Beard Science (Winston Brothers Book 3) (34 page)

“I have proof. I have pictures and emails, sent between the two of them. They’ve been spending most weekends together, driving into Georgia. They have a place together.”

She shook her head, covering her eyes with her hands. “
A place together?
I can’t believe this.”

I nodded once, giving her time to absorb this information. Movement at the kitchen entrance caught my attention. Billy and Beau appeared and they were carrying a tray with a ridiculous amount of food. When they caught sight of my expression, they stopped, then began to back out of the room slowly.

Meanwhile, Jenn shifted on her feet and I winced. They were cut and bruised and likely caused her great pain.

“You should sit down.” I moved to help her, but she stiffened, taking a step away from me.

“Don’t touch me.”

Billy halted his retreat, his eyes sharpening as they moved between us.

Jennifer released a shaky breath. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Because I didn’t want to lose my leverage. If you found out, I knew you’d tell your mother.”

“Damn right I would tell her,” she shouted, clearly furious. But then she sighed and her shoulders slouched, and I watched as the fight seemed to leave her body. “I can’t believe you would do this. I thought—you said you were in love with me.”

Dammit.

Fuck.

Dammit.

“I am in love with you.”

I just wanted to hold her, but every time I took a step forward, she backed away. She needed distance, she needed space, and I needed her.

“No. You’re not. You just want to control me, like my father.”

What?

No.

No, no, no.

I balled my hands into fists of frustration.

Stubborn woman.

“Excuse me.” I barely managed to control my voice. “But that is complete and utter bullshit.”

A spark reignited behind her eyes and it was not a pleasant one. “Really? Because it doesn’t feel like bullshit. It feels like you broke my heart. I trusted you. But obviously you don’t trust me.”

“I do trust you,” I said through clenched teeth.

“But not enough.” She shook her head, her voice breaking on the words. “Not enough to trust that I would choose you over my parents’ disapproval.”

I frowned at her, startled by her claim. In truth, her words hit me straight in the heart and gave me pause. Even truer, dread filled my chest.

I trusted her.

I did.

I trust her. But her parents . . .

“They’ve been controlling you for years, Jenn. And you wanted me to, what? Trust that suddenly their good opinion would cease being the single most important factor in your life? No. I did what I had to do to ensure we would be together.”

“You did what you had to do in order to control the situation.” She pointed an angry finger at me, her face twisted in fury, making my heart feel like it was caught in a vise.

“Fine. Yes. That’s what I did. And I’d do it again. I’d do it a hundred times if it guaranteed that you would be mine and I would be yours.”

Her chin wobbled and her eyes flooded with tears. She wiped them away, huffing a laugh devoid of humor. “Well, you didn’t need to blackmail my father, Cletus. Because I did choose you.”

I frowned, time seemed to slow. “What do you mean?”

“My father gave me an ultimatum before I left. He said I had to choose—you or my family.” Jennifer redirected her eyes to the floor.

I couldn’t draw breath and my pulse strummed quickly and loudly between my ears. I watched her, waiting, fearing her next words.

“I chose you,” she whispered, turning the final screw of the vise as two fat tears left new streaks on her beautiful face. “I chose you over my family, over their disapproval, over everything. I chose you. And you chose control.”

Fuck distance. Fuck space. Fuck fighting. Fuck all of it.

I crossed to her in five steps and reached for her, needing to touch her and do something to remove her hurt. But she twisted away.

“No. Don’t touch me. I don’t want you to touch me. I can’t—I can’t do this.” She lifted her arms as though fighting me off.

I lifted my palms between us, showing her I surrendered. I wouldn’t touch her if she didn’t want me to. But then Billy was there, stepping between us. He tossed a disappointed frown in my direction that made me wince. Then he turned his back on me, gathering Jennifer into his arms giving her a tight hug.

Rationally, I knew I should thank my brother. I should thank him for comforting Jennifer when I couldn’t, when she wouldn’t let me.

