Worth The Effort (The Worth Series Book 4: A Copper Country Romance) (30 page)

“Yeah, I know. He can be a dick, that’s for sure, but he’s my brother and I love him.”

That was the problem. So did she.

A
fter lunch, Twain took her to the ski hill. “The only place I know where the deck is open this time of year and you can get some rays—even if they come with a minus-ten-degree wind-chill factor.”

He got her settled on the outdoor deck, a blanket from his truck wrapped around her in addition to her parka, then went inside the chalet. When he came back, he handed her a hot chocolate and then sat on the same side of the picnic table as she, both facing the hill.

They sipped their drinks, she mindlessly watching the skiers coming down the hill, Twain more avidly watching.

“See the kid in the yellow ski jacket? The one with the red hat?” he said, pointing to a group on the east side of the hill.

Deni nodded, picking out the skier.

“That’s my son, Matty.”

“Oh,” she said, and watched the boy ski the hill with grace and skill. “He’s good.”

“Not bad. We’re all still kind of in shock that he’d rather ski than play hockey, but we’re dealing with it.” The pride in Twain’s voice contradicted his words.

“Do you have him today? Am I keeping you from time with your son?”

“Nah. Yes, I have him this weekend, but he wanted to be dropped off here first thing, and I’m not supposed to pick him up until five. He’s at that age now where it’s all about his friends. And skiing.” Wistfulness was in Twain’s voice.

“And yet here we are, watching him. Well before five.”

Twain shrugged. “I thought it’d be good for you to be outside.” He smiled at her. “And yes, I wanted to watch him.”

When he took her home, he sat her in front of the light box while he put another load of her laundry in and brought the load he’d done earlier up to her room.

“Okay, I’ve got to go pick up Matty at the hill, but I can drop him off at home and bring you back some dinner or something,” he said, entering the kitchen as she turned off the light box.

“No, but thank you. I’ve got some chicken breasts in the freezer I’ll thaw out.”

He seemed hesitant to leave. She walked to the big man and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you for today,” she said quietly. “It helped a lot.”

“Good, I’m glad,” he said. He kissed the top of her head and headed to the foyer. She followed him and watched as he put on his coat and boots.

“Please let me know if you need anything,” he added as he stood in the doorway. “I’ll be here in a second.”

Again, the right words came from the wrong damn Beck.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounding yourself with assholes.

~ William Gibson

L
ate Sunday afternoon, Sawyer put his phone down on the counter. Again.

Christ, why wouldn’t Twain answer his damn phone?

Nothing since the one short text from him last night: “She’s fine, and you’re a dick.” Which did make him feel better—well, not the dick part. But he already knew that.

He knew it down to his soul, but the vision of lifting Molly’s mitten from the snow and seeing all the blood had played through his mind on a never-ending loop since Friday night when Deni had called.

And he knew he just couldn’t go through it all again. He needed to distance himself, or this time he surely would go mad.
 

And he knew how to distance himself. He’d done it after Molly’s death, pulling away from the business that, with Andy, they’d grown together. Extracting himself from his family. He knew all about distance.

But he loved Deni and needed to at least know that she was okay. Thus the calls to Twain and Alison.

Sawyer hadn’t heard from Twain since the “dick” text, neither by text nor picking up when Sawyer had called him. Numerous times.

Shit, anything could have happened since Twain saw Deni yesterday.

His gut twisted, his breathing grew labored, but he heaved himself from his chair. “Come on, Luce. We need to go see Deni,” he said, and his dog rose excitedly from the floor.

Three sharp barks from Lucy were the only notice Sawyer had before Twain burst through his door, looked wildly around the room. Seeing Sawyer, he charged and pushed him up against a wall.

Sawyer hadn’t seen his fun-loving brother act like this in a lot of years, not since he and Liv first started having problems. Why would he—

“What happened to her? What happened to Deni?” Sawyer yelled at his little brother, grabbing the front of his coat, much like Twain held him.

Twain pushed him harder into the wall—not the little brother any longer. “Nothing’s wrong. She’s good. Matty and I just had dinner with her before I dropped Matty off.”

Sawyer relaxed, his grip on Twain loosening, until Twain once again pushed him into the wall, this time pinning him there.

“You, on the other hand, are a complete and total
asshole
.”

Sawyer pushed back, which was like pushing against a brick wall. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t spent every waking moment—and they’ve
all
been waking, believe me—thinking about what a dick I’m being? How the woman I love needs me and because I just can’t go through it again, I leave her hanging?” His hands full of Twain’s coat, he pushed again.
 

Twain pushed right back, the framing on the unfinished wall behind him digging into Sawyer’s shoulders. “You love her? You seriously love her?”

“Yeah, so?” Push.

“Then you’re an even bigger asshole than I thought. I could kind of see you not wanting to do the heavy lifting with a chick you’ve only been on a few dates with, if that’s all it’s going to be.”

“That’s not all it’s going to be,” Sawyer responded. “Not with her.”

Push. “That’s not what I’d say after seeing her yesterday and today. I’d say she’s done with your sorry ass.”

Which was Sawyer’s worst fear, and one he’d been obsessing about all day. He took that fear out on Twain, pushing even harder—hard enough to have his own back finally away from the wall.

