Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
ELENA
Last Christmas Eve, my skin was a canvas of bruises—fresh ones blooming in violent violets, the fading ones stained with the sour yellow of rot.
The moment Peter found the bedroom door locked after the fight—the one that had me pulling up Chase’s contact and hitting the call button—he beat the ever-loving hell out of me.
It was so brutal, he called in sick for me himself, claiming I’d come down with a stomach virus and that a private physician had already been by.
No one questioned him. Not with his sterling reputation, not with the millions his family poured into the hospital each year.
I vanished for two weeks, and no one batted an eye.
This year, I was divorced, pregnant, and spending Christmas Eve with the brother I hadn’t known existed until a few months ago.
Rhett and I sat cross-legged on the living room floor, trading gifts pulled from beneath the tree, the fire casting flickers of light across the room. He’d flown in late last night and was heading back to Montana tonight, but he’d insisted on coming—even if it was just for a day.
Cinnamon rolls were baking in the oven, their sugary scent curling through the house. It was an idyllic scene, but oppressive sadness threatened to seep in.
I missed my mom, and as grateful as I was that Rhett had come to visit today, I hated the idea of waking up tomorrow on Christmas morning alone.
I handed Rhett the final gift I had under the tree for him. The first two were the kind of silly gifts you get someone you barely know: a Sable Point magnet and a T-shirt that read, Been Doin’ Cowboy Shit All Day.
The third, though, was something I hoped he’d love, something I hoped he’d use. Rhett peeled back the silver snowflake wrapping paper to reveal a leather-bound journal with his initials engraved on the front.
During our very first meeting, my brother had proclaimed it only fair that I know his deepest, darkest secrets since he’d read about all mine.
Looking at him now, sprawled on my floor in flannel lounge pants and a worn Montana State sweatshirt, dark hair still messy from sleep, it was hard to reconcile this relaxed version with the imposing cowboy who’d shown up on my doorstep months ago.
While his wounds were more emotional and inflicted by those closest to him unintentionally, they’d affected him profoundly. That was the thing about pain and trauma—it was all relative to our lived experiences.
For Rhett, the soul-crushing pain of watching the woman he loved get engaged to his best friend had nearly crippled him. But he’d smiled through it, congratulating them both and playing his part as their best friend.
To get through it, he wrote down every word he wished he could say out loud but didn’t dare to on whatever scrap of paper he could find, then promptly lit it on fire. It had become a sort of ritual, to set his feelings aflame.
“I thought you might like to write down some of what you’re feeling and hang on to it,” I said. “You never know when future-you might need to consult past-you.”
Rhett’s eyes glistened as he traced the embossed letters. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” My hand drifted to my belly as the baby kicked. “We might be new at this whole sibling thing, but I’m learning.”
“Speaking of learning...” He pulled out one last gift from behind his back.
The package was wrapped pristinely—different from the first gift-bagged present he’d handed over and not what I would have expected from a man who worked with cows all day.
The package was weighty and the paper was simple—a red and black gingham print, with crisply folded corners.
I smoothed my hands over the glossy surface as I turned in in my grip and slid a finger along the taped seam.
When I folded back the sides, a laugh burst from my throat as I read the title of the pregnancy book in my hands—Cows, Cribs, and Chaos: The Cowboy’s Guide to Newborns.
My laughter must have been contagious, because in seconds, Rhett was doubled over and tears streamed down my face.
When we finally composed ourselves, Rhett said, “Figured as a doctor, you knew the most important stuff. But if that baby of yours is ever gonna come visit the ranch, she better know her way around a saddle.”
My good mood dipped. “Not sure we’ll ever be invited to the ranch.” Despite connecting with Rhett, I’d yet to hear from the man who’d donated half my DNA.
“Oh, you’ll be invited. You can trust me on that.” His tone brooked no argument, so I didn’t bother. Instead, I offered him a placating smile just as a knock sounded at the front door.
I made to push myself to standing, but at twenty-seven weeks pregnant, it was a struggle.
“Sit,” Rhett said with a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I’ll get it.”
I leaned back on my palms, soaking in the warmth of the fire crackling behind me. I could only make out stilted murmurs from where my brother had opened the front door. “Who is it?” I called.
The moment the final word left my mouth, I watched Rhett stumble backward against the door. “Get out of my fuckin’ way,” Chase barked as he pushed past him.
