Page 10 of Protecting Her Secrets

“Why don’t you sit down? You look flushed or something.” I take her by the elbow and lead her back into the large, open space that makes up my kitchen and living room.

I’ve been a bit of a dick since I laid eyes on her a couple hours ago, but that’s only because I don’t know how to process my feelings. It’s no secret that my method of dealing with issues is to stuff that shit down so deep, I never see it again, and up until now, it has worked well. Getting pushed out of my home as a teen? Stuff it down. My new bride leaves me before the ink dries on the marriage license? Stuff, stuff, stuff.

Skylar showing up out of the blue didn’t give me time to unearth where I put all that hurt and sort through it. I thought the storm would give me a reprieve before I’d have to see her again, some time to figure out how I felt. I wasn’t expecting her determination to find me, but judging by her reaction to getting snowed in, there’s something more at play here. That’s not a normal reaction. Pissed? Sure. Disappointed? Definitely. Fear? Hell fucking no.

She sinks into my favorite leather chair, the one all men have that’s conformed to our asses, with the leather all cracked and a lighter color from how much we sit in it. She sits on that one, andI allow it because the woman looks devastated. Sprocket whines at her feet until she reaches down to give him a pat.

“You okay?”

“I think so. I hit my head in the crash, and I think maybe I have a concussion. Not sure.”

“Crash?”

“I drove most of the way here before I slid into a tree.”

Of course she didn’t walk all the way up here; she probably would’ve died from exposure. I don’t know why I didn’t think she must’ve had a car.

“Shit. Is that why the bridge of your nose is red and swollen?”

“Probably,” she says, but there’s something she’s not telling me. Something other than the crash. I can see it in her nervous gaze.

“I should be able to get you down the day after tomorrow. Do you have a job to get back to or something?” I sit down on the ottoman in front of her. Familiarity has me wanting to reach out and pull her into my arms the way I used to, but I don’t think that would be appreciated, and doesn’t that feel like a sock to the gut?

She squeezes her hands between her knees, not looking any less stressed. “No. I mean, yeah, I have a job, but I have the next three weeks off.”

“Then what is it?”

When she looks up and meets my gaze, her eyes are glassy, her nose red, and not from the cold. “I have a wedding to attend.”

Those six words have me biting my lip until it bleeds, needing the physical pain to distract me from the emotional. And even though I know the answer, I ask the question anyway. “Whose wedding?”

A fat tear rolls down her cheek. “Mine.”

Chapter Four

Skylar

Walker leans back,running his hands through his hair as he looks away and blows out an audible breath. The devastation I see written all over him is the reason I didn’t want to say it. I hoped I wouldn’t have to, but that was wishful thinking, wasn’t it?

Fate doesn’t make it easy when it gives you a path to happiness, and instead of following it, you veer off course. Now I’m on a path of destruction, and even though Walker is just an innocent bystander, he landed in the blast zone.

“Wow.” He clears his throat and stands. “Congratulations. Excuse me a minute.”

More tears fall down my cheeks, but I can’t be bothered to wipe them away. I knew this would be hard; it’s why I’ve put it off until the very last minute. I’m getting married in just days, and not only does next to no one know it’ll be my second marriage, but the only person I told I was coming here was my best friend. My future couldn’t look any bleaker than it does right now.

Walker slams a door from down the hall, making me jump. I draw my knees to my chest and have myself a good old-fashioned cry. I didn’t want to hurt Walker more than I knew I already had, but I had no other choice. I couldn’t just mail him the papers and hope he signed them because I’d be waiting forever for them to be returned. My only option was to do this in person and rip the scab off the wound.

I should go after him and make him understand, though I doubt there’s anything I could say to make this better. I just need to give him some time to process, and when he comes out, we can sit down and talk about this like adults. First thing I need to do is stop my blubbering. I don’t want him to think I’m throwing down the sympathy card because that’s not why I’m here. I made mistakes, and I’m finally owning up to them.

Standing, I pace to shake the excess nerves from my hands. I didn’t get much of a chance to look around when I first got here, given the almost hyperthermia I was suffering from, so I take that time now.

In one corner opposite the kitchen is a hearth made from the same stone as outside, with an antique-looking wood stove atop it. Shelves are built-in on either side. Each bottom half is stacked with wood, but the top halves store books, little trinkets, and photos of Walker with his three extremely good-looking friends. In one picture, they’re standing around a dead buck, all smiling. I wince and think about how different his life is out here in the mountains. The Walker I knew didn’t even own a handgun and got his meat from an In-N-Out drive-thru.

In another photo, the four men are covered in mud from head to toe, race numbers attached to their shirts. I wonder if the point of the race was who could get the dirtiest because then it was a four-way tie. The common theme amongst all the pictures is that Walker looks happy, and it’s so different from how I’ve spent the last fifteen years. Sure, there were happy momentswith friends and with Dad, but those moments were few and far between.

Glancing around the family room and kitchen, I can tell he’s doing well for himself. The appliances aren’t new, but they’re not old either. The furniture isn’t luxury, but it doesn’t look like it was picked up for free on the corner—except for the leather chair I just vacated, which looks used beyond its years.

The floors are wood, and he has put down a few rugs to make it cozy. He also clearly found an artist he likes, because he has hung similar paintings on a few of the walls. Of course, there’s a monster TV on the wall opposite the oversized sectional that seems to be a staple with all men. At least the ones in my life.

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