Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ELIZABETH
Pieces of My Heart
Tucking my phone into my back shorts pocket, I pick up my locket necklace from the dresser and secure it around my neck, momentarily debating whether I should also wear the quartz heart and promise ring Jayson gave to me.
Deciding to only add the heart, I slip it onto the chain, then follow the enticing aroma of coffee to the kitchen.
I pause in the entryway, and a ball of emotion lodges in my throat at the endearing scene of Fallon—wearing one of Ryder’s black T-shirts—with Christopher and Charlotte making breakfast.
Nostalgia comes crashing in, as bold and bright as the morning sunlight streaming in through the windows.
How many times had I stood in this exact same spot, watching Ryder cook with the kids, his deep laughter mixing with theirs, his larger-than-life presence filling the room?
Fallon somehow seamlessly steps into the spaces where Ryder once stood—not replacing him but adding something new. It’s a bittersweet sight to behold.
With a smudge of flour streaking his cheek, Fallon playfully hip-bumps Charlotte as she dances in place to the low music pumping out of the ceiling speakers, making her drip yolk on the counter as she tries to crack eggs into a large mixing bowl.
Her carefree giggles melt my heart when she hip-bumps him back.
Christopher stands at the stove, carefully flipping strips of bacon in the frying pan, while also keeping an eye on the coffee maker as it gurgles, then clicks off.
“Switch,” Charlotte says, and Fallon takes over whisking the pancake batter.
The top of her head disappears from view when she squats down behind the counter island.
Popping back up, holding the electric griddle, she plugs it into the GFCI outlet at the side of the island.
She cuts pats of butter and drops them onto the griddle to slowly melt on the ceramic nonstick surface as it heats up.
“All right, line cook, let’s see what you can do,” she says to Fallon, offering him a ladle from the glazed stoneware rooster pitcher that holds the cooking utensils.
“Time to watch the master at work,” Fallon says, pouring batter in the shape of a heart.
Charlotte watches with rapt attention. “How do you do that? Mine all come out as weird blobs.”
“Lots of practice.”
Christopher multitasks and switches out coffee mugs. Starting the process over again, he adds water to the repository and pops in a new pod. “Can you make one look like a car?”
“I can try,” Fallon replies, flipping the pancake with a flick of the wrist.
“Oh! Make a butterfly for Mom. She’d love that,” Charlotte says.
“Bacon’s ready.” Christopher carefully transfers the sizzling strips over to a plate covered with paper towels to soak up the excess grease.
Charlotte steals a piece and eats it. “Go out and grab some flowers from the garden.”
“You go out and do it.”
She smacks him with the spatula in her hand. “I’m busy, douchecanoe.”
“You’re just standing there, watching him cook.”
“I’m supervising.”
Fallon smiles when they start squabbling. Welcome to my mornings.
I don’t realize he notices me standing there until I catch his blue gaze on me. His smile softens, and for one long, lingering second, it’s just the two of us sharing this moment of something as simple as preparing breakfast.
“Smells really good in here,” I comment to announce my presence.
Holding the spatula high, Charlotte pirouettes like a ballerina. “We’re making pancakes!”
Knowing me well, Christopher brings me a cup of coffee, and I kiss his cheek good morning. “Thanks, bud.”
His keen awareness fixates on Ryder’s sweatshirt that I’m wearing, and he glances over his shoulder at Fallon. “You didn’t sleep on the couch last night,” he says in a low whisper.
Unsure of how to navigate what could quickly become a field of emotional landmines, I take a sip of coffee. “Slept in the guest room. Is Marcus not up yet?”
“Out in the garage.”
Fallon gives me a knowing nod before I even say anything. I like how we can have an entire conversation without speaking a word.
Taking my coffee with me, I step out onto the veranda, the sun’s rays bleeding pink and yellow across the cloud-dotted sky, their light instantly warming my face.
Tall stalks of sunflowers that I had planted in the vegetable garden have their happy faces tipped at an angle to soak up the early morning sunlight.
I’ll cut one and take it to Ryder’s grave after breakfast.
The right garage bay is open, Marcus bent over the engine of my Hellcat. Metal clangs on metal, and I hear a grumbled “son of a bitch” when I approach.
Every time I walk inside the garage, I immediately feel Ryder.
It’s a weird sensation, like tiny pinpricks on my skin.
I loved watching him work on cars. I’d sit out here with him, music cranked loud, and we’d talk while he tinkered.
He would often stop what he was doing to kiss me or take me in his arms and dance with me if a slow song started playing over the radio.
Ryder gave me an eternity of wonderful memories.
I take a seat on a nearby stool. “Stella being difficult today?”
Marcus straightens and wipes his hands clean on a shop rag. I immediately notice the small scab on his middle knuckle that wasn’t there yesterday. I’ll ease into how he got that in a minute.
“A little sassy, but nothing I can’t handle.”
“Taking the day off?” I ask since he’s usually at the shop by now.
“Heading in later.”
“How was your date with Hannah?”
“Good.”
“Marcus,” I say when he starts putting away his tools instead of being more forthcoming. When he’s in a bad mood, trying to get him to open up can be an almost impossible endeavor. He’s very much like Fallon in that way.
“I heard about what happened. Are you okay?”
He slams the hood closed. “Did Fallon tell you?”
“Yes. But Jayson came over last night before Fallon got here.”
“I swear to Christ,” he gripes, his face full of worry. “Are you okay?”
I tenderly brush my fingers through his hair. “Yeah, honey, I’m fine. I promise. I’m more worried about you. Fallon said you punched him.”
