In Name Only (A Pine Falls Novel Book 2)

by Jennifer Peel

  It was weird not to have Brant here. He was currently campaigning in Denver, but even if he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have been welcome here. It was the sad reality. My reality.

  “Everything looks wonderful,” Brock complimented me.

  “You can mostly thank Kinsley for that.”

  Brock looked at the decorated table, then back to me. “For the food, yes, but it’s you who’s making this house a home.”

  Home? What was that? Certainly not this place. Home was where there was love. Not where pretty table decorations lived. Ariana and Jonah, Miles and Aspen . . . they had homes. Even among themselves they were at home. They were so entirely wrapped up in each other, in their children. Even Kinsley and Tristan looked more at ease with each other than Brock and I were. However, there was no use in disagreeing.

  I put on my happy wife smile. “I’m glad you think so.”

  “I do.” He pecked my lips.

  I followed him to the head of the table, where he pulled out my chair. He kissed my cheek before he took his seat across the table at the opposite end. So formal, though given the state of our relationship, it made sense. Our guests took their seats along the large table that sat twelve. The Wickhams on one side, with Ariana’s family and the blind date couple on the other. It was a cozy scene on an autumn night. So hard to believe it was October already, and yet it felt like years had passed since Brock had come home from Afghanistan.

  “This looks and smells amazing,” Aspen said to me, rubbing her belly. “Baby boy must be hungry. That or he just loves kicking me in the ribs for no reason.”

  I couldn’t wait to be kicked by my baby. And I wished I could speak to Aspen about my own pregnancy. Ask for her advice. But I still had to guard my secret. “Your due date is in two weeks, right?”

  “Yes,” she breathed a sigh of relief. “This kid needs to vacate before the holidays.”

  “Help yourselves, everyone,” Brock chimed in. “A big thank you to Kinsley for the food.”

  “It smells divine, darling,” Tristan crooned at Kinsley in his seductive British accent.

  Kinsley blushed and tossed her blonde hair like a supermodel. “I hope you like it.”

  “Believe me, I will,” Tristan wooed her with his words.

  This was good. Very good. Ariana gave me a covert wink in regard to our baby sister.

  While our guests dished up their food, Whitney entertained us with her vast knowledge of dinosaurs. “Did you know that a Dromiceiomimus could run over forty miles per hour?”

  I knew I didn’t. I wasn’t even sure I could say Dromiceiomimus. Definitely couldn’t spell it. I was pretty sure no one at the table but Whitney could. When no one knew that, her pretty eyes lit up, and she smoothed her brown hair, ready to regale us with more knowledge. “Well, we also don’t know how dinosaurs mated. Can you believe that? I’m going to be the first person to find out.”

  The adults all snickered. Sweet Chloe blushed. Little Henry scrunched his button nose. “Mated?”

  Did I mention how adorable an English accent was coming out of a child?

  “Why do you want to know how they got mates?” Henry was so confused. To him, “mate” meant something entirely different.

  Miles chuckled, picked him up, and set him on his lap. “Listen here, chap, we’ll have a good talk about this when we get home.”

  Jonah placed his arm around Whitney and kissed her head. “Maybe we can talk about dinosaur mating habits later.”

  “Okay, fine,” she sighed dramatically. “But you do not realize how important this is.”

  I seriously loved that girl. She was going to rule the world one day.

  “I will give it my full attention at home,” Jonah assured her.

  “I still don’t get it.” Henry climbed off Miles’s lap and retook his seat.

  Having children around was just what the doctor ordered. I needed their comic relief and innocence.

  Conversation flowed easily while we indulged. Tristan was quite curious about us all. He was especially intrigued with Ariana’s story, which was a welcome relief for me, and I was sure for Brock also. It was one thing to have to be interviewed by a news crew; it was another to have to relive the details in your own home. Though, he did that too, most every night. He was always running, always trying to save me and his friends—Asadi, his Afghan counterpart, and Nicholas, the soldier they had initially misidentified as Brock.

