In Name Only (A Pine Falls Novel Book 2)

by Jennifer Peel

  My heels clicked down the narrow hall leading to the back offices. I flexed my hands as I went and blew out several deep breaths. For days on end, Sheridan and I had been on pins and needles, wondering how our lives were going to play out. Wondering how we would cut the strings that Edward was craftily manipulating. Brant had to be careful what he said since Jill had become his constant companion. It was like somehow she knew their days were numbered. Or she loved the limelight. Probably some of both. Evilly, I had to say I’d taken some pleasure in the negative press she’d gotten after she’d crashed Brant’s interview. The media dubbed her as out of touch and unfashionable. They questioned whether they were a good match. I knew the answer—no.

  I knew I shouldn’t take pleasure in it. I hated to see my life played out on tiny and large screens. And it was entirely possible that hell could come raining down on me if my secret ever got out. Or if John’s did. Still, wasn’t that better than being controlled by someone? I’d been controlled by enough people in my life to know that I would rather live with the uncertainty of freedom than the confinement of helplessness. I wasn’t helpless. I’d had to remind myself of that many times over the last several months. I was strong too—something I needed to tell myself before I walked into my office.

  I grabbed the door handle and steeled myself before turning it. I wasn’t going to let John push me around ever again. I opened the door to find him pacing around my office, holding a tiny kraft paper gift bag with gold tissue paper popping out of it. Odd. I shut the door and leaned against it, giving him a cold stare. He didn’t look well, even though he was dressed to kill in his designer black suit. He had bags under his eyes, and his thick gray hair looked rumpled, as if he’d run his hand through it dozens of times. And his normally domineering presence seemed diminished somehow. Sheridan and he had both not fared well during their separation. Something was missing from her too.

  I’d warred with myself about the possibility of them reconciling. Part of me wanted to tell Sheridan to run away and never look back, but I loved her, and she loved John. She saw him differently than I did, and I knew it wasn’t out of blind loyalty. She saw the man who had taught her how to dance and rocked babies back to sleep at night. The man who treated her as his queen. Where I saw a monster, she saw a man misguided. So, I’d kept my opinions to myself.

  “Dani,” John sighed.

  “John. What are you doing here?”

  He held up the bag. “I wanted to give this to you.”

  I eyed the bag suspiciously. “What is this? A bribe?”

  He hung his head. “No. This is a gift to mark the passing of my grandchild. I gave something similar to Sheridan,” his voice wavered, “after each miscarriage.”

  Was he for real? I had come in here ready to give him a piece of my mind and then unceremoniously kick him out. Despite his perceived kindness, he still deserved some ire. “You mean the grandchild you threatened to take away from me if I didn’t marry Brock?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, his face turning a shade of red. “I regret my actions.”

  “Because you got caught or because you’re sorry?”

  He locked eyes with me, and I saw that his dark eyes had lost a lot of their coldness. “I am sorry, Dani.” Without another word, he cautiously approached me and held out the bag.

  With the same trepidation, I took it, not sure if I should open it or not. Or if I should believe his apology.

  “It’s nothing more than a gift. I expect nothing in return, not even your thanks,” he said like he’d read my mind.

  Curiosity got the better of me, and I plunged my hand into the tissue paper and pulled out a Tiffany-blue box. The same color of box my hideous first wedding ring had come in—the one I was refusing to wear. I wasn’t wearing the one Brock had given me either. If and when I did, I wanted Brock to place it on my finger. I set the gift bag on the floor before opening up the jewelry box. Slowly, I lifted the lid. Inside I found a delicate gold chain with a shimmering pearl attached. It was so simple, yet perfect. I hated to admit it.

  A big ball of emotion rose in my throat, making it hard to speak.

  “A pearl is a symbol of perfection and fertility. For me it is a symbol of hope. I remember that with each child we lost, while it saddened me, it devasted Sheridan. As I know it has you. I believe, though, you will hold a baby in your arms, just as we did.”

