Fractured Trust by L. M. Dalgleish
Chapter 2
Summer looked at all the empty boxes she’d laid out around the room and rubbed her forehead. God, she was not looking forward to this. How do you pack up over a decade of your life and compartmentalize it into his and hers? How do you separate all those little mementos and memories and decide who gets what? How do you take that final step and draw a line underneath the life you’d lived together?
Even though it had been eight months since her divorce had been finalized, those months had felt almost like being stuck in limbo—living in the house she’d once shared with Deacon, while he, still hopeful of a reconciliation, had moved into an apartment across town. And while she was the one who had filed for divorce, this final reminder that she’d failed at her marriage still hurt.
But at least it was finally done. Their house had sold, and now she had to get herself together, make a plan, sort out the mess she’d made of her life.
Summer sighed and pulled a hairband from her wrist. She gathered up her long hair into a high ponytail, grabbed the nearest object, a book from the coffee table, and dropped it into a box. There, now she’d made a start.
An hour later, she’d barely made a dent in their belongings. She almost wished Deacon was there to help her. Except that packing up the detritus of the life they’d shared, side by side, would be painfully awkward. She was still scalded from the waves of hurt and anger he’d been throwing off the last time they’d spoken face-to-face. That had been two weeks ago, after she’d told him she was quitting her administrative assistant job at his dad’s real estate company. It was a decision she’d made after finally admitting that continuing to work with her ex-husband was getting harder rather than easier the way she’d hoped.
He hadn’t taken the news well.
Summer took a break, making herself a cup of mint tea and sitting at the kitchen table as she regarded the many still empty boxes and everything lying around waiting to be packed. She dropped her head into her hands. How had her life come to this?
Things had been tense between her and Deacon for a while before the divorce, although he’d always refused to admit it. As if by ignoring it, it would go away. Whenever she’d tried to raise her concerns he would dismiss them, insisting everything was fine, just the normal ups and downs of a healthy relationship—unwilling to acknowledge there were far more downs than ups. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, hadn’t wanted to attend counseling. His only response to their relationship deteriorating had been spending longer and longer at work, leaving her to fret and worry alone at home.
At least, he’d told her he was working. Summer’s mind skipped like a stone over the notion there might have been another reason for him to be staying later at work. It was far, far too easy for her to assume he was having an affair. It had been her first thought when she’d realized how frequent his late nights were becoming, and she’d spent long hours crying in the bath at the idea he might be cheating on her. But then, she’d never had anything but her suspicions. There’d been no odd phone calls, no perfume or lipstick on his collar, and he’d always looked tired and slightly frazzled when he finally came home.
She still remembered his look of resignation when she’d eventually steeled herself to ask if there was somebody else. The disappointed shake of his head. Deacon knew her too well to be surprised she’d asked. Her trust issues stemmed from long before she’d ever even met him.
An unwelcome memory flickered to life.
She was sitting curled into herself at the top of the stairs, listening to the harsh words being exchanged in the room below. This constant tension between her parents was a new thing, a horrible and unexplained shift in the dynamic of her, until-now, happy and stable family life. The muffled arguments, only half-heard in the depths of night, seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere a few weeks ago.
In her twelve years, she’d barely ever seen her mom and dad fight. Now it seemed to be all they did. She couldn’t figure out what had caused so much anger, and neither of them would answer her questions. She’d begun to wonder if maybe she was responsible for whatever was wrong. Which was why she was here, instead of in bed. Needing to find out what it was she might have done, so she could work out how to fix it.
But now, part of her just wanted to cover her ears and run back to her bedroom. Pretend it wasn’t happening. Because she’d never heard this much pain in her mom’s voice before.
”How could you do this to me?” The torment resonating in the words sent fingernails of anxiety scraping over Summer’s nerves.
Her dad’s voice was harder to make out. A lower rumble that didn’t fill her with a sense of warmth and security the way it usually did. She strained her ears. “I told you, Tina, it was a mistake. A stupid mistake.”
Relief whipped through Summer. It hadn’t been her who’d done something wrong. It had been her dad. The relief didn’t last though. Because her parents were hardly ever angry at each other. And never like this. What could he have done that was so bad her mom sounded like she might shatter into pieces at any moment?
“A mistake?” Her mom’s laugh was bitter. “And how many times did you make that mistake?”
There was a pause before his voice came again. “It’s not important now.”
“It’s not important? You told me it was a one-time thing. You begged me to let you stay, so we could try to work things out. For Summer’s sake.” Hearing her name, Summer drew her knees in tight to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “You made me feel like I was being selfish if I didn’t at least try. But it wasn’t just once, was it? And you weren’t even careful while you were doing it. You didn’t care about what this would do to me—to us. Did you think about how it would hurt Summer?”
“Leave Summer out of it, she doesn’t matter right now.” Pain ripped through Summer. She didn’t matter?
“Leave her out of it? She’s your daughter. She loves you. You don’t think this will affect her? You don’t think she’ll want to know what’s going on? Why you’re not”—her mom’s voice caught—“not around anymore.”
Summer’s heart stalled. Not around?
“I don’t know. Tell her things weren’t working out. Tell her we’ve grown apart. I don’t know. Anything but the truth.”
