Chapter 19
19
Brax
A ll things considered, married life was not what I had expected, and I’d had pretty vague expectations to begin with. I hadn’t put much thought into the day-to-day merging of our lives, but I had figured that, at the very least, life would be different.
So it came as a bit of a surprise that it wasn’t.
One week after we had pledged to cherish each other every day for the rest of our lives, we had barely spoken a handful of words to each other.
Part of that could be blamed on our schedules. Essie was up and out of the house a good three hours before me, since days started early at the ranch. Whereas I had the luxury of making my own schedule, and I had decided early on that that schedule would never start before nine a.m. One of the benefits of being the only attorney in a farming town was that my clients were unavailable before noon.
But that also meant I tended to stay late at the office. Most nights, Essie had eaten dinner and was already headed to her room for the night by the time I got home. We lived like ships passing in the night—or roommates passing in the hallway—more than husband and wife.
The only thing that had changed was the reading chair by the fireplace. That was new. It was the thing Essie had picked out at the furniture store. It was a deep green, made of soft corduroy material, big enough for her to curl up with a book, even with her long legs. One morning, I noticed a plaid throw blanket draped over the back. She was making use of her chair, even though I never saw her do it.
Because I never really saw her at all.
Still, I was glad to see evidence that she wasn’t just holing up in the guest room during the few hours she spent home every day. She had taken me at my word that this was her home, too.
I stopped by Jo’s before work on Wednesday. It was my ritual because I happened to like lattes, and I refused to get one of those stupid espresso machines that created mountains of extra trash one tiny plastic pod at a time. I would rather pay the five dollars and keep Colorado beautiful.
Chloe looked up as I entered with a jangle of the bells tied to the door. “The usual? ”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
She plonked a white porcelain cup under the nozzle. I never got my latte to go, preferring to hang out a few minutes and get the local gossip. It wasn’t a business tactic—being the only lawyer in sixty miles meant Aspen Springs folks had little choice in the matter—but I found it helped me to remember the human side of my business. These were real people with real problems that I wanted to help solve.
“How’s married life, Brax?” Chloe asked as deep brown liquid streamed into the cup.
“Can’t complain.” I studied the glass case of pastries. Several varieties of muffins, including blueberry, pumpkin, and apple. Scones and biscuits. They served hot breakfasts here, too, but I wasn’t much for big breakfasts.
“No,” Chloe agreed. The corner of her mouth hitched up. “I suppose you couldn’t.”
What did she mean by that? James knew the truth—if we hadn’t told her along with our families, then Adam would have spilled it himself, so there wasn’t any point in hiding it. I was sure Essie hadn’t shared our secret with Chloe or her other friends.
But that didn’t mean Essie hadn’t said other things about me.
And just because we were supposedly happily married didn’t mean she couldn’t complain about me.
I glanced up from the pastries and found Chloe watching me while a knowing smile played on her lips. Like she knew exactly what I was wondering.
Chloe pushed a metal pitcher of milk under another nozzle and flipped the switch. Instantly steam hissed and she raised and circled the pitcher, heating the milk inside. When it was half milk, half froth, she poured it over the espresso, using a large spoon to hold back the froth until the cup was nearly full. Then she finished it off with a frothy aspen leaf.
“Nice,” I said.
She nodded, looking pleased. “I’m getting pretty good at foam art. Nothing super fancy yet, though.”
“I almost hate to ruin it,” I said, before taking a sip and doing exactly that. I wiped the milky froth from my upper lip. “But it has to be done.”
“Not all art is meant to be permanent. Maybe that’s what makes us appreciate it more.” She tilted her head. “Like love.”
I had the feeling she was leading me somewhere. Might as well go along with it. For now. “Isn’t love supposed to be permanent? The good kind, anyway.”
She shrugged. “Everyone dies, Brax.”
I held very, very still, my grip on the coffee mug so tight that my knuckles matched the white porcelain. And suddenly I was back there again, on the edge of the cliff, screaming Essie’s name. And I was next to my mother’s bed, her paper-thin skin nearly translucent as she fell into her last sleep. Watching my dad fall apart and knowing I would have done the same.
“Eventually,” I said, my voice rough. “Everyone dies eventually .”
“Exactly. Everyone dies.” She said it so matter-of-factly. I wanted to throttle her. “I would have thought, growing up on a ranch, death wouldn’t be a squeamish topic for you.”
She wasn’t wrong. I had witnessed the end of life for many animals, including ones we intended to eat. “Death doesn’t make me squeamish,” I said. “I have a perfectly normal, healthy dislike for it, that’s all.”
“Hm,” she said. “I suppose anyone would dislike death after losing their mom so young, like you did.”
“I didn’t lose her young. I was a grown man when she died. Four years ago, now,” I corrected. I was surprised she didn’t know that. She wasn’t born and raised in Aspen Springs like most of the people here, but she’d been here for nearly a decade now. “She was nearly seventy when she passed. Cancer isn’t pleasant no matter when it happens, but she’d had a good life and we were able to keep her mostly comfortable at home in the end.”