Clearly aggravated, he stands up and grabs the tray of tools. “Damn straight I did. I can’t believe he came to the house after all the shit he’s pulled. I hope you told him to fuck right off, then shut the door in his face.”
Getting to my feet as well, I follow him as he stalks to the other side of the garage. “Are you mad because of Elizabeth Ann? Because he stopped coming to Seattle to celebrate her birthday?” I ask, trying to figure out where all the anger is coming from.
The tray lands with a loud clatter when he drops it onto the rolling tool cabinet. “That’s part of it.”
I quickly get in his way when he tries to go around me. “Then what’s the other part?”
My children can never look me in the eye and lie to me, so I know he’s about to do exactly that when he turns his head and aims his gaze at the wall of tools.
So, I decide to ambush him.
“I found Ryder’s letter to Charlotte. I know why you sent me to Italy.” His shocked amber eyes fly forward, and his mouth opens, but nothing comes out. “You should have told me.”
His lips fold under as he scrutinizes me. “If we did, you wouldn’t have gone.”
True. I would have let shame and stubbornness guide my decision. As much as I abhor having my choice taken from me, I don’t regret this one. I can’t. Not when it brought Fallon back into my life when I needed him the most.
Taking Marcus’s shoulders, I tell him, “I’m so blessed to have you, Christopher, and Charlotte.”
To have children who love me unconditionally and want me to be happy. I’m so proud of each of them and the adults they are growing into. There will always be bumps in the road. That’s just part of life. But it’s what you do in that life that matters.
His mouth downturns. “But he’s going to screw everything up,” Marcus says, the he being Jayson.
“Is that why you hit him?”
Pulling back, he crosses his arms over his chest. “No. I hit him because he deserved it.”
“Why do I feel like there’s more to that than you’re telling me?” Again with the averted gaze. “I’m going to see him later.”
“He doesn’t?—”
“It’s not your decision,” I reply determinedly before he can finish. “Jayson and I share a history and a daughter. Your sister. He’s part of our family, just as much as Julien and Elijah are.”
Jayson holds a permanent place in my heart, and I will never cut him out of my life, no matter how angry I am with him.
“I called him when Dad was in the hospital.” Marcus swallows hard, nodding once.
“I begged him to come see Dad.” He drags a hand through his dark hair—his father’s hair, his father’s eyes, but the pain in them is all his own.
My eldest son, my beautiful boy, who carries so much more than he ever should have.
“I told him that Dad didn’t have much time.
That if he ever loved him, even a little, he’d come. ”
I can picture it too vividly—the desperation of a son as he watched his father quickly deteriorate, wanting to give him the peace of closure before he left this world by reaching out to the man who had been his father’s best friend.
“What did he say?” I ask.
Marcus laughs bitterly. “That he couldn’t. No explanation. Just…‘I can’t.’ I said Dad needed him. That it wasn’t about whatever the hell happened between them or with you. But he still wouldn’t come.”
I grip his hand tightly in mine, his fingers stiff between my touch. “Oh, sweetheart.”
I hate that he felt he had to take on that responsibility, something that should have been mine to bear. But by that point, I was too lost in my grief, knowing I was about to lose my husband. I could barely function. Hell, I’m still finding my way.
He pulls in a shaky breath. “He should have come.”
Wrapping my arms around him, I wish I had an answer to give him that would make him understand.
A way to explain Jayson’s actions. There’s so much our children don’t know about what happened between Jayson, Ryder, and me…
or about my life and what happened that night.
So many secrets were buried. Ryder and I thought it best to keep them that way.
Why expose our children to the trauma of those horrors?
“Jayson had his reasons. We just don’t know what they are yet.”
It’s difficult to swallow back the raw pain clawing its way up my throat when it comes to him.
I think about the man who walked away and about the man who came back and stood on my doorstep last night.
I want to hate him for disappointing my son.
For breaking his promise about Elizabeth Ann. For not being there for Ryder.
But I can’t.
Because I know Jayson.
Jayson loved Ryder. Too much. And for someone like Jayson, loving someone that much and knowing he was losing them—he couldn’t handle it.
So he ran from it, just like he ran when he lost me to Ryder.
It wouldn’t make sense to Marcus or to anyone else if they heard me say it.
But I understand. If Jayson wants a lifeline, I’m sure as hell going to throw him one.
I try my best to put on a reassuring smile. “Come inside and eat before you go to work. Fallon and Charlotte made special pancakes.”
“Give me a sec to wash up, and I’ll be right in.”
Fallon is waiting for me out on the back steps when I walk up. Barefoot, tousled hair, in blue jeans and a tee that stretches across his muscular chest. He looks just as good dressed down as he does in a suit.
I go straight into his open arms, and serenity settles over me, like a feeling of coming home.
“You’re my home, Kitten. You always have been.”
My home is here—in this house, on this land where Ryder is buried, and with my children. But as Fallon holds me, I realize something I never expected.
“Just so you know, you’re my home, too.”
His arms tighten around me, and he buries his face in my neck, his lips a whisper against my skin when he says, “I love you, Elizabeth. Just so you know.”
He could never have said it. He didn’t need to. Fallon has shown me every day since the morning I showed up on his doorstep and asked him for help that he loves me.
I want to say the words back, to finally give him that piece of me. To make this thing between us real . Permanent. But I can’t say them. Not yet. Not until I talk to Ryder…and to Jayson—the two men who hold the other pieces of my heart.