by Jami Alden
He caught her arm when she would have darted away. “Molly—”
“Let’s not do this now,” she said, the faintest tremble in her voice.
“I’ll come over to your place later, okay?”
She nodded. He bent to kiss her, but she ducked so it landed on the crown of her head.
The knot in his gut pulled tighter.
Chapter 14
Molly worked the rest of the day on autopilot, hiding out in the kitchen for the most part so she wouldn’t have to hear everyone talking about Brady’s crazy sister.
Adele and Ellie tiptoed around her after she shut down their attempts to talk to her about what happened. Inside she was seething, barely keeping control of the panic racing through her, the voice shouting in her head that once again she had made a stupid mistake.
She’d known Brady was dangerous from the start, and yet she’d given her heart to someone she barely knew. Someone who had a sister who was a drug addict who would have stabbed him if she’d had the chance.
Someone who had been married before but never saw fit to tell her about it. How many other skeletons did Brady have in his past that he was so determined to keep hidden?
By the time she closed up and went home for the evening, she knew what she had to do.
Even though her heart was cracking open inside of her chest, she knew she had to end this now, before it went any further. Before she fell even deeper under his spell. Before she wasted another decade with a man who kept too many secrets, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
###
The look on Molly’s face when she opened the door hit him like a kick to the chest. Eyes tearstained, soft mouth set in a firm line. The knot that had taken up residence in his gut increased its diameter by a few inches.
“I’m so sorry about what happened today,” he said as she stepped aside to let him in. He took that as a good sign that she even let him through the door.
“How’s Jordan?”
“He’s okay. He said to tell you he’s sorry too.”
“It’s not his fault,” Molly said sharply.
“I know, and I told him that, but he still feels bad, embarrassed by the scene his mother made. So am I.” He followed her into the living room and took a seat on the edge of the couch.
Tried not to read too much into it when she sat in the armchair across from him instead of next to him.
“It’s not your fault either. You can’t control your sister’s behavior.”
He felt a spurt of hope that maybe this wasn’t going to turn out like he thought it was after all. That she wasn’t going to dump him on his ass, now that she’d seen firsthand the kind of people he came from.
“So tell me about your wife.”
“Ex-wife,” he said tightly.
“You don’t think I might have wanted to know about her?”
His hands curled into fists on his thighs. He hated this feeling of being backed into a corner, feeling guilty when he knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. “It was so long ago I barely remember it happened. It has nothing to do with us and it’s not something I like to talk about—”
“You don’t like to talk about anything!” She exploded. “Everything I know about you before your life in Big Timber I’ve had to pry out of you with a crowbar.”
“What, you want to hear about my ex-wife and how I came back from a tour in Afghanistan to find her knocked up with someone else’s kid?”
“It’s a start,” Molly said tartly. “Then there’s your family—”
“You want to know all the details of my fucked up family? Fine. My mom and dad both come from a long line of deadbeats, thieves, and drug dealers. Then they got together and had Connie and me. Like I said last night at dinner, I left home as soon as I could because I knew if I stayed I’d end up exactly like them. End of story.”
“End of story?! You have your entire life up until the age of eighteen that you refuse to share with me. Who knows what other awful secrets are going to come out?”
Acid churned in his gut as he imagined telling her about all of the dark and dirty truths, the look of disgust and disdain that would cross her face. “Whatever they are, they don’t have anything to do with me, or us.”
Molly shook her head and buried her face in her hands. “I can’t do this, I’m sorry. You told me yourself, you weren’t the kind of guy to have a relationship. I’m so stupid. I should have listened.”
Desperation tasted sour in his mouth, the feeling so awful and unfamiliar it made him want to throw up. It was as though he was sucked back into a time portal and was once again the surly teenager who knew he was no better than his family, who knew better than to ask for more.
And Molly was every girl he’d ever liked, every girl he’d ever been dumb enough to ask for more than a tussle in the back seat of her daddy’s car.
“I knew it,” he spat out. “I knew you would never be able to handle the truth. Perfect Molly Tanner with her picket fence dreams would never lower herself be with white trash.”
“This isn’t about your family—”
He cut her off. “The hell it isn’t. Fuck it, it doesn’t matter.” He schooled his expression into a derisive sneer that said he didn’t give a shit what she or anyone else thought of him. “I know girls like you, Molly. That bullshit about wanting more? I was just telling you what I thought you needed to hear so you’d keep fucking me. And that was getting old anyway.”
He stomped toward the door, forcing himself not to look back, not to turn tail and throw himself onto his knees and beg her to give him the chance to prove he wasn’t like his family. That he wasn’t like her father or Josh who’d taken her love for granted.
He knew it was no use, so he ignored her as she called after him. He might have had his heart pulverized, but he sure as shit wasn’t going to let her stomp on what was left of his pride.
