27. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
I sat in the front seat of Kendra’s car, silently crying. Staring out into the night, dazed and hollow.
Brady and his brothers were still at the hospital with Mrs. Jackson.
Isaac was gone. Dead.
From the backseat, Caroline’s voice broke through the quiet.
“Why is it so bad that Uncle Brady wants to marry Miss Ellie?” she sobbed.
I wanted to know the answer to that, too.
Kendra glanced at me, her expression pained. “It isn’t bad at all, sweetie,” she said gently. “It’s just . . . they don’t understand.”
But I was beginning to think maybe it was bad. How could it not be?
Because of me, Brady’s family had imploded—fighting on Christmas, fractured probably beyond repair. And his daddy was dead.
I knew, by the look Mrs. Jackson gave me before we left that she would always blame me. Always.
I thought of Isaac’s final words. Tell Luanne I’m sorry. And that I always loved her. And I cried harder.
Kendra reached over and placed a hand on my leg. Like she could read my mind.
“Ellie,” she said softly, “none of this is your fault.”
I said nothing.
Not when Kendra tried to comfort me. Not when she pulled up to my house. I just ran—from the car, from the night, from everything—and straight into the arms of Aunt Lu.
She was curled up on the couch, dressed in her Auburn blue satin pajamas, looking like home.
I lost it the moment I saw her.
I collapsed onto her, my head in her lap, sobs racking through me like waves I couldn’t stop.
She stroked my hair gently. “Sugar, what happened?”
I couldn’t speak. Not for minutes. I just lay there, curled into her, letting the grief pour out.
“Ella Lu,” she whispered, voice trembling, “please—you’re scaring me.”
I hated leaving her in suspense. It couldn’t be good for her heart. But I wasn’t sure the truth would be any better.
“Aunt Lu,” I stammered. “Isaac Jackson . . . he’s . . . well . . . he died tonight.”
Her hand froze in my hair.
“He’s really dead?” she choked out, leading me to believe she still had feelings for him.
I nodded, unable to say it again. I wanted to tell her his final words were of her. That he’d loved her. That he’d asked me to tell her. But it didn’t feel right—not yet. Everything was too raw.
After a few moments, she noticed the ring on my finger. She lifted my hand slowly, her eyes searching mine.
“Did Brady propose tonight?”
“Yes,” I whispered through tears. “But that’s when it all happened. His momma lost it. Everyone started fighting. And then . . . Mr. Jackson collapsed.”
The memory played on repeat in my mind like the worst kind of movie montage. One I couldn’t turn off.
“So,” Aunt Lu asked delicately, “where does this leave you two?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered, tears still falling.
My phone buzzed from the bag I’d dropped on the floor. I didn’t need to check—I knew who it was.
“You should probably get that,” Aunt Lu said gently, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
With effort, I sat up and reached for the bag. Brady’s name lit up the screen, calling again and again until I finally answered.
“Hello,” I said, voice trembling.
“Ellie, are you okay?” he asked, frantic and breathless.
No. I wasn’t. But he’d just lost his father. My pain felt irrelevant.
“I’m so sorry, Brady,” I said softly, the words barely holding the weight I felt.
“Where are you? I’m coming to get you.” Brady’s voice was tight with urgency.
“Don’t,” I whispered, my throat aching.
“Ellie, don’t do this.”
“Brady, please . . . just be with your family tonight. I’m with Aunt Lu. I’m safe.”
“Please, Ellie. I need you.”
I felt like the worst kind of person. The man I loved more than anything was hurting, and I was refusing to comfort him.
But I knew—deep down—that my presence would only make things worse.
“Brady,” I said, voice trembling, “stay with your family. They need you.”
And then I hung up.
My heart shattered—for him, for me, for us.
Because I realized something I hadn’t wanted to admit: Our relationship was toxic to everyone around us. We were fools to think this time would be different. If anything, it was worse.
Brady called again. And again.
I stared at my phone, aching to answer. To hear his voice. To let him make the pain go away.
But that was a selfish thought.
“Sugar?” Aunt Lu asked gently, her voice breaking through my silence.
“I need to be alone,” I whispered.
I handed my phone to Aunt Lu and walked upstairs like a ghost—numb, hollow, barely breathing.
The only thing I had energy for was kicking off my boots before curling into a ball on my bed.
I closed my eyes, and all I could see were faces. His mother’s disdain. His brothers’ cold stares. The judgment in every glance from his sisters-in-law.
And then Isaac. His desperation. His final words.
He had loved Aunt Lu all this time. Elizabeth had to have known. Nothing else could explain her reaction to me.
I kept thinking—if I hadn’t gone, maybe Isaac would still be alive.
I lay there for at least an hour, fingers brushing the ring Brady had given me, crying until the tears ran dry.
