In Name Only (A Pine Falls Novel Book 2)

by Jennifer Peel

  Kinsley tilted her head. “But, after everything he’s been through, he should be happy he got the chance. And it’s not like it’s the 1950s.”

  “You know him; he’s all about tradition. And it’s a lot to take in after his ordeal. I don’t think he was prepared to be a husband and father so soon. Honestly, maybe never.”

  “He only married you because of the baby?” Kinsley was aghast.

  I nodded without thinking. It was foolish. Yet if I couldn’t trust them, I couldn’t trust anyone.

  “I don’t believe that,” Ariana stated matter-of-factly.

  My eyes flew up to meet hers.

  “He loves you. He’s always loved you, but it became more apparent after he got home. He couldn’t take his eyes and hands off you. I still see it in every interview you do. I saw it the day you got married as you stood before the pastor. By the way, Whitney is still appalled you didn’t ask her to be a flower girl.”

  I couldn’t help but smile thinking about Ariana’s stepdaughter. I could picture her stomping her foot and giving a discourse on how unhappy she was with my decision not to have a wedding party. She was the smartest six-year-old on the planet with the vocabulary of a Harvard scholar. However, it was Ariana’s words about Brock that had my head swimming. How I wanted them to be true. I knew Brock had admitted to being in love with me last night, but this didn’t feel and hadn’t felt like love. All I remembered from standing before the pastor was Brock’s stiff stance during the ceremony and the way he’d kissed me after we were pronounced man and wife. It was much like the kiss from last night—urgent and final. It was as if every time he braved kissing me, he knew it would be the last time; or perhaps he hoped it would be.

  “Why would you marry him if you didn’t think he loved you?” Kinsley brought up a valid question. One I couldn’t answer honestly.

  I stared down at my flat abdomen, trying to conjure up the courage to lie . . . again. I tried to appease my conscience by telling myself I had no choice. “I didn’t want to be like my mother. And I didn’t want my baby to grow up without a father, the way I did,” my voice cracked. I hated playing that card, but I knew my sisters would understand those reasons more than anyone. Ariana had only recently met her father, and Kinsley’s parents had died when she was an adolescent. I never knew my biological father, and though it affected me, I didn’t mourn the stranger. In fact, I celebrated thriving despite him. I was telling the truth, though, about my mother. She’d never protected me, and I would go to the depths of hell to protect my little one, forever and for always.

  They both wrapped me up in their arms. The way they held on to me told me they bought the lie hook, line, and sinker. I hated that I could lie so well. I’d promised myself after Grandma and Grandpa had given me a new lease on life that I wouldn’t be the liar I had become as a child to survive. Yet, here I was again. But it wasn’t only my survival at stake.

  Ariana leaned back and smoothed my tear-stained cheeks. She was ever the big sister, though technically I was her aunt. “You and Brock will work everything out; just give it some time. It’s been a traumatic period for both of you. But what a gift you’ve been given. I’m kind of jealous,” she said lightheartedly.

  That made me feel worse. I knew she and Jonah were trying to get pregnant. “It will happen for you.”

  She gave us a coy smile. “Jonah is determined. He makes sure we try every day.”

  Kinsley playfully smacked Ariana’s arm. “You’d be doing that even if you weren’t trying to get pregnant. I’m surrounded by newlyweds.” Some emotion bled through. A chink in her cheerful armor cracked.

  I took Kinsley’s hand. “You know Brant didn’t have a choice when it came to Jill.” That was the worst-kept secret ever, so I didn’t feel bad saying it out loud.

  Kinsley backed away. “Brant and I were only friends. I’m happy for him.” She stumbled on her words. She was the worst liar ever.

  “You don’t have to pretend for us.” Ariana tugged on Kinsley’s ponytail.

  “I’m not. Can we please talk about something else? Like when is the baby due?”