“I’m glad she didn’t suffer.” She pulled an apple muffin from the case and slid it across the counter to me on a plate. “Here, try this. I want to see how the flavor goes with that espresso. ”
I broke off a piece and popped it into my mouth, then washed it down with a swig of latte. “It’s good.”
“Right?” She busied herself with cleaning the nozzles on the espresso machine. “It must have been hard on your family when your mom passed, even though you weren’t children anymore. Your dad…” Her voice trailed off. She bit her lip and rubbed harder at the nozzle, until the metal gleamed.
“It hit him bad,” I acknowledged, because there wasn’t any hiding it. The whole town witnessed him drown his grief in a bottle of whiskey. “It took him a year or so to pull himself together.” I took another bite of muffin, another sip of latte. “It was hard on all of us, of course, because we loved her. But he took it hardest. You grow up kind of expecting your parents will pass on before you do, in the natural way of things. It’s different, losing a wife. The day Essie almost died scarred me, even though she survived it. I suppose it was the shock of nearly losing someone when I wasn’t expecting it. That puts a fear in a person.”
Chloe had been nodding along, but suddenly she stopped and tilted her head thoughtfully. “Well, isn’t that funny,” she murmured.
“I’d say there isn’t a damn thing funny about any of it,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“Funny isn’t the right word, you’re right. Strange is what I meant. The day she almost died? Was that in high school?” she asked .
I nodded. “Did she tell you about it?”
“Only in passing. She never shared the details. The strange thing, though, is that she never said she almost died. She said you did.”
I took that in. Turned the words over in my mind. Trying and failing to make sense of them.
“What happened that day, if you don’t mind my asking?” Chloe’s keen green eyes were locked on me.
“I don’t mind you asking, but it’s a story for another day,” I said. “I have to get to work.”
“Maybe I’ll ask Essie to meet me for lunch. She can tell me herself.”
“Essie’s out at Lodestar, so I doubt she’ll have the time to drive all the way to town.” I stuffed a dollar in the tip jar. “Thanks for the muffin.”
Chloe grinned like the Cheshire cat. “Oh, she’s home today. Wednesday is her day off. Didn’t she tell you?”
Essie was home? I’d taken to parking on the street to give her the garage spot, so I hadn’t noticed her SUV was still there when I left this morning. There hadn’t been a sign of her in the kitchen, either. She must have slept in.
A day off might be nice.
Before I could second guess myself, I had my phone out of my pocket and was texting Sylvia, my secretary, to clear my schedule as I was heading for the door.
“Have a good day!” Chloe called after me, her words laced with laughter .
Something occurred to me, and I paused at the door. “You were at my mom’s funeral. The whole town was.”
“I remember.”
My gaze narrowed. “Then why’d you act like you didn’t know how old I was when she died?”
She laughed. “Because I knew you’d correct me. There are lots of ways to get someone talking, Brax. That one happens to be yours.”
Fleetwood Mac was playing as I walked in the door. I was used to coming home to a quiet house. Empty, before Essie, and it might as well have been empty after Essie for all the noise she made. This was different. A good kind of different.
A very good kind of different, I realized as I rounded the corner into the kitchen, because there was Essie, her back to me as she leaned over the countertop, scrolling her phone and eating cereal, the hem of her tee shirt riding up far enough to reveal a tiny pair of underwear cut to reveal the undercurve of her glorious ass.
God damn , that was a fine sight.
A strangled groan escaped me. She dropped her spoon and it clattered in the bowl as she whirled to face me .
That’s when I realized she was wearing my University of Colorado tee shirt. It was a little loose on her and hit right below her hip. And fuck, it looked good on her. Her face was bare, and while I loved the red lipstick she wore like armor, there was something about seeing her like this that made me ache.
“Hello, wife,” I said, and if I intended the words to sound ironic, I knew I’d failed. I sounded hungry.
“You’re home,” she squawked.
“You’re in my shirt,” I replied.
She glanced down at herself. “Oh, right. Laundry day. I’m out of clean clothes.”
“I told you to bring everything,” I couldn’t resist pointing out. Maybe I was still annoyed that she’d left things behind on the assumption of how quickly we’d divorce. “We can swing by your mom’s house later today and get the rest of it.”
She shifted, tugging at the hem of my shirt like maybe it could miraculously grow an extra inch. It bounced right up again. “You don’t have to work?”
“I take a day off every now and then,” I said, like I had intended today to be one of those days all along. Like I hadn’t cancelled meetings on the off chance I could convince my wife to give me more than five minutes of her time.
“Well, that would be great, then,” she said. “How about now? ”
“Now?” My gaze drifted down her bare legs and back up again. “I feel like this is the kind of errand that requires pants, hellion.” I was in no hurry for her to make that happen.
She made an exasperated face at me and I grinned. “Yes, prig, I know. Do you have something I can borrow?”
We settled on an old pair of sweatpants. She was tall for a woman, but I was tall for a man, which meant the bottoms bunched up around her ankles. Even with an elastic waistband, the pants hung low on her waist, saved from plunging down her thighs by her curvy hips and ass. With her hair piled in a messy bun that showcased the rainbow colors on top of her head, she looked ready for a day off spent on the couch, watching reruns of shows without really paying attention.
