More Than Love You

by Shayla Black

  But now everything is out in the open, and the truth has brought us even closer as siblings. I understand my brothers so much more now. I also understand the fortitude it took them to overcome the past my parents heaped on them and embrace the love of their spouses.

  Can I do that with Noah?

  I want to. God knows I close my eyes at night and imagine I’m beside my husband. That he’s just a reach of my arm away. That he loves me and our baby and…

  Then I open my eyes to the dark and realize I’m alone. Because I’m afraid. And I’m crushed.

  With my sisters-in-law staring at me, the truth hits me. I have two choices. I can either keep bowing to the fear that I can’t love Noah the right way or, like he said, I can accept that I’m not perfect and simply do my best.

  Would it work? We did pretty good for a few weeks. I’d been there with and for him until things got heavy. Until Noah unwittingly hit my vulnerable spot. Maybe I could do it again in a bigger, better way.

  But what if I can’t? What if it’s not enough? What if I hurt him irreversibly in the end?

  “Thanks for everything, you two,” I tell my brothers’ wives. “Your support has meant a lot to me these last few days.”

  “Anytime. But Noah loves you,” Britta says.

  “I know.”

  He’s never given me a real reason to question that. And when I consider that fact, I wonder again if I’m crazy to throw away the kind of adoration and devotion most people spend their whole lives wishing for.

  “I’ll say what Britta is too polite to tell you,” Keeley cuts in. “You’re being a moron.”

  Despite the pain tearing through my chest, I have to laugh. “I deeply suspect that.”

  That doesn’t mean I know how to just get over myself. Does anyone? I’ve met people who were their own worst enemy and wondered why they couldn’t find their fucking gumption and just fix it. But I get now that life isn’t always simple. Fear isn’t rational. Getting over your internal scars enough to carry on again is a bit like committing to a lifestyle change. And like a diet, it doesn’t work instantly. It’s a concerted effort, a commitment—an adjustment of mindset.

  I don’t lack grit. I could definitely live with Noah again. I’d love to…at least for a while. But what happens if I fall off the wagon? How badly will he be hurt? And what if I drag our baby through our breakup? This isn’t just about him and me anymore.

  Is the joy worth the possible price later, especially since I fear Noah will pay so heavily?

  “I know you’re probably tired of me dishing out songs for every occasion but music really helps me think.” Keeley shrugs. She is who she is. “If you’ll open your phone for me, I’ll download you some music I picked that might help you.”

  She means well, and it can’t hurt. Why the hell not?

  As I hand her the device, I look Britta’s way. “I think…I’d like to talk to my brothers again. Are they still here?”

  The sisters-in-law glance at one another again, this time as if they’re trying to decide who’s going to be the one to impart bad news. Finally, Britta sighs. “Maxon and Griff both received calls from the FBI about an hour ago. I knocked but… Your dad has been accused of embezzling from clients for the last twenty years. They’re alleging that your mom aided and abetted him. They’ve both been arrested. Your brothers were asked to come in and give statements as family members and former employees.”

  As if the day wasn’t already full of revelations… This one steals my breath and grips my chest. But should I actually be surprised? If Barclay and Linda Reed weren’t above using their own children for their gain, why would they hesitate to abuse clients?

  “Oh, my… Wow. I should have seen that coming.”

  Keeley gives me an apologetic grin. “That’s pretty much what your brothers said. The FBI indicated they might need to talk to you at some point, but maybe not since you never worked for your father.”

  I don’t have anything to add to a possible embezzlement indictment, but if they want witnesses about my parents’ character, I have plenty to say. I’m not vindictive…but they have a lot to answer for as parents and human beings. Maybe this is Karma’s way of getting things done.

  “Whatever they need, sure.”

  Keeley nods and hands my phone back. “The playlist is downloaded. I bookended you with the Beatles. I hope these songs help you.”

  I’m about ready to launch it and start the packing I’ve been avoiding before tomorrow’s flight when the doorbell suddenly rings.