  I was afraid they would ask that. “Um, the end of April.” I tried to keep it vague. And prayed this baby would come close to its real due date or be late. Even though I knew I would probably be so ready to evict the kid by the end.

  Ariana raised her brow. “Well, sounds like you had quite the reunion when he came home.”

  “Yeah.” It was quite the reunion, but not for the reason they believed it to be. That first night was the happiest night of my life, but sex had nothing to do with it. It never had in Brock’s and my relationship. I wasn’t sure it ever would play a part.

  “Don’t be embarrassed.” Kinsley nudged me. “I’m sure emotions were running high, and honestly, it was about time you two finally got together.”

  “It’s not how I would have hoped.” It was the most truthful thing I’d said since they’d walked in. “Brock feels the same, so please, please don’t say anything. We will announce the pregnancy after the first trimester is over. We live in such a fishbowl right now; we only want to keep this between ourselves for a little while longer.” I pleaded with them to the point of tears.

  “Hey there.” Ariana rubbed my arm. “Your beautiful secret is safe with us. We have your back.”

  “We always will,” Kinsley added in.

  Oh, how I hoped that was true, because if they knew the truth, I feared they would hate me as much as my husband did.

  Chapter Six

  I stared at the screen on my phone, wondering if I should answer Brock’s call. He hadn’t called me in forever, so I was suspicious as to why he was calling me now. Besides, I thought of the loft as my Brock-free zone. I couldn’t stomach going back to his house tonight, so I was crashing once again in my old room. Kinsley was working late at her restaurant, so I had the place to myself. I craved being alone because it meant I didn’t have to lie.

  I set the phone on the nightstand, curled up on my old twin bed, and threw the covers over my head, ignoring my husband. Husband? What a ridiculous notion. It reminded me to take my wedding ring off. I shoved the overpriced monstrosity under my pillow, wishing the tooth fairy would collect it during her nightly rounds.

  I closed my eyes and begged for the doxylamine to kick in and lull me to sleep. Unfortunately, Brock was persistent and kept calling. It annoyed me enough that I finally sat up and answered.

  “Hello,” I answered shortly.

  “Are you okay?” Brock sounded as if he were in a state of panic.

  “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the loft.”

  “When will you be home?”

  “I’m not coming to your place tonight,” I said pointedly.

  He stayed silent for a moment. “You shouldn’t stay at the loft. It looks suspicious.”

  “I’m not with anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I spat back.

  “I wasn’t accusing you of anything.” He was just as snippy with me.

  “Now that we’ve settled that. Good night.”

  “Dani, wait. Please,” his tone softened.

  “What, Brock?” I sank into my pillows, so, so tired of life.

  “I was worried about you.”

  I was taken aback by his response. “Why?”

  “Because you’ve been sick, and I know . . . I know I haven’t made this easy on you,” he quietly admitted.

  “No, you haven’t.” My stupid voice hitched. Why must I be so vulnerable around him?

  “Will you please come home?”

  “I am home.” Even though this place I’d once loved didn’t feel like home either. I belonged nowhere, but it made my point to Brock.

  He let out a heavy sigh. “You can’t keep staying there.”

  “I know that. But I am tonight.” I would cling to this place as long as I could. It was my only reprieve.

  “Dani, I would feel better if you stayed here.�
��

  “Why does it matter to you where I stay? You don’t speak to me when I’m there. I barely even see you,” I said, exhausted.

  It took him a while to respond. “At least I know you’re safe when you’re here.”

  That’s not the response I wished for. I’d thought perhaps his long pause meant he was building up the courage to tell me he wanted things to be different between us. The way it should be between a husband and wife; but no, he was only concerned about my safety. “Thank you for your concern. I’m safe. Can I go now?” My words oozed sarcasm. It was better than manifesting the hurt that coursed through me. Or how truly emotionally unsafe I felt.

  “Okay. Good night.” He sounded as exhausted as I was.

