My heart hammers while I continue staring at her door. I could be that for her. The strength when she’s feeling broken. The shoulder to catch her tears.
Without letting myself question it any more than I already am, I close the distance and pause just outside her door, my fist hovering and ready to knock. Everything in me is screaming for me to turn away, but there’s a steady voice breaking through the storm.
Be there for her.
So I knock and wait for her to answer.
A few seconds go by before she’s pulling open the door. On the other side, I see that she’s changed out of her dress and into a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. The makeup is gone from her face, and her eyes are red and swollen.
When she looks up at me, there’s so much pain in her dark gaze that it hinders my ability to breathe. And then she crumbles, falling forward as the weight of all she’s learned and all she’s been bottling up shatters her.
I take her into my arms and carry her toward the bed, setting her down and settling on top of the blankets beside her—shoes and all. I wrap my arms around her, and she trembles as the crying she’s been holding in comes out in full force.
Her husband—the man she’d vowed to spend her life with—lied to her.
He told his daughter things that should have remained private, and that daughter had used that knowledge to rip open a still-fresh, ten-year-old wound.
I can’t imagine all Beckett is feeling right now, but I do know none of it’s her fault. And there’s no chance I’ll walk away from her unless she shoves me out the door herself.
Dawn comes fast, though the golden light filtering in from the windows creeps across the floor slowly, warming my face. I’ve been awake for a little over an hour, simply holding Beckett as she sleeps.
We’d both fallen asleep in her room, me still dressed in my suit, my shoes still on my feet. My neck aches from where I’ve had it tweaked all night, but I can’t be bothered to care. Because Beckett is sleeping soundly, her head on my chest, her arm banded over my waist.
I’d drifted here and there throughout the night, but for the most part, I stayed awake. Ready to be there for her should she wake in the night and need someone to talk to. I never want this beautiful woman to feel alone. Never again.
But I definitely could use a shower. So, as the light continues to fill the room, I press a kiss to the top of her head and slide off the bed. Her brow furrows a moment as I leave her, but she nestles back in, so I pull the throw blanket at the end of the bed up and drape it over her before cracking the door behind me.
Once outside, I run both hands over my face and take a moment to breathe. She’d cried well into the night, only falling asleep a few hours ago. There were no words spoken, but I hope my presence brought her at least some comfort.
Only God can heal her broken heart, and I know He will. But man, I wish I could take it from her now.
Shower. Then coffee and breakfast.
I move down the hall toward my room and turn on the shower, pausing a moment to study myself in the mirror. My hair is completely disheveled; the pomade I’d used to style it causing it to stick in all sorts of weird angles.
My eyes are heavy and tired.
But Beckett finally got some sleep, and that’s what matters.
The shower is scalding as I wash, so by the time I get out, my skin is good and red. But I feel refreshed as I dress in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, then head out into the kitchen to start coffee.
As I pass her room, I peer through the crack, noting that she’s still sleeping soundly.Good.She needs it.
Once the coffee has started, I reach into the refrigerator and pull out a carton of eggs, as well as some cheese and some veggies I’d diced during my meal prep at the beginning of the week.
I’m heating up the pan when the door opens and Beckett comes out, arms wrapped around herself, hair wild, eyes still swollen and red.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her tone soft, still broken.
“Don’t be.” I come around the counter but stop just before I reach her. I want so badly to pull her into my arms, to hold her once more, but since I still have no idea where we stand, I keep the desire to myself.
“I just—it all hit me. Everything I’ve tried to ignore, and I realized—” Her eyes fill again. “I may never know the truth.”
“We’re not giving up,” I tell her quickly. “We’ll find the truth.”
“Will we?” she asks, cocking her head to the side as she studies me. Her bottom lip quivers. “And better yet, do I want to know? Shawn, he wasn’t who I thought he was. Everything I ever thought I knew was wrong.”
“Not everything.” I reach up and cup her face, brushing her tear away with my thumb.
