Chapter Three
What Hurts The Most
Cheyenne
I was six years old when my dad told me to rinse three times after brushing my teeth. He stood next to me at the bathroom sink across the hall from my bedroom at the lake house; the bathroom with the leaky faucet and my older brothers’ Hot Wheels cars hidden in the cabinet. It was my first time not using a tiny paper Dixie cup. I remember being ecstatic that it wouldn’t turn mushy in my hands.
I wish I’d paid attention to my dad instead. What the color of his t-shirt was or what his smile looked like. Because now, I can’t. Not like that. And even though it’s been four months and twenty-one days since that awful night, memories like this trickle in at random times.
Last week, I remembered how my dad always “forgot” to turn off my bedside lamp so he could tell me good night one more time. I was walking up the narrow stairwell to my temporary apartment above the flower shop when it hit me. Two weeks before that, sitting on a bench downtown and watching a dad follow his son on a bike, I remembered the day Colton stumbled, quite literally, upon our family. How Dad had known what Colton needed before Colton himself even knew.
This memory, the one about rinsing three times, comes to me while I’m walking up the neat path to my oldest brother’s cottage. I’m carrying a bag of greasy burgers and fries from Farm to Table, because even though Beau doesn’t know I’m coming, I know he won’t turn food away.
Usually I ring the doorbell—the tinkling sound annoys Beau deeply—but this time I knock. Somewhere inside, Beau hollers to come in. If I were feeling like myself, I’d also tease him that I could’ve been a serial killer. To which he’d do a once-over of me, shake his head disapprovingly, and then take off down the hall.
The first thing to greet is Chico, Beau and Kaia’s hundred-pound golden retriever. He stretches his long neck to smell the paper bag in my hands before nudging me to pet him.
Blinking to adjust to the dimmer indoor lighting, I look around. The pale coral accent wall in the living room with a light wicker bookshelf displays Kaia’s beloved novels. Yellow seashell throw pillows rest on the off-white sofa with a cornflower blue throw blanket tossed over its back. Natural light spills in through the kitchen to dance over white cabinets, colorful dish towels, and a vase of freshly cut pink tulips on the island. Tate’s toys are mostly in their designated bins, but I step around a toy truck and Hot Wheels car.
My sister-in-law insists on people leaving shoes on, so I wipe my Birkenstocks on the Welcome to our home, Sunshine! mat and cross to the kitchen. As I expected, Beau disappeared into the backyard after hollering for me to come in. I grab two paper plates, tuck them into the bag, and toss in a few extra paper towels for good measure.
We’re still easing towards summer, but even mostly bare, the backyard is my favorite part of this house. Beau arranged flat stones into a patio and strung bulb lights along the edges of a wooden shade overhead. Wicker furniture matches the bookcase inside, cushioned by sherbet orange cushions, and it’s arranged around a firepit.
Beau straightens from the raised flower beds, raising a dirty hand to shade his eyes against the May sun. “Is that what I think it is?”
“No. I saved the bag from last time and filled it with rotten potatoes.”
“That’s not funny,” he says, crossing the plush green yard to the patio. A light breeze presses his faded green t-shirt against his chest and ruffles his dark hair. “Not after my ninth birthday.”
I pass him his burger and a to-go cup of Sprite. “To be fair, I was only four at the time, old man.”
“There are pictures to document Grandma’s delight and my horror when I opened a heavy box with one Hot Wheels car, nine dollar bills, and nine rotten potatoes inside.” He peels the silver wrapping back around his burger and glances at me. “Also, I’m not old.”
“Thirty-five is practically ancient.”
Beau only grunts and takes a generous bite of burger before chasing it with a long pull of soda. His silver wedding ring flashes in the sun, and my burger suddenly becomes hard to swallow. My gaze falls to my bare finger where my own rings no longer reside.
If you would’ve told twenty-four-year-old me I’d be approaching thirty, freshly divorced, I’d have laughed. I had a plan—one with the fairytale marriages like my parents and grandparents. Stephen and I were supposed to have the never-ending honeymoon phase and the neat townhome to raise our children in and the perfect careers.
But here I am, months shy of thirty, with nothing of the sort.
Beau pauses for a breather after he’s inhaled three-fourths of his burger and juice drips down his wrist. Which is great, except that I know what’s coming. He wipes his hands on a torn paper towel and takes another obscenely long drink of Sprite before settling his full attention on me.
I wish Kaia and Tate were around. At least my sister-in-law would grill me gently, unlike my oldest brother’s very direct, very blunt approach.
I mean, I’m grateful I have two older brothers who will drop anything to be there for me. It’s not like I had the strength, mentally or physically, to move back by myself after…everything. Beau and Justin were there without me asking, followed closely by my parents, unfazed to drive a U-Haul the eight hours from Balsam Falls to Chicago.
It just gets complicated when the one thing you want to talk about is also the one thing you don’t want to talk about.
“So.” Beau flicks at a fly on his bare knee. “That was some interview last night, huh?”
I glare. “That’s not funny.”
“Consider it payback for the old man comment.”
“You shouldn’t treat the baby of the family like that.”