  “So you mean to tell me you received a letter annually from a man who you thought was your father, but it was truly your grandfather, who had kept your birth a secret from his son for thirty-five years?” Tristan was astonished by Ariana’s history.

  Ariana set her glass down. “That about sums it up.”

  Tristan smiled at Miles. “Mate, I think you might have the makings of a good story here.”

  Miles laughed. “Perhaps.”

  “I would want half the royalties,” Ariana teased.

  “Now, now, love.” Tristan wagged his finger. “Negotiation is the name of the game.” He turned to Kinsley and gazed adoringly at her. “Speaking of negotiation, may I negotiate a date with you?”

  Wow. He was bold. I liked it. It was exactly what Kinsley needed.

  Kinsley tucked some hair behind her ear as her cheeks pinked. “I’d like that.”

  “Smashing.” The Brit kissed her cheek before turning to the rest of us. “Nothing to see here. Carry on.”

  Jonah stood and held up his glass of wine, in Jonah fashion. “I would like to make a toast.” Of course he would. He was known for his toasts. “To my wife, Ariana, the most interesting and beautiful woman I know.” If he weren’t so lovable and sincere, I might have chucked a breadstick at his head all in the name of jealousy.

  Ariana rolled her eyes, though her smile said she was eating it up.

  Jonah set his sights on Miles and Aspen’s family. “To the Wickhams—it has been an honor to get to know you. May your growing family continue to be blessed with health and happiness.” He then set his sights on Kinsley and Tristan. “To new possibilities.” He wagged his brows, making everyone laugh. That was, until he looked between me and Brock. “Last, but certainly not least, to our hosts. Thank you for the lovely evening. Many of us feared we would never have these moments,” his voice choked up. Brock was one of his closest friends. They had gone through medical school together and had done their residencies at the same time. Jonah was heartbroken, like all of us, when we had received the news that Brock had died. “But miracle of miracles,” he rallied, “we didn’t have to say goodbye. I know I speak for all when I say, it’s good to see you two together at last . . . and forever.”

  Oh, dear Jonah, if only you knew how much you were breaking my heart. My eyes glistened, and I prayed that everyone attributed my tears to me being touched by the sentiment. With a shaky hand, I picked up my glass of lemon water as everyone raised their glasses. My eyes locked with Brock’s from across the table. He did what he had to do and smiled at me. “To forever,” he echoed Jonah’s sentiment.

  “To forever,” everyone repeated.

  Forever was daunting.

  Chapter Sixteen

  During Sunday services, I stared at the dove in the stained glass window while the pastor spoke of reconciliation with God and the peace it would bring. According to him, all we had to do was act in love and renounce our sins to achieve such peace. I tried to placate myself, telling myself that I was acting in love. Love for my baby, even love for the Hollands, John excluded. It allowed a sliver of peace in, which was then crushed by the realization that I could never abandon my sins. I would forever live a lie. Even if I escaped, I could never tell my baby the truth about his or her father.

  I ached to be the dove coming out of the starburst. It dawned on me that it was a symbol of breaking free from earthly stains—the ultimate peace. My longing and contemplation were interrupted by Brock taking my hand. His fingers immediately intertwined with mine, and his thumb began caressing my smooth skin. It was almo
st cruel that he could pretend to be so tender. I resisted the urge to lay my head on his shoulder and snuggle closer to him, distancing myself from John who sat on my other side. Yet I would rather take my chances with John than further injure my heart. And Brock wasn’t helping it any. Each swipe of his thumb had the butterflies in my stomach fluttering against my wishes.

  I got a reprieve from Brock’s torture when his phone buzzed in his slacks pocket. He gave me an apologetic smile before reaching for it. After reading the message, he leaned in and whispered, “It’s Stefan; he was on call today in the ER, but he got food poisoning. I need to cover for him.”

