His Brother's Bride

He reinforced the walls he’d built. She wasn’t going to talk him out of that one. He was going to be accountable for the rest of his life.

“Paul was a grown man with the right to make his own choices. You are neither responsible for nor answerable to those choices.”

“I...”

“You were drunk and I’m surprised and disappointed about that,” Laurel said.

He wasn’t going to let the weight of her words crush him. He’d known they were coming.

“But Paul had been drinking, too. And he was the one who decided to drive, whether he was hungover or not. You didn’t say, but knowing your older brother, I’m quite certain he intended to drive whether you were in the car or not.”

He vaguely remembered some kind of threat along those lines.

“And knowing you, there’d be no way you’d let him tackle that feat alone.”

When had she come to know him so well? It had always been Paul for her.

This was the oddest dressing-down he’d ever had. She was listing all of his crimes—though he cringed when he thought of the one to come—and yet, she wasn’t doing nearly as good a job as he did in making him feel like a scum.

“Your point?”

“The accident was just that. An accident.”

Scott sat there, fingers forming a steeple against his chin. He could feel his skin getting tight. Hot.

He must be more tired than he’d thought. He almost felt lighter. As though the weight that he bore every day was giving him an hour off.

For that he’d gladly never sleep again.

“Now, the third thing—the way you say you felt about me.”

“The way I know I felt about you.” The look he sent her was ruthlessly piercing. She wasn’t going to make pretty with this.

Her shoulders slightly hunched, she glanced down. Oddly enough, she seemed more embarrassed than disgusted.

“Yes, well, the fact is, you can’t help how you feel, Scott. I mean, if we could choose who we love, lots of us would choose differently. Heck, I’d have chosen to fall in love long before Paul if I’d had any way to make it happen.”

He stared at her.

“I’d have done it again since, too, rather than be so lonely these last three and a half horrid years.”

He couldn’t find the hole in that argument, either.

“What matters is what you did with the feeling,” she continued. “The only thing you could control was the response you chose, not the emotion itself.”

He wished she’d just yell at him and let him get out of there, drive home and sleep it off in the familiarity of his own bed. Or maybe he’d just sit up in his Blazer all night. That was a hell of a lot closer, and the front seats tilted back far enough.

Hell, he could even bum a pillow off her. And maybe a blanket. Not that he’d need one. He was always warm. But the late summer nights were getting cooler.

“Scott?”

She’d moved over to the edge of the bed, her feet touching the floor. “Yeah?”

“The point is you didn’t make a wrong choice,” she said. “Falling in love was something you had no say over, and your response to that was everything you could ever have hoped it would be. You were honorable. Loyal to both your brother and me, but also to yourself. You did nothing to be ashamed of. You never once acted on your feelings. As a matter of fact,” she chuckled, though with little mirth, “I was completely blown away the other night. All that time we spent together and I never had one hint that you felt anything for me except affectionate irritation.”

Slow down. Stop the train.