. Even back then, we only ever flirted while I watched him date every beautiful woman who came calling his name. Yet it was me who helped him study for the MCAT. Me who had his best interests at heart. Even to the point of coming up with my “Dani test” to weed out the ridiculous women who clamored after him. Honestly, though, in the past year I had given up and gave any woman my stamp of approval. If Brock was stupid enough to consider them, I’d figured he deserved to date them.

  Allison laughed at the situation, though there wasn’t anything funny about the lies we had both just told. “Sounds like there is a story there. Please elaborate. How did you know from the first moment she was the one?” she asked Brock.

  Brock’s eyes stayed locked on my own. How he was going to get out of this I had no idea. That’s the problem with lies, they only lead to more lies. More misery. Hence my life.

  My own eyes begged Brock to make the lie as painless as possible. I almost answered for him in that teasing wife way and said, “He’s not remembering it right. Let me tell you the real story.” I would ramble about how we had been friends and I had set him up with women. However, Brock beat me to the punch.

  He turned from me and faced Allison. “To know Dani is to love her.” It was the biggest lie we had told yet.

  ~*~

  I lay awake that night, which was something, considering I’d taken doxylamine—normally used as a sleeping aid—for the nausea before I went to bed. Tonight, though, my mind was racing. It was made worse by the fact I had to spend the night at Brock’s. By the time we’d done the interview and had dinner at his parents’, we’d gotten back late. I was too tired to drive the half hour back to Pine Falls. Besides, it was too suspicious. Not that Kinsley and Ariana didn’t have their suspicions that all wasn’t well in paradise. My excuses for sleeping at the loft had been that I had huge projects at work and I hated driving back so late in the dark through the mountains. And I was giving Brock time to heal and rest after his ordeal. They weren’t really buying it, but I’d begged them to drop it. I knew Jonah had even tried to talk to Brock about it, but Brock had basically told him the same thing I had told Ariana and Kinsley.

  So there I was in a bed that wasn’t mine, in a plainly decorated room that wasn’t mine, feeling like I belonged nowhere, and thinking about that stupid interview. Brock’s lie hurt more than the truth. All I’d ever wanted was for him to love me. To see me as the woman for him. And to hear him lie about it had me tearing up in front of the cameras. Fortunately, I could play it off as being overcome by his sweet words. But as soon as the reporter was gone and the spotlight off us, he showed how he truly felt. We were back to the silence. I could feel his regret.

  I closed my eyes, begging for a way out of it all. Silently praying, even though I felt so unworthy. I was a liar. I was allowing the man I loved to lie on my behalf. The night was so still I could hear the tears drip onto my pillow. First one by one, and then in pitter-patters like raindrops on the roof. Suddenly a bloodcurdling scream rent the air. I bolted straight up, pulling my knees up to my chest. Brock was having another nightmare. Even from two doors down I could tell it was bad. “Help!” he yelled over and over. If only I could, I would. I knew, though, I was last person he wanted help from. But then I heard him call for me. “Dani! Dani! Dani!”

  Without thinking, I jumped out of bed in the dark and ran out the door and down the hall. He was still screaming my name. Hesitantly, I knocked on his door. “Brock . . . are you . . . all right?” I knew he wasn’t, but I had no idea what else to say. He didn’t answer; he just kept calling out my name. Slowly, I opened the door to find every light in the room on, including the ceiling light, both bedside lamps, and his bathroom and walk-in closet lights. It was heartbreaking.

  Brock was sitting straight up in bed with no shirt on. His glazed eyes were open, yet he didn’t seem like he was awake. At the very least, he seemed disoriented. He was breathing hard and saying my name over and over again.

  I’d been reading up about PTSD. I’d dealt with it plenty with several kids who had come
through our program, but it was something altogether different when it was your spouse—if you could call Brock that. I approached Brock cautiously, not wanting to make sudden movements or startle him, which could exacerbate his state.

  “Brock, I’m here,” I whispered.

  His eyes didn’t focus on me, and his cries became more anguished. “Please don’t hurt her,” he pleaded.

  I rubbed my chest. He was breaking my heart. Carefully, I sat on the edge of his bed. “Brock, can I touch you?” I knew I should ask because sometimes a person struggling with PTSD will feel trapped when someone without permission touches them. And it’s not like Brock was a huge fan of my touch anyway.

