Page 50 of Duress (Birch Falls #3)

EVERLY

D ane’s arms wrapped around my shoulders—locking my body against his in the safety of his embrace, while I finally let my grief out—feels more right than any of the previous years of my marriage to his brother.

The soft, worn cotton of his T-shirt dampens from my tears as sobs rack through my body, expelling all the grief I held back over Bryce’s death.

I haven’t let myself mourn properly or process Bryce’s death, too busy trying to right his wrongs and make up for the complicity of my silence.

I haven’t mourned the boy I married. The man I loved.

The husband I thought I knew. The lie I lived.

I’ve become a shark, forcing myself to keep moving, afraid if I stop I’ll sink into the abyss and not be able to find my way back out.

As soon as I got the okay to go home, I immediately began dismantling the charade that was our perfect life, unwilling to play along with the farce any longer.

The last few days have been full of long, grueling hours of packing away a life built on lies and dealing with all the paperwork involved with Bryce’s passing.

I donated his suits to a local nonprofit that helps the unhoused get back on their feet and find jobs.

I’ve packed away photos, mementos of a life that I’m not even sure was real.

Donated the clothes I barely wore because I hated dressing like a stepford wife when Bryce trotted me out at events like a show dog.

The longer I worked at deconstructing the life we had together, the more I realized how much I hated it.

Hated how little of me there is in this house.

How little of my dreams I got to follow.

I threw myself into the work of closing this chapter so maybe one day I can live the life I once imagined having, as a hopeful young girl who had dreams of helping others.

Dane isn’t the only person whose calls I haven’t returned.

I’ve ignored calls from his business associates and our “friends”, their proffered condolences little more than thinly veiled attempts at getting more information for the rumor mill.

I’ve seen news vans parked in front of our house and reporters going door to door interviewing the neighbors.

When something bloody and violent rocks a quiet, posh community like this, they love to try to come up with a reason why.

An explanation. Some sort of anomaly. A deviation from the status quo that would lead to such a tragedy so they can point and say, “Oh, that was just an outlier, that could never happen again. Not here. Not in our neighborhood.” Instead of looking inward to see how they too could fall to such ruin, they look for our faults so they can assign blame and sleep better at night tucked safe in their beds.

I don’t know how long we stand there, entwined, as Dane absorbs my pain, my anger, my guilt.

He takes it all and doesn’t say a word. He just holds me, gently running his hand through my hair, giving me more comfort than I deserve, considering the role I played.

The fact that he can forgive me after everything is testament to how much better he is than his brother, and he deserves so much more than what I can give him.

When I finally pull away from him, it is with great reluctance.

I know once I leave his arms, I won’t allow myself the privilege of his embrace again.

When our eyes meet, there is worry in his.

He knows what’s coming next. He doesn’t want it.

Truthfully, I don’t either, but I don’t see any other way forward for us.

How can there be with such a gulf of fucked uppedness between us?

“Everly—”

I cut him off this time, with a gentle finger to his lips.

I don’t dare let mine touch his again, afraid if I do, I won’t have the strength to do what is right.

Instead I take his hand and lead him to the couch, where we sit, facing one another.

I try to put space between us, determined to do the right thing, but Dane scoots close enough that our knees touch, refusing to break the connection between us.

There’s resignation in his eyes, but also a steely determination.

Like he knows what I’m going to say and is ready to make a counter argument.

“Listen to me, Dane. Your forgiveness is more than I deserve, and I will cherish it and do my best to earn it. I promise. But whatever this is”—I motion between us—“it can’t happen.

Not…not right now. I am not okay, and I need to find a way to be okay on my own.

It’s been so long since I’ve been me , and I need to figure out who I am now. ”

Dane’s handsome face becomes a blank mask as he tries to hide how much my words are hurting him. Even now, he’s trying to make sure he protects me, even from the consequences of my own choice. I try to lighten the mood, hoping he will see this is what I need more than anything.

“I need time. Time and a metric fuckton of therapy. Besides, I don’t think your mom would be cool with me shacking up with one son after killing the other…”

The corner of Dane’s mouth twitches, the barest hint of a smile, letting me know he knows I’m right.

“You made me realize how much I was missing out on. How much I had settled for. At one point I thought Bryce was everything I could ever want. Ever need. But then life became about fulfilling his goals. Making his dreams come true. Making sure his star was always rising. I thought once he got to where he wanted to be, then I could follow my dreams…but it was never enough for Bryce. There was always a bigger case, a higher position, another favor to curry. It was a never-ending pursuit for more fueled by ambition, and my dreams were just one of the casualties.” As I speak, it feels like a weight is lifting from my shoulders.

It wasn’t just the weight of guilt crushing me before, I realize now, but the weight of everything I gave up for him.

For a man who only saw me as tool to use for his own personal gain.

I see how Dane’s leaf-green eyes soften at my vulnerability, understanding dawning on him that I’m no t pushing him away because he’s not enough for me. But because I need to be enough for me.

“I need to figure out how to live for me. How to find my own happiness. You understand that, don’t you?

” I grasp one of his hands, noting the fading yellow bruise left behind from the IV he must have had in the hospital.

It matches my own slowly fading bruise on my wrist. I move to pull away, but his warm hand closes around mine, stalling my retreat. Delaying this break between us.

“Can I ask one favor, Ever?” Dane looks at me with such earnestness that I would give him anything he asks for. Pushing him away is already the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t know how much longer my resolve to do the right thing will last.

“Sure, Dane. Anything.”

“Promise me you won’t cut me out. Let me still be your friend. I’ll give you all the time you need, just don’t disappear on me. I want to see your light shine.”

I nod, unable to speak, my composure on the brink of crumbling again. I have to get through this. I have to let him go. He must sense how fragile my grip is on my emotions. Leaning in, Dane places one last kiss on my forehead before standing and backing away slowly toward the door.

“Take care, Ever. I’ll be here when you figure out who you are.” He winks playfully, trying to keep moment from becoming too melodramatic. I love him for that.

Just as he reaches the door, I spot the brown package on the coffee table that I had been steadfastly ignoring for the last two days .

“Oh! Dane, wait!” I grab the box and meet him at the front door.

“Umm…these are Bryce’s ashes. I had him cremated per the instructions in his will.

I wasn’t planning on holding a service because…

well, because, but I wanted your mom to have them so she can do something.

I’m so sorry I didn’t get these to her sooner, but I was waiting until the investigation was officially closed and…

honestly I don’t know what to say to her…

” I trail off, letting my guilt simmer between us.

Facing the mother of my husband after taking his life feels like more than I can bear right now.

Dane looks at the nondescript container holding what’s left of his brother, his face now a mix of confusion, repulsion, and sadness.

The exact slurry of emotional turmoil I felt when I picked it up from the funeral home.

A long moment passes between us while he wrestles with his conscience over taking it. Eventually he nods and takes the box from me, tucking it under his arm.

“Thanks, Ever. I’ll make sure this gets to Mom.”

Then he’s gone. One second he’s there and then I’m alone again. This time though, I’m alone because I chose to be. Not because I was forgotten about. And that makes all the difference.