  My eyes widened, alarmed by the news. The private anesthesiologist practice Brock was a part of had a contract with the hospital in Pine Falls. They were a tight-knit group who watched out for each other. I knew they had been making sure to keep Brock’s caseload easy and unrelated to trauma; simple surgeries, like removing gall bladders and such. It was boring Brock, but under the circumstances, boring was good.

  “Can anyone else do it?” I whispered back.

  “I can handle it.” He knew exactly what I was getting at.

  I wasn’t sure about that, but I knew it was pointless to argue with him, so I said nothing.

  “You don’t need to worry about me.” He kissed my cheek.

  I did worry about him. In fact, I couldn’t think of a moment since Brock had left on that fateful mission that I hadn’t been worried.

  “Do you mind leaving early?”

  My eyes drifted toward the dove. I found myself wanting to stay. Hoping the pastor would say something to bring solace to my soul. Wishing that the pavilion I had created that kept me from the grace of God would shatter. “I’ll call someone for a ride.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” He leaned forward and reached across me to tap his dad’s leg. Quietly he asked, “I need to head to the hospital. Can you please take Dani home?”

  “We’d be happy to,” John genuinely responded.

  That didn’t make me happy, but what could I say now?

  Brock focused back on me and ran the back of his hand down my cheek. His eyes were warm and inviting, his touch intoxicating. He seemed so sincere. Could it truly all be an act? It made me question what was real.

  “I might be late.”

  I nodded while my traitorous heart beat out of control.

  He pressed his lips against mine, stirring the pot of emotions. “See you later.”

  “Be careful,” I begged.

  “I always am.” He stood and left.

  I went back to my fixation with the dove, listening intently to the pastor.

  “Every day is a battle for your soul. It is your choice whether you choose good or evil.”

  I swallowed hard. I had tried to choose good, be good. I’d failed. Tears streamed down my face, and John pressed a handkerchief into my hand. I stared down at it, refusing to acknowledge him. However, he wasn’t going to let me off the hook. “You need to stop blaming yourself,” he said for my ears only.

  I wrung the handkerchief tightly, refusing to let John comfort me or remove my tears. Oh, how I desperately wanted to blame him, but I couldn’t. I made my choices, and I would be held accountable for them.

  I twisted and mangled the handkerchief for the rest of the service, staining my cheeks with my tears, not caring who could see them. I needed to be real, if only for a moment.

  When the service ended, I could feel the stares of several parishioners. Sheridan sprang into action and sat on my other side, taking my hand. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

  Everything. “I’m tired is all,” I told the truth.

  “Well, let’s get you home so you can get some rest.”

  “Love, didn’t you need to talk to Janice about the fall festival before we left?” John reminded her, though I could sense the ulterior motives.

  “Oh, yes,” Sheridan sighed. “I’ll only be a few minutes. If I don’t talk to her now, I’ll never hear the end of it. Do you mind, dear?” she asked me.

  “Not at all.” I knew poor Sheridan was on the planning committee, and according to her, Janice was a tyrant and expected everything to be Pinterest perfect for the festival at the end of the month.

  Sheridan gave me a squeeze before she popped up and scurried over to the other side of the chapel. That left me with my father-in-law, who took the opportunity to scoot closer. He said nothing while the chapel cleared, though his heavy breaths spoke volumes. I was sure he was disappointed in my human display, and I was not looking forward to him berating me for it. Each person who walked past us glanced at me with questions in their eyes. Did they wonder if there was trouble in paradise, since Brock had left early? Or perhaps they questioned why I would have any reason to cry, living the charmed life they thought I had. I didn’t really care. I only wanted someone to take the hurt away.

  Once the chapel had mostly emptied, John cleared his throat.

  I braced myself for his diatribe.

  “I know what you’re feeling,” he whispered.

  “You have no idea,” I scoffed.

  “We have more in common than you would like to believe.”

  I had no words for his audacity. I only sat there twisting the handkerchief, seething that he would say such things to me.

