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I close my eyes in shame. Nothing makes me feel more terrible than Noah giving up the future he wants because he thinks he needs to prove something so I’ll love him the way I should. He doesn’t have to prove anything, damn it. I know Cliff is a hustling asshole saying whatever he thought would get the deal done most expediently. Even when I left the restaurant, I was half convinced of that. By the time I’d packed my bags and left Noah’s estate, I was eighty percent certain the man I’d married had never once said he’d tied the knot with me to land a multimillion-dollar job. The following morning, I was even less convinced that Noah was that sort of shitbag. Now that the weekend has rolled around, I’m almost completely sure he had nothing to do with Cliff’s BS at all.
But it’s that sliver of doubt that worries me. Given all that, can I ever be the wife and partner Noah needs?
“I know you’re probably thinking that I’ve progressed enough to function as a color commentator. Maybe you’re right. Still, I have this…difficulty to overcome. It won’t be an overnight process. I could probably do it now that you’ve taught me so much about how to cope. The thing is, I don’t have anything left to prove to the NFL, football fans, or the public. Just you. I wanted you to know that before you leave Hawaii—and me. I also need to make one thing clear: If you ever miss me, want me, decide you love me, I’m here. I’m waiting. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you and I never will. And if you’ll give me the chance, I’ll help heal your bruised heart. Like my speech problems, it won’t be a quick, easy fix. That’s okay. You accepted me—faults, speech glitch, and all—knowing I’d make progress but never achieve perfection. That’s true of you, too, and I’d happily accept your fears and flaws if you ever want to come back. If not, then…good-bye,wahine.”
The subtle click in my ear when he hangs up has so much finality my chest implodes. I did the right thing for him, to save him more of this wretched pain later. But right now, I’m feeling so weak. All I want to do is pick up the phone, apologize, hear him say that he loves me again. Tell him how much I love him in return…
A soft knock on the guest bedroom door at Griff and Britta’s new place breaks my reverie. “Come in.”
Britta sticks her head inside, soft platinum hair a beacon of light in the near darkness. After a heart-to-heart with Maxon and Griff this afternoon, I came in here to shut the door, shove in my earbuds, and process. Since then, night has fallen. So has my mood. It’s been a heavy day.
“I thought I’d check on you. I kept your dinner in the oven when you didn’t answer earlier.”
“That’s sweet. Thank you, but I’m not hungry.” Way too much on my mind.
“How are you handling everything you and your brothers talked about earlier?”
“I’m still in shock,” I admit.
But I also feel closer to them.
After lunch, they pulled me into Griff’s study and sat me down. They both confessed everything Mom and Dad had inflicted on them growing up. I’m still reeling.
Our twisted father insisted on making his sons “men,” so he offered to get them laid at sixteen by whatever secretary he was boffing himself at the moment. He’s belittled Maxon since my oldest brother turned him down, then treated Griff like the favorite son because he’d repeatedly partaken. Why had Dad done it? Because the old man wanted his boys to share in his depravity? Because Barclay thought that somehow made it all right? Because he wanted carbon copies of himself? I’ll never know or understand.
Griff didn’t get off easy, either. Our self-centered mother used his desire to be loved to manipulate him so she could whore him out in order to climb a stupid social ladder.
My brothers’ admissions floored me. Didn’t our parents care at all?
No. They’re self-absorbed monsters. Sociopaths. I can’t think of another reason people would care so little about their own kids’ psyches. They feel superior, and all the “little people” below them are irrelevant, even their own children. I don’t comprehend at all. The baby growing inside me is tiny, the size of a grain of sand, but my number one instinct is to protect him or her. I’d lay down my life to shield this kid’s innocence. My parents couldn’t wait to exploit ours.
After hearing my story, however, my brothers are nothing but supportive and protective. After we all purged, we shared tears, followed by laughter at all the stupid ways we’ve tried to cope over the years. But Maxon and Griff have turned into great men and even better husbands. I left that study reeling and confused…but certain there’s hope for me yet.
“Can we come in?” Britta opens the door a bit wider, and I see Keeley standing there, face looking unusually solemn.
They mean well and they want to comfort me. I can’t say no. They’re awesome women and some of my best friends. “Please.”
They shuffle in. Britta sits on the bed next to me, Keeley in the fluffy chair in the corner. Both stare as if they have more to say. But something has been tugging at me, and I have to know…
“Did you two already know everything my brothers told me today?”
They glance at one another as if confirming their own suspicions.
“I’ve known what had happened to Maxon or a while. But even though I was Griff’s confidante for years and I knew he’d been through a lot, he never told me about the summer that almost destroyed him,” Keeley murmurs. “I still don’t know all the details.”
Britta shakes her head. “Griff finally told me what he’d been through the day we got married. But despite working for Maxon for years, he’s never confided in me. He’s always been a respectable boss mixed with a dash of protective older brother.”
He would have never sullied Britta with his sordid past. Same of Griff with Keeley. It’s exactly why they never told me, either. Well, that and their own respective shame. Neither wanted me to look at them with horror, disillusionment, or pity. And I can only imagine that’s why they never told one another.
But now everything is out in the open, and the truth has brought us even closer as siblings. I understand my brothers so much more now. I also understand the fortitude it took them to overcome the past my parents heaped on them and embrace the love of their spouses.
Can I do that with Noah?
I want to. God knows I close my eyes at night and imagine I’m beside my husband. That he’s just a reach of my arm away. That he loves me and our baby and…
Then I open my eyes to the dark and realize I’m alone. Because I’m afraid. And I’m crushed.
With my sisters-in-law staring at me, the truth hits me. I have two choices. I can either keep bowing to the fear that I can’t love Noah the right way or, like he said, I can accept that I’m not perfect and simply do my best.
