Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Blythe

T he mattress dipping a couple feet away yanked me awake in an instant. Such was the life of a mom. If it wasn’t my internal clock waking me up with the sun, it was the faintest noise or slightest movement.

I knew what I would see even before I flipped my eyelids open, and sure enough, the instant my vision cleared, I found myself staring into the sleepy-eyed, pillow-creased face of my four-year-old daughter, Ainsley, lying on the pillow beside mine.

I curved my lips into a tired grin. “Morning, baby girl.”

And just like I knew what I’d see as soon as I woke up, I also knew what was coming next.

“Mornin’ Mommy.” She smiled big, showcasing every one of her tiny white baby teeth. “My tummy said it wants waffles.”

Called it.

Of course it did. My little girl wanted waffles every morning. If she could, she would eat waffles for every single meal and never get tired of them.

I let out a low chuckle, the sound still raspy with sleep. “Your tummy said that, huh?”

Her head bobbed up and down as she blinked her big blue eyes at me. “Yuh-huh. It grumbled really loud. Like a monster.”

“Let me guess. It said feed me waffles ?” I asked, adopting a low, growly monster voice and lifting my hands in front of my face and curling my fingers so they looked like claws.

My baby let out a giggle that filled my chest with warmth. It was nice to feel it, especially since that warmth had been lacking in recent months. It was hard enough to mourn the loss of Elliott, but the rage at the realization that he had been cheating piled on top of all that sorrow. I bounced between crying because I missed him to wishing he was still alive so I could yell and cuss him out and slap him across the face for betraying our marriage. Trying to keep his memory alive for my kids, smiling as they remembered the happy times with their father, was a knife to my heart, over and over again. But I couldn’t bring myself to tarnish him in their eyes. As far as I was concerned, they never needed to know.

I’d been keeping Elliott’s secrets to myself for months and they were starting to eat at my insides. It had gotten so bad it had driven me to Alpha Omega and to a blast from my past I hadn’t been prepared for.

I hadn’t been thrilled to reveal all my secrets to Rhodes, the first boy to break my heart—confessing that the last man I’d been with had shattered it all over again—but the need for answers kept me from bolting out of there.

To my surprise, by the time I finished telling Linc and Rhodes my story, I’d left their office feeling a bit lighter. It was nice no longer being the only one to carry the weight of my deceased husband’s infidelity.

I pushed up to sitting, shoving the tangled mop of my hair out my face. “Are you sure the monster in your belly didn’t say it wanted oatmeal?”

Her face pinched up like I’d just suggested we eat dog poo for breakfast. “No, Mommy,” she said with more seriousness than a little four-year-old should have been capable of. “It said waffles. I heard it.” Her Rs still came out sounding like Ws, making her solemnity that much more adorable.

Throwing the covers back, I climbed out of the bed and lifted my arms high, stretching the last of the sleep from my body. “Okay, chickadee. Let’s go see about taking care of that monster, huh?”

“Yay!” She sprang to her feet on my bed and hopped her way to the foot before launching herself off, barely giving me a second to brace to catch her. I let out an oof as I got my arms around her just in time. She’d hit another growth spurt recently—it seemed like she was hitting one every other week—and it was getting harder and harder to hold my baby girl. It was only a matter of time before she would be too heavy for me to hold, and I didn’t think there was anything I could do to prepare for that.

I propped her on my hip and brushed her fiery red mass of curls out of her face to press a kiss to her temple. That hair was something she’d gotten from my mother, along with her sassy personality. She also shared the same shade of turquois blue eyes as my mother and me. She looked like a miniature version of Nona Wanderly while my other daughter Adeline and my son, Avett, both had their father’s chestnut hair and velvety umber eyes.

I’d always loved that two of my babies shared their dad’s goldish brown eyes, but now every time I had a thought like that, a sour taste formed in my mouth and my stomach twisted up. I hated that all my happy thoughts of my husband felt tainted now. I could only hope that the pain would eventually fade and I’d be able to look back at those memories without feeling like I’d been kicked in the chest with a steel-toed boot. But for now, I’d continue to pretend for the sake of my kids.

I descended the stairs to the first floor with Ainsley still attached to my hip and headed for the kitchen, successfully skirting the gigantic running shoes scattered about and stepping over the dirty socks on the living room floor. We’d been crashing with my brother Tristan since moving back to Hope Valley, and he wasn’t the best at housekeeping. Fortunately, I was a pro at dodging all sorts of tripping hazards thanks to three kids who weren’t big on putting their stuff away. The only thing I couldn’t seem to avoid were Legos. Those tiny little bastards were created by Satan to torture parents. I was convinced they contained black magic and appeared out of thin air the second before you stepped down.

