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“The one whose offices you were almost killed in?” She hated the thought of him going back there.
But wherever he went, the job was dangerous.
“You’re overreacting. I got whacked in the head at the urinal.” He rolled his eyes at himself. “Anyway, she asked me to go bodyguard some pampered celebrity friend of hers for a week or two in LA. But I’ll be back for Thanksgiving. I think we should get married then.”
Brea didn’t want to make them both miserable, but she wasn’t seeing many other options. “I would offer to divorce you after the baby is born but…”
She couldn’t, at least until her father had passed. Even then, she felt squeamish about putting asunder that which God hath joined. But she would have to let Cutter go eventually. She couldn’t keep him trapped in a loveless marriage for the rest of his life.
“We’ll worry about that later. For now, think about what I’ve said.”
She nodded. “Can we skip lunch? I’m not up to it.”
Her energy levels had bounced back, but her morning sickness was still an everyday, all-day reality. And more than anything, Brea wanted to be alone.
Cutter looked hesitant, but he finally nodded.
When he reached the street on which they’d both grown up, he parked between their childhood homes and leaned across the cab of the truck to kiss her forehead.
She met him halfway and brought him in for a sisterly hug. “Thank you for everything.”
“No, thank you. I hated to admit this to Walker, but I probably wouldn’t be alive today if you hadn’t persuaded him to help me. I know what that cost you.” He sighed as if it pained him to admit that. “So let me take care of you in return.”
None of this was his fault or his doing, but what other choice did she have? “We’ll talk soon.”
“Brea…”
With a shake of her head and a wave, she headed inside to think about her future and make plans—without Pierce.
Chapter Four
Thursday, November 13
Brea sat across the dinner table from her father, uncomfortably aware of his probing stare. “More mashed potatoes, Daddy?”
“You finish up the last few spoonfuls. I think you need it.”
“I’m fine.” She tried to keep calm, but Daddy had been asking gently loaded questions for the last few minutes and she was desperate to change the subject. “Tell me how Tom’s new youth group is doing. Last time I had two minutes to rub together, he was really just getting it going. There seemed to be a lot of enthusiasm—”
“It’s fine, and right now that’s not my concern. We haven’t spoken much since the morning you agreed to stop seeing that man. Has he contacted you?”
Daddy didn’t mean to rub at her sore spot, but even thinking about Pierce made her ache. “No.”
“Do you regret your decision?”
If Pierce had come home from his last-minute mission, adequately explained why he’d killed his father, embraced their coming baby, and vowed to love her for the rest of her life, Daddy would still have pressured her to give him up. But she would have refused for the man she loved.
Instead, except for that blistering kiss, Pierce hadn’t been able to get away from her fast enough. And since then, he hadn’t given her any indication that he’d missed her one bit.
Brea tried to tell herself that she was better off without him. Her heart wasn’t listening.
“No.”
With Cutter gone to California babysitting some starlet these past four days, she hadn’t heard any secondhand news about what Pierce was doing at work or whether he’d asked about her. Whatever Cutter was up against in La La Land must be intense because it was unlike him not to text or call for days.
“Brea? Did you hear what I asked?”
She hadn’t. “I’m sorry. Would you mind repeating it?”
“I asked if you’re still in love with him.”
Even if Pierce didn’t love her; that’s what Daddy meant. Of course she did, but that’s not what he wanted to hear. “It doesn’t matter. He’s gone and I doubt he’s coming back, so you got your wish.”
Regret crossed her father’s face. “I never wanted you to be brokenhearted, just for you to see this man as he really is.”
“Can we talk about something else?” Or she would get angry at how little Daddy understood her. Pierce’s feelings not being genuine didn’t make hers less real. She’d heal…eventually. But she was too raw for this conversation. “How’s the prep for the Thanksgiving feast at the church going and what can I do to help?”
“It’s fine, and I don’t need you to do anything. Jennifer has things under control.”
Brea reared back. “Jennifer? I’ve organized that every year since—”
“You were twelve, yes. But this year when the planning started, you seemed distracted.” He frowned. “Honestly, I’m glad your last appointment this evening cancelled so we could talk. I’m worried about you.”
