Page 113 of Whiskey Proposal

My rush is panicking them, but I don’t have time to calm the birds. I sprint inside and straight to the office.

“No.” The cry that rips from my throat sounds like it’s from someone else.

The white envelope is open and papers cover the desk.

My heart breaks in two, and I double over. “Dammit!”

And Lane’s not here. The second envelope is gone.

Why did I do that? Why didn’t I just leave them at the law office and tell them to shred the shit out of them?

I have to talk to him. I have to tell him that I don’t want this, that I thought I was being prudent.

He’s probably next door, waiting to sign off on the trust and be done with me since I’ve done nothing but push against all the love he’s trying to show. I run back through the house and outside. I throw the pickup in park and fishtail through my turn.

Lane’s going to walk. I knew it was going to happen. I could take my time. I could walk to my brother’s and let the panic roll through me so I’m not a wild woman charging toward my husband. I could show up calm and collected and ready to hear him tell me that the deal is done and I’m finally free to go.

A tear rolls down my cheek.

When I arrive, Lane’s pickup is there, next to my brother’s, and the same car from when I first rolled into town is parked in the same spot as last time. No one’s outside.

Gravel scatters when I stop, and once again I throw the pickup into park. I kill the engine and dive out, not bothering to straighten my linen shorts and pink blouse. I look way too summery to be told I’m unwanted again.

This time, it’s my own fault.

I take the stairs up to the porch in two bounds and ram through the door. I’m hit by a faintly familiar cedar smell smothered by new paint and pine cleaner. That should stop me in my tracks, but it’s so unimportant now that I push through.

The floor plan of this place is still imprinted in my memory, and I beeline right for the kitchen.

I skid to a stop when my gaze lands on Lane. He’s not sitting around the table like Zack and my brother. He’s leaning against a yellowed Formica counter that tugs at more memories. I’ll worry about that at another time. He lifts his head to meet my gaze, and disbelief flares in his eyes, but it doesn’t hide the weight in his expression, or the heaviness around his shoulders. It stops me in my tracks.

My heart pounds against my sternum, and I’m breathing through a heavy rag.

Brooks cranes his head to look at me. Astonishment dawns across his face. “Emerson? Holy shit—everything okay?”

“I didn’t mean it,” I blurt out.

Zack clears his throat and folds his hands, his gaze darting around to each of us. Brooks scoots his chair around.

“I contacted the attorney.” I swallow hard and heat sears the back of my eyes. My pleading might come off as pathetic, but I don’t care right now. “And I paid for it, but when I went to pick them up, I wanted to tell him to keep them.” I wring my hands together. “I wanted to destroy them.”

“Let’s give ’em a moment,” Brooks says to Zack, and they both leave me and Lane alone.

“Everyone’s left me, Lane.” Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t care if I sob and hiccup through everything. “I’ve been walked on and passed over in all aspects of my life, and I thought it was inevitable.”

“Em—”

“I felt like I was getting ahead of it all, but I ruined it, didn’t I? You saw them and now you think—” I press my fingertips to my forehead, and tears spill down my cheeks. “But I’m tired, Lane. I’m tired of just letting it happen. I don’t want you to sign those papers. And if you do, I won’t.” There’s probably some way he can still make it official, but he’s going to have to work for it. He’s going to have to show me what a dick he is, such a big one that I don’t deserve him. Because the love of my life would know that I made a stupid decision.

He straightens to his full imposing height, back to being the corporate guy running a billion-dollar corporation while dressed in jeans and cowboy boots.

“I can’t tell you what it means that you charged into this house for me.” He prowls toward me, but I don’t want to move. “You did it.”

“I had to tell you before you signed them.”

“I wasn’t going to sign a damn thing, Em,” he says it so softly it’s like a caress and gently wipes the tears from my cheeks.

“You weren’t?” That’s just too good to be true. What does he really mean?