Page 96 of Came the Closest

“Don’t you dare speak to my wife like that again,” Colton says, steel lining his words. He shifts until his hand presses protectively into my lower back. His fingers are tender, but his face is darkened with outright animosity. “She has every right to be here.”

A thrill zipped through me when he said my wife, but inbred honesty prompts me to open my mouth. “Colton—”

Ignoring Stephen completely, Colton leans down. His lips brush my cheek, and he whispers the future was silent before he straightens to his full height, which is two inches taller than Stephen. Another shiver runs through my body. Colton moves his hand to smooth the chilled skin of my exposed upper back.

Stephen’s cool green eyes slide between us, his smirk twisting the corner of his mouth. “Wife, huh? You moved on fast. It’s hardly been a year since the ink dried on those divorce papers I was served.” He pauses, lips smoothing. “Although, Annie, that is always what you wanted—to be a wife and a mother. Isn’t it?”

My lungs empty. I hold my chin up, but Stephen can see the way my jaw trembles. His words hit their intended target dead center. Beside me, Colton goes eerily still. When he speaks again, his voice is pitched so low I can barely hear him.

“You don’t have the right to talk to her like that now, Collins, and you didn’t have the right to speak to her like that then.” Calmness blankets his fury. A dangerous combination when paired with Colton’s protectiveness. “Her personal life nor her professional life is of any relevance to you. Maybe you should be the one ashamed to show your face at an event like this.”

Stephen laughs mirthlessly. His gaze slips to me. “Funny that you ended up with the man who tried to convince you not to marry me, don’t you think?” He shifts closer, and Colton stands taller. “Especially considering the way he lost his temper only a few months ago. I seem to recall that you couldn’t deal with me raising my voice, even when it had nothing to do with you.”

This time, Colton smiles. It, too, is laced with deadly sarcasm. He leans into Stephen’s personal space and drops his voice to a chilling whisper. “Leave my girl alone, Collins.”

Stephen must decide it’s not worth his time or effort to argue with Colton. He turns on the heel of his dress shoe with his chin high. I should let him go, but I can’t. Not without saying what I’ve needed to say for months.

“Stephen,” I call after him.

“Fini, you don’t—”

“I do,” I tell Colton quietly.

His jaw tightens and his shoulders tense, but he nods.

Stephen lifts a brow impatiently.

“For a long time, I held myself responsible for our marriage failing,” I say. I don’t bother keeping my voice steady. “I thought I was the reason you weren’t happy, and I nearly exhausted myself trying to change that. But if I’ve learned anything recently, it’s that I never could have done anything to make you choose your own happiness.”

I pause and glance at Colton. His soft eyes urge me forward, as does the hand he slips around my waist. “Someone recently told me that we have to choose happiness—it won’t choose us, and it certainly won’t come looking for us. So, I want to thank you, Stephen, for showing me what I didn’t deserve. Because of you, I know what I do deserve. I might not have realized it without your help. I just hope that, one day, you can come to that realization for yourself too.”

Stephen doesn’t visibly react to my words, and they might not penetrate deeper than surface level in his brain. He stares at me for a long moment, taps a finger against his champagne flute, and then pivots, his chin just a touch lower than it was before.

Only after he disappears into the crowd do I notice my grandfather, my brothers, and Sam standing paces away from us. Grandpa’s jaw is set, Beau looks downright ticked, Justin wears the most thunderous expression he can muster, and Sam is visibly fuming. All four of them hold Colton’s eye contact as a silent conversation passes between them.

Gratitude swells in my chest. These are the people who’ve stood by me, who’ve stayed quiet when I needed space and who’ve supported me through it all. It makes what I said to Stephen even truer; I couldn’t provide it for him, but I do think everyone deserves to find their own happy.

“He’d be proud of you, Cheyenne. He is proud of you.”

I look up as Sam comes to stand beside me. His hands are tucked in the pockets of his light gray slacks, and his expression is meaningful. “I wish he was here, Sam.”

Colton’s father dips his chin in silent recognition. “I know you do. I wish he was here, too.”

“I painted this to be Colton and Milo.” I gesture to the painting in question. “But…”

Sam turns to face me fully. His gaze is endlessly steady, his thick salt-and-pepper hair pushed back over his tanned forehead, his composure grounding. Much like his son, he patiently gives me time to decide what I want to say.

“But I think I also painted it to be you and Colton, and me and my dad, too,” I continue. “That’s why the towel is fully wrapped around the child, and the child’s head is mostly obstructed by the man’s shoulder. It’s all of us, and it’s none of us. It’s whoever the onlooker wants it to be.”

“And that,” Sam says with conviction, “is why it is just as important as any other painting in this room. You didn’t create it for show, Cheyenne. You painted your heart onto the canvas. Take it from me: That is worth far more than any sum of money, any recognition, and any—”

“Cheyenne!”

Beau’s voice interrupts Sam. We both turn as my brother approaches us. I take in his stark expression and the way his hair looks like he’s run his fingers through it profusely. My heart drops to my feet.

“Beau?” Sam sets a steadying hand on my brother’s heaving shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

“Mom just got a phone call from the hospital,” my brother says, a little breathlessly. Every single word spikes my pulse. “Dad has been moving a lot today. His levels are shifting.”

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