Unraveling Him: A Small Town Family Romance (The Bailey Brothers Book 3)

by Claire Kingsley

  It wasn’t just that phrase—naturally so loaded with meaning—that made my stomach twist into a knot of dread. It was Cullen’s tone. Flat. Emotionless.

  “Sounds serious,” I said, trying to keep the mood light in case I was overreacting. Maybe we needed to talk about where to make dinner reservations, or a similarly innocuous subject.

  Cullen stood in the kitchen of our apartment, all California-boy handsome with his ice-blue eyes, tan skin, and natural highlights in his thick, dark blond hair. Trade his button-down and slacks for a pair of board shorts and a muscle shirt, and he would have fit right in on a beach somewhere.

  Which got me thinking… a California surfer boy discovers a body while he’s on a deserted beach at sunrise—

  “Skylar,” Cullen snapped. “See? You’re not even listening to me.”

  “I’m sorry, I just had an idea. What did you say?”

  “It’s over.”

  His words hit me like the jab of a needle straight into my chest, the shock of them rendering me briefly speechless. I stared at him while he took his phone out of his pocket and the corner of his mouth twitched in the hint of a smile.

  “What did you say?”

  He pocketed his phone, his eyes flicking up to meet mine. That almost-smile on his lips melted into pinched annoyance. “You’re going to make me repeat myself again? Let me guess, you were brainstorming more book ideas that you’re never going to write.”

  Ouch. Talk about hitting below the belt. “No. I just don’t understand what you’re saying right now.”

  “Why are you making this hard?”

  “How am I making this hard? You throw the words it’s over at me, completely out of nowhere, and I’m supposed to just carry on with my day?”

  “Well, no, obviously not.”

  “Then what do you think I’m going to say? Of course I’m going to ask you what you mean.”

  “Fine,” he said, like my asking for clarification was the most annoying request ever. “I’m not happy. I haven’t been for a long time. So this is it. I’m done.”

  “Since when are you not happy?”

  “I just said I haven’t been for a long time.”

  I stared at him, bewildered. Cullen wasn’t what you’d call a happy person—never had been. He was serious and stoic. Focused and responsible. Happy wasn’t his vibe. But the idea that he’d been unhappy with me was such a foreign concept, I didn’t know how to make sense of it.

  There had been no warning. None at all. I’d thought he was fine.

  I thought we were fine.

  That wasn’t even the half of it. I thought we might be forever.

  The buzz of the refrigerator suddenly roared in my ears, like a thousand mosquitos flying around my head. I tried to hold still—tried not to twitch. He’d tell me I was being dramatic and unreasonable. Calm down, Skylar, the fridge isn’t loud.

  The vibration crawled up my spine. I couldn’t stand still anymore. Not right here. Stopping myself from sticking my fingers in my ears, I wandered into the living room.

  “This is just… really sudden,” I said.

  “That’s not my fault.”

  “Excuse me?” I whirled on him. “You’re breaking up with me and it’s not your fault?”

  He let out a heavy sigh. “No, it’s not my fault that this is taking you by surprise. You should have seen this coming.”

  “How could I have seen this coming? We had sex last night. You didn’t seem unhappy when you had your dick in me.”

  “Jesus, Skylar, don’t be vulgar.”

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything? Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t happy?”

  “It’s not like you’ve been fully invested in this relationship. You moved out for months.”

  “I moved in with my mom so I could take care of her after her surgery. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “You said it would be a few weeks, and months later, you were still living there.”

  I gaped at him. “I moved back. And she’s my mom, Cullen. She needed my help.”

  He shrugged, like her relationship to me wasn’t a factor. “We grew apart a long time ago. You’re just too busy living in fantasyland to realize it.”

  I swallowed hard. Was he right? I was distracted a lot. Had I been so lost in my own head that I’d missed the signs? Had I neglected him so much that he’d fallen out of love with me?

  He pulled out his phone again and typed something.

  “What are you doing?”

  He finished, then slipped his phone back in his pocket. “Nothing.”

  “Will you stop having a conversation with someone else while you’re throwing my life in the garbage?”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  “I’m not being dramatic. Are you dumping me as a client too?”

  “That’s best for everyone involved.”

  I couldn’t think clearly. Too many emotions whipped around inside me, like a tornado flinging debris across the landscape of my heart. Cullen Bell wasn’t just my boyfriend of three years and the man I currently lived with. He was my literary agent. My link to the editors at the big publishing houses.

  Including the publisher who’d dropped me last year.

  And the others who might pick me up.

  Not that I’d written anything new in months.

  Oh my god.

  “So that’s it? You’re done with me?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but his phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out again.

  A sick realization spread through me, like dark smoke filling a room. The back of my throat burned and the knot of dread in the pit of my stomach grew.

  “Who is she?”

  His blue eyes lifted, his expression devoid of any emotion. “Don’t.”

  “Are you cheating on me?”

  “Skylar, don’t make this worse.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I’m trying to make this easier on you. You don’t need to go there.”

  “By acting like this is my fault?” I crossed my arms. “Who is she?”

