by Tessa Layne
The buzzing in Maddie’s ears wouldn’t stop.
This.
This was the sensation of her heart ripping out of her body. Even when her mother had died, the pain hadn’t been this intense. Hysteria raced through her hot and heavy. It hurt to breathe. This could not be happening. She’d told him she loved him.
A sob escaped, and she slapped her hand across her mouth. “I have to go.” She started moving toward the door, bumping into furniture in her effort to escape.
“Maddie, wait. Please. Let me explain.”
He reached out a hand to stop her. She shook her head and brushed past him out into the yard.
“Dammit, Maddie, wait.”
She stumbled out of the diner, unable to see through the tears. A wave of nausea brought her to her knees and she retched right by his truck. She had to get out of here. Had to get away from them all. As fast as possible.
A son? What kind of person knocks up their brother’s ex-girlfriend and then lies about it? What kind of person uses their daughter as collateral in a land deal?
Grief rolled through her so intensely she stayed rooted to the ground, rocks digging into her knees.
She retched again, her empty stomach clenching and heaving. She had to move now. Letting them see her like this would only add insult to injury. Taking a shuddering breath, she forced her knees to straighten. Slowly, as if her limbs were filled with lead weights, she rose, leaning against the truck for support.
Boots crunched on the gravel, and a hand brushed her shoulder. She shrugged it off.
“Don’t… Don’t. Touch me.”
“Sweetheart, pl–”
“I am not your sweetheart,” she sobbed, turning to stare at him.
His eyes were stormy and wild, his face strained.
Her heart lurched and she turned away, burying her head against the truck. She couldn’t look at him. Not anymore. The sight of him pierced her so intensely it stole her breath.
“How could you? How could you?” she wailed into her sleeve.
“Maddie, love. I never meant to hurt you. I–”
She lifted her head, catching his reflection in the glass on the truck. “This is not what you do to someone you love. Either of you.” She sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve, no longer caring about anything.
A hard lump of anger formed in her belly, giving her the courage to continue speaking.
“I’m going,” she ground out over the lump in her throat. “Dr. Richardson called. I’ve been ordered back to the lab. An-and since Dad doesn’t need me anymore…” A wave of despair nearly buckled her knees. “I… it’s time.”
“Maddie. Please. Don’t go. Just give me until tonight. I can explain.” The panic in his voice shattered her.
She slowly shook her head.
“You had all the time, Blake. I gave you everything and you couldn’t trust me. How… I-I d-don’t know h-how can I trust you after this.” She sniffled, brushing her fingers across her face. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t do it.”
One foot. She just needed to move one foot. If she didn’t do it now, didn’t rip the Band-Aid off all at once, she wouldn’t have the courage to do it. It hurt too much. Choking back a sob, she lurched away, forcing one foot to move in front of the other.
The direction didn’t matter, so long as it was away from here.
Away from Blake.
And the mutilated pieces of her heart.
CHAPTER 29
Blake paced the front porch like a caged lion. It had been hours since the shit had hit the fan in front of God and everyone at the diner. And not a peep from Maddie. Not that he’d expected to hear from her after what happened.
Nausea settled in the pit of his stomach every time the scene replayed in his mind. Until the day he died, he’d never forget the heartbreak on her face, or how the light dimmed out of her eyes. It cut him to the core. He kicked a rock off the porch in frustration.
The visions he’d had of Maddie with his child returned to taunt him. What sick karmic game was the universe playing? Giving him that little spark of hope only to let the wheels of fortune turn against him. His chest squeezed tighter with every heartbeat. He’d been a damned coward, and his chickens had come home to roost.
The Hansens’ old blue pickup tore up the road, tires squealing to a stop behind his truck. The doors opened and slammed shut in unison.
“Sinclaire, you’re a damned fool.” Axel stalked over and stood at the foot of the steps, glaring at him with his arms crossed over his chest.
“So I’ve been told.”
Gunnar joined his brother, his long hair wild around him, giving him the look of a berserker. “For all your bragging about your MBA, you’re an idiot.”
