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Izzy had taken Jameson into town to catch a movie and do some grocery shopping before the firestorm hit. I knew it was hard for her to leave me alone with Drake, but she also knew we had a lot to talk about. This wasn’t a drill. The truth was coming out.
Drake sank farther into his pillows until we were almost lying down. “I’m feeling much better now,” he said seductively.
“I know this move, and I’m not falling for it.” Really, I wasn’t going to. At least I was ninety percent sure I wouldn’t. After all, my endocrine system was demanding and violent.
“What do you think I’m trying to do, Charlotte?” His hand ran the length of my body—making my body, of its own accord, curl right into him.
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” I half complained, loving every second of this.
“Yes, I do.” He unequivocally owned it and wrapped his arms around me.
“We need to talk,” I reminded him, before I did something I would absolutely love but yell at myself for later. Or at least Izzy would.
He let out a heavy breath, making his chest rise and fall dramatically. “Yes, we do.”
“Do you like Jameson?” I had to ask.
“Of course,” he answered immediately. “He’s funny and full of life, like someone else I know.”
I smiled to myself, relieved.
“You’ve done a good job with him. I don’t want to screw that up.” He kissed my head.
“You won’t. He likes you already.” I knew he did, because he’d insisted on sitting next to him during breakfast and would hardly leave his side. He’d peppered Drake with all sorts of questions about his old horse and what kind of things he’d seen blown up. He also wanted to watch more Road Runner cartoons with him. Drake had promised they would when Jameson returned.
“Charlotte,” he whispered.
I could feel his heart pound harder. I gripped his shirt, knowing it was time to learn the truth. Time for me to work my magic, if I could. “You can tell me anything,” I assured him.
“I know, and that scares me more than you can imagine.”
“I’m scared too.” Not necessarily of what he was going to tell me, but that this wasn’t real.
“Charlotte, you are always free to walk away from me. I would understand.”
I stilled in his arms. “Is that what you want?”
He tipped my chin with his finger, his eyes boring into mine. “I want you,” he said succinctly. “I want Jameson.”
My eyes welled with tears. He had no idea how much I needed to hear those words. “I want you too.”
“I know.” He grinned devilishly before kissing my nose, tickling me with his layer of dark scruff.
I snuggled back into him, feeling more settled. “Tell me what you need to.”
He stroked my hair for several minutes, I assumed while he was working up his courage. I let the silence linger between us. I knew how hard it was to bear long-kept secrets. Had Drake not seen Jameson, I knew I would have needed a moment like this to gather all the strength I could muster to tell him the truth. In the silence, I contemplated what it was he wanted to tell me. I knew he hadn’t killed anyone, so we were good on that front, but I wondered what it was he had done—or thought he had done—to ruin his parents’ lives and marriage. In the interim I drew circles with my finger on his chest, which was rising and falling deeply.
“Did I ever tell you,” he stammered a bit, “that Jameson was my half-brother?”
“Yes. You said there was nothing ‘half’ about your relationship.” Which I always thought was sweet.
“Except . . . he resented my father.” Regret lingered in his words.
My head popped up to see that Drake was closing his eyes, as if trying to run from a painful memory. “Why did he resent him?” I knew their father had adopted Jameson.
“Because my father was different from Jameson’s deadbeat dad.”
“Isn’t that a good thing, considering his own father was a deadbeat?”
Drake opened his eyes, yet he wouldn’t meet mine. “You have to understand, to a young boy, all he could see was a man trying to take the place of someone he loved. A man who I now realize was probably better than I ever gave him credit for,” he struggled to say, “but hard.”
“Hard how?”
Drake looked up to the ceiling. “Just so damn stubborn and set in his ways. Running a farm will do that to you. It’s a back-breaking way of life, with no time to relax and all for very little money. And that was a stark contrast to the life Jameson saw in Seattle, where my mother and her first husband’s family were from.”
“But you’ve made mention of how much fun you used to have on the farm with Jameson.” I loved those stories.
