Page 71 of Every Promise Broken

Conrad Strauss

I’m finishing up in the barn when I hear gravel kick up outside. I stroll out, finding Whit barreling down the driveway like a bat out of hell. Glancing toward the porch, I make eye contact with my nana, and she chuckles.

“Wonder what’s gotten into him,” she muses.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “But we’re about to find out.”

Whit parks his truck right beside mine like usual, and as soon as he turns off the ignition, he’s flying out of the car. “We need to talk,” he growls, pointing a finger in my direction as he blows past me toward the house.

“Hi, honey,” I tease. “How was your day?”

“Fuck off, Conrad. Now is not the time for your newfound sense of fucking humor.”

Nana’s eyes widen as she claps her hands together. “Alright, that’s my cue to do anything other than sit here.” Leveling me with a look, she adds, “Whatever you did, say you’re sorry.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I grumble, walking over the threshold into the house.

“That’s what they all say,” she calls out after me.

Whit is a man on a mission as he storms down the hallway toward our room. As I follow behind him, I wrack my brain, trying to understand what could’ve happened since he left the house this morning until now. This morning, we enjoyed a cup of coffee on the porch together as we watched the sunrise, and then we had that moment in the bathroom where he helped me shave. He left in a good mood. I felt good about us. What could’ve changed in the matter of eight hours?

“Tell me why you did it!” he demands as I close the door behind myself. He’s pacing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips, and he won’t look at me. My heart rate kicks up, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Whatever is about to happen isn’t going to be good. I can feel it.

“Well, Whit, can you start by telling me what I did, and then we can go from there?”

His eyes dart over to mine, a scowl pinching his brows. “How did you even know? That’s what I want to know.”

“Know what?”

I know what he’s going to say before he even says it. My throat tightens.

“The mortgage, Conrad! The fucking mortgage that you paid off without telling me. How did you even know about it in the first place?”

Shit. Fuck!I take a step toward him, but he takes one back. Away from me. I’m kicking myself in the ass now for not having a chance to talk to him about this before he found out.

“Whit…” I hold up a hand, trying to calm him down. “Please let me explain.”

“How did you fucking know about that loan, Conrad?”

“I accidentally found the documents that day I brought you a spare sweater,” I start.

His eyes narrow on me. “Those were in a folder,” he grits out. “So, you what, took it upon yourself to snoop through my belongings?”

“Okay, Whit, I get how awful this sounds, and yes, I’m aware I never should’ve been looking through your things, but I was worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” he parrots. “Why the hell were you worried about me? And what right does that even give you to go through my things?”

“You’ve been under a great deal of stress lately, even before coming to stay here, and you wouldn’t talk to me about what was going on.”

I take a step toward him, but he holds up his hand, halting me.

“Because it was none of your business, Conrad. And I had it handled.”

“Whit, you were drowning. You did not have it handled.”

Rearing back like I slapped him, Whit scoffs. “It wasn’t your place to jump in and help. Why don’t you get that? Why would you do that, and without even talking to me about it first?”

“I know how stubborn you are, and I knew you would never accept the help.”

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