Page 42 of Forbidden Love

Hunter clapped him on the back. “Come on. I’ll drop you off at the farmhouse.”

“You go ahead,” Brock said, unmoving. His feet were planted, body rooted to the spot like he might sink into the earth if he left her alone. “What time are we starting?”

“About an hour.” Hunter paused, his brow drawing down. “Brock… she’s done a lot of damage here. You know that.”

Brock turned, slow and sharp, his glare landing on Hunter. “And?”

Hunter didn’t flinch. “I think someone hurt her worse than we know. She won’t talk to Emily. She’s holding something back. Big.” He shook his head. “She’s got secrets.”

“Who doesn’t?” Brock muttered, eyes drifting back to Deb as Hunter walked away.

She passed Hunter without a word, her head down, arms folded tightly across her chest like they were holding her together. When she reached him, she started to do the same—keep walking, slip past like he wasn’t there.

But he wasn’t letting her go that easy.

Brock reached out and gently caught her arm, halting her in place. “Hey,” he said softly.

She didn’t look up. Didn’t meet his eyes. Her chin trembled, and he watched as a single tear slipped from her lashes and fell to her cheek, then to her chin.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice barely a whisper—and a blatant lie. “I just need a minute, Brock.”

His hand stayed where it was, steady and warm on her arm.

“You don’t have to be fine right now,” he said, his voice low and even. “Not with me.”

Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes red and glassy but steady. A wobbly smile tugged at her lips—small, fragile, but real.

“Thank you,” she said softly, “but I’m fine.”

Brock didn’t believe that for a second, but he let her say it anyway. Sometimes people needed to pretend they were okay before they could actually get there.

She drew in a shaky breath, then wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I just had to face something really hard… something I should’ve faced a long time ago. And now I’m just—” She paused, her voice cracking a little. “I’m just having a moment.”

Brock nodded slowly, not letting go of her arm just yet. “You don’t have to explain anything, Deb. You don’t owe me that.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I think maybe I need to say it anyway. To someone.”

His fingers brushed her arm once before he let her go. “Then I’m here. Whenever you’re ready.”

Her smile came back, a little less wobbly this time. And in her eyes, something flickered—relief, maybe. Or gratitude. Or the first step toward something new.

“Thanks, Brock,” she said quietly.

He just nodded, his gaze lingering on her face like it was something worth memorizing. “Anytime, Deb. And I mean that. No judgment.”

Tears welled in her eyes again, shimmering under the soft light. There was something else there too—regret, deep and quiet, but unmistakable. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just stood there, taking slow breaths like she was trying to get herself under control.

Then, instead of responding, she tilted her head back and looked up at the roof.

“Did you finish?” she asked, voice a little raspy. She sniffed and cleared her throat, trying to steady herself.

“Yeah,” Brock replied gently. “You should be good now. It’s solid. Won’t leak.”

He watched her, wishing she’d let him in, even just a little more. But he didn’t push. He was a patient man—and if it took time to earn her trust, he’d take every second.

“Thank you,” she said, and then frowned, that familiar stubborn spark flaring in her tired expression. “I still wish you’d let me pay you something.”

“You’re already letting my family stay in the farmhouse,” Brock said, his brows drawing together. “If anything, I should be payingyou, Deb.”

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