Page 21 of Just This Once (Stone Family #2)

Dante

I ’m knee-deep in drywall at The Nest when Taryn’s voice slices through the hum of construction work around me.

She’s on the phone, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.

My hackles rise. Because I know the differences in her voice, when she’s giving shit to someone and when she’s ready to actually murder them.

And I don’t have the money for bail in my account right now.

“No, that’s not good enough. You do this all the time, and it needs to stop.

I—” She stops abruptly to listen for a few seconds and then explodes again.

“You really think they give a shit about that? Because they don’t.

This is supposed to be your time with them, that you fought me for, and now you’re canceling. Again .”

I stand, creeping closer, but my boots are heavy and I wince at my footfalls, but she doesn’t notice me, too busy pacing the room.

“No. I can’t just leave. I’m not like you. I can’t do whatever I want without thinking of the repercussions,” she says, and while I assume she’s speaking to her ex-husband, I’m surprised at the level of vitriol.

“Oh, fuck off. I’m not the one constantly letting the kids down.

That’s not my doing. It’s yours, and you’re eventually going to have to face the consequences of the choices you’ve made.

So, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.

Like always. You enjoy your make-it-or-break-it dinner that you can’t possibly get out of for our children. ”

She lowers her cell phone from her ear and stabs her index finger on the screen to end the call before lifting it like she might throw it. And I literally just finished these walls. She can’t go putting holes in them now.

I catch her wrist, muttering a quiet, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

She spins on me, though she lets me take her phone and set it down, her chest rising and falling with quick, angry breaths.

“I’m so fucking mad,” she seethes, her jaw so tight, I’m surprised she hasn’t broken any teeth.

“He always does this shit. I don’t know why he insisted on dragging me to family court when he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care!”

She shoots her arms out, whirling around like she wants to scream and yell, but keeps it all bottled up.

That’s her whole problem. She’s always so contained.

She needs to let it go.

“Come here,” I say, holding out my hand.

She doesn’t take it, but she does follow me downstairs and outside to where I have extra plywood.

Neither one of us has a coat on, but with how pissed she is, she clearly doesn’t feel it.

I hand her a pair of work gloves and safety glasses then offer her one of the planks of wood.

“Go ahead. Smash it, bang it, whatever.”

After a moment, she accepts the wood and proceeds to go to town.

She takes a running start toward a big oak tree on the side of the property lining the drive and repeatedly thrashes the wood against the trunk.

It breaks and splinters, and when it’s no longer usable, she throws it to the ground then gets another, pummeling that one too.

Then a third and a fourth, until finally she runs out of steam and bends over with her hands on her knees.

I stroke my hand up and down her back. “That was awesome.”

She takes a couple of deep breaths and straightens, pulling off the gloves and glasses. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

“You wanna talk about it?” I ask, opening up the bed of my truck.

“That was my ex.”

“I guessed.” I take her by the hips when she’s close enough to lift onto the back of the truck, then I hop up next to her. “What’s the story there?”

She dabs at the sheen of sweat on her temple and upper lip. “He’s in construction, too. His family owns a real estate and home construction company.”

“What’s the name?”

“Barrett Homes.”

I wrench back. “You married a Barrett?”

She sniffs in irritation. “Yep, Craig.”

Oh, I’ve heard of him. A huge asshole who thinks his shit doesn’t stink. He overcharges and does shoddy work, but he’s a smooth talker. A real slick businessman.

What a douche.

“That family is terrible,” I hedge, and Taryn outright laughs. Though it’s not a joyful sound.

“Yeah. I figured that out eventually.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, but now, you’ve got to deal with all this bullshit.”

She sighs and tucks her hands between her legs, her shoulders drooping, all the fight wrung out of her. “I don’t care about how he treats me or what he says to me, but the kids… He treats them like they’re disposable.”

I curl my hands around the edge of the truck, my usually good temper being challenged. First, because Jake and Maddie don’t deserve a shitty father, and second, because Taryn doesn’t deserve whatever shit Craig put her through.

“What do you mean when you say you don’t care how he treats you or what he says to you?”

She won’t meet my gaze, and already I know whatever she’s about to tell me will make me want to work up my own murder charge.

“It took me a long time to come to terms with the word abuse. You hear it and think it’s black eyes and busted lips, but what he did to me was abuse too.”