“What the fuck do you know about relationships? How would you even be able to tell? Liv kicked your cheating ass out the door eight years ago.” He saw his brother flinch, and Sawyer knew he’d hit below the belt. But he felt like he’d been sucker-punched, too, and couldn’t help but share the pain. “I’ll tell you about relationships. I never wanted to be a pussy-chasing hound like you, Twain.” Push. “I
wanted
to be a husband, a partner, a best friend to the woman I loved. And I was.” Push. “But I also wanted to grow old with her, to have a family with her. To be a father to a little girl who had her mother’s eyes and her father’s curiosity. And I’m not.” The fire went out of him then, and he dropped his hands from Twain’s coat. “And I’m not,” he whispered this time. Meeting his brother’s eyes, knowing Twain could see the pain Sawyer felt.
 

Twain’s grip on him loosened, but he gave Sawyer one last shake. “But you could be, Sawyer. You
could
be.” He let go of him, turned, and sat in Sawyer’s only chair. He pulled off his coat. Sawyer went out to the empty kitchen, grabbed two beers from the mini fridge he’d bought for the interim, and handed one to Twain when he returned to the living room. He took his and sat his ass on the newly laid floor. At least he’d put his panic to good use yesterday.

He took a drink of his beer, then looked at his brother. “What is it about me, Twain? Why do I fall in love with women who…who…are in pain? Women I can’t help?”

Twain took a swig of beer, then held a hand up in a “stop” motion. “I saw Molly at her worst, remember? Deni is not Molly. This is not the same, Soy Sauce.”
 

The old childhood nickname, one his brother hadn’t called him in at least twenty-five years, made a small smile rise from Sawyer.

“I know that, I really do. And yet the fear is the same, Twain. The feeling of helplessness is the same. I can’t help her…and I can’t stand to watch her in pain.”

“But you’re going to have to, if you want to be with her.” Twain took another drink of beer and then leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “It’s time to man up, Soy.”

“Christ, this isn’t about just doing the right thing. This is about keeping my sanity. I just about lost it last time, you know that. And you know what? I’d do it. I’d be willing to lose my fucking mind if it would help. But I know it won’t.”

Twain nodded, understanding, knowing. “But you’ve got to ask yourself this: Is living without fear, without the feeling of helplessness at times, better than living without Deni?”

He got up from the chair, walked over to Sawyer, tousled his hair—much like Sawyer had done to him when they’d been little kids—and then let himself out.

Leaving Sawyer on his ass in an empty house…alone.

S
awyer wasn’t in their Monday morning status meeting. Andy didn’t mention him at all, but as they were finishing up, one of the guys asked if Sawyer was now back full time.

“It’s still being worked out,” Andy said. “Though I do expect him in later today.”

So, she would see him today after all. She’d spent yesterday thinking about what she’d say to him when she saw him.

Funny how her Sundays were going lately. Two weeks ago she did some deep thinking about what she wanted out of a relationship—out of Sawyer. And boldly told him the next day at Tootie’s.

Last Sunday, they’d been having sex in the sauna in the morning and beers with Twain at Tootie’s in the afternoon. With Deni knowing on some level that she was already in love with him.

And yesterday, she had a late dinner with Twain and his son and thought about how she could go about falling out of love with Sawyer Beck.

No protractor or CAD drawing or any other feat of engineering was going to help with that one.

Alison had called her to check in yesterday—apparently while she and Petey were driving back from Detroit—and Deni assured her that she felt much better. She relayed to her therapist that she’d gotten out of bed at a normal time (for a Sunday, so like ten), had showered (even without the threat of Twain on the other side of the door), had done the light box, and was going to meet a friend and his son for dinner later (a last-minute decision when Twain had called her and asked).

She’d enjoyed meeting Twain’s son, Matt, and it was nice to see the deep bond between father and son. But it only drove home to her that she was in love with the wrong damn Beck brother.

But loving Sawyer wasn’t enough.
 

Sawyer came in around two. Lucy stopped at Deni’s cube for some affection, but Sawyer did not. No IMs. Nothing.

He was making it a lot easier on her, that’s for sure, she thought, her irritation starting to rise. And yes, in a way he was just following her edict to not draw attention to their relationship in the office. But still.

She worked late, catching up on things from missing work on Friday, but also hoping Sawyer would stay, too, so she could say her piece and go home.

And start falling out of love with him. More mashed potatoes would definitely be needed. Like, Idaho quantities.

Sawyer did stay late, and by six-thirty, they were the only two people in the building. She IM’d him “Can I see you in the conference room?” and got an almost-immediate and affirmative response.

Taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders, she walked into the room and turned the light on, then leaned against the table, waiting.

“Why in here?” Sawyer asked when he entered the room. He eyed a chair but in the end stayed standing. “Why didn’t you just come to my office?”

She shrugged. “Neutral turf.”

He moved to the wall nearest the corner of the table where she was and leaned against it. “So, we need turfs? It’s going to be that bad?”

She relaxed her shoulders a little. “Remember that first day at Tootie’s? When I told you I needed more than a snack?”

“Yes.”

“You seemed to appreciate that I was being honest with you. That I came out and told you what I needed and what my expectations were.”

“I was. It was refreshing. And I liked knowing where I stood.”

“Well, good, ’cause you’re about to get a big dose of honest.”

He moved from the wall. “Deni, wait. Before you—”

She held a hand up, stopping his words as well as his movements. “No, Sawyer. I have to get this out.”

He stopped, standing halfway between Deni and the wall. He motioned for her to go on.

“I’m not pissed anymore about you not showing up or that you sent Twain instead—who has been absolutely lovely, by the way.”

There was just enough of a flare from him at the mention of Twain to give her hope—if he still cared enough to get a teensy bit jealous…could he…?

“I
was
pissed. Really pissed. But I do understand what you were going through. What you
have
gone through. I can only imagine what was running through your mind.”