Strictly Pretend (The Salinger Brothers #6)

Chapter 19

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

brOOKS

I check my phone as the executive bus pulls back into the ranch. I haven’t heard from Emma for the last three hours, despite sending her five different messages and trying to call her twice. Of course she doesn’t owe me a reply. But I’m still annoyed. I haven’t been able to relax not knowing what’s going on back there.

As soon as we climb off the coach, I head straight to the pool area where there’s music pumping out of the large speakers on the deck. The DJ is still going strong. Some bachelorettes have made a little dance floor, others are floating in the pool on those blow up beds with holes for their cocktail glasses.

But even though I’ve looked twice, there’s no sign of Emma.

I don’t know why that makes my heart race. But it does.

I spot Mia sitting on the edge of the pool. Grant has already found her and she’s grabbing his hand like she’s trying to get him to sit next to her although he’s wearing a pair of expensive dress pants and shoes that I know cost a thousand dollars.

“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice nonchalant. “Where’s Emma?”

She lets go of Grant’s hand and looks up at me. “She wasn’t feeling well. Didn’t she message you?”

My throat feels tight. “No,” I say, my brows wrinkling. “Where is she now?”

“Back at the yurt. She said she was going to lie down for a while. She swears it’s the sun but I’m thinking the margaritas may have something to do with it.” She leans forward and unlaces Grant’s shoes. “I said I’d go back with her but she said she was going to nap.”

By the time she finishes speaking I’m already halfway across the pool area. There are some ATVs lined up at the front of the house ready to take any of the bachelors who want back to the yurts to get changed. No sign of carts and horses this time, thankfully. I grab the nearest one and climb onto it. The seat is baking from the sun, and it’s distinctly uncomfortable as I straddle it and start the engine up, but damn it, if Emma is sick I need to be with her.

It takes a couple of minutes for the ATV to span the distance between the ranch house and the yurt. And each one feels like it stretches on for hours. I push the engine as much as I dare – but it’s hot and the terrain is bumpy – and by the time I reach the camp I’m sweaty as hell.

I abandon the ATV at the edge of the trees and push my way to the clearing, dust clouding around my feet as I rush to our tent. When I pull the door open I notice she hasn’t locked it – again – and it annoys me, but I bite it down, because damn it, Emma is sick.

I hate that thought.

I expect her to be prone on the bed when I walk in. But instead she’s sitting on the edge, staring off into space.

“Hey,” I murmur, walking over to her. “Mia told me you weren’t feeling good. What’s going on?”

She brings her gaze to mine and I can see there’s a rim of red around her eyes. She’s still in her bikini with one of those sarong things wrapped around her waist. I walk over to her and hunker down in front of her, reaching for her face and cupping my palms around her jaw.

“Do you need me to call a doctor?” I ask softly, my eyes scanning her face for signs of pain. I briefly touch her forehead. It’s warm but not feverish. “Are you in pain?”

She swallows, her throat undulating. “I’m not sick,” she whispers.

“Then what’s wrong?” I ask, frowning.

“I saw Will earlier.”

A wave of fury washes over me. “What did he want?” I ask her, still cupping her face. She inhales, her lips parting.

“To talk about you.”

My jaw tightens. That asshole. “He said he was coming back to take care of Jemima. He said she was sick.”

“I don’t know about that,” Emma whispers. She’s so pale I’m panicking. “He sent me a message and demanded I meet him.”

“He what?” I ask, frowning. “I hope you told him to fuck off.”

She shakes her head, not quite meeting my eyes. “He threatened me if I didn’t.”

I’m definitely going to punch that asshole. I don’t care if it ruins the wedding. Okay, maybe I care a bit. But the guy has it coming.

“How did he threaten you?” I ask, my voice ominously low.

“He told me he had to tell me something. Either he did it in private or he was going to do it in front of everybody tonight.”

I wince, because I know how much she’d hate that. “And what exactly did he want to talk about?”

Her eyes finally meet mine. They’re watery. “I…” She shakes her head as a single tear escapes the corner of her right eye, and it slays me.

“If he hurt you…” I mutter, wiping the tear away with the pad of my thumb. “I swear I’m going to kill him.”