Tristan’s dog, Doc—named after his favorite movie character, Doc Holliday—lifted his head from his dog bed in the corner of the living room and gave me a tired blink before standing on his stumpy legs and stretching his oddly shaped body.

He was part pit bull and part English bulldog, the combination creating something... unique. Tristan had gotten him in the hopes of teaching him to be a guard dog, but the joke was on my little brother.

Doc looked like he should be ferocious, with his short, pointed ears, strong face, and stocky body, but he was an equal combination of lazy and pathetic that basically made him useless for anything other than cuddling. I hadn’t known it was possible for a dog to be so damn whiny. God forbid he stepped on something sharp or another dog barked at him. There was even one time when a bird swooped down in an effort to peck him. It didn’t, of course, but it got close. Doc made a sound like he was dying and collapsed on the ground, howling in agony until Tristan finally had to pick his heavy ass up.

He was utterly ridiculous and I loved him like crazy.

“Come on, Doc. Time to go potty.” He stared at me for a few seconds, blinking as if to say it’s too damn early, woman before finally giving in and slowly meandering behind me and Ainsley toward the kitchen.

I plopped my girl down on one of the barstools at the island with some paper and a few crayons, undid the latch that locked the doggy door in the back door so Doc could do his business, then got to work on breakfast.

Avett and Adeline were old enough now to appreciate sleeping in on weekends, so it was just me, my girl, and Doc as I cooked up a breakfast fit for a king. The only sounds in the sleepy house were the crackle of the bacon on the stove, the wheezy snores coming from where Doc was curled up in his kitchen dog bed—because the spoiled K-9 was too delicate to lie on the bare floors, there was a fluffy dog bed in every room of the house—and the occasional chatter from Ainsley. Her favorite pastime was peppering people with ridiculous questions such as: If you were a dragon what would be your favorite: spittin’ fire or flyin’? or Why don’t dogs go potty in boxes like cats? or Are Avett’s farts so stinky ’cause his guts are rotten?

That last one was a scientific anomaly, and I couldn’t blame her for her curiosity. My son could clear a room in a matter of seconds.

Eventually, the cozy little bubble was broken when my brother came waltzing through the front door. He’d taken after our stepdad, Trick, and was a detective with the local police department. He’d been working odd hours lately because of a case, so it wasn’t unusual for him to crash at the station for a few hours instead of coming home. At the sound of his daddy’s key scraping into the deadbolt, Doc had burst out of the kitchen to greet him.

“Smells great in here,” Tristan called through the living room seconds before he appeared in the kitchen, cradling his dog in his arms like a baby. Only his baby’s legs were pointed straight in the air since they were too stubby for him to bend, and Doc’s head hung backward over Tristan’s bicep.

“Uncle Tris!” Ainsley shouted excitedly at the sight of my brother. With her level of enthusiasm, you would have thought Ains hadn’t seen her uncle at lunch the day before, but I had a feeling that was due to them not getting to spend much time with him until recently.

I loved that they were so excited to be close to their uncle and Nana and Pop-Pop, but that also came with a heaping dose of guilt at the knowledge that they’d only just gotten close to my side of the family because of my own issues.

I’d had my reasons for wanting to escape Hope Valley when I was younger, and they were good enough reasons, but I never should have stayed away as long as I had. This wasn’t a bad place, it just held unpleasant memories for me, so when Elliott and I were deciding where we wanted to start our life together after I graduated from college, I’d been all too agreeable when he suggested we move back to his hometown in Indiana.

My family had made the trek to see us countless times over the years, but I’d never returned the favor, and it took coming back here after Elliott died to realize how unfair I had been.

Tristan managed to put Doc down just in time to catch Ainsley as she Superman-ed off the barstool.

“Hey, squirt. What are you up to?”

“Me and Momma are makin’ waffles,” she announced proudly. “To feed the monster in my belly.”

Tristan’s eyes scanned the kitchen, growing wide before they landed on me. “Jesus, sis. You plannin’ on feeding the entire neighborhood or something?”

I followed his line of sight, taking in the stack of fluffy Belgian waffles at least a foot and a half high, along with an entire package of bacon that I’d fried up, two different kinds of sausage—link and patty, because my children were picky eaters, even when it came to the shape of their food—scrambled eggs, home fries, and whipped cream I’d made from scratch.

Okay, so I might have gone a little overboard.