  He glanced away.

  “If you’re leaving me for another woman, the least you can do is tell me who she is so I—”

  “Pepper Sinclair.”

  I clicked my mouth shut. Maybe he was right. I should have seen this coming.

  Pepper Sinclair was perfect. A New York Times bestselling author of inspirational women’s fiction. She was stunningly beautiful with flawless skin, perfect bone structure, a gorgeous smile, thick hair, and the type of boobs that most women had to pay a lot of money for.

  Her social media following numbered in the millions, men and women hanging on her every word, clamoring for glimpses into her perfectly tailored, manicured, pristine life.

  Everyone loved her.

  Including, apparently, my boyfriend. Who was also her agent.

  “Wait, Pepper’s married.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but she’s getting a divorce.”

  Maybe not so perfect after all.

  Not that it mattered. She was still stealing my boyfriend.

  I looked away, my eyes stinging with tears. Cullen had taken her on as a client last year, after they’d met at a writer’s conference in Denver. I’d been there, too, dutifully attending the meetings Cullen had set up with editors, trying to salvage my quickly spiraling career.

  And I’d seen them together at the hotel bar.

  They hadn’t been touching—nothing overt. But the way he’d looked at her…

  Weeks later, after mulling it over for way too long, I’d asked him about it. He’d gotten mad. Accused me of not trusting him.

  “How long?” I heard myself ask.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes. How long?”

  “Why are you making this harder on yourself?”

  “Because I need to know the truth.”

  He let out an irritated breath. “Denver.”

  My lip trem
bled. I caught it between my teeth so I wouldn’t cry. I was not letting him see me cry. He’d just tell me I was being overly sensitive anyway.

  I took a slow breath through my nose. “You’ve been cheating on me with Pepper Sinclair since last year?”

  “You’re making it sound worse than it is. In Denver, we…”

  He trailed off, looking away again. But there was no shame or regret in his posture or expression. He just wanted to finish this conversation so he could move on with his day.

  “In Denver, you what?”

  “Why are you—”

  “I’m not making this hard, Cullen. That’s on you. I didn’t make you have an affair with a married woman who’s also your client. You did that.”

  “Fine, you want to make me say it? In Denver, we didn’t sleep together, but… other things transpired. Since then I’ve been seeing her when I go to New York. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you getting all depressed. Things were bad enough after your series got dropped. I figured I’d give you some time to at least get writing again. But that’s obviously not going to happen, and I can’t keep waiting around for you to decide you’re over your writer’s block.”

  It was hard to get any words out, my voice almost a whisper. “All that time?”

  “What do you expect? You’re always distracted, always thinking of some plot or another, but you haven’t written anything in who knows how long. You spend all your time watching serial killer documentaries and looking up poisonous household chemicals or the best ways to hide a body. It’s disturbing.”

  “I write suspense novels. It’s research.”

  “It’s like living with the creepy goth girl who sat in the back of class and threatened people with voodoo dolls, only wrapped in a beautiful package. You look so normal.”

  If I’d ever wondered what it would feel like to have my very existence completely rejected, apparently this was it.

  “Look, you need to move out,” he said. “Pepper’s telling her husband today and she’s bringing her stuff here after.”

  “You’re moving her in?”

  “Well, yeah, she’s leaving her husband. She can’t exactly stay there.”

  “You’re leaving me. Why don’t you move out?”

  He looked at me like I’d just suggested he start eating meat again. “It’s my apartment.”

  The refrigerator’s buzz ceased, leaving behind an emptiness in the air. It was his apartment. He’d lived here first. In fact, everything in it was his. It had been fully furnished, the kitchen and bathrooms fully stocked, when I’d moved in. Almost nothing was mine.

  I was simply a guest who’d been here for an extended sleepover.

  A guest who’d overstayed her welcome.

  Calmly, I turned and walked to the bedroom. Took my suitcase out of the closet and started packing.

  So calm. Deadly calm.

  The beginning to a domestic suspense novel flitted through my head. A jilted wife, forced to move out of the home she loved due to her husband’s infidelity. Her husband is found dead the next morning. She’s the prime suspect, and—

  “What are you doing?”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the man I’d once thought I might marry. My voice sounded strangely flat. “You just broke up with me, so I’m packing.”

  “You were staring at the wall.”

  Turning to face him, I crossed my arms. “You know what, Cullen? Fuck you. You were never trying to make this easier on me, or give me time to start writing again, or keep me from getting depressed. You wanted to avoid telling me that you’re a cheating piece of shit. Because deep down, you know you were wrong. You know you betrayed me. And one of these days, you’re going to wake up and realize it. You’re going to realize what you lost. And when you do, I’ll be long gone. So get out and let me pack.”

  He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and backed away. “Fine.”

  I went back to folding my clothes and placing them neatly in my suitcase. They weren’t all going to fit, and I didn’t have another bag.

  I decided to take Cullen’s.

  Because fuck him.

  But when I pulled his suitcase out of the closet—it matched mine—I couldn’t hold back the tears.

