Page 65 of Colt
“How?” She turned to look at me, and there was something complicated in her face—a flash of something sharp that she smoothed away before it fully formed. “How were you supposed to know? You trusted them. That’s what brothers are for.” She paused, jaw working slightly. “Part of me is still angry you believed it. That you didn’t—” She stopped herself. Shook her head. “But I can’t hold that against you. Not honestly. You’re as much a victim in this as I am. I need you to understand that I see that.”
The weight of it settled over me. Since the night the truth came out, I’d been carrying the blame. And she was handing it back to me, piece by piece, telling me it didn’t belong to me.
I didn’t know what to do with that.
“I had Betty and Graham telling me who you really were.” She finally looked at me. This close, I could see the gold flecks in her eyes, the way her pupils dilated slightly as she looked at me. “They told me about before. About how you were with me. How much you loved me.”
“I still do.” The words came out before I could stop them, rough and raw. “I know I shouldn’t say that. I know you don’t remember, and I have no right to—”
“Colt.” She held up a hand, and for a second I thought she was going to tell me to leave. But her hand trembled slightly before she lowered it, wrapping it back around the mug. “I’m not… I’m not ready for that. I need you to understand that. But—” She paused, choosing her words carefully. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and I had to look away before I did somethingstupid. “I see it. The man they told me about. He’s in there, underneath the anger and the hurt.”
“He never left. He just got buried under seven years of believing the worst.” I risked a glance at her and found her watching me. I became hyperaware of how close we were sitting—close enough that if I shifted my weight, our shoulders would touch.
Lilac nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. “I believe that.”
Her hand shifted on the mug, and her pinky finger brushed against my thigh—just the barest contact, probably accidental. But heat shot through me, and I saw her breath catch, saw her eyes widen slightly like she’d felt it too.
When she finally went inside I didn’t move. Just sat there a while longer, watching the sky go pink, my thigh still warm where her hand had been.
Chapter 26
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— Lilac —
Indira showed up the next morning with coffee and croissants. “Girls’ day,” she announced, breezing into Betty’s kitchen like she owned the place. “Betty, you’re coming too. We’re leaving the boys with Handful—don’t look at me like that, he’s surprisingly good with kids—and we’re going to the spa.”
“The spa?” I blinked at her. “I can’t afford—”
“My treat. Consider it a welcome-to-the-family gift.” She set down the coffee and croissants, her expression softening. “You’ve been through hell, Lilac. You deserve a day of being pampered.”
Betty was already reaching for her purse. “I haven’t had a spa day in fifteen years. I’m not arguing.”
Two hours later, I was lying on a massage table, every muscle in my body slowly turning to jelly, while Indira talked from the table next to mine.
“Dutch and I separated for a while, you know.”
I turned my head to look at her. “You did?”
“Mm-hmm. He was an ass. Not violent or anything like what happened to you—just selfish. Entitled. Thought being president meant he could do whatever he wanted without consequences.” She sighed as the masseuse worked on a knot in her shoulder. “I walked away. Told him I deserved better.”
“What made you come back?”
“He changed.” Indira’s voice was simple, matter-of-fact. “Not just his words—his actions. And I wasn’t even here to see most of it. I didn’t just leave Dutch. I left Millfield, and moved to Nashville because my employer let me work remotely.” She was quiet a moment. “Then my manager retired and I got a promotion. Except the promotion meant I had to be in the regional office. Which is here.” A small smile in her voice. “I didn’t come back for Dutch. I came back for my job. He just happened to be here, proving himself every day without an audience. Which maybe says more than anything else.” She paused. “Sound familiar?”
I didn’t answer, but my silence was answer enough.
“Colt isn’t Dutch,” Indira continued. “Their situations are different. But the principle is the same. A man can say whatever he wants. Words are cheap. What matters is what he does. Day after day, choice after choice.”
“He’s been…” I searched for the right word. “Consistent. He shows up when he says he will. He’s gentle with the boys. He respects my boundaries.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
I thought about it. “Confused,” I admitted. “Part of me is still scared of him. Not physically—I don’t believe he’d ever hurt me—but scared of what he represents. This whole life I don’t remember, this person I used to be.”
“That’s fair.”
“But another part of me…” I hesitated. “When he’s around, something in me relaxes. Like my body knows him even if my mind doesn’t. It’s unsettling.”
