Hot Summer Nights (Lucas Brothers)

Bryant deserves better than this. He always has. Hell, Terry deserves better, too. I’m a mess. Tears burn my dust-filled eyes as I allow my misery to swallow me. It’s not just recent misery, either. It’s everything I’ve been running from since losing my daughter. It all slams down on me, and I just let go of the millions of pieces of myself that I’ve been trying to hold onto to keep from falling apart. It feels as if I’m releasing them one by one until all that’s left is a broken heap. But then, that’s what I’ve been for way too long. I’ve just been faking my whole life. The only time I’ve allowed myself to even be half of the woman I was before Brylee is when Bryant is there to lean on.

I can’t keep doing this. I just can’t. I’m so tired. I bring my knees up against my chest, clasping them tightly and I allow myself to do something I truly haven’t before. I close my eyes, rest my forehead against my knees and gently rock as I let pictures of my daughter flutter through my mind. Her small delicate fingers, her tiny toes, the sweet, pink-colored lips that would smile as she slept. I let myself remember everything, right down to that sweet baby smell that used to wrap around me as I held her. For years, I’ve held myself back, even robbing my son of things we should have shared, things I should have taken the time to enjoy. I’ve only been half of the mother I should have been to my son…

And Bryant?

I don’t think I’ve ever managed to be a good wife. I tried before we lost Brylee, but I was young, so I have no idea if I achieved it. After, I hated myself and I know Bryant thought my anger was directed at him.

God, I want to go back. I want to erase all of the misery, all the pain I’ve caused, and all of the hurt. Most of all, I just want to go back in time and be able to hold my daughter and tell her that I love her and that I’m sorry.

Bryant has no idea—about so much, and I’ve been running—running so that I didn’t have to face the past, running so I didn’t have to face him. I can’t do it anymore. My God, I left him handcuffed to the bed, naked, all because I was desperate to keep yet another secret from him. How could I have done that? Who have I finally turned into?

I have to go back. I have to tell him why I’m going to Dallas. I have to finally tell him everything and pray that he doesn’t hate me half as much as I hate myself.

With my mind made up, I uncurl and swipe the back of my hand against my face in a piss-poor attempt to wipe my tears. Before I can push myself off the ground and do that, however, I hear an unholy growl. I look around expecting to see a bear. Getting mauled and eaten by a bear seems an easier way out for me at this point.

It’s not a bear I see, though. I look up, my gaze zeroing in on Bryant as he comes into view. He’s standing about twenty feet away from me, dragging what looks like a large piece of the wooden headboard from the bed at the cabin. He’s naked, his cock just waving in the wind. He has his loafer shoes on, though, so there’s that. His hair is mussed and there’s something smeared on the side of his face. He looks like a fallen angel that has marched through the gates of Hell.

Correction.

He looks like a fallen angel that is mad as hell, and all of his anger is directed solely at me. It’s this huge well of emotion that feels like a massive tidal wave heading straight for me and I have nowhere to hide before it consumes me—destroys me.

“We have some shit to discuss, wife,” he announces and all I can think is he’s not going to hate me—he already does.

I stand up slowly, stiffening my back. I might as well face it head on. I’m tired of running. I’m tired of pretending that everything is okay.

Bryant thinks he loves me.

But he doesn’t know everything.

29

Bryant

I watch as she stands up slowly, her eyes glued to mine. She rubs her hands down her pants, and as I walk closer, I see her throat muscles move as she swallows. She’s scared. She should be. She’s pushed me too far and I’m not taking it anymore. In fact, I’m done taking it.

“Bryant—”

“Don’t talk, Magnolia. Don’t you fucking talk,” I literally snarl. “I’m so mad right now that I can’t be responsible for what I’ll do to you,” I admit. “First thing that’s going to happen here is that you’re going to unlock me from this damn bed.” I rattle my hand, causing the wood to move against my back, the broken splintered wood jabbing into the cheek of my ass. I ignore that. I’ll make Maggie tear out every splinter with her fucking teeth.