by Shayla Black
CHAPTER 19
Saturday, November 29
Comfort, Texas
“How are you holding up?” Shealyn asked her sister twelve days later, on Maggie’s wedding day, watching her sister pace the bedroom at the little ranch house in which they’d grown up.
“How do you think? I’m supposed to get married in three hours and I feel like I’m going to throw up.” Maggie frowned, just like she’d been doing for the past week. “How are you holding up?”
A little numb. A lot hollow. Even more aimless. So much had happened in the past few weeks, Shealyn wasn’t sure how to deal with it all.
That terrible morning her bedroom had exploded with violence, Cutter had remained at the hospital exactly two hours. The moment she’d finished answering the detectives’ myriad questions, she’d rushed over to see him. But he’d already given his statement to another detective and received emergency medical treatment for his bullet wound. After that, he’d refused all further care and checked himself out. A phone call to Hunter Edgington verified that Cutter had flown home via the Santiagos’ private jet and was now recovering comfortably. Given the fact that the former SEAL’s voice held all the warmth of a glacier, Shealyn figured his friends and peers blamed her for Cutter’s pain—both physical and emotional. From their perspective, the starlet had seduced her bodyguard, but when their affair exploded in the press and he became a liability, she cut him loose and left him to deal with the fallout alone—after he saved her life, of course. That was only half the picture, but she could see why they’d blame her. She blamed herself, too. Would Cutter still be here if she had just listened? If she hadn’t been afraid that she’d believe his explanation about Brea Bell because she wanted to so badly?
After she’d left the hospital, she’d managed to address the press, Tom at her side, about Tower’s untimely demise and the future of the show, which was totally up in the air. She’d fielded questions about Jessica, the past, their “friendship,” and the woman’s mental state. It hadn’t been easy, but she was glad that turmoil was largely behind her. Now that the investigation was closed and Tower’s funeral was over, the press frenzy was dying down. Shealyn was thankful for the relative peace.
Foster’s missing computer—along with the video of them having sex in the dressing room—had surfaced during a search of Jessica’s belongings. A few days later, one of the detectives had taken pity and relinquished the computer to her, since neither Jessica nor Foster would be standing trial. Faith had eventually pleaded guilty to a lesser, unrelated charge for a lighter sentence, so no one needed the video as evidence. She should breathe easy that her secret would stay safe.
At the time the blackmail had begun, she’d felt compelled to protect Tower’s reputation—and her own. But he was gone now . . . So was the career and image she’d been willing to do almost anything to safeguard. Looking back, more than a vague sense of shame assailed Shealyn. Now she questioned whether Hollywood had any remaining value for her.
Cutter had changed everything, especially her.
Shealyn heaved a sigh. Her sister was waiting to hear whether she was all right. Maggie had been asking that question nearly every hour since Shealyn had arrived in Comfort. She’d been putting off spilling the truth. A bride didn’t need to worry about her sister’s issues when she had enough of her own. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re not fine. You looked like hell in the press photos of Tower’s funeral, but I thought your grief was fresh and I should just give you time. Since you’ve been here, you’ve begun looking worse. I hear you awake and pacing at three A.M., so I know you’re not sleeping. But whatever’s bothering you is not just a post-traumatic stress thing after the shooting, is it?”
When had her little sister gotten so perceptive? Shealyn had counted on Maggie being preoccupied with the wedding. No such luck. “I just need time.”
“I think you need more than that. Spill it all. I’m your sister, damn it.”
Shealyn hesitated. Maggie was right. If she had trouble opening up to her own sister—why was that?—then she’d never purge everything bothering her. Still, this was hardly the time.
“Let’s worry about this after we get you married off.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “I don’t think that’s happening. I woke up this morning with an overwhelming sense of dread I can’t shake. Davis never came back here after his big bachelor party, anyway. Last I heard, he and some of his buddies who had flown in for our ‘big day’ went to Dallas to hit the ‘gentlemen’s’ clubs. He posted an Instagram photo of himself at well past midnight and he was looking mighty cozy with some stripper. My first thought was: Who cares? Maybe she likes eel-tongued kisses and a whole two minutes in the sack.”
Shealyn winced. “So . . . you’re going to call off the wedding?”
“I guess . . . yeah. There’s a reason I don’t have the gumption to even take a shower so I can start getting ready for what should be the biggest day of my life. I lay awake last night and thought—a lot. I tried to make myself marry Davis for Granna and Papa. But I can’t do it. I want to be in love. And I’m not.” Maggie slid the engagement ring off her finger and set it on her nightstand. “So I won’t be saying I do today.”
In watching the engaged couple these past seven days, Shealyn had observed that neither of them had behaved toward the other with fondness or affection, much less love. Davis certainly hadn’t given Maggie half the understanding, concern, or consideration that Cutter had given her.
God, she had to stop measuring every man by the one she’d let go.
“That. Right there.” Maggie pinned her with an adamant stare and a wagging finger. “What were you thinking about just now?”
The polite white lie sat on her tongue. Shealyn swallowed it. “We’ll get to me. But your situation is more pressing. What about Sawyer?”