It did things to me, seeing her in my college shirt and worn-in sweatpants. It made me want to scoop her up and…and cuddle , of all fucking things.
I watched as she tugged on her sneakers. “Ready?”
She nodded. “Let’s go.”
Cat wasn’t there when we arrived, which was no surprise since she worked six days a week at Sweetie Pie, but Essie still had the keys. She let us in, and we headed for her old room.
“Take everything,” I ordered as Essie opened a dresser drawer. “Just in case. ”
Her crisp salute was undermined by an exaggerated eyeroll. “Yes, sir. ”
But she did as I said despite giving me attitude about it. Brat . She emptied a drawer of tee shirts and shorts into the suitcase and then moved on to the next one.
I took another look around the room while she worked. Again my gaze landed on the photo of Essie and Jack at the lake, and the barest smudge of my finger.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take any photos?” I asked.
“I’m sure.” She closed the suitcase with a grunt. “Too much work.”
I glanced at our reflection in the mirror over the dresser. She was too busy fighting the suitcase closed to pay me any mind.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m ready.”
“You have everything ?” I asked, adding the emphasis just to piss her off.
She hefted the suitcase onto the floor. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask to borrow your precious old sweats ever again. I have enough clothes to last a month even if your washing machine breaks down.”
Well, shit. Now I wanted to set all her clothes on fire. Leave her nothing but my sweats to wear.
I followed behind as she rolled the suitcase down the hallway. She stopped at the dining room table to flip through a stack of mail.
“Should I change my address?” she asked. “I probably should, right? For appearances. I have to put my address on the competition entrance form. Seems like a hassle, though.”
“You can do it online. It only takes a minute,” I told her.
“Hm. I suppose—” She stopped rifling through the envelopes and magazines, her face completely blank as she picked up a postcard. She studied it for a moment, then flipped it over. Her expression didn’t change as she read it.
She set it down again. “Let’s go.”
With that, I knew exactly who it was from. A helpless fury washed over me as I strode to the table. Because Essie? Expressionless was the last thing she was. Anger, joy, sorrow, fear, desire, they all showed up on her face. She never tried to hide who she was or what she was feeling.
Except when it came to the pathetic excuse for a man who was her father.
She didn’t stop me when I picked up the postcard. Hey, baby girl. Congratulations! Wish I could be there for the wedding, but I’m in Greece. This place is magic when the summer tourists are gone. Wish you were here! Love, Dad.
I set the postcard down with purpose, afraid I would crumple it in my fist like the trash it was if I kept holding it, and looked at Essie. “It’s just because of our circumstances. He’d be here for the real thing.” I knew it was a lie even as I said it .
“I didn’t tell him it was fake,” she said neutrally. “Come on, let’s go.”
I didn’t budge. “Why didn’t you tell him?”
Her gaze flicked to mine and then she looked away again, shrugging. “I figured…he wasn’t going to come, anyway. But someday, maybe I’ll get married for real, and even though I know he won’t show up, I’ll hope he will, and when he doesn’t, it will crush me. Better to get it out of the way now, when it doesn’t actually hurt. So that I know .”
“Essie.” My chest felt tight. I had the crazy idea that it might be worth flying out to Greece tomorrow and flying back the very next day, just for the pleasure of kicking this man’s ass into the Aegean Sea.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” she said, her tone still flat, which meant she was not fine at all.
So I ignored her words and put my arms around her. It was like hugging a rock. Her arms hung at her sides, not returning my hug. There was no give to her rigid muscles. No crack in the shields she had up.
“Okay, that’s enough, thank you. Can we go now?” she said.
But still I held on.
She didn’t fight me. I wondered if maybe that was her way of proving how little she cared about the whole thing.
I kept holding on .
And then suddenly everything changed. She didn’t melt. She didn’t relent.
She turned fierce .
Her arms scooped under my shoulder blades, and she grabbed me by the shoulders. She dug her fingers into my muscles, into my bones. I didn’t doubt there would be ten little bruises there tomorrow, but I didn’t care. Dampness spread across my shirt where she pressed her face. Her hoarse breath sawed in and out.
Still I held on.
“Why do I care ?” she raged and her fingers dug in even harder. “It’s so stupid.”
“It’s not stupid to care, honey,” I whispered against her hair. “He’s the dumbass here, not you. The best thing about you is that you care. You’re all heart, Essie Price. And that…Do you know how amazing you are? You stole a horse to keep him safe. You married me to help your mom.”
“Then why doesn’t he think I’m amazing?” she asked damply.
“Because he’s small, honey. He’s so fucking small. And you…you’re bigger than the whole sky.”
She inhaled sharply. And when she slowly let it go, I felt her tension go with it. Her fingers relaxed their death grip on my shoulders. But I didn’t stop holding her.
“Imagine being the kind of person who goes to Greece as a tourist and then complains about all the tourists,” I said. “Imagine being that particular breed of asshole.”
She snorted a laugh against my chest.
After another long breath, she sighed and pulled away. “Can we go home now?”
“Yeah, honey. I’ll take you home.”