Irrationally, I wanted to rip off his arms and legs and beat him to death with them.

She was crying in earnest again, the sound tearing me to shreds. I was a caged animal, listening to the cries of his mate. I was helpless. I hated being helpless.

I hated it.

Billy lifted her, carrying her in his arms up the stairs. I watched them go, took one step to follow and stopped myself. Black spots of fury filled my vision. I tugged my hand through my hair and held my forehead, staring after them.

The edges of my control were shredded and the spiral of darkness—fierce anger—and regret was upon me. My lungs were on fire. I couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.

And I couldn’t stay here.

So I left.

“Suffering is a gift. In it is hidden mercy.”

― Jalaluddin Rumi

~Cletus~

When I left
the house, I went straight to the shed and chopped the hell out of some wood. Actually, lots of wood. Lots and lots of wood. Exhaustion followed, but the acrid taste of helplessness remained.

I rubbed my chest, setting the ax down on the stump, and tried to catch my breath. Images of Jennifer’s eyes as she pushed me away, ripe with betrayal and pain, flashed through my mind. I was fixating on the memory. I couldn’t escape it. My heart bled with it. Gushing, an endless torment.

I squinted at the dark field as I heard footsteps approaching from the house.
Billy,
and he wasn’t being sneaky as he plowed through the grass.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he hollered at me, still several yards away.

“You know what I was thinking. I was out of the boat and wanted to keep it that way.”

“You should have trusted her to make the right decision.”

“Thanks for the advice, Dear Abby. But you’re a day late and a dollar short. I did what needed being done.”

Believing in people hadn’t ever come easily to me. I was by nature suspicious and distrustful, mostly because—if the standardized IQ curve was to believed—the majority of people were idiots.

But Jennifer was not an idiot. Jennifer was brilliant and wise, and kind and good, and everything.

And I’d just fucked everything up.

Billy’s hands came to his waist. “Blackmailing her father?”

“That’s right.” I defended myself, but my words lacked conviction. “The man has plenty of secrets, as most evil people do.” I picked up the ax and swung it at the stump. The splintering wood held no satisfaction for me.

“How many secrets do you have, Cletus?”

I narrowed my eyes on my brother. I didn’t respond. If he was trying make me angrier, if he was trying to increase my misery, his plan was working.

His eyes flickered between the chopping block and me. “We don’t need any more wood split.”

“Too bad.” I set another piece on the block. “Y’all are selfish wood splitters. Maybe Beau is having a hard time, did you ever think of that? Maybe he needs to split some wood. Just because you and Jethro cut down half the forest over the summer doesn’t mean I can’t split wood now.”

“And just because someone has secrets doesn’t mean they’re evil.”

Billy’s pejorative tone had me straightening and meeting his stare, my lungs burning, filling with fury.

“He’s having an affair, Billy,” I said, barely controlling my desire to shout in his face. “Kip Sylvester has been having an affair for several years with his school secretary. He tells Jennifer that dressing like a normal person is sinful and makes her feel ashamed of herself. He takes her money and buys himself fancy cars and boats. He calls her names, belittles her in front of people—his own daughter!”

Billy flinched, lifting his hands and showing me his palms. “Calm down. I know he does, I’ve seen him cut her down before. He’s a terrible person. But I’m not talking about Kip Sylvester. I’m talking about you.”

I continued, ranting mostly to myself. “He’s the stupid one. What was he thinking? That I was bluffing? I’m going to ruin him. I swear, we’re surrounded by assholes and idiots in this town.”

“Just because someone is an idiot doesn’t mean they’re a bad person. And just because someone is smart doesn’t mean they’re good.”

I glared at my brother. This was not the first time he’d reminded me of this fact. I dropped the ax to the ground and turned, searching for a satisfying outlet for my wrath.

Jennifer had been right. I didn’t trust her. I didn’t trust that she would choose me over her parents. I lacked faith. I knew too much. I had too much experience. I was jaded.

