by Nicole Helm
Jess’s eyes widened and she looked up at Cole. “He’s drunk.” Jess looked at the watch on her wrist. “At eight in the morning.”
Carter laughed at the comically shocked look on Jess’s face. Cole didn’t look quite so shocked, but then Cole didn’t know him. Not really. They were acquaintances at best. Carter used to think it was his superiority that kept them separated—as much as Cole running away to rodeo for almost ten years—but maybe it was that lack of McArthur blood to bind them.
“Half brother,” Carter mumbled.
“What’s that?”
“We’re not brothers, are we? We’re half brothers.”
“So?”
Carter shrugged and turned away from them both. He stumbled a bit as the floor seemed to tilt underneath him. Luckily the wall came up out of nowhere to hold him up and steady. “To what do I owe the visit?”
“Mom’s worried.”
“So, she sent you.” Carter collapsed onto the couch. Standing seemed like too much, too hard.
“No. She sent Lina. Who refused. But then asked Jess to check in on you, and I figured I should come along.”
Carter stared up at the white ceiling. “Why’d Lina refuse?”
“It isn’t important,” Jess said gently.
Cole sat himself at the edge of the couch, easily knocking Carter’s legs to the floor, though Carter managed to keep his body on the cushion. “She said you’re a self-centered ass who hurt her friend and she won’t pander to your sorry bullshit.”
Jess sighed. “It wasn’t important,” she grumbled. “It isn’t time to take sides.”
Carter squinted up at Jess who hovered there above him at the arm of the couch. She and Cole had been high school sweethearts before Cole had taken off for the rodeo. But now they were a couple again, somehow figuring out their past mistakes and finding love. Here and now.
Why did they get that?
“You’d take Sierra’s side though if it was time to take sides.” He didn’t bother to phrase it as a question. Sierra might not have won over his parents, but Sierra, Lina and Jess had formed some sister-ish bond. “You both would.” Because there was no love lost between him and his brother. He sat up, his head going fuzzy and wishy-washy, but that didn’t change the spark of emotion inside of him. “Only I didn’t do anything. I don’t know why she left. I didn’t do anything.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Jess offered.
“Relationships are hard work,” Cole said seriously, as though he had any idea.
“I suppose that’s why you shirked yours for ten years,” Carter said, and even drunk he knew it was too harsh, but he didn’t need his younger, half-brother’s lectures when he hadn’t done anything wrong. And Cole hadn’t been here.
Cole’s mouth firmed, but then he nodded. “I suppose it is.” Cole studied Carter and Carter merely scowled.
“Have you ever had to try hard at something?” Cole asked.
Carter bristled, because that wasn’t a real question. It was one of those questions where the person was so sure they already had the answer. Except who had been here the past ten years? Who had stayed by Mom and Dad’s side? Certainly not Cole. “I have worked my ass off for years to—”
“Working hard and trying hard aren’t always the same thing, Carter. You might have put in a lot of hours, a lot of sweat. Obviously you worked hard to become a doctor, but was any of that a struggle for you? Has anything ever been a struggle? A failure you had to overcome? Or is this the first time life said: not so fast, hotshot?”
Carter pushed off the couch. “Fuck off, Cole.”
“Look, I know you don’t want to hear it from me, but I am just trying to help.”
Jess reached out, touching Carter’s arm lightly. “Have you talked to anyone—really talked—about how you’re feeling?”
“I’m feeling drunk, Jess. It’s quite nice.”
“Carter—”
“My wife is leaving me.” He opened his mouth to go on. My pregnant wife is leaving me. Except… He didn’t want to expose himself that deeply. “How am I supposed to feel?”
“Sierra loves you. I know she does.” Jess looked torn. “But love requires a certain amount of communication.”
Cole stood, and Carter was struck by how much his brother looked like him, even though he hadn’t seen him in years. Even though they were polar opposites in doing and thinking, they were so similar physically. All Mom—blue eyes and blond hair. Their differences had to have been the differences in their fathers.
Carter felt…defenseless. Except he had a defense. A million of them. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know why she left. I don’t know what you want from me.”
“You mean… You haven’t talked about why she wants a divorce?” Jess asked, sounding slightly horrified.
“I told her we needed to talk and she said I’d had all the time in the world to talk and it was too late. What am I supposed to do with that?”
“I think you’re supposed to talk.”
Carter glared at his brother. “Why are you of all people lecturing me?”
“Because I’ve had to learn a thing or two about opening up and talking.”
Cole and Jess exchanged a look that made Carter’s stomach turn. He hated when people did that. He and Sierra had never mastered that art every other couple he knew had. To simply look at each other and know what the other was thinking.
He refused to believe it was because he didn’t love her, or because they’d rushed into marriage, or any of the other things his parents would happily ascribe it to. It was just he and Sierra weren’t built that way. It didn’t mean they didn’t belong together.
Except, here they were, very much not together.
