Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Oh, god.
Oh, god.
Oh, god.
I can’t believe this is happening. My head spins until I’m dizzy with the sensation, and I can’t catch my breath.
“You don’t have the same last name,” I wheeze.
“No. My mother never changed her maiden name. So, I’m stuck with both. Mine is hyphenated, but I just use Kendricks. It’s easier that way.” A small smile quirks the corners of his lips. “Kendricks-Winchester is kind of a mouthful. Plus, can you see that on the back of a jersey?”
I can only stare as my mind cartwheels.
Brayden is the son of Jake Winchester. Not once did it occur to me that his father could be the same man Peter killed in the accident.
“Hey,” he says, interrupting the whirl of my thoughts, “is something wrong? You’ve gone pale. Do you need to sit down?”
It isn’t until he lifts his thumb to wipe away the moisture gathered beneath my eyes that I realize I’m crying. It’s almost impossible to blink back the hot tears. “No, I’m fine.” I gulp down the thick emotion before forcing out the rest. “I’m just really sorry.” In no way does that adequately describe what’s crashing around inside me. The grief that is crushing the very life out of me, making it impossible to breathe.
He pulls me closer until the side of my face is pressed against his chest before dropping a kiss against the crown of my head. “There’s absolutely nothing for you to be sorry about. It’s not like you had anything to do with the accident.”
I squeeze my eyes tightly closed, wishing that were the truth but knowing it isn’t.
And sooner or later, Brayden will arrive at the same conclusion.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sydney
I tip my face toward the warm spray of water and pray that it washes away the guilt that’s eating me alive.
I have no idea what to do.
Should I tell Brayden what I’ve only now discovered? Do I confess that it was my brother who hit and killed his father? That Peter was the stupid kid who’d had too many drinks before sliding behind the wheel of his car?
The thought of pushing out those words makes me sick to my stomach. There have been so many times throughout the afternoon and then evening when I turned to him, fully prepared to vomit out the truth. Each time I opened my mouth, prepared to come clean, I couldn’t do it. The sound refuses to be summoned. It’s only a matter of time before Brayden makes the connection. I’m a little shocked that neither of us pieced it together before this very moment.
Even with different surnames, I should have realized it.
For so long, I’ve done everything in my power not to think about the man Peter killed. Or his family. I’d relegated the information to the back of my brain and locked it safely away. The guilt and sorrow were too heavy to carry around on a daily basis.
Only now do I realize why the photographs had seemed so eerily familiar. After the accident, there had been a slew of articles splashed across the front page of the paper and stories reported on the local news. Every time I’d caught sight of the pictures, it had been like a sucker punch to the gut. There had been one of him in his football uniform the last year he played in the NFL, and then one of his family. It’s the same image displayed on Brayden’s mantle.
Nausea churns at the bottom of my belly until it feels like I’m going to heave everything I’ve recently ingested. I don’t know how much longer I can withstand this. I can’t even look at Brayden without wanting to cry.
When fresh tears sting my eyes, I tilt my face toward the hot spray and allow the water to wash them away. It’s only when my emotions are wrestled under control that I twist the handle and turn off the steady stream of water before stepping out and grabbing a towel. After drying off, I wrap the plush cotton material around my body and stand in front of the mirror. I swipe my hand over the fogged-up glass and glance at the haunted reflection that stares back at me.
You have to tell him.
It’s only right that he knows the truth.
Fresh bile rises in my throat.
Once he understands how our pasts are entwined, he’ll despise me. And I can’t blame him for that. I would despise me, too.
My shoulders collapse under the crushing weight of that knowledge before I swing away from the mirror, unable to look at myself any longer. I grab a second towel from the sleek, silver rack and dry my hair before running a brush through the long strands.
The time we’ve spent at the cabin has been amazing. I feel so much closer to Brayden than I did two short days ago. But now there’s this huge secret weighing me down, pinning me to the Earth. There’s no way this information won’t blow our entire relationship to smithereens. Shrapnel will be everywhere. There’s no doubt in my mind that this will alter the path we’ve been on and send us careening through the atmosphere, never to be the same again.