I nodded, feeling more truth in his words than I could bear.
Brock suddenly strode in, practically knocking Brant over, not only with his body but with his withering glare. “What are you doing in here with my wife?”
Wife? It seemed laughable for him to refer to me as such.
Brant stood defiant. “I thought someone should at least check on her.”
“What are you saying?” Brock’s fists clenched into balls.
“That Dani deserves a better husband,” Brant fired back.
Brock blinked a few times, as if his brother had sucker punched him, before poking Brant in the chest. “I bet you would love to take my place. You always wanted to.”
Brant got in Brock’s face. I gripped the counter, wondering if it would come to blows and what I should do, but I couldn’t form any words, and I was too tired to try to put myself between them. More than anything, it broke my heart to see them at odds. Brock wasn’t himself without Brant and vice versa. They were the dynamic duo—best friends bound by blood.
“Maybe there was a time that was true, but we always knew who she loved.” Brant backed away and hung his head. “By the way, it was your name she whispered when we made love.” He breezed past his brother, leaving me in a state of shock and embarrassment. I didn’t remember saying that. I didn’t remember a lot about that night. It was a pain-laden blur.
Brock spun on the heels of his pristinely shined shoes. His troubled eyes locked with my own. I could tell Brant’s words had shocked him too. He searched and searched my eyes, almost as if begging me to take away the agony we were all in. He opened his mouth to speak several times. If only he could say something to make it all better. Honestly, he did have that power. He could forgive me. He could take me in his arms and tell me we would face the world together. Instead he only said, “The reporter from Channel 9 is here.”
Right. It was showtime. I took another sip of water before dumping the rest in the sink and placing my glass in the dishwasher. Anything to delay putting on the act. I also needed to give my cheeks some time to lose the blush Brant had placed there. The burn didn’t want to seem to leave—not while Brock’s eyes were still firmly on me. Regardless, I couldn’t stall any longer. My heels clicked against the tile floor as I moved to pass by Brock. I was done begging for his affection and forgiveness. Which was why I was surprised when he reached out for me.
My eyes drifted toward our clasped hands. I noted the way Brock’s clung to mine and how his hand felt moist, as if I were making him nervous.
“Can I get you anything?” He tripped on his words. The kindest words he had said to me in weeks.
There were so many things I wanted to say, but I felt as if I had no right to, so I replied with a simple, “No.”
“We should go.” He tugged on my hand and led the way.
I wasn’t sure if he kept my hand for appearance’s sake or not, but it felt different than it had as of late. There was almost a feeling of comfort associated with it.
“You look beautiful, by the way,” he mumbled.
I paused a moment before responding, surprised by the compliment. “Thank you. You look nice too.” He was wearing a suit coat and dark jeans that fit him snugly in all the right places.
The corners of his mouth twitched, though he couldn’t or wouldn’t follow through. I hadn’t seen his smile since before he left on his joint allied training mission. Even when he’d first come home, before he’d known about Brant and me, he didn’t smile. The horrors he’d lived through were too fresh. And now we were all as unhappy as we’d ever been.
The remainder of our walk through the grand house was a quiet affair. I glanced around me, taking in the house that had been built to look like an English country home with wood beam ceilings, an abundance of natural light, and greenery. We followed the sounds of cheery, light voices welcoming the reporter and her crew. I felt Brock tense the closer we got to the living room.
“We don’t have to keep doing these,” I whispered. I hated that Brock was made to relive his harrowing tale on a regular basis.
“If only that were true. It’s good for the polls.” Resentment wove through his words.
Of course. Once again Brock’s happiness was sacrificed for the greater good, as John would call it. I could hear him now. “Just think of what Brant will do for our state and country. We need good men and women like him leading the way.” Yes, Brant was a good man—one of the best. But, John wanted the legacy and clout so badly he could taste it. And taste it he would, at any cost. His words to me after finding out about the baby still sent shivers through me. “I’ve worked too hard and too long for someone like you to ruin it all. You have no idea the kind of sacrifices I’ve had to make. So, you’ll keep your mouth shut, and we’ll all be one big, happy family, or I’ll bring you and your family to their knees.” After his tirade, he’d handed me a document filled with every sin I’d ever committed, even the ones from my supposedly sealed juvenile record. Sins that would make every donor of my foundation question my integrity. That wasn’t the worst of it. Ariana’s mother’s list was longer and more fatal than my own. Things I was sure not even Ariana and Grandma and Grandpa knew about Joanie Kramer. Things that would kill them if they came to light. Things like prostitution and attempted murder. Charges that had all been dropped, but there were pages of evidence lending to their validity. Then he’d kissed my cheek and whispered, “Welcome to the family, dear.”