Page 48 of Moonlit Hideaway
He was struggling with his composure, so she rubbed his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder.
“It was her first big break…” His gaze was fixed on the ribbon of road ahead, distant. “Opening for a star—I forgot her name, but she was Chloe’s idol. Had stopped by Hattokwa on vacation and heard my wife sing.”
“She must have had a beautiful voice.”
“She did, but she was inconsistent; sometimes, she’d freeze on stage… like Emma.”
“Emma’s confidence has increased.”
“I know… it’s thanks to you.”
“I’m sure Chloe was much better than she thought.”
“She was better than I thought,” he said bitterly. “I thought she was chasing pipe dreams. That she’d be wasting her time only to be disappointed when things didn’t work out.”
His jaw clenched, and he turned those stormy gray eyes on her. The pain riding in them clutched her heart, and she wondered how a man like Hank could have discouraged his wife’s dreams.
“What happened?” she almost didn’t dare to ask.
“She never made it.” His voice was flat—deadened with regret. “An 18-wheeler ran her off the road. I sat with her in the ICU while she slipped away. Tomorrow would be the fourth anniversary.”
“Oh, Hank, I’m so sorry.” She wanted to kiss all the hurt from his soul and take the guilt away. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was. Had I been supportive and went with her—made a family trip out of it and brought Emma, things would have turned out differently.”
“You couldn’t have known. I’m sure you were busy with the inn.”
“Nothing that couldn’t have waited.”
Seeing the raw emotion etched across his face, Sierra ached for his pain. Now, she understood the depths of his devotion and the lengths he would go to protect her. He couldn’t bear to fail again.
“We all have regrets,” she said gently. “But carrying around guilt won’t bring her back. Chloe knew you loved her—I’m sure of that.”
Hank inhaled a shuddering breath. “I disappointed her so many times. And she never got the chance…” His voice cracked like a man barely holding himself together.
“She got the chance to be loved by you, and if she saw you beating yourself up, it would hurt her.” Sierra wanted to add, “like it would hurt me if anything happened to you or your family because of me,” but she stayed silent.
The pickup slowed and pulled over on the sandy shoulder. Hank stopped the engine, and before Sierra could react, his lipscame crashing down on hers. All she could do was hold him as sobs racked through his powerful frame. He’d kept the guilt for so long it was killing him. Perhaps his riding off to rescue her was atonement for failing Chloe.
What a big, generous, and caring heart he had, and he was hers, for now. Could she protect him from herself when she inevitably went back to the lifestyle he hadn’t wanted Chloe to have? She should have kept her distance, especially after his mother’s warnings, and yet, she was drawn to him in a way she couldn’t explain. There was a lot about Hank Whitman that she didn’t want to miss out on, and all she wanted was to hold on to this moment before the incoming storm blew them apart for good.
He’d spilled his heart on the pavement, and she hadn’t run over it.
Hank had that drained feeling that left him reeling, and he couldn’t remember ever being this way with Chloe. He was younger then, fresh out of juvenile detention, and being the tough guy was all that mattered. She was delicate and sweet—the only daughter of Bill and Susan Baxter—surrounded by brothers who couldn’t wait to leave Moonlit Harbor. Off they went as soon as they turned eighteen. To the military, to construction jobs, and who knows where. It had broken his in-laws’ hearts, and hence, they held on to Chloe tighter.
So tight that when he’d gotten her pregnant, they were overjoyed because it meant she would stay put at Moonlit Inn. No one believed Chloe could manage a singing career and a child—least of all Hank. She was delicate and unsure of herself. Shewas a country girl and naïve, and the music world would have eaten her up.
Or so he’d believed.
Now, he gave up control by letting Sierra drive while keeping his eyes closed through Virginia. His buddies would call him a wuss, and his younger self would have jeered at how he’d let a woman be stronger than him. Maybe it was age or wisdom, or he was exhausted.
Holding on to guilt and grief.
Bringing up Emma and holding on to her too tight.
Loving a pop star who was sure to go back to her high-energy celebrity life.
The farther to the north they drove—over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, through Delaware, and into Philadelphia—the more he lost his moorings. Watching Sierra exclaim at a sign or noting a landmark while steering through six lanes of traffic like it was nothing told him she was in her element.