  “And that will be Evan,” Britta says, rising to her feet.

  “You invited him over?”

  She turns back in the doorway. “No. He called and asked if he could see you.”

  I can’t imagine why, but before I have a chance to ask, she’s out the door.

  Keeley stands and gives me a hug. “We’ll set him up in the study. Head in there when you’re ready.”

  “Now’s as good a time as any.” I shrug.

  “You might want to fix yesterday’s smudged mascara. And put on a bra.”

  I have to laugh at myself. I’ve been so up in my head that I totally didn’t think about taking off my old makeup or the fact that I didn’t have the mental energy to get fully dressed today.

  “I’ll do that.” I give her a self-deprecating roll of my eyes. “Tell him I need to clean up, then I’ll be in.”

  “Sure thing.” She’s back to her bubbly self, which I appreciate because the mausoleum mode dragging down the whole house has got to go.

  “And thanks for everything,” I say. “I don’t know how my brothers lucked into you two ladies, but they should be damn thankful.”

  Keeley winks my way. “Britta and I never let them forget it. We’ll occupy Evan with embarrassing stories about Maxon and Griff until you’re ready.”

  I laugh as she slips out of the bedroom, then head to the adjoining bathroom and stare in the mirror. And stare some more. Oh, hell. I am a mess. I’m so grateful Keeley said something. I don’t even look presentable enough to socialize with anyone’s pet.

  Dialing up the music she downloaded for me just now, I turn up the volume and cut on the shower. I’ll be quick, but it’s going to take some repair.

  The first song to blare through my phone speakers is “The Long and Winding Road.” Paul McCartney’s iconic voice, complete with that little break in the first line, is unmistakable. By the time I’m soaping up, my tears are falling down. I should feel noble about my decision to separate from Noah now and save him the pain later, but I don’t. I’d love to change my mind but…all the fears that made me leave in the first place are still there. Sure, progress not perfection, and all that. But what if it’s not enough?

  As I’m rinsing my hair, a song I don’t recognize begins to play. It’s kick-ass, beginning with a serious guitar riff. Then a woman with a high-pitched, almost fragile voice belts out that she wants to dream again and this time she’s not scared because she’s unbreakable. The lyrics resonate, pinging and bouncing inside me, connecting deep. She sings a quick bridge about fear being the crutch that holds you back and turns your dreams to dust.

  Oh, hell. She’s right.

  Noah won’t use me. I know that now. He’s also willing to take me back. What’s keeping me from running back to him right now is nothing more than my own anxiousness and worry.

  As my thoughts roll on, so does the song, shouting that all I need to do is trust.

  So simple. But so damn hard.

  Shoving aside the shower curtain, I wipe the water from my hand enough to tap the screen of my phone. The tune is “Unbreakable” by Fireflight. I’m definitely listening to that again. After hearing the vocalist’s resolve, I know I need more of my own.

  And I have to remember to thank Keeley later for telling me so in her way.

  The next song up begins with a totally different guitar sound than the last, this one a gentle sway like a breeze-tossed palm. It’s unmistakably Elvis saying that he can’t help fall
ing in love. Yeah, I couldn’t help it, either. When he sings the eloquent plea to his love that she should take his hand and his whole life, too… That’s another sob I can’t stop. Everything Noah said to me boiled down to that message.

  And I still walked away.

  I have this terrible feeling I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.

  I have to get out of the shower and not keep Evan waiting anymore. Maybe…I need to call Noah to talk, too.

  As classic Elvis drifts off, I cut the faucet and hop out of the shower. I refuse to cry over this mess I’ve made anymore. I’m going to figure out how to be happy and start doing it.

  The King fades, leading into John Legend. “All of Me” is a beautiful song with a beautiful message. That man loves his woman, the same way my husband said he loves me—with all my curves and edges and my perfect imperfections.

  Damn it, that starts the waterworks again.

