Page 29 of Duress (Birch Falls #3)

EVERLY

I can’t do this. I don’t know why I thought I could.

Day after day of pretending to be the happy, doting wife while simultaneously trying to snoop around Bryce’s study, trying to find…

something? Evidence? A smoking gun? A confession?

I’m not even sure what I expect to find.

It doesn’t help that Bryce has been surprisingly affectionate and considerate of my needs since the day after the fundraiser.

I see glimmers of the man I fell in love with all those years ago.

It’s almost enough for me to question everything.

To feel guilty for sleeping with Dane, for invading his inner sanctum.

But at night when I’m asleep, the nightmares come.

Slow dragging footsteps. Heavy knocks on the front door.

Gasping, pained cries of someone begging for help.

Not someone. Jake. When I open the door, there he stands.

Skin gray and sallow. White, vacant eyes.

Blood dripping from a large gash on the side of his head.

In the dream I always stand there, frozen in horror at the specter in front of me. His plea is always the same.

“Why did you lie? Why won’t you help me?

” When I cry and try to tell him how sorry I am, he just shakes his head, his disappointment covering me like a shroud.

Then he turns and shuffles away, one leg dragging with each step, a large gaping wound on the back of his head, pink brain matter peeking through the red, matted hair.

The first night I had the nightmare I bolted upright, convinced it was real. I had to rush to the bathroom to empty the contents of my stomach, the gruesome memory of his injuries my brain had conjured up more than I could handle.

I had nightmares before, when the accident had just happened and the responsibility of keeping Bryce’s secret was a cross I bore in solitude.

They weren’t this dark though. I think sleeping with Dane has broken something in me.

It’s shattered the dam of flimsy excuses and rationale that kept me from telling the truth about Jake’s death.

Now the guilt has morphed into something raging and overwhelming, threatening to unravel my psyche if I don’t find a way to make it right.

Is that even a possibility at this point?

How did I think I could manage to keep up appearances of the dutiful, loving wife while planning to betray my husband? All the while developing feelings for his brother? His brother who will rightfully hate me if he ever finds out I knew the truth. I’m in over my head, and I’m drowning.

Sighing, I put down the paintbrush I had been holding.

I’ve been sitting in front of this canvas for so long my hand is cramping and my back is screaming in protest. Scooting off the stool, I cast one more look at the painting in front of me.

The setting sun streams through the window, casting a red glow over the ghoulish face of nightmare Jake staring back at me.

I flip the canvas over so I don’t have to stare at the visual representation of my guilt.

Instead, I torture myself by picking up my phone and opening the text thread with Dane.

I’ve kept him at a distance since returning home.

After realizing how easily I could see myself falling for him, I knew I had to keep my distance.

I won’t go back on what I told him I would do.

I will find something he can use to shut down Bryce’s corruption.

But I can’t allow myself to fall further for Dane.

Not when I know heartbreak is the only thing that lies ahead for us.

Dane

You ok?

This message was sent the day I went back home. I didn’t respond, shame over what had transpired between me and Bryce staying my hand.

Two days later, Dane texted again.

Dane

Just checking in. Serena was wondering if you’ll be at game night.

By Serena, I mean me.

I bite my lower lip, fighting a smile at his playful message.

Dane

Just…let me know you’re doing okay. Please?

That last message was sent this morning. I should respond. Let him know I’m fine. Tell him not to message me. Tell him to forget about me. That this won’t work between us. My fingers have a life of their own, however.

Me

Can’t do game night. Have to go have dinner with the Harringtons with Bryce. I’ll try to make it next week. Send Serena my regrets.

And by Serena, I mean you. I miss you.

Shit. I immediately regret sending that text, but before I can undo it, it shows as read, and three bouncing dots appear on the screen, letting me know Dane is responding.

Dane

There you are. I was starting to get worried I’d have to show up and spend time with my dickhead brother just to see you.

I can’t stop the smile his words brings to my face.

Dane just has this way of making me feel seen and cherished.

I used to get that feeling from Bryce. But it’s been so long since he’s looked at me as anything other than a trophy.

Even the glimpses I’ve gotten of the former Bryce this week have been shallow imitations of the genuine affection that radiates from Dane.

Me

No need to subject yourself to such torment. I’m fine. Promise. Just…taking things day by day.

In the back of my mind, a voice says I should tell Dane not to text me.

Not to leave a digital trail, in case Bryce gets suspicious.

