Page 3 of Fractured Trust

He noticed Tex and Zac exchanging a glance and rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, is having me sitting here getting in the way of your gossip session? Because if you need me to leave, there’s a couple of very attractive ladies over there that look like they could use some company.”

Tex followed Noah’s gaze to the two women standing farther down the bar. It appeared as if they might be about to pass out with excitement at the fact that not only were three members of Fractured mere feet away, but two of them were,gasp, looking at them. Zac hadn’t even bothered to turn around to see who Noah was talking about. He just shook his head, mouth curved in a wry smile.

Tex looked back at Noah and raised a brow. “You might think everyone’s buying your ‘nothing can get me down’ act, but that’s not the case. Drowning yourself in alcohol doesn’t make anything better. I’m living proof of that. And I’m even more confident drowning yourself in women isn’t gonna get Summer off your mind either. You need to figure this out, Noah. It’s been months since you saw her, and you’re still not back to normal.”

Noah resisted the urge to gesture to the bartender for another shot. Unfortunately, Tex was right. Acting like everything was fine wasn’t helping. The alcohol and women weren’t helping. Maybe he did need to bite the bullet and call Summer. Get it over and done with. Ask her the questions that had been burning in the back of his mind for the last eight months—hell, for the last eleven years. So he could finally move on from it all with a clear head.

“Maybe I’ll go see her,” he said, casually.

Go see her? Where the hell had that come from? He’d only been thinking about calling her. Did he really need to see her to find out why she’d done what she had all those years ago? Did he want to risk once again being dragged under by the painful memories? Or maybe it wasn’t the painful memories that were to blame. Maybe it was the weight of all the good ones that were slowly drowning him.

His mind took him there before he could stop it.

Rose gold hair hanging like a curtain around them; pale green eyes shimmering with happiness; his thumbs brushing pink stained cheeks as he tugged her face down to his; his lips sweeping along her jaw before capturing her mouth…

Noah’s heart twisted painfully. Realizing he was now tapping both hands, one on the bar and one on his thigh, plus his foot knocking against the stool leg as he unconsciously beat out the rhythm to one of their songs, he gave in and ordered another shot from the bartender.

Maybe he did need to be face-to-face with her when they spoke. Maybe he needed to see the truth in her eyes when she explained once and for all what the hell had gone wrong. Because all he had to go on was what she’d said in her message. And the sight that had seared itself into his memory when he’d gone home a few weeks later to talk to her.

Noah’s resolve grew. He needed answers. He hadn’t gotten them back then. Hadn’t confronted her about what he’d seen. He’d just walked away. He should have grabbed her and asked her what the hell she thought she was doing, throwing away their two fucking perfect years together. Throwing away the future he’d thought they’d have.

He picked up the shot the bartender had placed in front of him and tossed it back, relishing the burn as it washed down his throat. If he wanted answers, there was only one way he was going to get them.

Chapter 2

Summer looked at all the empty boxes she’d laid out around the room and rubbed her forehead. God, she was not looking forward to this. How do you pack up over a decade of your life and compartmentalize it into his and hers? How do you separate all those little mementos and memories and decide who gets what? How do you take that final step and draw a line underneath the life you’d lived together?

Even though it had been eight months since her divorce had been finalized, those months had felt almost like being stuck in limbo—living in the house she’d once shared with Deacon, while he, still hopeful of a reconciliation, had moved into an apartment across town. And while she was the one who had filed for divorce, this final reminder that she’d failed at her marriage still hurt.

But at least it was finally done. Their house had sold, and now she had to get herself together, make a plan, sort out the mess she’d made of her life.

Summer sighed and pulled a hairband from her wrist. She gathered up her long hair into a high ponytail, grabbed the nearest object, a book from the coffee table, and dropped it into a box. There, now she’d made a start.

An hour later, she’d barely made a dent in their belongings. She almost wished Deacon was there to help her. Except that packing up the detritus of the life they’d shared, side by side, would be painfully awkward. She was still scalded from the waves of hurt and anger he’d been throwing off the last time they’d spoken face-to-face. That had been two weeks ago, after she’d told him she was quitting her administrative assistant job at his dad’s real estate company. It was a decision she’d made after finally admitting that continuing to work with her ex-husband was getting harder rather than easier the way she’d hoped.

He hadn’t taken the news well.

Summer took a break, making herself a cup of mint tea and sitting at the kitchen table as she regarded the many still empty boxes and everything lying around waiting to be packed. She dropped her head into her hands. How had her life come to this?

Things had been tense between her and Deacon for a while before the divorce, although he’d always refused to admit it. As if by ignoring it, it would go away. Whenever she’d tried to raise her concerns he would dismiss them, insisting everything was fine, just the normal ups and downs of a healthy relationship—unwilling to acknowledge there were far more downs than ups. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, hadn’t wanted to attend counseling. His only response to their relationship deteriorating had been spending longer and longer at work, leaving her to fret and worry alone at home.

At least, he’dtoldher he was working. Summer’s mind skipped like a stone over the notion there might have been another reason for him to be staying later at work. It was far, far too easy for her to assume he was having an affair. It had been her first thought when she’d realized how frequent his late nights were becoming, and she’d spent long hours crying in the bath at the idea he might be cheating on her. But then, she’d never had anything but her suspicions. There’d been no odd phone calls, no perfume or lipstick on his collar, and he’d always looked tired and slightly frazzled when he finally came home.

She still remembered his look of resignation when she’d eventually steeled herself to ask if there was somebody else. The disappointed shake of his head. Deacon knew her too well to be surprised she’d asked. Her trust issues stemmed from long before she’d ever even met him.

An unwelcome memory flickered to life.

She was sitting curled into herself at the top of the stairs, listening to the harsh words being exchanged in the room below. This constant tension between her parents was a new thing, a horrible and unexplained shift in the dynamic of her, until-now, happy and stable family life. The muffled arguments, only half-heard in the depths of night, seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere a few weeks ago.

In her twelve years, she’d barely ever seen her mom and dad fight. Now it seemed to be all they did. She couldn’t figure out what had caused so much anger, and neither of them would answer her questions. She’d begun to wonder if maybe she was responsible for whatever was wrong. Which was why she was here, instead of in bed. Needing to find out what it was she might have done, so she could work out how to fix it.

But now, part of her just wanted to cover her ears and run back to her bedroom. Pretend it wasn’t happening. Because she’d never heard this much pain in her mom’s voice before.

”How could you do this to me?” The torment resonating in the words sent fingernails of anxiety scraping over Summer’s nerves.

Her dad’s voice was harder to make out. A lower rumble that didn’t fill her with a sense of warmth and security the way it usually did. She strained her ears. “I told you, Tina, it was a mistake. A stupid mistake.”

Relief whipped through Summer. It hadn’t been her who’d done something wrong. It had been her dad. The relief didn’t last though. Because her parents were hardly ever angry at each other. And never like this. What could he have done that was so bad her mom sounded like she might shatter into pieces at any moment?

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