Such an idiot, believing he could ever leave his past behind. That he could ever be worthy of the love of a woman like Molly. All of the dreams he’d had of her, their future, were nothing but the delusions of a fool.
He should have known better than to reach so high. Should have known he would only get smacked down.
But he never could have anticipated how devastating it would be when he came crashing back to earth.
He climbed into his truck, feeling hollow and scraped out like the jack-o’-lanterns decorating the front steps of the houses on Molly’s street. He drove home, numbly wondering if he would ever stop paying for other people’s mistakes.
###
Molly collapsed onto her couch in a daze, feeling as though she’d been hit by a truck. Inside she was screaming after Brady, wanting to explain that her ending things had nothing to do with his family, and everything to do with his desire to keep secrets—too many secrets—from her.
But in the end, it didn’t really matter, did it? Regardless of the reasons, Brady was not the right man for her. She was an idiot for thinking for a minute that he might be.
Still, she tossed and turned all night, stomach churning at the memory of how not just angry but hurt Brady had been. She hated the idea of him thinking that she was so shallow that she would reject him just because of the kind of family he came from.
The next morning she had an appointment with Dr. Stewart. She was tempted to cancel, since everything causing the turmoil swirling through her brain was nothing she wanted to bring up with her therapist.
Reminding herself that she’d have to pay for the session anyway if she canceled last minute, she drove herself to the doctor’s office. If nothing else, there was her father’s latest rejection and the fiasco during the Simply Delicious shoot to talk about.
“That must have been very painful,” Dr. Stewart said after Molly read her the email her father had sent.
Molly shrugged. “I should have known after all this time, if he’d wanted to be in touch, he would have been.”
Dr. Stewart sat back in her chair, pursing her lips. “Has it occurred to you that maybe his r
ejection doesn’t have so much to do with you but with his own feelings of inadequacy?”
“He basically told me he doesn’t ever want to talk to me again,” Molly said with a dry laugh. “How is that not about me?” Just saying it out sent a little stab to her chest.
But that was nothing compared to what was really making her heart feel all achy and bruised. Brady. And the fact that they really were over was what made her eyes burn and made her want to curl up in a corner.
“He knows he’s already disappointed you once. Maybe he’s afraid of doing it again.”
Molly let out another laugh, but this time it came out more like a sob. “And now I have a knack for picking men who disappoint me. First Josh, then—” She cut herself off.
“Who?” Dr. Stewart leaned forward, interest piqued.
Molly shook her head again. “It’s—” but before she could get the words “no one” out of her mouth, she found herself spilling the entire story about Brady. Starting with the night of Ellie’s wedding to yesterday’s fiasco and everything in between. By the end Molly was sobbing, clutching the box of tissue Dr. Stewart had so thoughtfully handed to her.
“So your ending things has nothing to do with his family?”
“Of course not,” Molly sat up straight and blew her nose. “I know he’s not anything like his family. It’s just, he tries to keep it all such a secret. I don’t really know him. How can I trust him if he doesn’t let me know him?”
Dr. Stewart was silent for several moments, a pensive look on her face. “Interesting that you say that. You said you confided in him about your father when you didn’t share that with anyone else. On some level you must have instinctively known you could trust him.”
“I think we’ve established my instincts—especially when it comes to men—aren’t exactly reliable,” Molly said.
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
Molly shook her head. “He keeps so much hidden—did you miss the part about his ex-wife?”
Dr. Stewart regarded her silently, a knowing smile teasing her lips.
“What?” Molly snapped.
“Once again, as with your father, you should never underestimate the power of men’s feelings of inadequacy.”
Molly let out a harsh laugh, imagining Brady’s tall, muscled body, to die for face, and well-earned swagger. “Yeah, no. Trust me when I say there is nothing inadequate about Brady.”
“You have very particular ideals about what you’re looking for a in a mate,” the doctor responded.
Before Molly could ask what that had to do with anything, the doctor looked at her watch. “I’m afraid our time is up for today.”
Molly left the session feeling a thousand times more confused than when it started. Did Dr. Stewart think she should give Brady another chance?
Of all people Molly would have thought her therapist would have commended her for ending things. After all, what right-minded person jumps into a serious relationship only weeks after ending one that lasted over a decade?
She was finally using her common sense, Molly reassured herself, ending things as soon as she realized there was a problem rather than getting into yet another situation where she spent years trying to make a doomed relationship into something it was never going to be.
She went to the restaurant to help prepare for lunch service. “He’s not here,” Ellie said when Molly cautiously entered the kitchen. Molly let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
“He’s taking Jordan back to Idaho until he can get the custody situation straightened out.”
“That’s good,” Molly said. “He and I could probably use a little space from each other.”
“So, you and Brady,” Ellie said carefully.
“Not going to work out,” The words sounded strangled as she forced them past the lump in her throat. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” Molly said when her mother opened her mouth to start in on her. She was grateful when, for once, her mother didn’t push it.