  I dropped the phone and the floodgates opened. Tears streamed down my face. Why couldn’t he have let well enough alone? I didn’t want his concern. I wanted his love. It’s all I’d ever wanted.

  I crawled back under the covers, wishing I could hide from the world. I closed my eyes, willing myself not to think about Brock. It wasn’t working well, and it didn’t help when he began calling again and again and again. I was about ready to turn off my phone when I remembered how scared he had been last night. I genuinely believed he was worried about my safety, given his nightmares and what he had been through in Afghanistan.

  “Hello,” I growled.

  “Dani . . .”

  “Yes.”

  “I think we should talk. Will you please come home?”

  Why was he being so adamant about this now? “I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” His frustration was coming through.

  “I already took my medicine, so it’s not safe to drive; but even if I could, I wouldn’t,” I remained defiant.

  “I’ll come to you.”

  I bolted up. “Why?”

  “I just need to know you’re safe.”

  “Brock, I’m fine. Go to bed.”

  “I’ll be there in half an hour.” He hung up.

  I ran my fingers through my hair, exhausted yet on high alert now. The worst part was, I had to wait for him. The doxylamine was holding me hostage. There was no way I was risking my baby by getting behind the wheel while under its influence. What had gotten into him? Maybe he had another bad dream. I wasn’t sure, but this wasn’t normal behavior. Brock was no Neanderthal or misogynistic pig who needed to keep tabs on his woman. Though I would hardly consider myself his woman. We were more like adversaries now, and I hated it. Regardless, this wasn’t like him. One of the reasons I fell in love with him was because he respected women and appreciated how strong we were. He was nothing like the loser foster fathers I’d had who thought they were better than women and treated them like property or servants meant to do their bidding. His odd behavior had to be trauma related.

  Brock needed to get some professional help. It was bad enough having to live an imitation life in front of the cameras. I didn’t need him hovering over me like a protective guard dog in private when what I really needed was for him to walk beside me and hold my hand. I would even take holding his hand and helping him through his pain, if he would let me. But, obviously, he was in denial that he was even suffering.

  In a huff, I dragged myself and my quilt into the living area. I landed on the burnt orange couch we had inherited from Grandma and Grandpa. It was an eyesore but still comfy. I snuggled into the corner and wrapped the quilt around me, waiting for Brock and wondering if life would ever seem normal again. I looked around my old place, open with high steel-beamed ceilings and large windows. It represented much happier times. I loved living here with Ariana and Kinsley. It had given me this sense of empowerment and hope. Like if we could make it, the kids I worked with had a fighting chance. Such hopes and dreams had lived in these walls. Some of them had even come true. Kinsley had opened her restaurant, and Ariana had doubled her orders at the stained glass studio she’d inherited from Grandma. Donations for Children to Love were at an all-time high. And Ariana and I had both married the loves our lives. Thankfully, for her, marriage truly was a dream. For me, not so much. Basically, not at all. It just goes to show that you should be careful what you wish for.

  I rested my head on the back of the couch, wishing for sleep and my eight hours of nausea relief. Instead I got a few moments of quiet with my eyes closed before I heard Brock pounding on the door. Reluctantly, I got up and padded over to the door in my thin T-shirt and the pink boxer shorts I’d stolen from Brock a year ago. I thought back to the night he had been doing his laundry while I was over at his old place and a rogue red shirt had gotten mixed in with his whites. He was going to throw away his new pink underwear, but I’d rescued them and had been wearing them ever since as my pajamas. Brock may be bigger than me, but I had some curvy hips that kept those babies in place. I probably should have changed, yet I was too tired. And the boxers were a reminder that once upon a time there was laughter and friendship between us.

  I opened the door, and without an invitation, Brock swept in, gently grabbed my arms, and gave me a good once-over. Satisfied I was okay, he let me go and relaxed.

