Page 20 of Henhouse
The window loomed before her and she couldn’t move. Brayden’s silhouette was cast against the thin linen of the lilac curtains, his head hung. She closed her eyes tight, tears squeaking through the dams she’d built.
“Hope, please. I don’t understand. What’s happened?”
Hope took a shuddering breath, her heart breaking all over again at the worry in his voice. The tenderness. He had scaled the banister to her window twice before, each time asking the same question.She refused to answer. She’d since taped a note to the metal flashing beneath her window so it wouldn’t be seen from the street and inquired over by her meddling family.
She had written three words. Three words she hoped would cut their ties and leave Brayden certain there was no future for them. They were the words he’d read in her book series. Words Kiernan had said to her first love, the one she left behind to find her true calling in the first book. The kindest breakup she could offer without diving into the depths of her own heartache.
Let me go.
“Hope, I know you’re in there. I . . . I don’t think I can.”
She kept silent, her pain slipping into prickling rage. How dare he sound so hurt, so baffled when he was the one living a lie. He was the one who created this mess, who pursued her, made her feel seen and adored. He, who so ardently expressed his love with his words and his touch, had been nothing but a rake. A man bored with his wife and looking for other conquests. Hope nearly choked on her ironic laugh. It turned out even the light, goofy, French bulldog-loving, flower-picking sweetheart—she had once called him that—could turn out as cruel and unfeeling as the obvious womanizing pricks. Like the men she’d thought she’d loved in college. The ones that sparked her turn toward celibacy before Brayden. It pained her greatly that he joined their ranks.
Hope looked back to the window, but Brayden’s silhouette was gone. She scooted off her bed and peered outside. He was nowhere in sight, but her note fluttered in the breeze, now tucked into the trim of the window. She gently lifted the sash and plucked the notecard out before the wind took it.
He had written three words of his own. The only three, she guessed, that he could think to undo whatever had been done. Like the antidote in every fairy tale, the spell to break the curse.
I love you.
Hope ripped the paper to shreds into the wastebasket that sat by the writing desk she only used when in full drafting mode. She took a steadying breath, hand resting on the marred and marked wood of the antique desk, her grief threatening to topple her.
She jolted.
Her gaze danced around the room. Hope started again, looking down at her swollen belly. She let her hand rest on the offending side and felt, for the third time now, as her baby kicked her. Hope smiled. “What? You think I should have kept it?” Another kick.
Hope moved her hands in soothing circles over her womb. She sighed deeply, returned to her pile of pillows, and drew her computer to her lap.
She took another breath and let it all go. For Kiernan and Dominque, she gave the love she had so desperately wanted for herself. For her readers too, so they might believe in love just long enough to experience it before it withered and died. Every wish and hope she had for her life with Brayden. Every glance, every touch. Everything she saw for their future. Everything she felt of their love, however brief, she poured onto the page—the only place it would ever live.
12
The stock room was spotless. Everything had been organized in tall racks securely fastened to the block walls—per Theo’s instructions. The impediments to the exits had been cleared, and Effie had even managed to get someone in to work on the emergency lights within the week. They were going on minute seventy-five of burn time when Theo checked the timer on his phone.
He stretched his arms overhead, his clipboard resting on his lap. He groaned against the ache in his back. Theo commandeered a small metal chair to sit on while he waited the ninety minutes for the safety lights, and it was anything but comfortable. This was the least entertaining part of his job, waiting for the lights. Sometimes he would bring a book or his journal that housed all his poetry, but today, he’d left them in the van.
Stupidly.
Given his last visit here he thought he would have a verbal sparring match with one Miss Effie Thatcher while he performed the tests, butshe was happily occupied in the store claiming she’dleave him to it, after smugly showcasing the hard work she had done in the back warehouse.
If she had any thoughts about how Talia flaunted her affections for Theo and how he hadn’t brushed her off, Effie didn’t show it. Didn’t even mention last night. It was almost disappointing. He sat alone in the back room listening to the trill of her laughter roll through the door he left propped open to his right. Irritating as their first encounter had been, at least he’d had her attention.
He supposed that was something that he and Talia had in common. Their inane desire to be desired. They had bonded over the fact that neither had come into their confidence until college, at which point the fawning and flirting became like a drug.
He exhaled, his head lolling to the side. He hated that part of himself actually. The one that reveled in being looked at, admired, even if it was just for his strong jaw and curated muscle mass. It was vapid and went against everything he stood for, but he couldn’t resist the allure of a sensual gaze meant only for him. He supposed he had years as the quiet emo theater kid to blame for that. He hadn’t realized until he was seventeen and cast as Kilroy inKilroy Was Herethat he was someone who could be deemed a heartthrob. Putting on the armor of the character and wardrobe that showed off his lean muscles stirred something in him—the power of a good story.
So the one he wrote about himself became one of confidence and romance. One that would garner sultry looks at frat parties and respect on poetry slam nights. Sometimes he wondered if he was being his authentic self, or if he was only ever playing a part—the chiseled, roguish worker by day, brooding poet by night. But he realized,that in all likelihood, it didn’t matter. In truth, everyone was playing a part. Best he could do was pray he’d find the fellow cast members that took his life in a more meaningful direction. Aside from Schilling and his own family who were scattered across the country, he wasn’t sure he’d found them yet.
He sighed again checking the time. Ten more minutes. He gazed at the safety light that flickered once, willing it to stay lit so he wouldn’t have to fail them again. It seemed to listen as time ticked on.
Effie poked her head through the open doorway. “Having fun?”
“The most,” Theo crooned, eyebrows raising.
Effie wandered into the warehouse, arms crossed tight over her chest as she leaned against the wall. She looked like she was freezing or holding herself together. Theo wasn’t sure which.
“Didn’t know what version of you I’d get today, Cardboard. Surly safety guy or kind-of-cool craft guy, so I thought it best to steer clear.”
“Kind of cool?”