  Grabbing a pile of comfy clothes from my suitcase, I scramble into something I hope is presentable—along with a bra—as the ballad mellows into another fitting choice on Keeley’s part. Katy Perry’s “Unconditionally” captures the essence of the way I’m supposed to love my husband in return. When she croons about letting go of the fear and just being free, I laugh through the fresh sting of tears. Keeley isn’t subtle in delivering her message, but she’s effective.

  As I wrestle a comb through my wet hair and wrangle it into a bun, George Harrison sings me out with “Here Comes the Sun.” It’s the vocal equivalent of light peeking through the darkness. Upbeat. Happy. Hopeful. Keeley—and the Fab Four—are telling me that everything will be all right.

  The collective message of this playlist isn’t lost on me. I’ve put Noah and myself on this long, winding path to misery, which will only get longer unless I decide that fear will no longer break me. If I’ll embrace the fact that we both fell in love and believe that he loves all of me unconditionally, my long, cold, lonely winter will be over.

  I sigh as I stroke some lip balm across my mouth. Keeley is probably right. And now I’m feeling like a total coward. What if Maxon hadn’t gotten over himself enough to admit he loved Keeley? What if Griff hadn’t worked past his anger enough to marry Britta? What kind of loser does it make me if I don’t even try to make my relationship with Noah last?

  Yeah… I have to talk to him.

  After rushing out the bedroom door, I race down the tiled hallway and approach the study to ask if I can borrow someone’s car because I’ve got to go. Instead, I hear Evan talking—and his words stop me short.

  “So I don’t see any other choice. I’ve given this a lot of thought. I’m going to have to buy a wife.”

  Is he kidding?

  One of my sisters-in-law chokes. Britta, I think, since Keeley has no trouble finding her voice.

  “That’s not really legal. You know that, right?” Maxon’s wife points out.

  “It’s merely a business transaction.”

  Okay, he’s not kidding.

  “So is prostitution.”

  “Keeley makes a good point,” Britta says softly. “I’m sure you’ll find someone special again someday. No one will replace Becca. She was your only girlfriend and your first love. It will take you time to recover and you’ll have to work through your grief before you can fall in love—”

  “No. I don’t want love. I will simply offer someone young, socially adept, and mildly attractive the position as my wife in exchange for stability, fidelity, and financial security. A housekeeper and a cook can’t meet all my needs.”

  “Can’t you hire a hooker for sex?” I stroll into the room with a frown, unable to stay out of this conversation.

  He frowns my way. “I want children someday. For obvious reasons, a prostitute won’t serve my purposes. A surrogate won’t work, either, because I want my son or daughter to live with both a mother and a father. Rather than hire someone to help me navigate corporate galas and fundraisers that exhaust the introvert in me, as well as a cook, a housekeeper, a Girl Friday, and a hooker, I can simply buy a wife. It’s far more logical and cost effective.” Evan rises to his feet. “Hello, Harlow.”

  I swallow as Keeley and Britta both stand and head for the study door, shaking their heads.

  “Well, good luck with that plan,” Maxon’s redhead says in a tone that more than conveys she thinks he’s being a dumb ass.

  “The right candidate is out there,” he assures me. “Not every woman marries for romantic reasons.”

  Britta gives him a tightly polite smile. “Let us know if you need anything else.”

  Griff’s wife doesn’t know what to say, and I don’t blame her. I’m kind of at a loss for words, too.

  “Thank you for your hospitality.” My half brother nods.

  “And before I forget, thank you for the music, Keeley,” I say softly.

  Her face brightens. “Did it help?”

  “Actually…yeah.” I smile, and she claps her hands with a little squeal of delight.

  After the women back out of the room, I hug Evan awkwardly before we both take our seats.

  “How would your late wife feel about you hiring someone to take her place?” I challenge.

  “Becca understood me as no one else ever has or ever will. I loved her with my entire heart, and I buried my soul with her and our unborn child. But Fate or God or whatever you believe in has decreed that I should keep living. I’m having trouble doing that,” he admits.