“If there is anything Dad taught me, it’s that you have to fight for what you want. Getting onto the rodeo circuit was never easy. Coming home wasn’t and still isn’t easy. Hell, a relationship with Jess isn’t easy, and that’s still a hell of a lot easier than any relationship with Mom or Dad. You’ve had a lot of easy, Carter, no matter how hard you’ve worked. But now it’s time for the hard stuff, and I know deep down, there’s a man who can take it on.”
“How on earth do you know that?” Carter asked, that horrible clawing feeling growing inside him again. That awful sob-like thing building up inside of him.
“I know not being Dad’s is a blow,” Cole said in a quiet, serious voice that disturbed Carter if only because his brother was usually stoic and determined. Hard. There was a softness to this. “But regardless of the blood pumping in your veins, who you are and how you act are your decisions to make. You’re like him because you’ve wanted to be, but maybe it’s time to open your eyes to what you know deep down. You’re not as cold and hard as he is. You never have been, no matter how hard you’ve tried. I’d say if anything your marriage to Sierra proves that.”
“I only ever wanted to be him,” Carter whispered, staring at his hands. Hands he used to think were just like Dad’s. “He was always…right.”
“No, he just thought he was and made everyone too afraid to cross him.”
Carter lifted his gaze. “Except you.”
“We’re different people, Carter. Not because of our blood, but because of our souls. Whatever in your soul prompted you to fall for Sierra and marry her, whatever part of your soul is causing you to drink and lose control over the loss of her, that’s the part you need to follow.”
“But that part feels powerless and stupid and weak.”
“So make it strong. It’s either that or lose Sierra.”
Carter looked into his brother’s blue eyes and felt something like brotherly kinship for the first time in their lives. Make it strong.
What a strange concept. Foreign. But losing Sierra wasn’t an option, so maybe it was time to find some other side of himself.
Not a McArthur. Not what he thought he was or even what the knowledge he wasn’t Dad’s blood son had done to him, but Carter McArthur. Owner of this body, this soul.<
br />
And desperately in love with a woman who didn’t want his last name—a name that wasn’t even his.
It was a mess. A terrible mess, and while he wasn’t any good at cleaning up messes, like Cole said…
Maybe it was time to start.
Chapter Four
Sierra woke up in the bed of her youth. The dogged flu feeling, which was apparently pregnancy, seemed ever present and if not growing worse with every day, certainly not dissipating any.
And every day she was faced with the knowledge she was living at home, working on getting divorced, growing a baby and being utterly unemployable. Her work experience was a series of failed retail and waitress endeavors that had ended in her getting fired because she never could quite control her mouth.
She’d had an Etsy store for a while, of paintings and drawings and little things she’d made, but the anxiety of figuring out what to sell and how to price it hadn’t been worth it. Especially once she’d married Carter and hadn’t needed to make any money. She’d been able to volunteer here and there whenever she’d felt like it, and she had planned on that and motherhood being her life.
She’d been an idiot.
She had no doubt Carter would do whatever it took to take care of their child. She would never have to fear her child wasn’t taken care of or fed, but there was the tricky thing of having to provide for herself. Having to figure out what she could possibly do that would make her child proud of her, and support herself as best she could.
Sierra groaned and rolled over in bed. One thing was for sure—she couldn’t keep torturing herself like this. She had something like eight months before the baby was actually here, and she had to take the steps to build a life.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay here. Mom could help with the baby, and Sierra would find a way to be helpful in a way she hadn’t been as a rebellious teen. It’d give her the time and space to find some kind of job that would work around having a baby.
Determined, she flung the blankets off of her and went to the closet where she’d thrown her bag. At some point she’d have to go get the rest of her things from her home with Carter, but she wasn’t ready yet. Maybe once she could go a whole day without having her rings on.
She looked down at the glittery bands on her finger and told herself to take them off. To start now. Be strong.
But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Once she was feeling steadier physically it’d be easier to do. Once Carter filed the divorce papers. Once things felt more…permanent. She was sure it’d get easier and pushing herself to do it wasn’t necessary at all.
One day at a time. Self-care. Being kind to herself.
She pushed the closet door open, then simply stood there. On the top shelf, was a pile of her old sketch pads. Next to it, old canvases and paints. Once upon a time she’d fancied herself an artist.
Dad had been less than thrilled, always telling her to find a more productive hobby. Something that might land her a job. Something stable.
She’d balked at that, but now she understood, sort of. Supporting herself was far more important than she’d ever realized. Dad might have been harsh and a little closed-minded, but he’d been looking out for her welfare.
Art would never really support her, but maybe if she got back into this hobby she loved she’d find some piece of herself. She needed to find some source of strength, some source of…wanting to move forward instead of giving in to this horrible gray world that lay before her.
She pulled down a sketch pad and a pencil. She’d just sketch something. See if it all came back to her. Free her mind and let some emotion pour out. It’d be a good outlet. Cathartic even.
She settled herself cross-legged on her bed, took a deep breath in and out, and then just…let herself sketch. Just like she used to do when she was an angry teenager. She didn’t think about what she was drawing or why, she only did.
Until it started to take shape. She scowled down at the square jaw and half-smiling lips.
Why was she drawing the bastard’s face?