  “I know you don’t wish to believe that. But once, when I was a younger naive man, all I wanted to do was make the world a better place. Use the wealth my family had accumulated to make a difference. To my father’s chagrin, I made Holland Industries a leading donor in the nation for veteran services and combating childhood diseases. Still, giving money could only do so much. I wanted to make real change. Enact laws to better the lives of our most vulnerable citizens. The type you work with every day.”

  I snapped my head in his direction. “Don’t you dare draw comparisons to me.”

  He ran a hand through his thick gray hair, just like Brock did when he wasn’t sure what to say. He looked up at the dove that had been captivating me all during the sermon. “You don’t think I know exactly how it feels to sit here week after week, being haunted by the things I’ve done to keep my family safe, to bring about the kind of change needed for my constituents and the great people across this nation? You’re wrong. However . . .”—he hit me with his steely brown eyes—“I will not let it rule me. Nor should you.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t turn my conscience on and off like you do.”

  “This isn’t about conscience. This is about consequences.” He leaned in closer and whispered in my ear. “You know full well Edward is suspicious that you’re pregnant. He’s also suspicious about who the father is, though you did an excellent job in DC to dispel any of those worries. Regardless, don’t give him any room to doubt again. Forgive yourself and move on.”

  I closed my eyes, holding back the tears that were begging to spring free, feeling more trapped than ever. “I will keep pretending for the sake of my child, your sons, and your wife, but I don’t have to lie to myself.”

  He chuckled low, in a condescending manner. “You’re not pretending. You love my son, but your guilt is preventing you from letting him love you.”

  I grabbed my heart as if to block any hope from taking hold. “You have no idea what you’re talking about it.”

  “Dani,” he sighed, “I know there is hurt, but it will heal. Though only if you allow it to.”

  He was wrong. So wrong. Brock was never going to forgive me, and I was never going to forgive myself.

  He shrugged his shoulders, knowing I wasn’t buying his pep talk. “Whether or not you prolong your pain is your choice, but remember . . . your choices don’t affect only you. You and Brock need to be careful. I would announce your joyous news soon, if I were you.” That wasn’t a suggestion. He stood. “Now, let’s get you home so you can get some rest.”

  Rest? I wasn’t sure I would ever know what that was again—physically, emotionally, or mentally. Especially when all I could think about the rest of the day were John’s w
ords about love and moving on.

  I tried to distract myself by working on organizing and separating the children’s wish lists, double-checking my records to make sure not one child was forgotten. Each organization that had volunteered to donate gifts, whether it was a corporation or church, was given a list of children’s first names accompanied by their wishes and corresponding tags to help ensure the right gift went to the right child. It was a bit daunting and chaotic but worth it. When I dropped off the gifts to their homes each year and saw the hope of a real Christmas in each child’s eyes . . . it was priceless.

  How could hope be such a precious gift and so frightening? Even as a child, I had been afraid of hope. It had become easier to believe things would never get better. No disappointment that way. However, I had started Children to Love to give hope where there wasn’t any. How could I continue to provide hope for others when I was shunning it at every turn for myself? Though this was different. Wasn’t it? Brock was just playing his part, wasn’t he?

  I rubbed my lower back. It had been aching all afternoon. I shifted on the couch, trying to get comfortable. If I already had back pain, I wondered how I would feel as I got bigger. I still wasn’t showing. Not even a little bump. John’s words rang in my head that we needed to make an announcement. I knew Brock wasn’t ready for that. We never discussed the baby. In fact, Brock purposely avoided it. It felt as if he believed that if he didn’t think about it, then he could tolerate pretending to be my husband. Was it pretend? Could I dare to hope?

  I rubbed my belly. “What do you think, baby?”

  My baby. Brant’s baby. Yeah, I think it’s pretty hopeless too.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Hey there.”

  My eyes fluttered open, trying to focus. Brock filled my view, kneeling next to me. I must have fallen asleep on the couch.