  “Hi.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Hi.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  I couldn’t help but stare at him; he truly was beautiful. His five-o’clock shadow accentuated his strong jawline, giving him the Hollywood look. His tight T-shirt showed off his muscular arms and tapered waistline. If only the light would come back in his sea-blue eyes. Eyes that were repeatedly roving over me.

  Brock cleared his throat. “You’re wearing my underwear.”

  “Would it make you feel better if you had some of mine to wear?” I teased him like it was old times.

  His lips twitched. It was the first sign of a smile I’d seen from him in weeks.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” I walked back to the couch and curled up into my quilt. The nights were getting cooler, and Brock’s presence as of late gave me the chills.

  Brock sat down on the opposite side of the couch, as far away from me as possible. Even when we were only friends he would have sat as close to me as he could. Teasing me with his warm body and little touches.

  “Why are you here?” I couldn’t keep the hurt out of my voice.

  “We need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his legs, and rubbed his face. “We can’t keep going on like this.”

  I grabbed at my wildly beating heart. “You want a divorce?” Not like we’d had much of a marriage, and in many ways it would be a relief, but my baby needed the protection of our union and his name.

  His head whipped my way. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

  I wrapped the quilt tighter around me. “What did you mean?”

  He braved inching toward me, though he wouldn’t look me in the eye. “I was thinking about what Brant,” he growled his name, “said yesterday about you deserving a better husband.”

  How unexpected. I perked up a bit.

  His eyes drifted up and met mine. “Dani, we were once friends.”

  “The best of friends,” I whispered.

  “Best friends,” he agreed. “I think friends is a good place to start while we sort out this mess we’ve found ourselves in.”

  He wanted to be friends? I didn’t know whether I should laugh or cry. Being friends hadn’t worked out so well for us. Or at least for me. Yes, I’d loved being his friend, and he was an excellent one, but I’d always wanted more. I wanted more now. Yet, I could see the pain in his eyes. The pain of my choices.

  “Okay,” I agreed half-heartedly. What else could I do? I was never going to beg him to love me.

  He pursed his lips, obviously unsatisfied with my lackluster reply. What was he expecting? Shouts of joy? “Dani,” he sighed. “I know this isn’t the ideal situation for either one of us. It’s going to take time. But I promise you, I will be better.”

  “Better how?”

  He scooted closer. �
�For starters, I’ll be a better roommate. I want you to feel comfortable at home. You can’t keep coming here. If the press were to find out, it would create a firestorm.”

  Him referring to himself as my roommate pierced my soul. “So, this is all about keeping up appearances for you?” I lashed out.

  His face exploded in red. “You think that’s what I care about?”

  “What else?” I dared him to contradict me.

  He shook his head in anger. “The question you should be asking is who, not what. And the answer is you. Do you think I would go through this hell for anyone else?”

  “I don’t know anything anymore,” I cried.

  His features softened. “Dani, please don’t cry. I didn’t come over here to upset you. I want to make this work. And the only way I can think of is to start from the beginning. We have to learn to trust each other again.”

  I wiped my eyes and tried to stifle my tears. “You’re right,” I conceded.

  He gave me a half smile. The first one I’d seen in forever. He rested his hand on my leg covered by the quilt. “Can I take you home now?”

  “I’m exhausted. I just want to sleep. I’ll come to your place tomorrow.” I wouldn’t think of it as my home until Brock treated me like his wife. Until we shared a bed and all of each other. I wasn’t sure that day would ever come.

  “All right. I’ll stay here with you tonight.” He kicked off his shoes and stretched out his legs on the coffee table. He’d done it dozens of times before—before all this mess. Still the same hope lived in me. That maybe one day, when he decided to stay, he would truly be mine.

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I promised you I would be better. I’m starting here.”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded. Could it be true? Could we possibly build a relationship out of the ashes?

  “Go to sleep, Dani. I’ll watch over you.”

  “Will you be here when I wake up?” Those words fell out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I sounded like a scared child.