Chapter 51
Chapter Fifty-One
BLUE
I didn’t understand why West had taken such an interest in that family picture, much less my sister. The moment I started talking about her, though, I could feel myself spiraling down that dark tunnel I kept buried. That place where resentment and hatred still lived, even after all these years.
She knew my dad was sick. She knew I was working myself ragged just to keep the lights on, to keep food in the pantry, to make sure he got his medicine. And still, she never offered to help. She only called with some sad story, spinning it just right so Dad would mail her a check.
He wasn’t stupid. But he’d raised Brittany. He’d loved her like his own, and in his heart she was still his responsibility. He also respected me when I finally told him I wanted nothing to do with her. He never told me when she called, or what she wanted.
The most I ever knew about her was her address because he’d scribble it on an envelope before licking the stamp like it was 1995 and asking me to slip it into the mailbox on my way to work.
North Dakota. I never bothered to look closer than that.
The state was far enough away for me to breathe, far enough that I could sleep at night knowing she wasn’t anywhere near me or Dad.
But apparently North Dakota was enough to break West Brooks.
He cursed under his breath, spun on his heel, and stormed out of my house. The door slammed so hard the frame rattled.
“West!” I shouted, chasing after him. By the time I got the door open, he was already past Marshal, barking at him to take me wherever I needed to go. He kept walking, shoulders rigid, hands tearing through his hair like he was trying to claw something out of his skull.
“West!” I yelled again. “Come back!”
He didn’t. He just kept going, nearly to the edge of my neighbor’s yard, swallowed by the dark stretch of the street.
I wanted to run after him. God, every cell in my body wanted to. But I froze.
He’d already told me it was over. That the marriage we’d been parading around was done. He’d said it like it was supposed to be mercy, like freeing me was the best thing he could give me. I knew he meant it for me, for my dad, for my life. But that didn’t make it hurt less.
So I stood there, arms wrapped around myself, watching him disappear.
His suit and polished shoes looked so wrong against my old neighborhood. He didn’t belong here, and I had to trust he could take care of himself. What I needed to do was take care of my dad.
I thought about grabbing my car keys, but the old thing wouldn’t have made it halfway to Atlanta, and it was too late to risk it anyway.
Plus, one look into my driveway and I realized my car was still parked outside of Fiddlers, where I had left it when I left with West. I didn’t feel like climbing into the SUV with Marshal either, not when I no longer felt like Mrs. Brooks.
The magic had vanished in the slam of a door.
I locked the house, turned off the lights, and texted Dad quickly to let him know I’d be by in the morning with his things. He didn’t respond, which was good because that meant he was probably already asleep.
The house was too quiet. Too dark. But I paced around, and every time I passed a window, I peeked out. Marshal was still there, sitting in the SUV alone, waiting. But there was no sign of West. Not in either direction.
After an hour, I gave up and crawled into bed. It should’ve felt comforting with my own sheets, my own pillows, but it didn’t. Without West, the mattress was cold, the room felt empty, and the silence pressed in like punishment.
“What the hell, West?” I whispered into the dark. “What the hell is going on?”
I tossed and turned, my chest aching, the confusion gnawing at me until I was raw. Hours earlier, it had been one of the best nights of my life. Now it felt like heartbreak and ashes.
“You let yourself feel too much for him,” I scolded myself. “You broke your own damn rule.”
Somehow, I blinked and another hour had gone by. I got up slowly, half expecting to find West in the living room or waiting on the porch, leaning against the railing like nothing had happened.
But there was nothing. Just Marshal, slouched in the SUV, head tipped back in sleep.
I pulled the door open quietly, ready to tell him to go home, to get some rest.
Then my phone rang.
I ran to grab it, my chest pounding, praying it was West. Or Dad. Someone.
But the screen lit up with a number I didn’t recognize.
From North Dakota.