Then the doorbell rang.
I didn’t move. I didn’t have to. I knew who it was.
When no one answered, he began pounding on the door, shouting my name.
Finally, Aunt Lu opened it.
“Ellie, I love you,” he yelled up the stairs.
“You need to give her some time, Brady,” Aunt Lu was firm but kind.
I couldn’t hear how he responded, but before he left, he yelled up. “Ellie, I love you. We can work this out.”
I heard the door close, and a minute later my aunt slipped into my room and lay beside me, eyes full of concern. “That man loves you.”
I knew he did, and I loved him, too. “Sometimes love doesn’t conquer all,” I whispered.
She kissed my brow. “But it’s the only thing that conquers hate. Hate has reigned far too long in this town. Are you really going to let it win?”
Was I? Did Brady and I even have any hope of conquering it? I let those questions settle into my soul, not having the answers.
Finally, exhaustion won, and blessed sleep overtook me.
I don’t know how long I slept, but I woke to sunlight filtering through my old frilly curtains—soft, golden, almost mocking in its cheer.
Aunt Lu waltzed in, dressed to the nines, acting as if nothing was amiss.
“Merry Christmas, sugar,” she sang.
I sat up, fingers raking through my tangled hair. “I’m not feeling very merry,” I croaked.
“Well, it’s Christmas,” she said, undeterred. “There are presents to be opened and a phone call to be made.”
She gave me a pointed look.
“That boy loves you. The fool’s been calling me all morning.”
My lips twitched, despite everything. The thought of Brady calling my aunt—relentless, hopeful—made my heart ache in a different way.
“Yeah, well. Loving each other was never our problem,” I murmured. “It’s what it does to everyone else.”
Aunt Lu’s expression softened with regret.
“Ella Lu, I’m sorry I was ever one of those people. But sugar, why are you giving them a say in your life?”
If she’d seen the way Mrs. Jackson looked at me, maybe she’d understand. But she didn’t give me time to explain.
“Get dressed and let’s open some presents. It always makes me feel better.”
I was sure that not even Christmas gifts would make me feel better, but I obeyed.
I threw on jeans and one of my old Auburn sweatshirts. Washed my face. Tried to tame the red-rimmed puffiness around my eyes. It was of no use.
I pulled my hair into a messy bun and called it good.
Downstairs, Aunt Lu sat waiting in the drawing room beside the beautiful tree Brady had helped me decorate.
I didn’t think I had any tears left. But the familiar sting returned.
Did I really want a life without Brady in it?
I sat down next to Aunt Lu, and she handed me a gift—just as the doorbell rang.
I held my breath, desperately hoping it was Brady. And just as desperately hoping it wasn’t. I missed him so much it physically hurt. But I wasn’t sure we could be together. Not yet. Not until I had all the answers.
I started to stand, but Aunt Lu raised her hand.
“I’ll get it.”
“Let me,” I said. “I should be the one taking care of you right now.”
She gave me a look that stopped me cold.
“Ella Lu, I will take care of you until my dying breath.”
With that, she headed for the door.
I waited, heart pounding. Who else would come calling on Christmas morning? It had to be Brady.
Then I heard Aunt Lu’s voice—icy, clipped. “You’re not welcome here.”
Surely, she wouldn’t speak to Brady that way.
I stood, confused, and stepped toward the foyer.
And then I heard her.
Elizabeth Jackson.
“That very well may be,” she said coolly, “but I’m not leaving until I speak to Ella.”
She had some nerve.
I opened my mouth to tell her to leave, but she walked right past Aunt Lu like she owned the place, her eyes scanning the room like she was inspecting a museum exhibit.
Aunt Lu slammed the door behind her and marched back to my side.
I sank into my seat, stunned by the turn of events.
Aunt Lu sat beside me, her posture rigid, her gaze locked on our uninvited guest.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. She just kept staring—cold, unwavering.
I turned to Elizabeth.
“What are you doing here?”
Normally, I’d call her Mrs. Jackson. But she didn’t deserve that kind of respect.
She looked like she considered correcting me, but she thought the better of it.
Smart move.
“I need to speak to you,” Elizabeth said, her voice tight.
“After the way you’ve treated me?” I replied, sitting up tall. “I have nothing to say to you. You can see yourself out.”
Her face reddened instantly. “Don’t you dare talk—”
“Elizabeth,” Aunt Lu cut in, her voice sharp and commanding. “I suggest you don’t speak to my child that way.”
Elizabeth faltered. Her expression shifted—panic flickering across her features.
“Please,” she said, more desperate now. “I need to speak with you.”
“Why?” I asked, arms crossed. I couldn’t imagine what she could possibly say that would matter to me.
“I’m trying to save my family.”
Her words hung in the air.