Molly knew it was for the best that Brady would be gone awhile—God knew she didn’t know how she was going to deal working with him after everything that had happened—but the idea of not seeing him suddenly seemed infinitely worse.
As she helped her mother and Ellie prep, her mind kept sticking on what her therapist said. You have very particular ideals in what you’re looking for in a mate. As if that was a bad thing?
“Watch those onions!” Ellie called, snapping her out of her reverie. Molly swore when she realized that the onions she’d been sautéing for the steak sandwich had moved well past the caramelized stage and onto the charred to a crisp stage.
She grabbed the pan off of the stove and dumped it in the sink, coughing and waving her hand at the cloud of acrid steam that billowed up.
“Let me do it,” Adele said as Molly reached for another onion to start slicing. “Why don’t you go straighten up out front, where you’re not likely to set anything on fire?”
Molly dutifully went out into the dining room and did the rounds to make sure all the table settings were in place and salt and pepper shakers were full.
She heard the front door open and turned. “Hi, we don’t start serving for another forty five minutes,” she called to the man who was standing by the hostess station.
She didn’t know his name, but like most people in Big Timber, she recognized him from around town.
“Oh, I’m not here to eat,” he said, smiling as he doffed his ball cap. “I’m here to drop these off for Brady McManus,” he said, gesturing to the binder in his hand. “Is he here?”
Molly shook her head. “He’s out today.”
“I’ll just run these out to his place then,” he said and started to turn.
Not knowing what possessed her, Molly called him back. “You can leave them with me. I’ll make sure he gets them.”
His grin widened. “That would be a big help. I have a packed afternoon and it would save me a lot of time.”
Molly took the binder, telling herself she’d call Damon to run it over later. The binder had a coversheet slipped into the front which read, McManus House Project 2014. "Are these the plans for the house?”
“Just conceptual drawings to start. Now that he’s putting it on the market, I thought he’d want to give a copy to his listing agent to help sell it.”
Every cell in her body stopped short. “He’s selling his place?”
He nodded. “Called me this morning to let me know he wouldn’t be going through with the building project. A shame to sell the place. It’s such a beautiful spot.”
“It sure is,” Molly barely choked out, unable to hear herself over the roaring in her ears. He was selling his place. Which meant he wasn’t just leaving for a little while this time. He was going for good.
Unable to resist the pull of curiosity, she flipped open the cover with numb fingers.
On the first page was a beautiful, full color pencil drawing of a custom log house with a wraparound porch with a rolling green lawn in front surrounded by the artist’s rendition of a white picket fence.
Her heart seized in her chest, then started a mad pounding as she turned the next page, which showed a drawing of the back of the house.
Then the next, which showed a mockup of the first floor, featuring a huge kitchen that opened up into a sprawling family room. And off the living room was another room labeled office/playroom.
Playroom. For kids.
Tears burning at the back of her eyes, she flipped to the next page which showed the layout of the second floor. There was a gallery, off of which were two small bedrooms and a large master at the end.
Featuring an ensuite bathroom, the master suite also had an inset alcove. In that space was a note that read Nursery can later be converted to sitting/TV room.
Tears flowed down her cheeks and dripped unchecked on the plastic sheathed drawings as she turned the page to find plans for a finished basement with an extra bedroom. The perfect private s
pace for a teenage boy.
In this binder were Brady’s dreams for a big family house. For the family he wanted to have.
With her?
The thought filled her with such hope and such panic it made her lightheaded.
Slumping into a chair, she went back through the binder, fingers tracing the lines of the picket fence, the word nursery.
Doesn’t this prove that he wants exactly the same things you do? How can you say you don’t know him? At least in all the ways that count?
She tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle the hopeful whisper, trying to remind herself that just because he had plans for a house and a family didn’t mean those plans included her.
Nevertheless, her brain crowded with memories of the last few weeks. Of Brady, kissing her, touching her, giving her more pleasure than she would have thought humanly possible. Looking at her like she was the most beautiful woman on the planet, and saying it in a way that made her believe it too.
Of him holding her on her couch while she cried over her dad.
Of him talking about being with her years from now, like it was a given.
But how could she trust him, after all the secrets he’d been keeping?
Never underestimate the power of men’s feelings of inadequacy.
You have very particular ideals about what you’re looking for a in a mate.
It hit her like a punch in the gut, what her therapist had been talking about. So obvious she felt like an idiot for not seeing it, when Brady had already all but spelled it out for her.
Brady knew what she wanted. But he was afraid that if she knew where he came from—so different from the loving, stable, white picket fence family that she craved—she would never give him the chance to give it to her.
And yesterday, in his mind, she’d proven him right.
Scooping the binder off the table, she rushed into the kitchen. “I have to go,” she blurted out, and took off before anyone could ask where.
She broke several traffic laws speeding out to Brady’s. Her heart sank to her toes when she didn’t see his truck parked out front.