“I think he was a symptom of the problems between Davis and I. He was shiny, and I was susceptible. That should have been another clue.”
Shealyn was dang proud of Maggie’s maturity. Her decision wouldn’t be easy to explain to Granna and Papa but she wasn’t backing down from what she knew was right. “True.”
“He and I had chemistry. I can’t deny that. But . . . I don’t know if I’m ready for our relationship to be any deeper yet, and I’m not going to figure that out today. So, since we don’t have the wedding to take up our afternoon, I think we should eat the cake—because it’s damn good—and open some of the champagne while you tell me what’s really going on with you.”
Shealyn knew her sister was right and yet . . . “Are you sure you want to do this now? You have a wedding to cancel.”
Maggie bobbed her head, obviously thinking. Then she grabbed her phone. “Two seconds.”
She had the happy knack of texting like a teenager—quickly, with thumbs flying across the little keyboard. Less than two minutes later, she set her phone down with a resolute grin. “Okay, the wedding planner and the groom are both advised that we’re a no-go.”
Shealyn almost choked. “You cancelled the wedding and ended your engagement over text?”
“Well, the wedding planner told me she had contingencies in place. She’s the mom of one of my college friends, and when she met Davis she told me we probably wouldn’t make it to the altar, and if we did, we’d end up in divorce court.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“She’s blunt like that. But she wasn’t wrong.” Maggie shrugged. “Besides, it’s telling that Davis’s only response was ‘Cool. I’m staying in bed. My hangover sucks monkey dicks.’ So . . . yeah. I’m relieved. And I’m way more worried about you.”
“What about Granna and Papa?”
“They’re due here an hour before the ceremony. Since they don’t believe in cell phones, I’ll explain then. Now tell me everything! What’s going on?”
Shealyn bit her lip. “My story is
. . . a lot.”
“I figured. Let’s hunt down the cake, open a bottle of bubbly, get comfy, and help each other through some shit.”
Suddenly, Maggie was the sister Shealyn had always known but better—comfortable with herself and her decision, looking at light through a clearer lens. “All right.”
Thirty minutes, a hefty slice of cake, and two glasses of champagne later, Shealyn had told Maggie pretty much everything. Her sister didn’t speak for a long moment, obviously mulling the whole story over.
“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” she asked Maggie.
But she already knew the answer.
“Cutter isn’t without blame. He should have told you that he was engaged . . . but you should have listened, too. After all, we know how small towns work. If he swears his engagement wasn’t what it looked like and the preacher’s daughter was ‘in trouble,’ you can guess why he might be marrying her.”
That possibility had occurred to Shealyn. Unfortunately, not until Cutter was long gone. “Yeah.”
“You and I are a lot alike. Sawyer wanted to love me. I wouldn’t let him too close. I’ve never let anyone, other than you, come near my heart. I never thought much about why. I chalked it up to never truly clicking with anyone. But when I look back, I think I pushed people away because it was easier and more comfortable.”
“And most people will let you. Cutter wouldn’t. I hated that about him. And I loved that about him.” Shealyn sniffled and swiped a hand across her cheek, surprised when she realized it was drenched. So was the other.
Maggie handed her a tissue. “He wanted more.”
“So did I. But the pregnant fiancée . . .”
“It sounds damning, right? But if he’s not a player—”
“He’s not.” Now that she’d had time to dissect the situation and reflect, Shealyn believed that to the bottom of her soul. Cutter was nothing like Foster, who would sleep with any decently pretty woman, even better if there was a little something extra in it for him. Nor was he like Tower, willing to use women like drugs so he wouldn’t have to feel the pain of missing the one he truly wanted.
“Then he must have a story. Don’t you think you owe it to him to hear the truth?”
Shealyn had come to that conclusion, too. This oppressive, wrenching ache was her heart’s defiance, its insistence that love was more important than fear. “That truth has been haunting me since . . . well, since I went to the hospital and found he’d already boarded a plane home. But then I stopped myself from going after him because I wondered what would keep me from jumping to another stupid conclusion in the future and making the same mistake again. I didn’t have an answer.”
“You have to address the problem.” Maggie shoveled in another forkful of cake, then washed it back with champagne straight from the bottle. “I think we both do if we ever want to have awesome, full lives. Got any brilliant ideas how?”
“I only have one, and it’s probably crazy.”
“As crazy as almost going through with a wedding to a douchewad because you don’t think you’ll ever let anyone truly make you happy?” Maggie’s voice softened. “As crazy as letting the man you love with all your heart walk out of your life because you’re afraid to give him the power to hurt you?”
When she put it like that, Shealyn winced. “You’re right. I think we both need to track Mom down and confront her.”
To her shock, Maggie wasn’t surprised at all. “I’ve been thinking something similar for a while. Actually, I have her address. I found her on social media. Apparently, she’s clean now. Sober for years, I guess. She has a son by her current husband. Cruze is ten.”
That rocked Shealyn. She had no idea that she had a half brother. “Wow. Sober for years? Why didn’t she ever . . .”
“Reach out to us? Probably for some of the same reasons you’re not reaching out to Cutter. You also don’t know how to bridge the gap and say you’re sorry. You’re afraid of exposing yourself and being rejected.”