  Strands of long hair stuck to my wet cheeks as sobs bubbled up from my chest. I splayed my hand over my heart, suddenly understanding the term heartbroken with perfect clarity.

  I’d thought I loved him. I’d thought he loved me.

  Apparently I’d been wrong. Horribly wrong.

  I needed to call my mom. I’d have to go to her place. I wasn’t the sort of girl who had many friends; I was too shy. And my best friend Ginny didn’t live nearby. Fortunately, I knew Mom wouldn’t mind.

  Except I scrolled past my frequently used contacts—which was all of three people, Mom, Cullen, and Ginny—and stopped at a different number.

  Dad.

  Norman Stanley. Fire Chief, Tilikum Fire Department.

  I didn’t know why I had the urge to call him. He wasn’t the parent I normally went to in a crisis. In fact, I didn’t even see my dad all that often.

  But somehow the pieces of my cracked and bleeding heart yearned for the comfort of my father’s voice.

  If he’d even answer. He was probably on duty. It seemed like that was all he ever did—work.

  Still, I decided to give it a try. I brought up his number and hit send.

  He answered on the first ring. “Hey, Skylar.”

  A flood of renewed tears ran down my cheeks and I could barely croak out a single word.

  “Daddy.”

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  Broken Miles: Chapter 1

  Roland

  All your shit’s gone, and I’m just trying to figure out what the hell happened.

  ~Text from Roland, four years ago

  They wanted a damn miracle. I looked over the email again, already formulating a strategy. What my boss was asking for was tough. But, as the saying went, that was why they paid me the big bucks. I was the youngest CFO in Dimension, Inc.’s history for a reason.

  I was a goddamn miracle worker.

  Glancing at the time, I had to do a double take. It was already after nine. I hadn’t realized it was so late. But I worked late most nights, and it wasn’t like there was anyone around to bitch at me about it. I didn’t have plans with Farrah tonight; she was out of town. And even when we did have plans, she got it. She worked as much as I did, and she understood what it took to make it at this level. I never had to worry about that with her.

  My cell buzzed, vibrating on the desk next to my laptop. Looking down, I winced. My parents’ number. Their business number, to be specific. Which meant it could be either one of them calling. I didn’t particularly want to take the call, but if I didn’t answer, I’d have to call them back. Better to get it over with.

  I picked up the phone and answered. “Yeah.”

  “Hey, it’s Leo.”

  That was odd. My younger brother never called. An occasional text, maybe, but it wasn’t like we were close. This probably meant bad news.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “You need to come out here.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Mom and Dad are on the verge of losing the winery,” he said. “It’s a mess.”

  I sat back in my chair and pinched the bridge of my nose. You’ve got to be kidding me. “What do you mean, lose the winery?”

  “The business is in debt up to its eyeballs,” he said. “Dad’s been hiding shit. It’s bad.”

  “What do you expect me to do about it?”

  “Don’t be an asshole,” Leo said. “Do you think I would have called you if it wasn’t a big deal? This is serious. Y
ou need to come home.”

  Fuck. Home? That was the last place I wanted to go.

  “Now?” I asked. “I can’t just drop everything. I’m sure Dad will figure it out.”

  “Roland,” Leo said, his tone sharp. “Dad’s the one who fucked everything up. He’s not going to fix it. We need you out here, man. If this is about Zoe…”

  “It’s not about Zoe.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose again. Just thinking about Zoe gave me a headache. Why my mom had hired my ex-wife to work at the family winery was beyond me. Although, normally I didn’t give a shit. I was in San Francisco, almost a thousand miles from my hometown in central Washington. It’s not like it had any impact on my life if she worked there.

  “Because we can, I don’t know, find ways to keep some distance between you two or whatever,” he said.

  “I already said it isn’t about her. I’m an adult, I can be in the same room with Zoe.”

  “Good,” he said. “Then get your ass home.”

  “Leo—” I stopped because I heard the click of the call ending. I tossed my phone back onto my desk. “Fuck. Fuck you, Leo. And fuck you, Dad.”

  I checked my calendar. Tomorrow was out, but if I flew out early on Thursday, I could get to the winery and finish up my day from there. I sent my assistant, Danielle, a text, telling her to book me a flight to Seattle and reserve a rental car.

  My concentration was shot to shit. I wasn’t going to get any more work done tonight. But it was late anyway. I closed my laptop, grabbed my things, and went home.

  I’d bought my condo for the view. During the day, I could see all the way to the water. At night, the lights of the city twinkled in the darkness. It had cost me a shit-ton of money, but every night when I stood looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows, I knew it had been worth it.

  I went to the kitchen and took a bottle of Glenlivit out of the liquor cabinet. Poured a glass and took a long swallow. It burned going down, spreading warmth through my chest.

  Danielle texted me back with my flight details for Thursday. I blew out a long breath and took another drink of Scotch.

  Home. I’d grown up in Echo Creek, a small town in the Cascade Mountains. Growing up on a winery sounded idyllic, but I’d been glad to leave it behind.