Page 17 of Broken Saint

“Wow,” I breathe, taking in the huge wall of windows that reveal a simple yet perfect yard and the glistening blue water of the lake in the background. “The photographs haven't done this place justice. It’s?—”

“That couch right there is my favorite place to sit in the whole house,” she says, nodding to the gray sectional beside me. “Ky playing on the rug, Kane lying out as he watches old films, and me tucked up in the corner—because his massive body takes up all the freaking space—reading. It’s…heaven.”

That jealousy that began in the hall only grows. But it’s not the bitter kind. It’s themy best friend deserves all of this and more, but damn it, I want to feel what it’s like to be thathappyjealousy.

Talking of Kyan… “Where is the little man?”

“Afternoon nap,” she says, her smile growing.

“Having a good day, huh?” I ask, still staring out at the view while she crashes around in the open-plan kitchen behind me.

“He’s a whirlwind. Look away for one second and he’s gone. I thought the climbing was bad, but now he’s on his feet? Jesus.” She pushes her hand through her hair and sighs.

It’s the first time since being dragged through the front door that I’ve looked at her. And while she looks as beautiful as she always does, with a face clean of makeup, I can see her tiredness.

“It’s hard work, El. A turbocharged child and a husband who’s gone almost all day during the season.”

“I can’t imagine,” I say, walking over and hopping up onto one of her black leather stools.

“I can’t wait for the weekend. Mom is coming to have Ky, and I get to…I dunno. Be me again.”

Guilt flickers through her eyes, and I hate that I came crashing in here with my issues while she’s clearly struggling with her own.

“It’s okay to be tired. To admit that it’s not a walk in the park.”

Resting her elbows on the counter, she hangs her head.

“He’s been having nightmares. Four times I was up with him last night. I have no idea what to do to help other than hold him. But I don’t think it’s me he wants. It’s Kane. He’s missing his daddy, and it breaks my heart that I can’t be what he needs. That I can’t help him understand that he’ll be back.”

“Oh, Let,” I say, reaching across the counter to take her hand in mine.

“Sorry, it’s fine. I’m just tired and?—”

“You don’t need to make excuses. Whatever you need, I’m here. Let me help. Hell knows I need some kind of point to my existence right now.”

Pulling her hand from mine, she checks her watch.

“Okay, we’ve probably got an hour to ourselves. We’re day drinking,” she announces.

I want to argue, tell her that it’s a really bad idea. But I can’t find it in me.

She needs it. I need it.

And as we all know, life gets better with every margarita. Right?

I sit and watch as Letty finds a blender and then sets about making us our cocktails. But unlike our college days, she doesn’t empty almost an entire bottle of tequila into it.

She’s much more reserved, and I can’t help but be thankful. If I have too much alcohol, I’ll be passed out before Kyan finishes his nap. And something tells me that Letty might just be too.

“He was fucking his boss?” she shrieks after I’ve told her what brought me halfway across the country on a whim.

“You say that like you’re surprised,” I mutter, taking a sip of my drink.

It’s so good I almost purr.

“Your fiancé was fucking his boss, El. We’re all supposed to be surprised.”

I shrug. “What am I doing, Let?” I ask quietly.

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