Ouch. “You’re right.”
Maggie downed more bubbly and propped her feet on the table. “Of course I am. The question is, what do we do? I’m off for the next two weeks, since I would have been gone for my honeymoon.”
Everything with Hot Southern Nights was mired in scandal and buried in uncertainty. With their anchor character dead, the show would either have to reinvent itself or end. Shealyn had spoken to Tom and the producers, and she’d given some input to the writers on staff, too. They had no idea where to go next, and they all thanked goodness that most of the filming for the spring season had ended days prior to Tower’s death. They could air episodes through May, then . . . who knew? But for the foreseeable future, Shealyn had no responsibilities other than to get her life in order.
“I suggest we go to Costa Rica and bury the past.” So they could both have happier futures.
“All right.” Maggie leapt to her feet with more excitement than Shealyn had seen from her in a week. “Let’s pack our bags!”
CHAPTER 20
Saturday, December 13
Lafayette, LA
Shealyn wrapped her blue pea coat around her a bit tighter to ward off the December chill. Christmas was coming in a couple of weeks, and night had fallen even nippier than when she’d stepped off the plane an hour ago. She’d forgotten how chilly the south could seem as winter approached. By comparison, Los Angeles was downright sweltering this time of year.
With shaking fingers, she slipped the keys to her rental in her purse and glanced around the parking lot surrounded by simple two-story buildings with siding painted some nondescript beige. She suspected the effect was meant to be simple and down-home. In the dark, the result looked mostly unimaginative. Or maybe she felt that way simply because her nerves were jumping, and it was easier to focus on the mundane than fixate on the fact she’d be seeing Cutter Bryant again for the first time in nearly a month.
Maybe he’d moved on emotionally. She didn’t know because they hadn’t exchanged a single word. She hoped he hadn’t pushed her out of his heart. She’d forever miss him, Shealyn had no doubt. But she had learned so much about herself in the past few weeks. She would be all right . . . eventually.
Digging into her purse again, she withdrew her phone and read the address once more. Right location. Now she just had to find unit 235.
The signs in the shadowy parking lot pointed her to a building just to her south. Dragging in a calming breath, she again recited the speech she had practiced in her head and made her way to his door. It was late; her connection in Dallas had been delayed. But she didn’t want to wait another minute to tell him how she felt.
She hoped he was home. She hoped even more that he was alone.
Where was his fiancée tonight? From everything she’d discovered, he still planned to marry Brea Bell. He must have a reason. She didn’t want to screw up his life, but she couldn’t sit idly while he pledged himself to another if she wasn’t first honest with him about what was in her heart.
Her heels clicked with every step up the concrete stairs. At the top of the landing, she headed to the right and found the last door. The porch light glowed in a warm halo. A holiday wreath hung in the middle, and she knew that hadn’t been Cutter’s doing.
Shealyn hesitated before knocking. Was she doing the right thing? Maybe she should accept her mistake and let him live in peace? No, that was her fear talking. She’d been a coward when he’d tried to make a future for them. She owed him the response she should have given him then—and more.
Letting out a calming breath, she rapped her knuckles against the door, swallowed hard, and waited.
She sensed more than saw someone on the other side and looked directly at the peephole. Was Cutter studying her? Shocked by her presence here? Or merely wondering why the hell she’d bothered to come to him?
Before she could write a dozen miserable scenarios
in her head where he refused to speak to her or let her in, the door wrenched open. Her anticipation at seeing Cutter again died a quick death when she spotted a short brunette. The woman had long, lustrous hair, a fresh-faced innocence, bare feet, and the tiniest hint of a baby belly under her form-fitting crew-neck tee. Shealyn felt a twinge of envy that the woman might be carrying Cutter’s baby.
“Brea?”
The woman blinked, her brows raising halfway to her hairline. “Mercy me. Shealyn West?”
Out of the lack of anything else to say, she raised a hand to wave. “Hi. Is, um . . . Cutter here?”
Brea shook her head, but stepped back, inviting Shealyn inside. “No. I expect him soon, though. Come on in.”
Did Brea have any idea that Shealyn was in love with her fiancé? She must not . . . “That’s all right. I can come back when he’s available.”
She’d managed to wrangle a hotel room not too far from Cutter’s place. She could stay the night there and try to reach him again in the morning. Maybe he’d be alone then.
“Really. Come in. I think you and I should talk first, anyway. He hasn’t said a lot about what happened in California. I know what the press said, of course.”
“Half of that isn’t true,” Shealyn felt compelled to say as she took a tentative step inside.
“I figured the rumor that you and Tower Trent had never had a relationship was hogwash.”
“Actually, that’s true. It was good PR for the show, and we were friends. I meant the bit about the secret lesbian fling Jessica and I supposedly had that led to her jealous rage.”
Brea smiled as she shut and locked the door behind Shealyn. “I didn’t even give that tripe the time of day. But I know whatever happened between you and Cutter changed him. Coffee? Iced tea?”
What did that mean?
“Tea, please. Sweet?” Shealyn asked. Was Brea acknowledging that she knew her man had been unfaithful? Why didn’t she seem to mind?