  The emotion swelled to the point it wouldn’t be held back. The tears manifested themselves. “Thank you.” I had no idea what else to say. For a moment, I forgot he was my nemesis. For a split second, he was my father-in-law. I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t sure I ever would be, even if Brock and I stayed together. I snapped the box shut. “Is that all?” I said hastily before I had any more kind feelings toward him.

  “We need to talk.”

  I’d figured this wasn’t only a social call. I walked over to my desk and took a seat. I was already tired and knew our conversation would probably exhaust me more.

  He took a seat in front of my desk. Like Brock, he made the tiny office feel even smaller. Holland men had this presence. It filled rooms and, in my case, my soul. At least when it came to Brock.

  I waited for him to speak.

  He took a moment to gather his thoughts. It wasn’t like him. I’d always known him as someone who was never at a loss for words.

  “Dani, you must realize what a precarious situation we all find ourselves in,” he began.

  “I suppose it depends on what you’re hiding.”

  He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. “It is enough that it could spell the end of life as we know it.”

  “You would rather have the life you have now? The one where your wife and sons aren’t talking to you?”

  “No, damn it.” He slammed his hand on my desk. “Why can’t they see I’m trying to protect them and you?”

  “Protect us from what? The lifetime of misery you’re subjecting your son to if he marries into that vile family? Which will only give Edward Copeland more opportunities to further ensnare us all.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “Then why?”

  He shook his and sighed. “It’s complicated. Edward not only plays the game well—he writes the rules.”

  “Write your own rules, John. The way to beat bullies isn’t by playing the game better; it’s by not playing at all. Lose the game and save your family.”

  “Do you have any idea what I stand to lose? My family has owned Holland Industries for over seventy-five years. We’re a leader in the oil and gas industry. One doesn’t just put that on the sacrificial altar. I have employees and stakeholders counting on me. I hold people’s livelihoods in my hands, and I take that seriously.”

  I hadn’t ever thought of that. But . . . “What about your family? Are you ready to sacrifice them? Your marriage?”

  He closed his eyes. “Sheridan and my boys mean everything to me.”

  “Then I guess your choice is between having nothing or everything.”

  His eyes popped open, already zeroed in on me. “Are you willing to give all this up?” He gestured around the room. “If I confront Edward and he has more aces up his sleeve, none of us are safe. Edward will destroy everything we own, including our reputations.”

  I stretched my arms out and leaned forward on my desk. “In my experience, reputations and empires are easier to rebuild than broken families. I guess you’ll have to choose which one you’re willing to risk. And the answer is yes, I will give up Children to Love to save Brant, if I have to. He doesn’t deserve the fate you’ve sentenced him to.”

  “My son,” his voice shook with fervor, “is meant for greatness. He knew—”

  “No, I don’t think he did. I don’t think he knew how awful Jill and her family are. If I were to bet, I don’t think you did either.”

  “I didn’t know,” he whispered. “I thought I was doing the right thing for my country. Edward used me.” He turned a shade of green, and his hands
trembled.

  I wanted so badly to ask him what had happened, but I knew John wouldn’t tell me. I wasn’t sure if he was going to tell anyone.

  “John, I’m sorry.” I did feel for him. Though not enough to hold back what he really needed to hear. “However, if Brant is willing to let go of his dream, you need to help him see that he can make new ones. And you need to trust that your family will do the same for you.”

  A sheeny mist covered his eyes. “Does that include you too, Dani? Will you remain a member of this family?”

  That was a good question. The answer was between me and Brock.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Taste this.” Kinsley shoved a spoonful of pumpkin-infused whipped cream into my mouth before I could even process what she was doing.

  How could I complain, though? My taste buds were in heaven. “Oh. Wow. I could just eat that for dinner.” At Grandma and Grandpa’s we ate dessert first for Thanksgiving. It had been a tradition for years. Ariana’s doing, of course. She was the queen of family traditions, especially holiday ones. She lived for this time of year. I couldn’t wait to hear the blessing song she had come up with. She always wrote a new one each Thanksgiving.