A knock sounded on the door and Mom popped her head in, looking fretful. “Sweetheart, Carter’s here. I thought I should let you know before your father chases him off with a hunting rifle.”
“That hunting rifle hasn’t been loaded in twenty years.”
“No, but he’s banking on Carter not knowing that.”
Sierra looked down at the sketch pad, then up at her mother. Determined, she set aside the pad. “I’ll handle Carter,” she said, getting to her feet.
“Are you sure?”
“If I’m going to…divorce him, I have to have the wherewithal to face him.” It was still hard to get that word out, divorce, but she’d made her decision. She would not let her parents fight her battles for her.
“Erm, you’re still in your pajamas.”
Sierra looked down at the baggy flannel sweatpants—his—and the shapeless sweatshirt, which she realized with a wince was also his. “All right. Have him sit down in the kitchen and I’ll be down in a few. And please keep Dad and his fake rifle away.”
Mom smiled, though it was a little sad around the edges, before she left the room.
Sierra immediately moved into action. She didn’t want Carter to think she was lying around in her—his—pajamas all day. She got dressed, put on a light coat of makeup, and fashioned her hair into a messy bun that hopefully fooled him into thinking she’d spent time on it. She even slipped her feet into her cute ankle boots and headed downstairs, chin held high.
She’d pretend she was on her way out. So busy. If her heart beat too hard and too fast, and her eyes felt a little teary, well, she’d never let him see it. She sailed into the kitchen trying to find her center of righteous fury.
Carter sat at her parents’ kitchen table. They hadn’t spent much time with her family. She hadn’t wanted to. Her parents’ house was so small compared to the McArthurs’. Shabby. She hadn’t thought much of it, but she’d been embarrassed.
Which was gross. They might not have as much money as the McArthurs, but her parents were good, kind people. They would have treated Carter far better than his parents had ever treated her.
“Sierra,” Carter offered, his tone giving no hint as to why he was here. He was dressed casually, though crisply, and he’d clearly shaved this morning as no golden whiskers glinted in the morning light streaming through the window above the sink. His hair was a little long, but he’d brushed it.
He looked very polished and together. The perfect Dr. McArthur. She wanted to put her head into his lap and ask him to forget about everything. She’d go home with him and they’d pretend the past few months were a bad dream.
But that wouldn’t make her life better. It’d only make her miserable even if it gave her a few moments of relief.
“Have you filed your answer?” she asked by way of greeting.
“No,” he said, watching her with a gaze she didn’t quite recognize. There was something too…assessing. As though he’d woken up from his months-long fog. But even if that were possible, she couldn’t let it change her mind.
They were getting divorced. It was the best, happiest route for both of them, even if it hurt like hell.
The bottom line was her father had always been right. Love and dreams didn’t solve real-world problems.
“Then I don’t know what on earth you could be here for.”
“I’d like to talk,” he said, and luckily he kept that continually maddening calm because it made her angry.
“Yes, well, we’ve been over that.”
“Right. I suppose it’s your right to not want to talk.”
“You suppo—”
“But you have to understand, Sierra. I don’t get this.” There was enough bald emotion in his tone to make her freeze. “I don’t know why you left. Why you’re so angry. I’m lost. Maybe it makes me a fool, but I have to know. What went wrong?”
Sierra sank into the seat across from him. Exhausted and nauseous and incapable
of mustering any more righteous indignation. “If I have to tell you, does it even matter? If I have to spell it out then it wasn’t working, was it?”
His eyebrows furrowed and she had to link her fingers together on the table to keep from reaching out and smoothing the tips against the line that wedged there. She always called it his McArthur line and kissed it away.
She couldn’t do this. Not this. Not just sit here and talk. It hurt exponentially to sit across from him and feel that ache of how much she wanted to be with him.
It was a horrible feeling to want something you knew was toxic, something you knew hurt you, just because it felt good in the moment. There were good moments in her marriage with Carter, but in the end she’d emerged less than a year later a duller, quieter, less sure version of herself, knowing he saw through everything to the parts of her he’d never love.
“Please go. Please file the papers. You can’t stop the divorce, Carter, but it’d be so much easier if you just did this. Please. If you care about me at all. Please make this easy.”
He stared at her across the table. Not at her exactly, but at her hands. She curled her right hand over her left and looked away from him.
“Five minutes a day,” he said, his voice soft but certain.
“What?” she replied, wrinkling her nose at him.
But he had that McArthur look about him. Driven and sure, except… She couldn’t explain it, but it was different. Maybe it wasn’t sure so much as determined. She couldn’t work that out, and there was no point in working it out. She had to move on from figuring Carter out.
“Five minutes a day for a month. You give me five minutes a day for a month to win you back.”
She wanted to scream, or lean forward and bang her head against the table a few times. Instead she sighed heavily. “There’s no winning, Carter. It just didn’t work.”
But he kept on like she didn’t exist, just as he always did. “Five minutes a day for a month. If you’re still determined to end it—end this thing… You know, you know it’s right. I know you do.” He reached across the table and took her right hand away from her left, exposing her rings still there on her finger. He brushed his thumb across the bands.