  “Dani, please don’t be dead,” he begged.

  “Brock, I’m here. Please wake up.”

  “Dani, I’m sorry,” he cried, still not awake.

  “I know you are. Please wake up.” I gently rested my hand on his cheek.

  His hand flew up and grabbed mine. It startled him enough to wake him up. I feared he might be angry, but relief washed over his expression. He grabbed me, pulled me to him, and touched me everywhere. Which meant a lot of skin. I was wearing the barely-there black silk nightgown his mother had bought me for our wedding night. It was the only pajamas I had here.

  His touch, though frantic, burned against my skin. My body longed for him, wished to curl up in this bed beside him and become his wife in more than name only. When he was done touching me, satisfied I was okay, he unexpectedly pressed his lips against mine. I was sure he wasn’t fully awake or cognizant of what he was doing. Still, there was a tiny piece of me that wanted to believe he knew exactly what he was doing and that he wanted me as much as I wanted him. That hope had my hands landing on his taut chest and letting my fingers get lost in his chest hair.

  I could taste the salt from his tears when he parted my lips. He groaned deeply, and his hands clung to my skin as he devoured me and drew me as close as he could. With urgency, his tongue prodded deeper and deeper. The kiss became so intense I gasped for breath. It broke whatever spell Brock was under. Abruptly, he pulled away and stared wide eyed at me, breathing heavily. “Dani?”

  “You were having a nightmare,” I said, breathlessly. “You were calling for me.”

  He ran a hand over his hair. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.” He seemed embarrassed.

  “Don’t be. Do you want to talk?”

  He backed up against his headboard. “I’m fine. You can go back to bed.”

  “Brock, please don’t shut me out. I can help you through this.”

  “I’m fine,” he repeated with some force.

  “Okay.” I stood. “If you don’t want to talk to me, I can recommend someone who specializes in PTSD.”

  “I don’t have PTSD,” he growled.

  “You don’t have to lie. No one’s here but me.”

  “I’ve never lied to you.” In his tone I could hear, Like you lied to me.

  “Right.” I walked off, not wanting to get into it with him. Especially after his traumatic dream.

  “When did I lie?” he asked indignantly, unwilling to let it go.

  Besides our entire marriage being a lie? I couldn’t bring myself to say that. Instead I mentioned the most recent lie. I grabbed my silk-covered stomach. “When you told the reporter it was love at first sight and to know me is to love me.”

  “I wasn’t lying, Dani. Good night.” He dismissed me without another word.

  I walked numbly toward the door, begging myself not to believe him. Because the truth he’d hit me with was harder to bear than the lie.

  Chapter Five

  “Knock, knock, knock,” Kinsley’s cheery voice rang through my closed office door.

  I hesitated to tell her to come in. I could hear her fake enthusiasm loud and clear. And though she had no idea how I had betrayed her, I felt responsible for her heartache.

  “We know you’re in there,” Ariana called.

  I let out a long sigh. The fact they had come together in the middle of the day spelled trouble for me. It meant my lies weren’t working on them. And after last night’s episode in Brock’s room, my resistance was waning. I longed to confide in them. How I wished they could help me, but no one could. I had to protect my baby at all costs, even if it meant lying to my sisters, the women I loved most in the world.

  I shoved the bag of crackers I had been nibbling on to stave off the nausea into my top desk drawer before sitting up straight and smiling. “Come in.”

  My sisters wasted no time rushing through the door carrying a basket of what smelled like Kinsley’s famous chicken noodle soup and her to-die-for homemade nine-grain bread. Honestly, it sounded good at the moment. I hadn’t craved food in weeks. Hence my baggy jeans. However, I was suspicious of their presence and the comfort food. Did they know? My heart began to race.

  I gripped my chair. “Hi.”

  Kinsley set the basket on my perpetually messy desk. “Hey there.”

  Ariana, on the other hand, came around, leaned against the desk, folded her arms, and gave me a good once-over with her eyes. “So, what’s going on?” She didn’t beat around the bush.