Finding nothing to destroy, I growled in frustration and punched the side of the shed. “If ignorance is bliss, then knowledge is a cage.”

“But knowledge is only a cage if you dwell in isolation.” His voice was careful and controlled. “Jennifer is smart. And she’s good. Life hasn’t been particularly kind to her, but she is still kind.”

I nodded, some of my anger giving way to weariness as I thought of her kindness. “I know. Her kindness doesn’t make her weak, it makes her strong.”

“She’ll forgive you.”

I huffed a humorless laugh and shook my head. “She shouldn’t. She should hate me, plot my demise.”

“But she won’t. And that’s why you two belong together. You’re looking for a key to your cage? Well, that woman is it.”

Billy turned, not waiting for a response, and walked back to the house, leaving me in the dark with an ax and an enormous stack of wood. I tore my attention from his retreating back and eyeballed the woodpile. We had so much, we couldn’t fit it all in the shed. The overflow pile was also teetering, already too tall.

Getting rid of it was going to be a pain. If Jethro’s baby were born and older, then maybe we could arrange to sell it, teach the kid about commerce.

Maybe Jethro’s kid and my kid could sell it together . . . and lemonade . . . and Jennifer’s cakes.

My throat tightened until I couldn’t swallow because I saw my future with Jennifer and it included kids. And cousins. And baking cakes and fixing cars. I would make them a sandbox out of a tractor tire and plastic shovels out of plastic milk containers. And when they were old enough, I would teach those little rascals how to use Granny Oliver’s moonshine still to the consternation of their mothers.

It was a future worth fixating on.

And Jennifer was the key to my cage. She was the key to my future. We fit together. Her strengths counterpoised my weaknesses. If she gave me another chance, I would give her my faith. I would trust her completely. I would give her everything. I would tell her everything.

Everything.

Because knowledge is only a cage if you dwell in isolation.

The ache in my chest didn’t ease. The wound festered. The torment persisted. I frowned at the woodpile, discontent settling like lead and acid in my stomach. There was still the distinct possibility that she wouldn’t forgive me. But that possibility felt slim. Jennifer was a forgiving person. Because she was so forgiving, people took advantage of her generous heart.

And, God Almighty, I didn’t want to be one of those people. I refused to take advantage, even though she’d probably let me.

I was at an impasse.

Asking Jennifer to be my key would be asking too much.

But I couldn’t let her go.

I couldn’t.

I can’t.

***

I couldn’t sleep
.

Consequently, I woke up Duane and informed him that I required a getaway driver one last time. He was surprisingly cheerful about it even though it was just after 6:00 A.M.

“Are we sneaking in? Or knocking on the door?” Duane slowed as he approached the Sylvester’s driveway.

“I’m knocking on the door. But if they give me trouble, I’ll need to grab her stuff quickly and leave. You stay in the car until I give you the sign.”

“Sounds good.”

I strolled to the front door, noting that Jennifer’s BMW and her momma’s BMW were still parked in the drive, but Kip’s car was gone.

I rang the doorbell. I waited. I rang the doorbell again.

Diane Donner-Sylvester yanked the door open and stared at me with wide searching eyes. “Oh,” her face fell, “I thought you might be someone else.”

I gave the woman a once-over. She looked messy. Mrs. Donner-Sylvester never looked messy. She always looked tidy.

“You were hoping I was Jennifer?”

She glanced at me sharply. “What do you know about Jennifer?”

“I know where she is.”

Diane gasped, her hand coming to her mouth. “Oh my God. Is she okay? I’ve been worried sick. She left her phone.” Jennifer’s momma grabbed my arm and held on to me tightly, her eyes wide and panicked.

The woman appeared to be truly distraught. Clearly, her husband hadn’t seen fit to fill her in on the details of why Jennifer had left. I turned to Duane and motioned him forward, then gave Diane my somber nod.

“She’s just fine. Though her feet need some rest.” I led the woman into her house, leaving the door open for Duane to enter. “We’re here to pick up some of her things, so she can be more comfortable. Can you pack her a bag?”