I’m almost afraid to ask, my stomach in knots, my muscles tense with the need to find this motherfucker. “What did he do?”

She shrugs. “Little things at first. We met in college, and he started suggesting I wear different things. I thought it was nice… He wanted me to wear things he liked, and I wanted to do that too. I wanted to look good for him, make him happy. But then it was comments about my friends and gradual control of my schedule. He never yelled at me or said anything overt enough to catch my attention. It was slow and insidious.”

I drop my chin to my chest and close my eyes, imagining my duchess feeling controlled by anyone other than herself. I don’t want to believe. I don’t ever want to believe she did or does anything that is not wholly her choice.

“My dad was never around, so I thought Craig’s attention was love.

I thought it meant he really loved me. He was there for me when my mom died, and when he asked me to marry him, I didn’t hesitate.

Then he suggested I quit my job and work for his company, and I did.

Then he suggested I stay home when I got pregnant, so I did.

Then when I started to sell my pottery, he called it a cute hobby.

When I had Maddie, he was barely around.

I couldn’t lift her up after my C-section, but I was so ‘capable,’ he told me he didn’t think I needed him.

I could handle it all myself—the kids, the house, the cooking, cleaning.

I got no help, but he still asked me to work from home for the company part time.

And it was only a few hours a week,” she says, finally turning to me, sarcasm arching her eyebrow, though there is nothing except sadness in her dark eyes.

“Only a few hours a week, on top of everything else you were doing,” I fill in, and she nods.

Her voice is low and reedy, long-held pain surfacing. “So when I got mad and upset, he turned it around like it was my fault. He wasn’t asking much of me.”

“Only everything,” I mutter, hating Craig Barrett for a host of new reasons. Not the least of which is making Taryn Stone cry.

She holds up her hand, counting off her supposed sins with her fingers. “I was selfish. I was nagging. I was cold. I was a bitch. But if I ever got angry at him for calling me a bitch, he’d come back with, ‘Well, I never called you a bitch. I said you’re acting like one.’”

“Taryn—”

“I know. I know I’m not a bitch. I’d just started standing up for myself, but to him, that’s acting like a bitch. But, you know what? I’d rather be an actual bitch and happy than ever be put in that same position again.”

I don’t know what else to say besides, “I’m so goddamn proud of you.”

At that, her self-defense melts, her eyes lighting up, lips curling into a smile I’ve never seen out of her. This is no hint of amusement or a fighting tremor. No, this is a full-blown grin that I feel so deep in my body, it lights up my soul.

This is my duchess. My proud girl.

Makes me want to jump down from this truck bed right now and kneel in front of her, kiss her feet. Worship her inside and outside, for everything she is and everything she gives to the world.

She deserves nothing less than utter devotion.

I was baptized in the Catholic Church. Received Holy Communion in second grade, Confirmed at fourteen, but this woman—this goddess—is who I pray to now.

“So, what do you need help with?” I ask, happy she doesn’t try to argue or fight with me.

Instead, she tells me, “Craig was supposed to pick up Jake from soccer and Maddie from Girl Scouts. Now he isn’t, but I can’t leave to get them.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?”

I hop down to the ground. “Yeah, of course. It’s no problem.”

Tension leaves her shoulders, her breath whooshing out in relief. “That’s…amazing. Thank you so much.”

I wave her off. “It’s really not that big of a deal, Tar.”

But I can see it is to her. She nods, gratitude shining in her eyes. “I owe you one.”

I clamp my hands on her hips to help her down from the truck. “I only take my payment in orgasms.”

She snorts, lightly punching my arm, and I offer her a grin. “I’ll get the kids home and fed.”

By the time I’ve cleaned up my tools, Taryn has texted me the addresses of the locations and forwarded Jake’s and Maddie’s cell phone numbers, as well as included me on a text thread with the kids, informing them I’m on pickup duty .

When I get Maddie, she’s a chatterbox, talking nonstop about Girl Scouts, her really hard math test, and this girl who is in her science class and after-school dance class.

She apparently has Blair Waldorf vibes and is sometimes friends with Maddie and sometimes not.

I tell Maddie to drop this girl like yesterday’s news. She tells me to stop sounding so old.