Page 137 of Things Left Unsaid

“Callan told you?”

“No,Grand-mèredid a while ago.”

“You saw the bruises on her that day we went into town. He beats her. Hospitalized her a couple times.” My thumb scrapes at the label on the perspiring bottle of beer. “She won’t leave him.”

“Are you… close with her?”

My brows lift at her hesitation. “Can’t I spare an enemy from an abusive husband?”

“No.” She grimaces. “I mean, yes. Of course.”

God, she’s pretty.

Does she know that?

I don’t think she did when she was a kid. She was all gangly limbs and bruises from tripping. Massive eyes that saw too much—they swallowed up her whole face.

Not anymore.

“I know you were in the same class.”

“Theo Frobisher used to date her.”

Deep in contemplation, she takes a sip of beer. “Why didn’t he marry her if he wanted her?”

My gaze locks on her mouth. “Is anything in life ever that easy?”

“The Holliers and the Frobishers have never liked one another.”

“The Frobishers hate everyone.” I tip my bottle at her. “They would get along with yourgrand-mère. But they have a distinct dislike of the Holliers.”

“Wasn’t it because Bea’s granddad shot Old Man Frobisher in the ass?”

“Nearly made him a eunuch, which would have ended the line.”

“God, we waste so much time thinking about our lineage. We’re no better than breeders fretting about pedigree!”

“Wish I could say otherwise.”

“So, I’m guessing there’s a correlation between Marvin being a piece of scum, Bea, and you not being able to fire him?”

“Who’s the first person he’s going to take his frustration out on? Tonight, he’ll be nursing his injuries.” I rub my temple where an ache is gathering. “He won’t be able to do much more than groan and moan at her. Two days suspension, without pay, will hopefully make him simmer down rather than have him using her as a punching bag.”

“Do you ever get tired of having the weight of the world on your back, Colton?”

As I’m about to drink some beer, my hand freezes on its upward trajectory. “I don’t.”

“Seems to me like you do.” She hitches a shoulder. Her oversized sweater trickles over one arm, revealing creamy flesh that I want to— “Just an observation.”

“From someone who’s seen more of my brother than me since you moved in.”

“That’s probably why I noticed. You’re very alike.” She tips her head at the letter in front of me. “What’s that?”

“Mail.”

Of theblackvariation.

The bitch of it is, I’ll end up forking over the 20k.

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