  Her all-knowing gaze was making me feel warm, which made me feel like I wanted to vomit. I pushed a scrap piece of paper around on my desk, trying to calm my insides down before I had to run to the bathroom. “Just working.”

  Ariana scooted closer. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “What else would you mean?” I feigned innocence.

  Kinsley came around and sandwiched me between them. “Remember last year when we tried to subtly tell Ariana she was a slob?”

  “Did we have to bring that up, Kins?” Ariana grumbled. She still wasn’t over us trying to get her on a knockoff What Not to Wear and throwing away all her downright embarrassing stained and holey clothes. You wouldn’t know, looking at her now, that she’d had a fashion problem. She was dressed in designer slacks and a pink peasant blouse that went well with her creamy skin and gorgeous strawberry blonde hair. She was stunning and still glowing from her summer nuptials a few months ago. Unlike me, marriage looked good on her.

  “I think it’s appropriate.” Kinsley shot Ariana a sly smile.

  Ariana rolled her eyes. “Fine. Proceed with caution.”

  Kinsley turned her attention back toward me. Her sweet brown eyes bored into my soul, the way only hers could. We had been through so much together. We were both orphans, fostered, and then adopted at the same time by Ariana’s grandparents. Together we’d learned how to traverse our new lives in our new forever family. I’d always felt so protective of her, which made my betrayal worse. I’d promised her I would never let anything bad happen to her.

  Kinsley took my hand, the way she had so many times over the years. We may have looked nothing alike, as she was blonder than blonde and just a petite little thing, but we were sisters. There was no denying our connection was thicker than blood. That went for all three of us.

  I took Kinsley’s hand and held on for dear life.

  Ariana placed her hand on top of ours. For a moment I felt that unstoppable feeling I always had when the three of us came together. I reveled in it for a few blissful seconds before reality hit me. As strong as we were together, John Holland was unconquerable.

  “Dani,” Kinsley whispered, “we both agreed we should have been more forceful with Ariana and helped her face her demons sooner.”

  “You can’t blame yourselves for that,” Ariana replied. “But with that said,” she gripped our hands with all her might, “I won’t stand by anymore and watch you suffer. Please tell us what’s going on. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like hell.”

  My eyes began to well up with tears.

  “That wasn’t meant to hurt your feelings,” Kinsley reiterated. She could never stand to offend someone, even if it was to her own detriment.

  “I know.” I wiped my traitorous eyes. “It’s just . . .” What could I say that wasn’t a lie? I was so tired of
lies already, and I had a lifetime of them to go.

  “It’s just what?” Ariana begged to know.

  I bit my lip. “Well . . . it’s just been a lot of change in a short period of time.”

  Kinsley narrowed her eyes. “It’s more than that. You’ve lost weight, and you’re sleeping at the loft most nights even though you’re married.”

  “Has Brock done something to you?” Ariana hesitantly asked.

  Did they think he was abusing me? I guess I couldn’t blame them. I was exhibiting several telltale signs. “No. You know him better than that.”

  They both let out sighs of relief. They really had thought I was being abused. I needed to fix this. How? I had no idea.

  Ariana leaned back on the desk. “Then spill. You haven’t been yourself since Brock got home. Your quickie wedding, avoiding us, your weight loss, it’s all . . .” Her eyes widened in an aha moment. “Are you pregnant?”

  Kinsley faltered against the desk, while my mouth fell open. Lie, I kept telling myself, but I couldn’t. Not about my baby. Not to the women who were looking at me so tenderly. I needed them. I ached for someone to be happy about the precious gift I carried, and I knew they would be.

  I took a deep breath and looked at the door to make sure it was closed. “If I tell you what’s going on, you have to promise me you won’t say a word. Not even to Jonah or Grandma and Grandpa. Not a soul. Do you pinky promise?”

  They immediately held out their pinkies. I used both of mine to seal the deal. I sat back and swallowed hard. “I am pregnant,” I whispered.

  They both squealed.

  “Don’t get too excited. Brock isn’t all that happy about it.”

  “What?” Ariana couldn’t believe it. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

  “It wasn’t exactly how he planned it.” That was true. “For some reason he’s embarrassed we weren’t married when it happened.” That was a half lie. “He doesn’t want anyone to know yet.”