Page 16 of Bride for Keeps

“I only ever wanted to be him,” Carter whispered, staring at his hands. Hands he used to think were just like Dad’s. “He was always…right.”

“No, he just thought he was and made everyone too afraid to cross him.”

Carter lifted his gaze. “Except you.”

“We’re different people, Carter. Not because of our blood, but because of our souls. Whatever in your soul prompted you to fall for Sierra and marry her, whatever part of your soul is causing you to drink and lose control over the loss of her, that’s the part you need to follow.”

“But that part feels powerless and stupid and weak.”

“So make it strong. It’s either that or lose Sierra.”

Carter looked into his brother’s blue eyes and felt something like brotherly kinship for the first time in their lives.Make it strong.

What a strange concept. Foreign. But losing Sierra wasn’t an option, so maybe it was time to find some other side of himself.

Not a McArthur. Not what he thought he was or even what the knowledge he wasn’t Dad’s blood son had done to him, but Carter McArthur. Owner of this body, this soul.

And desperately in love with a woman who didn’t want his last name—a name that wasn’t even his.

It was a mess. A terrible mess, and while he wasn’t any good at cleaning up messes, like Cole said…

Maybe it was time to start.

Chapter Four

Sierra woke upin the bed of her youth. The dogged flu feeling, which was apparently pregnancy, seemed ever present and if not growing worse with every day, certainly not dissipating any.

And every day she was faced with the knowledge she was living at home, working on getting divorced, growing a baby and being utterly unemployable. Her work experience was a series of failed retail and waitress endeavors that had ended in her getting fired because she never could quite control her mouth.

She’d had an Etsy store for a while, of paintings and drawings and little things she’d made, but the anxiety of figuring out what to sell and how to price it hadn’t been worth it. Especially once she’d married Carter and hadn’t needed to make any money. She’d been able to volunteer here and there whenever she’d felt like it, and she had planned on that and motherhood being her life.

She’d been an idiot.

She had no doubt Carter would do whatever it took to take care of their child. She would never have to fear her child wasn’t taken care of or fed, but there was the tricky thing of having to provide for herself. Having to figure out what she could possibly do that would make her child proud of her, and support herself as best she could.

Sierra groaned and rolled over in bed. One thing was for sure—she couldn’t keep torturing herself like this. She had something like eight months before the baby was actually here, and she had to take the steps to build a life.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay here. Mom could help with the baby, and Sierra would find a way to be helpful in a way she hadn’t been as a rebellious teen. It’d give her the time and space to find some kind of job that would work around having a baby.

Determined, she flung the blankets off of her and went to the closet where she’d thrown her bag. At some point she’d have to go get the rest of her things from her home with Carter, but she wasn’t ready yet. Maybe once she could go a whole day without having her rings on.

She looked down at the glittery bands on her finger and told herself to take them off. To start now. Be strong.

But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Once she was feeling steadier physically it’d be easier to do. Once Carter filed the divorce papers. Once things felt more…permanent. She was sure it’d get easier and pushing herself to do it wasn’t necessary at all.

One day at a time. Self-care. Being kind to herself.

She pushed the closet door open, then simply stood there. On the top shelf, was a pile of her old sketch pads. Next to it, old canvases and paints. Once upon a time she’d fancied herself an artist.

Dad had been less than thrilled, always telling her to find a more productive hobby. Something that might land her a job. Something stable.

She’d balked at that, but now she understood, sort of. Supporting herself was far more important than she’d ever realized. Dad might have been harsh and a little closed-minded, but he’d been looking out for her welfare.

Art would never really support her, but maybe if she got back into this hobby she loved she’d find some piece of herself. She needed to find some source of strength, some source of…wanting to move forward instead of giving in to this horrible gray world that lay before her.

She pulled down a sketch pad and a pencil. She’d just sketch something. See if it all came back to her. Free her mind and let some emotion pour out. It’d be a good outlet. Cathartic even.

She settled herself cross-legged on her bed, took a deep breath in and out, and then just…let herself sketch. Just like she used to do when she was an angry teenager. She didn’t think about what she was drawing or why, she onlydid.

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