Bragging? Anger that had been lurking beneath the surface flared up. He didn’t brag.
Okay, maybe he did.
A little.
But only a little.
He cleared his throat. Now was not the time to let his anger get the best of him. Especially with Gunnar and Axel. If anything, he needed their help.
“You came from Dottie’s.”
Axel side-eyed his brother. “News travels fast.”
Yeah. Especially bad news. “What’d you hear?”
“That you got yourself in a smack of trouble between Warren and Kylee Ross.”
That was an understatement.
Axel squinted up at him. “Didn’t take you for the sort who would poach his brother’s ex-girlfriend.”
“You should have come to us.” Gunnar scowled at him.
“Yeah. We know how to handle Uncle Warren.”
He narrowed his eyes, scowling. He’d be damned if the Hansen boys were going to stand here and scold him. “And I would have known this how?” His voice dripped with barely restrained anger.
Gunnar studied him carefully. “Maddie called us a while back and asked us to buy out Warren.” He paused. “We’d have sold you the Sinclaire portion.”
“But you never gave us the chance,” Axel chimed in.
Sympathy briefly flashed through Gunnar’s eyes. “And we didn’t know about Maddie Jane.”
Not that the land mattered a bit without her. Right now he never wanted to see the homestead again. It would only make him think about her. How much he loved her. He ran a hand over his chin, shaking his head. “I love her,” he croaked hoarsely. “I was going to give her a ring today.”
Gunnar’s eyes widened in surprise and he glanced over to his brother. Axel nodded, agreeing to a silent question in Gunnar’s eyes.
“We’ll help you.”
“You’re an idiot, Sinclaire,” Axel added. “But we’ll help you.”
A wave of despair crashed down on him, hot and heavy, nearly bringing him to his knees. Oh God. If he’d lost her… If he’d ruined his one shot at happiness because he’d been too scared to level with her… He stared out bleakly across the hill.
Brodie’s truck came careening up the dirt road, kicking up dust in its wake.
Great.
This was turning into a shit show.
Gunnar turned to study the truck, then met Blake’s eyes. “You gonna stand there like an idiot or invite us up?”
He cocked his head toward the porch. “Beer’s in the fridge.”
Axel rubbed his hands together. “Love me a family showdown.”
“Shut up, Axel.” He and Gunnar spoke at the same time.
Gunnar popped open a beer, handing the first one to him. Blake clenched the bottle, his heart pounding in his chest. Of all the conversations to have in front of the Hansens, it had to be this one.
Fuck it.
Word was probably all over town anyhow, thanks to Kylee. The story needed to be set straight, fast. And that started with him.
Brodie skidded his truck to a stop behind the Hansens’, blocking them in, and cut the engine before it had even stopped moving. He launched himself out of the cab and stalked toward Blake, his face contorted in fury.
Behind him, one of the Hansens let
out a low whistle. Blake opened his hands in a gesture of peace, bracing for the onslaught he deserved.
Brodie didn’t stop.
With a guttural roar, he launched himself up the stairs. Brodie had all the momentum, and the punch was delivered with the force of a bison at full charge.
Blake staggered back, beer flying, pain exploding in his nose, teeth rattling from the power of the blow. He struggled to keep his vision from darkening. He’d be lucky if his nose wasn’t broken. With a snarl, Brodie came at him again. This time he was ready. At least he thought he was.
The punch landed right in his gut.
Hard.
His breath hissed out and a wave of nausea swept through him, nearly bringing him to his knees. “Wait.”
“Fuck you, you fucking lying asshole.” Each word was punctuated with a sharp blow.
The desolation in Brodie’s voice was powerful. An ache lodged itself in his throat, his heart squeezing. He deserved every blow and then some. It hurt to breathe. Whether from the force of Brodie’s blows, or the weight of his own guilt, he couldn’t tell.
He raised his hand in supplication. “Brodie.”
