Chapter Seventeen
“You sound angry about this,” Claire remarks, squinting at the screen.
I don't know if she's narrowing her eyes or just can't actually see me. The connection isn't great, so even I have to squint at my phone to make out her expression.
Claire's at her daughter's quarters on base. She wanted to bring Gemma here so I could finally meet her, but apparently her boss denied the leave request.
Jackass.
We already spent an hour on the phone, but then Claire wanted to see Sophie, so we switched to video. In hindsight, I probably should've just sent pictures.
“Why would I be angry?” I ask, scrunching up my face. “It's just a rash.”
“About Brad,” she emphasizes.
“Oh.” I wave a hand. “Yeah. Of course I am. The asshole wants me to move back just because he and Teresa want it.”
“But you knew this was coming.”
The screen freezes. Then goes blurry. Then freezes again.
“Knew what?” I ask.
Claire says something.
Unfortunately, it sounds like she's communicating from the moon.
“What?” More broken sounds. “Knew what?” I yell.
The second the words leave my mouth, I slap a hand over my mouth.
Upstairs remains quiet.
Thank God.
After ending the video call, I immediately call her normally and shove an earbud into one ear.
The kitchen is a disaster.
Apparently dishes don't magically wash themselves when your husband stops begging for forgiveness.
Rude.
“I hate this fucking room,” Claire groans the second she answers.
“That bad?”
“I thought the Army took care of their own. Instead they've got my daughter shoved in some back room with walls thicker than my car.”
I laugh.
“Can't she request a different room?”
“I asked.” Claire sighs. “A lot.”
“And?”
“She finally snapped and said she deserves this.”
That makes me pause. “Are they hazing her?”
My hackles immediately rise. It's 2026. Being a woman shouldn't be a mark against you in the U.S. Army.
“I don't think it's that.” Claire sounds tired. “Gem signed up again because she loves it. I think...” She trails off. “I think something happened.”
“With the new boss?”
Claire sighs again. “No. I think it's her.”
That gets my attention. “What does that mean?”
“I know my daughter well enough to recognize the I fucked up face.”
I start loading dishes into the dishwasher.
“She tell you what happened?”
“No.” Claire laughs without humor. “Something you're gonna learn soon enough. Daughters don't tell their mothers everything.”
“Ugh.” I shove a plate onto the rack. “Don't remind me.”
In the background I hear cabinet doors opening and closing.
Guess she's rage-cleaning too.
“Anyway,” she says, steering us back to me. “Why are you pissed at Brad?”
I blink.
“Did you miss the part where he's trying to take my daughter back to Los Angeles?”
“You moved to Texas because you knew he wouldn't let you leave if you divorced him in LA,” Claire continues. “That was the entire point. So why are you angry now?”
I blow out a breath.
Leave it to Claire to ask the questions I don't want to answer.
“Why are we even talking about this?” I deflect. “Tell me about Gemma's boss. What's his name?”
“Bronwyn.”
The warning in her voice immediately has me reaching for another plate.
“You can't keep avoiding difficult conversations.”
“You should really meet my mom.” I stack a bowl into the dishwasher. “You guys would get along great.”
“What does she say about this?”
I freeze. The silence stretches just a little too long.
“Bronwyn?”
“I haven't...” I clear my throat. “Told her.”
“What?” The shock in Claire's voice is immediate. “I thought you said you told everyone.”
“I told my sister.” I say, hoping that buys me some grace. “And her friend.”
“Come on.”
I wince. “Look, you're the one who just said daughters don't tell their mothers everything.”
Closing my eyes, I lean against the counter, feeling like absolute scum.
“They're happy,” I admit weakly. “They're retired and together and have two grandkids and they're happy.” I swallow. “I don't want to take that away.”
Claire is quiet for a second. Then her voice softens.
“When they find out you kept this from them, even if it was to make them happy, all that's going to do is take that happiness away and replace it with guilt.”
I frown. “Guilt?”
“The guilt of not getting to be there for you.”
I let out a breath. Because damn.
“They aren't going to hear that you were protecting them, Bronwyn.” Claire pauses. “They're going to hear that their daughter was struggling and didn't tell them.”
Biting my lip, I nod even though she can't see me.
“I'll talk to them,” I say. “But that still doesn't solve my actual problem. What do I do about Brad?”
Claire is quiet for a second before sighing. “You soldier on.”
I snort.
"Great advice. Maybe I should finally talk to that lawyer."
"You should," she agrees quickly. "Especially since when he talks to his and finds out about the whole residency thing, he could come after you for knowingly misleading him."
I frown.
"What? They can't do that. Besides, how are they gonna prove I knew?"
"They don't have to," Claire says. "But you indirectly agreed to move back to LA after the lease expires."
My stomach twists.
"They might come after you for fraud if you... don't."
My mouth drops open. "You think I'm committing fraud?"
“I think,” Claire says carefully, “that you were a woman who got cheated on and made some bad decisions while she was hurt.”
I don't like that answer. At all.
Claire's voice softens. “Bronwyn, you said Sophie is all that matters.”
“She is.”
“Then don't you think having her father in her life matters too?”
“He cheated on me.” The words explode out, like I have to remind her of that.
Claire is quiet for a second like she’s waiting for me to calm down.
“Yes,” she says after a moment. “He cheated on you. On your marriage.”
I grip the edge of the counter.
“He didn't cheat on Sophie.”
I close my eyes. “I can't believe you're taking his side after everything.”
“Sweetheart, I'm not.” Claire sighs. “That was when he was the clear bad guy. The cheater. But now? Now you're blurring the lines.”
“How? By protecting myself?”
“By coming between him and his daughter.”
The words hit harder than they should.
Because somewhere deep down, a tiny part of me is afraid she's right.
“I gotta go.”
“Bronwyn-”
I hang up before she can finish.