“He didn’t hurt me.” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, still looking at me. “He can’t hurt me. I feel nothing toward him at all.”

Her words feel so much more soothing than they should. “Good.”

“He wanted to tell me something about you. A secret,” she says. “Something you haven’t told me.”

And there goes that soothing feeling. My throat tightens. Has he found out about the new contract? Of course he fucking has. “I can explain,” I blurt.

“You don’t need to explain anything.” She looks away from me, like our connection is too intense right now. I feel it too. It feels like too much and not enough at the same time.

“Of course I do.”

“You don’t.” Her voice is firm. “You don’t owe me anything. I guess I just… I was blindsided. I didn’t know what to say to him.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’ll say it for you when I see him.”

Finally, she looks at me again. There’s so much sadness in her eyes it makes me want to hit something.

Will fucking Devries mostly.

“I wish you’d told me first, though,” she says softly. “I hate he feels all victorious over this.”

“I should have told you,” I say. “I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

“He called your ex,” she says. “She’s the one who spilled the beans.”

“My ex?” My throat goes tight.

“Lianne. That’s her name, right?”

I freeze. What the hell does she have to do with this? She paid no attention to my work when we were together. She found the whole real estate thing boring as hell. Why would she know about the contract to the building? And more importantly why would Will ask her about it?

“Yeah, that’s her name.”

Emma flinches. “I’m so sorry,” she says.

“Sorry about what?” I ask her.

“That you can’t have children.” She reaches for my hand, but I pull it away. “I can’t believe she told Will that.”

EMMA

As soon as the words escape my lips his face goes completely blank. It’s like a shutter has come down over his emotions, blocking him out from the world.

And all thoughts of being upset because he didn’t tell me his personal business disappear from my mind. Because I’m getting to know this man and he’s not great with his feelings. He’s great at hiding them, though, and I suspect he’s doing that right now.

“Brooks?”

He shakes his head, like he’s trying to get his thoughts straight. “I’m sorry. I need to get out of here.”

He turns on his heel just as I try – and fail – to grab his hand again. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it’s not okay,” he mutters, running his hand through his hair. “Nothing about this is okay.”

As I stand and get closer to him, I can see the hurt in his eyes. I can feel it, too. Like I’m the one being hurt. “Will is an asshole,” I tell him. “He should never have said anything.”

Brooks says nothing. There’s a twitch in his jaw that looks almost painful.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur again. “But can’t we talk about this?”

“What is there to say?” he asks. “I fire blanks. I can’t have kids. But it isn’t your problem, is it?”

I guess it isn’t. And yet it feels like it is. Or at least his hurt does.

“Talk to me,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”

I wrack my brain, trying to think of the right words to make everything better. All I can actually think is that I hate Will and his meddling ways. The way he told me Brooks’ secrets with such glee.

A sudden fear overtakes me.

“You’re not going to hurt Will, are you?” I ask him.

“Does it matter?” he replies. He’s right at the door, his hand reaching for the handle.

“Yes it matters. It matters because if you hurt him, he’ll think he’s won. He’ll think he’s got you where it hurts.”

He still opens the door and walks outside, not replying as he pulls it closed behind him.

And I’m alone in the yurt again.

I sit back down on the mattress, my heart feeling heavy. He came straight here thinking I was sick. His hands had been so gentle as he checked me over, asking me if I was in pain.

I wonder what he’d have done if I said yes? Would he have called a doctor? Taken me to the hospital? I swallow, because I can’t remember the last time somebody other than my grandparents cared for me like that.

He looked so wounded as he left. In a way, I never thought he could. I’ve seen him angry, grumpy, and aroused. But never wounded. If I hadn’t seen it for myself I wouldn’t have believed it possible.

A few minutes ago, before he walked through that door, I was feeling sad that he hadn’t confided in me. Now I’m sad because he’s sad, and it’s infinitely worse. I don’t want him to feel sad.

I want to see him smile. I want to kiss him until his pupils dilate. I want to make everything okay.

I think I’m falling for my fake fiancé. No, not falling. I’m flat on the ground, my body splayed out, my mouth full of dust.

And I don’t know what to do about that.