  “I hope Tristan likes it,” Kinsley whispered.

  I peeked out into the dining area where an additional table was being set up. Ariana’s dad, stepmother, and two brothers were joining us this year. The first holiday with the Stantons. It was kind of a big deal. Tristan was helping Grandpa set up the extra table. Tristan was good at making small talk, and he was telling Grandpa all about his trek to Nepal. Grandpa was eating it up. He was a huge outdoorsman and valued people who loved nature as much as he did.

  “I think he’s going to love it.”

  Kinsley gave me a relieved smile.

  I was happy to see her so happy. She had that new-love glow.

  Grandma walked into the kitchen carrying an armful of sunflowers. “Do you think I should do one big centerpiece or a few smaller arrangements?” She laid the flowers on the tiny kitchen table that was pushed off into the corner of the small but functional kitchen. Grandma and Grandpa’s A-frame house was all about using every space. It fit their mantra of waste not, want not.

  I had never seen Grandma behave so nervously. Something about Ariana’s father always seemed to make her nervous, like she had to prove she had been a good grandmother to Ariana. I knew she harbored a lot of guilt for not taking Ariana away from her daughter, Joanie. Even though Ariana never once blamed our grandparents.

  “I think a few smaller ones,” Kinsley gave her professional opinion. She was much better at that stuff than me.

  I nodded for the heck of it before going back to chopping pears for the salad, trying not to feel sorry for myself. I was feeling quite alone. Normally, I loved Thanksgiving. It always meant time with Brock, as he and Brant had always crashed our celebration, even choosing to spend it with us over their own family. I always said it was because we ate pie first, though Ariana was sure it was because of me. Maybe she had been right. I’d always looked forward to the two hours alone I got to spend with Brock when we played Ariana’s ridiculous game of car hide-and-go-seek that we all secretly loved, even if we teased her about it.

  This year was different. Brock was still in rehab. Brant was with the Copelands, God bless his soul. And Sheridan had gone home to John two days ago. Apparently John had promised to do the right thing, whatever that meant. That left me feeling in the dark and vulnerable, like all my life secrets could be exposed at any moment.

  I glanced at Kinsley. She was humming to herself, bursting with hope. At least she was happy and moving on from Brant. So many times, I’d thought I should tell her what had happened between Brant and me, but Brock thought it would be unnecessarily cruel. Why hurt her when I didn’t have to? To assuage my conscience? I would rather live with the guilt than injure her tender heart. Though what if word got out? Brock assured me it wouldn’t. I wasn’t so sure.

  For now, I smiled at my sister as she was lost in her joyful thoughts.

  Grandma crept up on me and put her arms around me. “How are you feeling, honey?”

  I set the knife down and took comfort in her embrace while placing my arms around hers. “I feel good.” My body had healed. I was still working on my soul. I inadvertently touched the pearl necklace John had given me, hidden under my mock turtleneck sweater. I was still no fan of John, but the reminder of Charlotte was precious to me.

  “Why so down, then? Are we missing our husband?” I heard the “I told you so” in her voice. She had been against us separating, though that didn’t technically happen. She had tried to hide her glee when I moved back to Brock’s place. She had no idea why I had. She had no idea why I had stayed. Not even I was sure anymore. With every call and email Brock and I had shared the past several weeks, I was reminded how much I loved him and missed him. Staying at his place had become about more than buying time. It had become about preserving time.

  “Yes, I miss him,” I admitted out loud.

  “You get to talk to him tonight, right?” Kinsley asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Grandma gave me a squeeze. “Well, cheer up. He’ll be home before you know it. And today we eat pie.”

  I turned out of Grandma’s arms and grinned at all the pies Kinsley and Grandma had already placed on the island. Everything from pumpkin to cranberry-apple. Ariana would be bringing even more when she and her crew arrived soon. Pie was good. And in two weeks, I would see Brock again. All things to be thankful for.