“Yes, God forbid she sees you for the selfish prick you are. God forbid she learns the harsh lesson that someone can look you straight in the eye and tell you they love you, all the while screwing you over behind your back. Or should I say, screwing their sec—”
“Jesus, Tina. If you start spewing this shit at her—”
“Don’t worry. I won’t burst her bubble. She’s only just started noticing boys. Hopefully, she’ll have a few more years of believing in true love and happily ever afters before she learns it’s all a pile of shit.”
Summer’s heart thrashed against her rib cage as her dad’s voice rose. “God, Tina. Look, I’m sorry, I’ve told you how sorry I am. You know I love you, I just—”
“Love me?” Her mom’s voice was almost a hiss. “If you loved me, none of this would be happening.”
Summer’s lower lip trembled, and she hugged herself.
“I do love you. It’s just… Damn it. I didn’t go looking for it. She chased me. Always flirting, touching me, wearing those short skirts. I’m just a man for fuck’s sake, there’s only so much temptation I can take.”
“And you couldn’t say no? You let her keep flirting? Let her keep touching you? You let her do it and never tried to stop her. And what, then you just let her fuck you?”
Summer flinched at the bad word she’d only recently learned the meaning of, her body going hot then cold, nausea and anxiety twisting her belly into a hard knot.
Her mom’s voice continued rising in volume. “You couldn’t tell her no? That you had a wife and a daughter that you loved—that loved you—waiting at home?”
Summer’s breath was rasping in and out as scalding tears streamed down her cheeks. She didn’t want to listen anymore. She wished she’d never listened in the first place. After uncurling her body, she crept back to her bedroom, climbed into bed, and buried her head in her pillow, desperately hoping that when she woke up in the morning, it would all turn out to have been a terrible dream.
But with the words she’d overheard still lashing at her heart, and the now-muffled argument still taking place in the room below, it took her a long time to fall asleep. And when she did finally wake the next morning and go tentatively downstairs, still hoping that none of it had been real, her mom was sitting at the kitchen table with wet cheeks and her dad had gone.
Summer closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pushing away the painful memory. Even now, seventeen years later, it still had enough power to make her chest tighten.
And then there had been Noah.
Deacon’s voice from behind her. “I’m sorry, Summer, but I think you need to see this.”
Nope. Summer shut that memory down before it could go any further. If remembering what had happened with her parents hurt, thinking about Noah cut like a knife.
Still.
Over the years she’d managed to shove the memories of her ex-boyfriend down into a deep vault, her pain locked up tight. It had been the only way she’d been able to move on from him, to focus on making her marriage—however ill-advised it had been—work.
But God, seeing him at that concert again all those months ago had shaken her to her core. Was there anything more humiliating than being confronted by your mega-successful, rich, famous, and universally lusted after ex while your own humble life was falling apart? Having her friend ‘let it slip’ that she’d just gotten divorced had made it even worse.
And while it would have been a lie to say she’d forgotten how hot Noah had been at eighteen, seeing him as a grown man—six feet plus of broad shoulders, chiseled cheekbones, flashing blue eyes, and sexy as hell stubble—had sent her reeling. He was at once the Noah she remembered, and a complete stranger. Big and imposing, and so damn virile with his muscles tight and hard from pounding the drums, his skin gleaming with sweat, and his damp, blond hair brushing his shoulders. His eyes had burned into her, but she’d hardly been able to look at him, overcome by a combination of anger at the memory of what he’d done all those years ago and embarrassment that she hadn’t made more of her life when he so obviously had.
After he’d grilled her on why she was there—humiliatingly as if he thought she’d been stalking him or something—she hadn’t been able to get away from him fast enough. But as she’d been about to escape out the door, her heart slowly coming down from its frantic pounding, she’d fought the almost irresistible urge to meet his gaze one last time. To see if he was standing there watching her leave. She’d been so close to looking over her shoulder that her head had even started to turn. But she’d stopped herself just in time. Because if there’s anything worse than your successful, hot, cheating ex thinking you’re stalking him, it’s having him catch you giving him one last, lingering look.
Actually, scratch that. It would be turning to give him one last, lingering look and finding him already gone, leaving you in the dust like he had once before.
So she’d been strong and kept her head held high as she walked out the door.
But later, after her friend Bree dropped her off at home, she’d stood in the middle of her quiet, empty house, feeling the same emptiness swelling inside her. She’d set her purse down on the coffee table, sunk down on the couch, and sobbed harder than she had in years.
She’d cried for her heartbroken teenage self, for the dreams that had been crushed many years ago, for the future she’d thought she’d been building with Deacon that had crumbled around her, and for the part of her that feared she’d never again feel the way she had for those two short years she’d been in love with Noah Taylor.
Summer touched her face, horrified to find tears trickling down her cheeks again. She angrily dashed them aside.
Get a grip,she told herself. She should be crying over her divorce—over the fact she didn’t have a job, and soon wouldn’t have a place to live if she didn’t get her butt in gear—not over a man she’d probably never see again.
Summer had just re-tightened her ponytail to prepare for another round of packing when there was a knock on her door. She frowned as she walked over to it, making sure the security chain was in place before she opened it because there wasn’t a peephole. It was probably Deacon since he’d taken to dropping around at random times in the apparent hope of convincing her to give them another chance. But better to be safe than sorry.
She cracked open the door and peered through the gap, sucking in a sharp breath and almost stumbling back in surprise; her white-knuckled grip on the door handle the only thing stopping her.
“Noah,” she breathed.