I waved him off, “It’ll be fine. You’ll eat at least half of this, and ever since Avett turned eight, it’s like one of his legs hollowed out. What doesn’t get eaten, I’ll freeze for later.”

My brother’s brows lifted high on his forehead as he set Ainsley on the ground. “Squirt, why don’t you and Doc go watch that annoying cartoon you love so much with those dogs shaped like rectangles.”

Ainsley scowled up at Tristan with a murderous look on her face. “ Bluey is not annoying!” she declared offendedly.

“My bad, baby girl.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and spun her in the direction of the living room. “I’ll give you five bucks to go watch it without arguing.”

That was all it took for my girl to forget her uncle had just pissed her off. She skipped out of the kitchen, calling for Doc to follow her, and a minute later, the strains of the opening credits to her favorite show carried into the kitchen. Who knew a four-year-old could grasp the concept of a smart TV and its remote better than I could?

I turned my back on Tristan, picking up a dish towel to wipe down the counters that were crumb free and spotless, just so I had something to occupy myself and didn’t have to see the apprehension on his face. I had a sneaking suspicion why he wanted privacy, and that suspicion was confirmed when he finally spoke.

“You’re stress cooking.”

Damn it .

Most people could hide their emotions easily enough, but I’d been cursed with an annoyingly obvious tell I’d gotten from my mom. Nona was a stress baker, had been for as long as I could remember. And while I didn’t have her gift with pastries and sweets, I was a damn good cook. Unfortunately, when I was carrying a lot of anxiety, the only way for me to burn it off was to cook it out.

“I’m not stress cooking,” I lied, though I knew it was pointless. “It’s just that Ainsley wanted waffles, and it’s a huge pain in the ass to get the waffle maker out, so I made enough to freeze so the next time she asks, I can just pop them in the toaster.”

He looked at me exasperatedly. “B, between the lasagnas, the chicken pot pie, the tomato bisque, the white bean chili, and the seven different types of bread you made from scratch, you can’t possibly get anything else in that freezer.”

Since the kids and I had moved in, I’d stress cooked to the point that Tristan’s freezer was so packed with soups and casseroles I’d run out of room and had to start stashing leftovers in my mom and Trick’s freezer.

I shot him a glare over my shoulder. “It’s not seven loaves of bread. You’re exaggerating.”

He let out a chortle. “I’m not. I actually counted. It’s seven. Would have been eight, but I went overboard on that rosemary focaccia. You keep this shit up and I’m gonna have to buy a deep freezer to keep in the garage.”

I gave him a look and tried for that mother guilt our mom had perfected and I’d been trying on my own kids more recently. “Well excuse me for trying to take care of the people I love.”

The face he made told me my attempt failed. “Oh please!” He let out a scoffing laugh. “You can’t guilt me. Maybe that would work if you were our mother, not the brat who shaved off the inner half of my eyebrows my sophomore year of high school.”

I curled my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing and ended up making a sound like a choked snort. “You deserved it,” I said, still refusing to apologize all these years later.

His jaw hinged open in affront. “It was the night before yearbook photos! I still get triggered to this day if someone pulls out that yearbook. I looked deranged, for Christ’s sake.”

A giggle forced its way past my lips. “That was payback for the Toby McGinnis debacle.”

He threw his arms up in defense. “I was trying to help you out! He wanted to know if I thought he should ask you to the Homecoming dance, and I thought I was doing you both a favor by telling him to wait a week because you had PMS and were moody as hell.”

I shot him a blank look. “You told him I had HPV , you dill hole.”

“You know I got confused by all those acronyms. And don’t act like I wasn’t doing you a favor. You couldn’t stand Toby, and there was no way in hell you wanted to go to the dance with him.” He held his hands up in a stop motion and gave his head a shake. “Wait... I’m not having this argument again. You’re just trying to change the subject from the fact that you’re stressing out major about something.”

“I’m not?—”

The face he made cut my denial short. Gone was the little brother who I might have enjoyed tormenting as a kid, and in his place was a cop who wasn’t in the mood to take any shit.

“Don’t bother lying. I already know you’re keeping something from me because more than one person told me they saw you walking into Alpha Omega yesterday.”

Son of a bitch . I should have known it was only a matter of time until that juicy tidbit got out. I’d been gone too long and forgot that there really weren’t any secrets in a small town.

The look on Tristan’s face was a mixture of concern and hurt, and maybe a little disappointment. “I haven’t pushed because I knew you were going through some tough shit, but you’ve been here for months, Blythe. It’s time for you to tell me what’s going on.”

As I looked up into my little brother’s eyes, a wave of guilt crashed over me. He was right. It was time I told him the truth.