  Grandma patted my cheek. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” I went back to my assigned task. I was good at chopping things.

  Tristan popped into the kitchen. “Hello, darling,” he crooned at Kinsley in his enchanting English accent. He approached her and kissed her cheek. She turned and kissed his lips before swiping some of the pumpkin-infused whipped cream onto her finger. He happily licked it off. Between those two and Jonah and Ariana, it was going to be a long day of watching lovebirds flit around me. Even Sabine and Dean, Ariana’s parents, were nauseatingly still in love after many, many years of marriage. I started to think I would sit at the kids’ table with Whitney and Sebastian and Max, Ariana’s brothers. They weren’t actually kids—they were both in college—but they were hilarious and single. And Whitney was always up for making me laugh. Besides, I needed some good dinosaur stories. Perhaps she had figured out how they mated.

  The morning breezed by and, hour by hour, the house smelled more and more wonderful. Sage and thyme, mixed in with roasted turkey, wafted through the crowded house filled with laughter and smiling faces. It was amazing that, in only one year, we had more than doubled our family size, thanks to Ariana. They were all good additions. I thought about my addition to the family. It was weird to think of Brock that way, but I was technically married. Albeit, not in the traditional sense. Though no one here knew that. And Brock was hoping to make it more than in name only.

  Many of our communications lately had centered on us taking the next steps—moving into the same room, making a life together, making love. I was nervous about each prospect. Brock, though, seemed so self-assured about it. I was beginning to think a lot of Brock’s therapy sessions revolved around our marriage. He’d shared several bits of counsel he had received. Advice about how we needed to decide what we wanted and be open to self-growth and improvement; we needed to be open and honest about how we felt, even expressing anger and hurt.

  Pieces of me were still hurting. I had felt rejected by Brock. And being vulnerable around him scared me. I couldn’t stand the humiliation of him rejecting me again. Brock was adamant that he wouldn’t. But what if he once again took me to bed and all he could think about was me with his brother? What if I couldn’t go through with it? Brock promised me we would take it all slow when he came home. That we could make it work.

  Brock had asked me to go furniture shopping with him when he got home. He wanted me to feel like the master bedroom w
as our room in every sense. He desperately wanted me to call his place home. If I was being honest, I wanted that too. And it was starting to feel more like home, at least with Sheridan there. Now that she was gone, it felt . . . well, it felt like I had a lot of time on my hands to think. Thankfully, this was my busiest time of year, so I had a way to distract myself.

  We got all the food on the tables and everyone settled. I did indeed exile myself to the “children’s table.” No one tried to stop me. I think they knew that, inside, I was wallowing in loneliness. Yet I couldn’t help but feel the infectious joy floating around. I watched Ariana sit between her husband and father. That in and of itself was a miracle. Her dad, Dean, had sapphire-blue eyes that matched his daughter’s, and he gazed at her, eyes twinkling with happiness. All while her husband stared adoringly at her like he was the luckiest man on the planet, and he was. Her stepmother, Sabine—who was an Audrey Hepburn knockoff—chatted happily with my grandparents, making sure to graciously compliment them on their home and thank them for sharing the holiday with them. I could tell it put Grandma at ease. And Kinsley and Tristan couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

  My table was full of laughter and mischief. Max and Sebastian were taking the role of uncle seriously when it came to Whitney, teasing her that dinosaurs weren’t real. She wasn’t having it. She stood up on her folding chair, which I quickly grabbed to make sure she didn’t fall, and shook her finger at them. “I have empirical evidence,” she shouted. She was probably the only six-year-old who knew what empirical meant. Both boys’ jaws dropped. They knew she was a genius, but they weren’t around her all that often, so her vocabulary still caught them off guard. Whitney knew she had gotten to them. She gave them a smug smile. “When we get back home, I’ll show you on my laptop all my notes from my dinosaur dig, and Mary Anning’s work.”