He made a beeline for me at my spot on the floor and gripped my cheeks. “Are you okay?” His eyes darted between mine, panicked.
Rhett had righted himself and now loomed over us. “Of course, she’s fucking okay.”
Chase glared up at him and, through gritted teeth, said, “I wasn’t asking you.”
I left one hand planted on the floor while the other gripped Chase’s wrist. “I’m fine.” He didn’t look like he believed me. “I see you’ve met my brother.”
His eyes grew comically wide. “Brother?”
“Yep,” I said, popping the P.
“How the fuck do you have a cowboy for a brother?”
A smile stretched across my face as Rhett rolled his eyes and headed to the kitchen where the timer for the cinnamon rolls was going off.
“Help me up?”
Chase lifted me off the ground like I weighed nothing, carrying me bridal style to the couch. When he sat, it was with me on his lap and his arms wrapped tightly around me.
“I saw him here,” he whispered into my temple. “A few months ago.”
“I know.”
“I panicked, just now. Last time I came to your house and a man had been inside that wasn’t me…”
My heart cracked for him, for me, for the life growing inside me.
“I wasn’t here to protect you, and I promised myself that I would never let anything bad happen to you ever again.”
“So, he answered the door, and you panicked.”
A small nod.
“Chase, look at me.” His eyes lifted to mine. “I’m okay.”
A rough swallow. Another nod.
Then a throat cleared, and Chase and I both looked up at Rhett, who had one brow raised. “We good?”
Chase shifted me off his lap onto the comfy cushion of the couch and stood. “Sorry I pushed you…”
“Rhett.”
“Rhett.” Chase extended a hand, which my brother stared at for two seconds too long before extending his own.
Watching the two most important men in my life shake hands settled something deep in my bones.
“You want a cinnamon roll?”
By the time Rhett was ready to head to the airport later that evening, he and Chase had shared their Super Bowl picks, debated baby names for my child, and exchanged phone numbers.
I’d carefully observed a real-life bromance blossom before my eyes while they each doted on me in their own unique ways. Rhett made sure my forty-ounce water tumbler was never empty. Chase massaged the arches of my feet. But they barely spoke to me, too busy bonding with one another.
It was… perfect.
“I’ll see you in a few months to meet my niece, yeah?”
Rhett stood on my porch, tattered duffel bag at his feet, while I stood tucked under Chase’s arm just inside the front door.
That damn burning sensation in my sinuses was my first warning that tears were about to blur my vision.
I stepped out of Chase’s hold and wrapped my arms around my brother’s waist.
“See you then,” I said through my sniffles. When I pulled back, Rhett was smiling down at me with all the adoration of a big brother. He looked up, meeting Chase’s eyes.
“Take care of her for me?”
“Always.”
They shook hands and, with that, Rhett took the snow-slippery porch steps slowly toward his rental truck.
Chase and I stayed rooted in the doorway as we watched the truck back out of the driveway, a waving hand stuck out of the driver’s-side window before accelerating down the street toward the highway.
“That was nice,” I said on a sigh as the truck’s taillights faded.
“Yeah, he’s pretty great,” Chase said. “Can’t believe I ever thought you’d fuck a cowboy.”
I whacked his stomach with the back of my hand and rolled my eyes. When we finally closed the door and retreated back to the living room, I let out a loud yawn.
“I should get going,” Chase said. “Let you get some rest.”
I paused, staring at this man who was so different from the man I’d fallen in love with, yet still the same. He was fighting a battle he’d live with for the rest of his days, and I wanted to support that.
But I also wanted to be held, to fall asleep and wake up in the safety of his arms.
“I—” I chewed on my lower lip.
Over the last ten days—since that first brunch with Chase back—we’d developed some semblance of a routine.
I was back on day shift, and Chase was teaching lessons at the resort during the day.
We’d have dinner together—pizza picnics on the living room floor, grilled cheese at Rosie’s, or we’d cook together in my kitchen that no longer housed full boxes of all my earthly possessions.
Because after dinner, he helped me unpack, get settled, create a home for our baby.
And then he left.
He’d go to the cidery after hours to clean, then to his twin bed in his parents’ house. He was holding back, and I understood why, but I wanted more. I needed more.
Maybe I was selfish.
But I’d spent so many years accepting less than I deserved, taking one beating after another until not only my body was broken but so was my spirit.