Best Kept Secret (Rochester Trilogy 3)

Nothing much happened, but I’m as worn as if I’d spent all day on a fishing boat. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I had a sunburn. My skin is on fire with Jane’s proximity and how tenuous everything is. She came back to my bed, and back to my arms.

It would be simple for her with another man. She wouldn’t be wary of him sending her away. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to do it in the first place.

The situation with Emily hangs over the table. I told Jane last night we’d figure it out in the morning, and then I left her sleeping. The truth is that I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about Emily. I don’t want to watch Jane’s eyes darken when she remembers how I sent her away. I want to take her to bed and make her forget.

Jane meets my eyes and smiles.

It tugs at some soft, hidden part of me. After everything that’s happened, there’s still innocence in her smile. A sense of hope. It’s always been there. Drew me to her the very first night we met.

I don’t know any way to figure this out that doesn’t end up hurting her. Or me. Or both of us. That’s why part of me wishes I didn’t need her so much. She doesn’t deserve to weather this with me.

“My sandcastle had four towers.” Paige has the air of a person who feels a little sorry for anyone with a lower-quality sandcastle. “Next time, I’m doing eight.”

“Are you going to put hotels in all of them?” It’s a Monopoly reference.

She takes a bite of her fish stick and narrows her eyes at me while she chews it. A sign that she’s thinking about what I said and probably finding several flaws with it. “There wouldn’t be enough room for hotels in those towers.”

“Imaginary hotels, maybe.”

Paige adds another pool of ketchup to her plate. “The guy at the beach didn’t notice the towers. He was too busy being mad at Jane.”

My blood freezes. Jane’s hands tighten around her mug. “Mad at Jane for what?”

“I thought we could talk about it after dinner.” Jane’s voice is soft, but it’s steady. Her tone holds a warning. We’re not going to discuss it now.

“For not visiting.” Paige tips her head back and drops the last bite of fish stick into her mouth. “I’m going to finish my drawing.”

“Five minutes,” Jane calls after her. “Then it’s bath time.”

“Who the hell was mad at you at the beach?”

“Noah came to see me.” She stands up and gathers up her plate and Paige’s. I take mine to the sink and Jane comes to stand off my left elbow. “I can’t put the dishes in the dishwasher unless you move, Beau.”

“I’ll do it. You tell me what happened.”

“When Paige is asleep.”

It pisses me off, how stoic and unrelenting she’s being about this. My mind swings between imagining the worst—a shouting match in front of Paige, maybe even threats of violence—and trusting that Jane would have told me if that had happened. I can’t decide between the two. So much remains unresolved between us that I couldn’t blame her if she wanted to handle it by herself. I could only blame me. For sending her away and breaking her trust. For letting my guard down enough to leave her here with Paige, alone on the beach. By the time Paige nods off to the sound of Jane’s voice reading The Giving Tree, I’m all out of patience.

Jane slides her arm gently out from under Paige’s head. I help her climb out of the bed. We bump into each other, both of us reaching to pull up the covers. Jane concedes without a word, then goes to her room.

I follow her. I make damn sure to shut the door as quietly as I can. I don’t want any chance of Paige waking up.

“Did he hurt you?” If he did, I’ll kill him.

“Jesus, Beau. He didn’t touch me. Noah wouldn’t do that.” Jane lays the book down on her own bedside table. She forgot to leave it in Paige’s room. She lets out a sigh and runs both hands over her hair. The motion makes her arch her back and I’m nearly eaten up with desire and a base need to protect her. “He got worried about me when he found out I left town. He wanted to make sure I was okay.”

“By fighting with you in front of a child?”

“It wasn’t fighting. Not exactly.” Jane crosses her arms over her chest. “He was upset I hadn’t told him I was leaving, and I didn’t tell him I was here. All it would have taken was one phone call.”

Jealousy squeezes at my stomach. “You don’t answer to him.”

“He’s my friend. My oldest, best friend.”