Chapter 18 #2
“That’s not—” I broke off, because wasn’t that exactly what Bodie had half-admitted in his own careful way? That this was the one thing he could do for me after years of silence between us, after watching from a distance while my world fell apart piece by piece?
Wesley saw the flicker of doubt in my eyes and pounced on it like a predator scenting weakness. “You don’t know what he’s playing at, do you? He might act all noble and righteous now, but people don’t change, Emma. Not really. And Gibsons sure as hell don’t change.”
“That’s not fair.” But even as I said it, I realized how pathetic it sounded.
“It’s true.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper that somehow carried more weight than shouting would have.
“He doesn’t care about you, Emmaline. Not really.
He’s trying to clear his conscience, to make himself feel better about the choices he’s made.
And you—” His expression twisted, pain bleeding through the anger like ink through water. “You let him use you for it.”
My stomach turned to stone, heavy and cold in my chest. Because part of me—a treacherous, whispering part—had been afraid of that exact thing since the moment Bodie had said, ‘Marry me.’
I thought about the courthouse, about the weight of his mother’s ring sliding onto my finger like it belonged there.
About his voice last night in front of the whole town, steady and fierce as he’d pulled me against his side and said, ‘my wife’ like it was a vow he meant with every fiber of his being.
And the kiss. God, that kiss. It had been slow and careful, and yet something had sparked in me, like I hadn’t been wrong all those years ago to trust him with all my broken pieces.
It had lit me up in a way that wasn’t about guilt or duty or saving the bakery.
It had been about him, about us, about possibilities I was too afraid to even consider.
Which terrified me more than anything else about this whole impossible situation.
I forced my voice to steady, even though my hands were shaking. “It’s not like that. We made an arrangement; that’s all. He doesn’t expect anything from me. Not… like that.”
Wesley shook his head, skepticism written in every line of his face. “Arrangements don’t keep people safe. They don’t fix history or erase what came before. They sure as hell don’t change who someone is at their core.”
“He’s not who you think he is.” The words came out more desperate than I’d intended, like I was trying to convince myself as much as him.
“You don’t know that.” His voice was gentle now, which somehow made it worse than the anger. “You want to believe it because you need this to work, but wanting something doesn’t make it true.”
The silence stretched between us, sharp as barbed wire and twice as dangerous to cross.
“It’s just until probate wraps up. Then we’re getting a divorce. No muss, no fuss. It’s a business arrangement.” At this point, I wasn’t sure whether I said it for him or to remind myself.
He sighed long and tired, and I watched some of the fight drain out of him. His shoulders sagged slightly, and for a moment he looked older than his twenty-seven years. “I worry about you. Always have. Mom, Karen, all of them—you were the one I couldn’t protect when it mattered.”
My chest ached with the weight of old guilt and older love. “You did your best. You always did your best.” His best was part of what had landed him here during desperate times.
“Not enough.” He met my gaze, and I saw the boy he’d been in the man he’d become—fierce and protective and carrying burdens that were never his to bear.
“So I’ll say this, and you remember it, okay?
If he hurts you—if he gives you even one reason to doubt, if he makes you feel small or used or like you’re not worth everything good in this world—you walk.
Don’t you let him trap you because you think it’s all you’ve got.
Don’t you settle for scraps when you deserve the whole damn meal. ”
“I won’t,” I promised, even though I wasn’t sure I believed it myself. Even though I’d been settling for scraps my whole life and wasn’t sure I’d recognize a feast if it was set in front of me.
The guard signaled that visiting time was almost up. That familiar punch of sadness almost leveled me. Never enough time, never enough words to bridge the gap that concrete walls and steel bars had carved between us.
Wesley leaned back in his chair, shoulders tight again, jaw still clenched with everything he wouldn’t say. “I hope I’m wrong,” he muttered, staring at his hands. “I hope to God I’m wrong about him. About all of it.”
So did I, but I didn’t say it out loud.
Instead, I stood on unsteady legs and made my way back through the maze of security, retrieving my chain and sliding the rings back around my neck like armor. The metal seemed heavier than it had when I’d taken it off, weighted with new doubts and old fears.
As I walked back to my car under the gray sky, I couldn’t shake the unease crawling under my skin like ants. Wesley’s words echoed in my head, mixing with my own doubts until I didn’t know which fears belonged to him and which were mine.
Because he was right about one thing: I wasn’t sure if I could trust Bodie. Not completely. Not with the parts of myself I’d spent years learning to protect.
But worse than that—so much worse—I wasn’t sure if I could trust myself. Wasn’t sure if I knew the difference between hope and desperation, between love and the simple human need to believe that someone, somewhere, might actually want to stay.