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I sat frozen in my chair as she disappeared.
Go after her.
I couldn’t find the headspace to move.
All eyes were on me, but no one appeared to have heard Trish’s confession.
“You really have a way with the ladies, Dixon,” Patrick said, the tension around the table dissipating.
“Everything okay?” Dad’s eyes were full of concern as he stared at me.
I shrugged and slumped in my seat. What the hell was she doing living in an abused women and children’s shelter? My mind automatically went to the worst—that her husband had beaten her and Ella. I couldn’t even fathom raising a hand to her or that little girl, let alone that anyone else could.
I opened my mouth to demand Mrs. Quinn to tell me what had happened. The truth. But I closed it, knowing it would be a dead end. I didn’t want to embarrass Trish any further and bringing up her living arrangements in front of the table would.
Baker looked down at her lap where her phone was situated. She frowned, glanced at me, and then stood. “If you’ll excuse me, Trish needs my help with the dessert.”
“I’ll come too.” Holt was halfway out of his seat when she pushed him back down.
“No.”
“Then I will.” I stood, and she grimaced.
“Absolutely no.”
I followed Baker out of the ballroom. Once we were alone in the lobby, she spun.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t breathe a word of what she told you to anyone.”
I recoiled as if she’d slapped me. “I would never.”
“Good.” She placed a hand on her hip. “Told you that you didn’t know shit.” I parted my lips, and she shook her head. “I suggest you think long and hard about what you want. You can’t ask her for more, find out the truth, and decide to leave her. If you contact her again, be sure you have pure intentions. The kind that are in it for the long haul.”
She left me standing there like a putz. I couldn’t get past the reality of her being married. Baker was right. I couldn’t pursue her again for answers when they would only be for my benefit. They felt wrong, but I had my convictions.
“Need to get out of here?” Patrick inclined his head toward the entrance to the hotel.
“Yeah, but I need to tell Dad.”
My steps were determined as I moved back to the ballroom to the table where my family was seated.
I stood behind Marlow, hands on her chair.
“Sit down, son.” Something in my dad’s voice gave me pause. Mrs. Quinn’s chair beside him was vacant, and then it hit me. This was important to him because it was important to her. If I left now, it would be disrespectful to the first woman my father had shown any real interest in years.
I skirted to the unoccupied chair by Holt.
“Want to talk about it?” he offered.
“Nope.” I reached for one of the full bottles of wine in the center of the table and filled Baker’s empty water goblet.
“Let her go, man.”
Everything in me rebelled at the notion even though it was what was best. “I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
“What about you? Roommates? With a woman you claim not to even like.”
