Page 15 of Wildflower and Whiskey
Dad’s voice dropped lower. “Last fall, Charles Chabot came to me with something he’d found. A journal. Maggie’s journal.”
The name alone put a weight in the air.
“What kind of journal?” Becket asked carefully.
Dad’s eyes flicked to him, then to me. “The kind that tells truths no one was meant to read. Maggie wrote about Kyle Jansen and not just as a coworker. They were having an affair. The night of the crash… he was with her because they weren’t just carpooling. Helen knew, encouraged it even, becauseCharles was a bastard of a husband. She wanted her friend to have a scrap of happiness.”
The silence that followed was thick. My stomach twisted. “You’re saying…”
Dad nodded slowly. “I think your mother knew too. And I think it tore her up inside. I can’t prove it, but… guilt eats people alive. It may be why she left.” His jaw tightened. “But Isabelle doesn’t need that weighing on her shoulders tonight. She just got home. She deserves peace.”
Eric exhaled, shaking his head. Asher muttered something under his breath. But me, I was stuck on one thing.
“Does Elyna know? Or Luc?” My voice was sharper than I intended.
Dad’s expression hardened, and he shook his head. “No. And they don’t need to, not yet. This kind of truth… it wrecks people. We keep it quiet until there’s no choice.”
But my thoughts were already racing. Elyna’s son. Braden. His father.
Kyle Jansen was Riley’s father. Braden’s father.
The secret wasn’t just heavy. It was a fuse waiting to blow.
CHAPTER 9
Elyna
Having Luc back home was a breath of fresh air. It was good to see my kid brother thriving. His university team just won the NCAA championship in hockey, he seemed content, happy, and he kept offering to babysit Braden. I’d only ever left Braden out of necessity, but Luc kept insisting I could use a break, and he wasn’t wrong. My life basically revolved around Braden since he was born seven months ago, and I would have it no other way. But it would be nice to head out with friends and do something age appropriate. I just didn’t know if I should tell Luc that Papa was becoming more unhinged as the years went by. My brother always had this romantic version of Papa. That he was just a weak soul, who couldn’t control his temptation for alcohol, but was an okay human being. His view couldn’t be more skewed but after he became motherless at age ten, I wasn’t going to be the one who burst his bubble. I let him think Papa was responsible, that he bought the groceries and not me. That he cooked Luc dinner, even though it was me. I don’t know why I did that, other than it seemed like the logical thing to do at the time. I wasn’t eighteen yet when Mom was killed. I feared Child Services taking Luc away if they learned howirresponsible Papa was, so I made him look responsible, even if he did spend most of his days at the bar and not home. Only things were different now. Papa was different. He was meaner or maybe angrier than he had been in the past, but maybe I needed to play the same game and not alert my brother. I knew Luc would protect Braden and watch him like a hawk. I spent the entire day getting those two acquainted and Braden was smitten with Luc.
I gave the boys some time to get used to each other and got ready for a night out. It had been a hot minute since I’d been out and my clothes didn’t exactly fit the way they used to. Kristie did say that we were going to a bar in the next town over, which I knew was pretty laid-back, so I figured a pair of jeans and a nicer shirt would do the trick. I slipped on my dark jeans since they had a nice stretch to them and I could use the generous give. I paired it with a black blouse I had that was short-sleeved and dipped a bit in the front. It was cropped but on the loser side, which was nice because my breasts had grown larger since having Braden. I fixed my hair into soft curls and gave it a good shake before applying a light lip gloss and brushing some mascara on my lashes. When I stared in the mirror, I saw a woman who had been through a heck of a lot staring back at me. Life had been tough but I refused to give up. I knew I needed to keep my head held high and stay strong for my boy. He deserved a strong mom. Not a woman who would fall apart. My own mother came to mind. She was a beautiful woman, inside and out. I don’t know what she saw in Papa, but marrying him was one big mistake. She didn’t know how to leave. Maybe he threatened to hurt her if she did leave. Who knows. What I did know was that she worked a lot and cared for Luc and me. She had the responsibility of raising us and caring for this house. Papa was no help at all. She was a strong woman, and I wanted to be strong like her.
I blew out a breath and slipped on a pair of cowboy boots I got, just before Riley informed me I had to leave Montreal with Braden. Had I known my life would be crashing down on me, I probably wouldn’t have spent the money. Still, it was a good purchase. The boots looked hot with the jeans.
I took one last glance in the mirror and headed down to Luc and Braden. I went over a few to-do list things with my brother, reminding him how to heat the bottle, change Braden’s diaper before bed, and the most important was not to leave him alone if Papa was home. That last requirement bought me a weird look from my brother, but I just shrugged and kissed his cheek while thanking him.
Then I headed out the door into the night where Kristie was waiting on our driveway, her car filled with my old friends. She leaned over from the driver’s seat as I climbed into her car. “Girl, you look hot. Those boots are giving me life.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “They’re just boots, Kristie.”
“Not when you wear them. You’re making me regret my flats.” She pulled out of the driveway as the other girls squealed in the back, already buzzed with the anticipation of cheap drinks and dancing.
Amélie, who was crammed into the middle seat, leaned forward between us. “Elyna, I swear, if you don’t dance tonight, I’m dragging you out there myself.”
“You’ve been warned,” added Chantal from the other side, already fishing lip gloss out of her purse. “She’ll do it too. Last time she had us forming a conga line with complete strangers.”
I smiled, shaking my head as I buckled in. “Noted. I’ll keep my Sprite ready for courage.”
By the time we reached Le Rustique in the next town, the neon sign glowing against the dark, I’d forced myself into the headspace of just one night. One night to just be a woman, not just someone’s mom, not just someone’s sister.
Inside, the bar was dim but alive with laughter, the clink of glasses, music playing from a local band. We grabbed a high table near the dance floor. The girls ordered pitchers of beer and fruity cocktails while I slid my glass back to the waitress with a smile.
“Sprite for me,” I told her.
Kristie raised an eyebrow. “Sprite? Babe, come on.”
“Someone has to make sure you maniacs get home,” I teased.
It earned me a chorus of groans and boos from the table, Amélie dramatically clutching her heart. “Fine, but you’re still dancing.”
