Chapter 5
Five
Briar
“I’m sorry,” I say and that’s basically the only truth that’s come out of my mouth during this entire conversation.
“Baby,” West says, his voice a gentle rumble that I love.
It’s soothing. It’s soft. It’s kind. It makes me feel good—
Usually.
Today it’s another slice of guilt.
Because I’m breaking our date to take care of Colt.
Because I’m lying to the man I was falling in love with, was planning on building a future with, was—
Was.
Fuck.
I close my eyes, fighting back my tears as another lash of guilt slices through me—and then deeper when I hear him go on.
“Our date will hold,” he says. “The important thing right now is for you to get done what you need to get done so you can get some rest.”
More guilt.
Sweet baby Jesus, this guilt is going to slice me into a thousand pieces.
“Thanks, West.”
“Anytime, honey,” he murmurs. “Now, go kick some ass in that meeting of yours. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
Hear all about me lying to him about the shitshow I dealt with today running long?
Or hear all about the truth of what I’ve actually been doing over the last several hours—driving back over to Colt’s hotel room, packing up his stuff and helping him out to my car.
Then, considering his wound was still oozing blood, stopping by an urgent care and getting a doctor to look at his stitches.
They’d fixed him up and by the time I got him back into my car, he was pale, trembling, and barely upright.
My heart had ached for him, for the suffering he so clearly endured, for what was clearly the hell of the last five years, for all that he’d been through while we were here building our lives without him—
“Briar?”
I blink and…more guilt.
Because even during a quick phone call to the man I’m supposed to be in love with, supposed to be taking the next step with…
I’m thinking about Colt.
It was bad enough when I was wrestling with what I’d lost, when I was trying to tamp down the promise of what we had, the yearning of what we could have had.
It’s worse knowing that I drove Colt home from the urgent care and installed him in my guest bedroom.
Worse still knowing that I need to figure out the best way to break the news of his reappearance from the dead to my brothers…
To Frankie.
“Honey?”
West’s tone is firmer, worry creeping in along the edges.
“I really am sorry,” I whisper.
He sighs and I know that if he was here, he’d pull me into his chest, would wrap his strong arms around me. I’d smell the spicy male scent of him, feel the steady warmth of him, would be able to relax and know that I was safe and content and wanted.
But he’s not here.
And my life—and my love life—has gotten a lot more complicated.
So much more complicated.
“Do you want to sleep at my house?” he says. “Come over whenever you’re done?”
God, no.
I can’t have West and his strong arms and broad chest—not to mention his truly impressive kissing skills—muddle my head further.
I need to think.
I need to plan.
I need—
“It doesn’t matter how late you’d be,” he murmurs. “I’d just be happy to wake up next to you.”
Because we haven’t done that yet.
Because we haven’t done it yet.
“I’m really tired,” I reply back, my tone soft. “I should probably finish up and head home.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, sweetheart.” Then before I can respond, he says, “I’ll let you get back to it so you can get it done and get home.”
Another lash of guilt.
“Thanks, West,” I whisper.
“Text me when you get home.”
“I will,” I say, and I hate that it’s another lie. I’ll text him, of course I will.
But it’ll be another lie because I’m going to set an alarm to text at a suitably late hour and pretend to just be arriving home and sliding into bed.
Ugh.
I shove that down and ignore the guilt battering at my insides as we say our goodbyes and hang up.
I set that alarm.
Pretype the text so I can just hit send later.
Then I gird my loins.
Because Colt is here.
He’s alive.
And I need to talk to him about something important.
About something even more important than his reappearance from the other side.
Something that doesn’t just affect me.
Exhaling, I head downstairs, turn the corner, and push into the guest room to find—
Colt asleep.
So heavily asleep that he doesn’t shift in the least when I pad across the floor and sit on the edge of the bed, calling softly.
So deeply that he doesn’t move when I gently shake his shoulder.
I bite back the urge—and no surprise the guilt that comes—to shake him awake.
I walk back out, quietly shut the door, and go back upstairs, intending to take a bath and catch up on the never-ending pile of laundry that all moms of small children have while watching something inane on TV.
But I don’t make it that far.
I lay down—just for a few minutes.
And the next thing I know, the alarm is waking me.
I hit send, blearily poke my head in on Colt to find him still sleeping.
So, I give in to the fatigue, the weariness that’s gnawing at my bones, and I go to bed.
I’ll figure out how to tell everyone all the things I need to tell them in a few more hours.
Just a few more hours.
I lay down.
And let sleep come.
The next thing I’m aware of is voices.
Heart seizing, I jerk upright and realize that it’s morning, that sun is shining through my windows.
That Royal and Jade must be here.
Bringing Frankie home.
Gasping, I launch myself out of bed and hurry down the stairs, intercepting them before they can get anywhere near the guest bedroom.
“Mom!” Frankie exclaims, rushing toward me and wrapping her arms tightly around my waist.
My heart spasms.
God, I love my girl.
“Hey, baby,” I say, and I do it calmly even though my heart is threatening to pound its way out of my chest, keenly aware of the time bomb hopefully still sleeping in the guest room down the hall.
“Uncle Royal and Auntie Jade and I all wrote a song together. Do you want to hear it?”
I squeeze her tightly for a moment then push down my freakout. “Absolutely,” I tell her. “But you need to bring your things up to your room and put them away first.”
Her bottom lip juts out, as though she’s considering arguing that…and if she might win that argument.
I just lift my brows at her and wait.
She sighs, sticks out her bottom lip a teensy bit further, but to her credit, she drops her arms and goes and grabs her backpack from her Auntie Jade.
I watch her start up the stairs then whip around to face Royal and Jade.
“I need to talk to you.”
He blinks, glances at Jade, whose eyes have gone wide with concern.
“Both of you,” I say, knowing that my voice and manner aren’t anywhere near the calm I affected for my daughter.
And knowing that if anyone has any chance of making it so that Royal won’t lose his mind and beat up an already injured Colt, it’s Jade.
Royal glances back at me. “Okay.”
I nod, heart pounding even more intensely.
God, I was supposed to have time to plan, supposed to have time to know the right words to say to explain, supposed to—
I hear a thud from upstairs and know I’m out of time.
I need to explain, and I need to do it quickly.
“Kitchen,” I say. “Now.”