He lifts his brows. “Keep making remarks about my age, and I’ll keep coping with stress with humor.”
Something about his tone—partly teasing, partly melancholy—softens me. I buy myself a minute by taking a drink of watered down root beer, then pull my lips to the side.
“How are you doing?” I drum my fingers on my paper cup. “And no, I don’t want a sarcastic answer. I mean it, Beau. How are you ? It’s not every day someone’s dad is comatose, you know.”
Okay, maybe he’s not the only sarcastic one. Beau buys himself time to answer. He picks up his burger and finishes it off in three bites. Munches on fries. Takes a drink of Sprite. Eats another fingerful of fries, dunked in ranch. He reaches for his cup again, but I smack his hand away from it.
“Beau.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is brother . We’re siblings, so I’m absolutely not your beau.”
The amount of times he’s used that joke over the years has sucked every ounce of humor from it. I sharpen my glare—and silently thank God Justin’s not here to tell me I look constipated. If Beau is the broody veterinarian, Justin is the playful attorney. I’ve always felt like their personalities should be swapped.
“I’m fine, Chey,” he finally says. What he means, though, is I’m not fine, but don’t waste your breath, because I won’t talk about it. “Have you talked to him?”
A surprised laugh parts my lips. “You think I’ve talked to him? Really?”
Beau’s gaze holds mine. “Once upon a time, you’d have hit the road the minute you heard the interview. I don’t know what happened five years ago, but I don’t think I need to remind you that you two used to be inseparable.”
He’s right; I don’t need the reminder. I remember it just fine. Friendship with Colton Del Ray was shared sticks of Extra spearmint gum, pineapple pizza on the beach at sunset with sparkling blueberry lemonade, and strong arms to land in when life’s storms rolled in like thunderstorms over the lake.
This isn’t the first time I’ve wished we never tried something more than friendship. I knew Colton wasn’t the kind of man doe-eyed Cheyenne dreamt of when she watched her father leave flowers and a love note on her mother’s nightstand. Then again, I’d been just as na?ve when I met the handsome, smooth-talking Stephen Collins.
Unfortunately, Stephen had waited until I’d fallen in love with him, until we said those vows before God and our families, to show his true colors.
“No,” I say quietly. “I haven’t talked to him.”
Beau studies me with that infinite patience of his, the patience that makes him a good vet and an even better dad. “Maybe he needs it.”
I shake my head. “Trust me, Beau, I’m the last person he wants to talk to right now.”
The last time we spoke was the day Dad was moved to the long term care facility. My words did more damage than the ones I said when I broke things off five years ago. But instead of the conversation taking place under the dappled light of a tree close to the harbor, with seagulls sweeping across the lake’s rippled surface, we stood on the porch of my grandparents’ sprawling log home. Cold wind swept over my body, inducing a shiver, and when Colton lifted his hands to rub them up and down my arms, I stepped back.
“I need space, Colton,” I said, steeling myself against the hurt in his blue eyes. “I have to figure my life out, and this—” I gestured weakly between our chests “—is only a distraction.”
His jaw tightened under a dark layer of whiskers. “You don’t mean that, Fini.”
Fini—short for infinity. What childhood Colton and Cheyenne had once planned to be.
“Yeah, I do,” I choked out. My fingernails dug into my arms through my hoodie, undoubtedly leaving half-moon indentations on my skin. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. Everything I knew about my life has been stripped away from me. My dad, my marriage, my career. And you…” I paused to clear away the tears building in my throat. “You have to go, Cole. That’s what he would want—for you to be on the road, just like you love. Not waiting around in case he wakes up.”
“What I love—” Colton cut himself off with a tense shake of his head. He paced to the other end of the porch, paused to look out over the snow dusted landscape of the ranch, and spun on his boot heel to stalk back to me. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t raised, because despite it all, Colton Del Ray didn’t lose his temper. “Maybe I’m not cut out for relationships or staying in one place or, I don’t know, committing . But at least I am who I say I am.”
My breath caught, because I knew exactly what he was talking about. No, who . And it stung like the devil.
“Colton…” But there was nothing to say.
No excuse for my choices.
“I’m not cut out for commitment,” he repeated. This time when he stepped close, placing his cold, calloused fingers under my chin, I didn’t back away. “But you and I? You and I, Cheyenne, we came the closest.”
Wind tinged with the sharp wail of a siren in the distance pushes my hair against my cheek, bringing me back to the present. The one where Beau realized I had nothing more to say, because at some point, he’d tossed his trash and moved back across the yard to continue planting flowers for Kaia.
His wife .
She’ll come home from her mother-son date this afternoon and kiss her husband and make supper for her family and tell Beau all about her day while he stroked her shoulder absently.
Bitter jealousy I have no right feeling rises in my throat. I blink hard, even though there aren’t any tears. I don’t want to be jealous of my brother and his idyllic family, but it feels nearly impossible now that I’ve moved home. Now that I’m alone again, no longer part of a supposed-to-be-forever couple, I don’t know who I am anymore.
Two years ago, I’d almost had it all. The husband, the home, the family.
Now it’s all gone.
And I guess maybe that really was what hurt the most, the coming the closest.