“Shut. Up.” The blow to his jaw sent blinding pain up into his ear. He staggered back and, tripping on Gunnar’s boots, fell into the furniture, smacking the back of his head on the heavy wooden spool. Stars shot through his vision.
The fuzzy form of Gunnar stood. “Enough, man. Nobody needs to die here.”
Brodie let out an anguished sob. “He fucking stole everything. My whole life. He stole my whole Goddamned life.” He braced himself on the pillar, chest heaving.
Blake sat up, running his tongue over his lip and tasting blood. “I need to explain–”
“Explain what?” He snarled, teeth bared. “How you stole my girlfriend? Then you stole my son?”
This was it. The moment he’d dreaded for the last twelve years. He wiped his hands across his eyes.
“He’s not your son.”
“Like hell he isn’t. I want a paternity test.”
“He’s Dad’s, Brodie.” Defeat swept over him as he finally let the admission out. “Simon is fucking Dad’s.”
Everyone went still as the weight of his words sunk in. For a moment there was only the sound of wind rushing over grass.
“Jesus.” Axel muttered.
Gunnar broke the silence. “Who wants another beer?”
“There’s scotch in the cabinet next to the refrigerator. Glasses in the cupboard to the left. And bring me a towel.”
Gunnar stepped inside, while Axel grabbed a beer and sat back. The hiss of the top opening sliced through silence. Blake sagged back against the leg of the furniture. So this is what utter defeat tasted like. Blood and despair.
Brodie lifted his head, eyes flat. “I don’t believe you.”
Blake shrugged, the urge to explain gone. Let Kylee do the explaining. She created this mess.
Gunnar stepped back out onto the porch, and tossed him a wet rag. “Clean yourself up. You look like shit.”
He was sure he did. The rag stung as he wiped it across his lip then tenderly dabbed his eye, which was quickly swelling.
Gunnar handed him a partially filled glass. “Sinclaire. You’re an idiot. You and your inflated sense of honor.”
Brodie’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
The word hung heavy between them.
“Why do you think?” He took a gulp of the scotch, savoring the raw burn down his throat.
Brodie’s glare burned into him. Condemning him.
“I loved her.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You never cared about what I wanted.”
“Shit, Brodie. You were a kid. With a fucked up girlfriend making fucked up choices.”
“She wasn’t fucked up.”
He rolled his eyes. Did he have to be so stubborn? “For chrissakes, Brodie. She seduced Dad.”
Brodie crossed his arms, his mouth thinning. “How do you know?”
Bile rose up in his throat. He took another swig of the scotch, forcing it down. This was the ugly, ugly truth. Truth he’d hoped would stay dead and buried. The truth he was complicit in hiding from his family and the town. Shame, burning hot in his chest, choked him. “Because I saw,” he gritted out.
Brodie uttered a strangled cry and lunged at him.
Gunnar and Axel shot up from their seats, and stepped between them.
“Easy fella.” Gunnar spoke commandingly. “Let him speak.”
Blake waved them away and lurched to his feet, head spinning. He reached to prop himself up against one of the pillars. “No. I deserve it. I deserve every punch he lands.”
Gunnar eyed him critically. “You sure? He’s already made mincemeat of your face.”
He nodded once, a wave of remorse sweeping through him. He swallowed hard, letting the pain soothe him. He deserved this for betraying them all.
“But he still could be mine.”
Blake shook his head. “You don’t think I thought of that? I ran a paternity test. Stole dad’s toothbrush. Besides, you have blue eyes, like mom’s. So does Kylee. No way he belongs to you.”
The fire died in Brodie’s eyes. Guilt and shame weighed heavier on Blake with each heartbeat. His brother had suffered for twelve years. At his hands.
“Tell me what you saw,” Brodie gritted through clenched teeth.
Blake stepped to the table and refilled his glass, taking a gulp to fortify himself. He kept his eyes focused on his glass. “I’d come home mid-week from Manhattan to help Emma with a 4-H project. The barn door was open, and I walked in expecting to find her in there working. Kylee and dad were in the throes in one of the stalls. They never even heard me.”