“A bag? What? Why?” She stopped our forward progress and stepped in front of me, her eyes darting to Duane as he walked in, then back to me. “No. She needs to come home.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, not today at any rate.”

Diane drew herself up straight and tall, removing her hand from my arm. “Are you saying you speak for Jennifer? You know her mind? What she wants?”

“No, ma’am. I most assuredly do not speak for Jennifer’s mind or pretend to know what she wants. But I do speak for her feet. And she can’t presently walk on her feet. Therefore, she’s not coming home today. What happens tomorrow is up to her.”

“What’s wrong with her feet?”

“She walked from your house to ours with no shoes on. Her feet are in bad shape,” Duane volunteered, his tone accusatory.

Diane swallowed stiffly, her mouth in a tense line as she looked between us. I noticed with some frustration that Duane met her glare with a glare. He wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type.

I should have brought Beau.

Duane should have stayed in the car with his winning personality while Beau could have sweet-talked her into packing the bag.

Her shrewd eyes bounced between us and finally landed on me. “If you don’t speak for Jennifer, then why is she any concern of yours?”

Duane opened his mouth to respond, likely with something else charming and delightful, so I cut him off.

“Your daughter came to me for help,” I hedged.

“I want to see her,” she demanded suddenly, crossing her arms.

I sighed.

I was tired. And as much as I wanted to fight with this woman, this wasn’t my fight. It was Jenn’s fight. As she’d proven many times over the last few months, she was perfectly capable of fighting her own battles. I wasn’t used to allowing people to fight their own battles, especially people I loved.

Consequently, I sighed.

“Mrs. Donner-Sylvester, whether you see or do not see Jennifer is not up to me. It’s up to your daughter. So let me tell you what’s going to happen.” I paused, giving her a minute to react or interrupt. She didn’t. Instead she glared at me—half hope, half anger—so I continued. “We’re going to pack a bag for Jenn—just a few things—so she can be comfortable. And we’ll take her phone, so you can call her. How does that sound?”

A quantity of her anger dissipated, leaving mostly hope. She licked her lips, her eyes moving to Duane, then to me.

“I guess that’ll have to do. But I’ll pack her bag.”

“No yellow dresses,” Duane demanded out of the blue, scowling. “And sneakers or sandals, no fancy shoes. Her feet are bruised, so she can’t wear those fancy shoes.”

Diane narrowed her eyes on Duane and I thought for a moment she was going to tell him to go to hell. Instead she nodded tightly and turned, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she was out of earshot I hit my brother on the shoulder. “Do you think you could dial back the cheerfulness, Duane? I’m getting cavities from all the sweet you’re spreading around.”

He smirked at me, shrugging. “Admit it, you’re going to miss me when I’m gone.”

Despite my tiredness, I returned his smile. “I’m going to miss those blueberry hotcakes.”

“‘Fluffy clouds of awesome.’ Isn’t that what you called them?”

I nodded once, sighing again. I was sighing a lot this morning. Chopping wood for four hours after fighting with the love of your life takes a toll on a person.

Jethro was getting married in a few days.

Duane and Jess were leaving next week.

And Jennifer . . .

“I’m going to give you some advice, Cletus.” Duane hit my shoulder. “It’s something you once said to me.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.” He grinned, big and wide, and that was a sight to see. Duane never grinned, not really, not unless Jessica was in the room.

I braced myself for whatever nugget of excrement he was about to toss at me.

“Everything is temporary, Cletus. This,” he gestured to our surroundings, “this is temporary. Even mountains fall. Nothing lasts forever. You got a chance at happiness, even for a week, a month, a year? You grab it and hold on to it for as long as it lasts. I want you to seize.”

“You want me to seize?” I asked flatly, lifting my eyebrow at his little performance.

“That’s right. You seize that woman, Cletus. You make her yours. And then after,” still grinning, Duane dropped his hand on my shoulder and gave me a little shake, “you give that woman your sausage.”