We are playing a dangerous game, and Bryce is a suspicious man by nature.

It’s his job to sniff out lies and half truths.

I need his trust, his defenses lowered, if I’m going to find anything we can use against him.

Dane

Can I see you?

Dane’s request causes my stomach to flip, setting off dozens of butterflies in my belly from excitement and fear.

Seeing him is dangerous. I know I won’t be able to resist him if he gets within touching distance.

I’m a flawed, broken woman who can’t seem to do what’s morally right.

Only what feels right. And being with Dane feels so damn right.

Shaking my head, I do my best to let my rational side steer this ship away from the iceberg of bad ideas looming ahead.

Me

We shouldn’t. It’s not a good idea. Bryce is still on edge from our fight.

There. It’s not even a lie. It really isn’t a good idea.

The more we see each other, the higher our chances of getting caught are.

My resolve is weak though. I know it. My body longs to be held by Dane again.

To be kissed by him. To eat breakfast in bed and laugh with him.

To be fucked by him. If he asks again, I don’t know if I can say no.

The sound of the garage door opening startles me from the fantasy my mind has conjured. Blowing out a heavy sigh, I swipe, closing the text thread. Nothing good will come from letting my mind wander down that path. I don’t deserve to dream of such a happy ending for myself.

I find Bryce in the kitchen, sipping from a glass of whiskey. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow revealing his tan, muscular forearms. A sight that used to cause my heart to stutter and wetness to pool between my thighs.

Now it leaves me with a viscous feeling of dread slithering through my stomach. Dreading the next time he wants to be intimate.

After having sex the day I came home, I found myself retching in the bathroom, the combined shame of how my body responded to him plus the memory of what Dane and I did…

That’s the night Jake started haunting me in my dreams. I’ve kept him at arm’s length for the last few days claiming I had a migraine, but my time is running out.

I saw the way he watched me this morning as I stepped out of the shower.

If he hadn’t been running late for a court case, he would’ve bent me over the vanity right then and there. I just know it.

Bryce tilts his head, taking in my appearance, an expression surprisingly similar to concern crossing his face. “You feeling okay, babe? You look…”

“Rough?” I finish his sentence, wincing from his scrutiny.

I know I look like hell. I have circles under my eyes so dark they look like bruises.

My hair hangs limply on my shoulders. The lack of sleep is getting to me, and Bryce has noticed.

My heart begins to pound, wondering if he can sense the guilt wafting from me.

I am so enmeshed with it; it could be a visible aura surrounding me.

Bryce nods his head slowly, like he’s trying not look like an asshole for noticing. I shrug, and force a smile, trying to downplay the fact that I look like the walking dead.

“I guess that migraine and lack of sleep just did a number on me.” I duck my head and walk past him to get a glass of water. He stops me with a hand on my shoulder, and I fight to keep my body from tensing in revulsion from his touch.

“I have to go out of town this weekend for a conference. Chuck sprung this on me last minute.”

My stomach flips in excitement at the thought of him being gone for three days.

It would give me so much time to thoroughly search his study and go through his computer.

I’m already mentally thinking about potential passwords he might use when he gives my arm a shake, startling me.

“Everly, are you listening? Do you want to?”

Shaking my head, I realize I completely missed what he just asked me. “Uh, sorry, I think that migraine is coming back.”

“I said, do you want to come? It’s in New York.

” It takes a moment for me to process his words.

It’s been a long, long time since he’s invited me on a work trip.

Is this bad timing? Is he suffering from a guilty conscience too?

Or is he afraid to leave me alone? I desperately do not want to go on this trip with him. This is too good of an opportunity.

“I don’t know, darling.” The endearment tastes bitter on my tongue.

“I feel like I might be coming down with something. I think that’s what triggered the migraine.

I think I’ll just stay home and rest.” I let my body sway slightly, forcing him to steady me.

The briefest flash of something crosses his expression.

Annoyance? Relief? Suspicion? It’s gone before I can decipher it.

“I was just going to lay down. Let’s talk about it tomorrow if I’m feeling better. ”

“Of course.” Bryce nods and pulls away, the concern that I thought I’d seen moments ago, gone without a trace.

There he is. The detached, work obsessed, callous bastard that my husband has evolved into.

I let my lips turn up slightly in a demure thanks for understanding expression before making my escape to our bedroom, my mind thinking of ways to look sicker tomorrow, so he will buy my excuse when I ask to stay home.