It had been so much worse. Even twelve years later, the vision of the two of them was permanently etched in his memory. But some secrets were meant to be carried to the grave. He’d never share that they were both drunk and laughing. It made him sick even now.
Brodie shot him an icy look. “Why didn’t you let that sonofabitch take the fall?”
“Did you ever think what that would have done to Mom? You can’t ignore a pregnancy in Prairie or a kid who looks like a Sinclaire. It was easier to help Kylee move to Manhattan for a few years.” And he’d be damned if he’d sit by quietly and let a Sinclaire baby suffer through no fault of its own. So he’d swallowed his dreams and manned up. For all of them.
“Hmmph.”
“For God’s sake, Brodie. Pull your head out for half a second. This was about protecting Mom and Emma.”
“What about me?” Brodie glared angrily.
“What about you? What would you have done if you’d found out?”
“Killed the motherfucker.”
“Making everything worse for everybody.”
“So big Blake steps in again and saves the day, without giving a damn how it affected anyone else.”
“BULLSHIT.”
Now he was pissed. All the anger toward Jake, toward Kylee, and Warren, that he’d kept bottled up for years. All the shame he’d carried… All of it came bubbling up, black and toxic. He stalked across the porch and jabbed his finger into Brodie’s chest.
“I sacrificed more than you will ever know. Did you ever notice how there was barely any food in the house that summer? Or were you too busy sucking your thumb? Did you ever notice that Emma was being picked on at school, or that Ben was working two jobs?”
His breath came in short bursts. “It was Ma who sold our land to Warren. Ma. So she could feed you and keep the ranch afloat.” He let that sink in. “Yes. Warren.” He shot a look at Gunnar and Axel. They shifted uncomfortably. He scrubbed his hand over his face, wincing where his fingers scraped the cuts. “Warren saved our ranch.”
He hated making that admission in front of the Hansens. But it was time to bare the ugly truth.
“No.” Brodie shook his head in disbelief. “He stole it in a poker game.”
“He and Ma arranged that. She knew it w
as the only way Dad wouldn’t go ballistic.”
Brodie’s lips hardened to a thin line. “I don’t believe you.”
He had nothing left. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“Does Ben know?”
He shook his head.
No, this had been his own private hell. The sleepless nights doing homework so he could work two jobs and keep two families afloat. The fallout with Jake when he refused to acknowledge Simon or even see him. Hell, it wasn’t the kid’s fault. He’d been screwed by most of the adults in his life.
Brodie’s hands clenched and unclenched. He spun on his heel. “I’m outta here.”
Blake called after him. “I’ll be here.”
Brodie gunned the engine, squealing the tires as he backed out and spun the truck around and down the long drive.
Blake kept his eyes on the dust trail kicked up behind the truck. “Do me a favor. Keep an eye on him tonight.” Axel and Gunnar stayed silent behind him.
One of them rose and clapped him on the shoulder. Gunnar spoke. “Sure thing. We look out for family.”
Blake swallowed hard, gratitude swelling his throat shut. One battle won, at least. He wasn’t sure about the war.
CHAPTER 30
The spring wind caressed Maddie’s face as she stood at the fence watching the bison munch on grass. She’d found herself here every day during lunch. Drawn by a powerful melancholy and a crazy urge to stay connected to home. To Blake.
Somehow.
Every day, rain or shine, for the last three weeks, she’d come. It hadn’t helped. When she conjured his face, the pain sliced through her like a laser. When she imagined his eyes, she could only see Simon’s. Which set off a wave of grief and longing. What would a child of theirs look like? In her twenty-eight years, she’d never considered children. A handful of weeks with Blake, and she was contemplating the whole kit and caboodle.
When would the intense, breathtaking pain stop and the ache set in? She’d give anything for the dull ache. The only thing that came close was a hefty helping of Irish whiskey, which she’d pathetically indulged in her first night home alone, with the help of Jamey. But the hangover the next day had been enough to swear her off booze for quite some time. No, she’d have to take the pain without the help of any toxic medication.