  “It may take more than a month to adjust. It must be a terrible shock and—”

  “Unimaginable. Becca was my rock, my crutch…my sun. But I have to be practical. I work fifteen hours a day, often seven days a week. I don’t have time to grocery shop or cook or pay my bills. I can’t run errands, drop off dry cleaning, deal with the tax assessor. I don’t function well at parties where I need to be charming. And while I don’t have the time or inclination for romance, that fact has done nothing to mitigate my sex drive. After dissecting the problem, I came to the logical conclusion that I need a wife who understands what our relationship is…and isn’t.”

  Before Noah, I would have completely understood his point of view. If his prospective bride came into the marriage with all the facts and her eyes wide open, the arrangement would have made total sense to me. In fact, I probably would have applauded Evan for his out-of-the-box thinking.

  But not anymore. Now, I’m horrified.

  And that should tell me something about how connected I am to my heart.

  “You don’t ever want love again?”

  He drags in a deep breath. “Would I like it? Very much. But I’ve loved deeply and totally. I believe it’s something we’re only entitled to once in our lives and only if we’re very lucky. Though Becca was taken from me too soon, I had my chance. I won’t have another, so my heart is now closed. Would it be better to marry someone on a pretense?”

  “No, but I don’t think you should shut yourself off to the possibility that—”

  “It’s not possible.” He raises a dark brow, and I’m struck by how much he looks like a Reed, like a younger blend of Maxon and Griff. He acts like one, too. His bravado hides a pain he doesn’t want to show and I can’t really fathom. “I could ask you the same question. In fact, that’s why I came here tonight. I heard you left Noah and your sisters-in-law told me a bit about why. I have to say, I’m shocked.”

  “Well, join the club. Griff said roughly the same thing. Maxon just asked me if I’d lost my damn mind.”

  “Smart men. I would do or give anything to have Becca back for even a day. I won’t waste your time asking if you love Noah because I know you do. And I won’t let you insult my intelligence by hearing you insist otherwise. You’re throwing your chance away.” He grabs my hands. “Stop before it’s too late. I’ll never love another day in my life, and I fucking regret that I let my wife drive to her appointment in that rainstorm because I was too busy to tell the windbag on my phone to shove his sales pitch up his ass and take her myself. I certai
nly treasure the time I had with her, but what’s worse is regretting every moment we’ll never share—the children we’ll never have, the adventures we might have taken, the gray hairs we’ll never fret about together… Don’t throw away what might be a lifetime of love together.” He stands suddenly. “I’ve overstepped my boundaries, haven’t I? Did I mention that I’m not good socially?”

  His words—and the emotion he’s forcing himself to bury—bring me to tears, and it’s all I can do to hold myself together. I can’t imagine how much admitting that cost him emotionally. But he’s right.

  And I’ve been a terrible idiot.

  “You did mention it, but you didn’t overstep. Thank you for looking out for me and for being so honest.”

  “Of course. You and your brothers, along with your spouses, have been more family than I’ve ever had. If Rebecca could see me now, she’d be smiling.” We hug again, this time much less awkwardly than our greeting. He tugs at my ear fondly. “Go get your husband. I can’t be happy for myself anymore, so you be happy for both of us.”

  The Four Seasons in Wailea is a gorgeous paradise and someday I’ll stop to appreciate it. But today I only care about my husband. His press conference starts in three minutes and I have to get there before everything goes horribly wrong.

  I ached to see him last night, but after Evan’s departure, Britta and Keeley were rattling around the house, worried about my brothers’ return from wherever the FBI had taken them. Besides, I wanted to take time to be one hundred percent sure of my decision.

  So we watched a funny chick flick, baked brownies, and stayed up until the guys came in after one a.m., utterly exhausted. But they were smiling. They’d been able to add surprisingly helpful information for the FBI, and the case against our parents is now looking tight, according to the special agent who interrogated them. All it took was for one whistleblower—one of my father’s former assistants/mistresses—and their entire scheme began to crumble. They’re both in custody and it doesn’t look as if they’ll be getting out anytime soon.