Ever After All by J.H. Croix

Author:J.H. Croix [Croix, J.H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter Fifteen

Rosie

We were in the kitchen having coffee the following morning when there was a knock on my door. Alarm shot through me, and I glanced over at Wyatt. He sat at my kitchen table, fully dressed, but his hair was damp from a shower. It would be obvious to anyone that he had spent the night here.

He caught my eyes and shrugged. It would be my father or my brother. “Whatever,” I said with a sharp sigh. I turned from where I’d stood at the kitchen counter, filling my coffee mug.

Walking over, I swung the door open, and my brother stood there. “Hey.” Brent looked worried, shifting from one foot to the other. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.

A gust of wind blew through the door, and I gestured for him to come in. “What’s up?” I asked.

He let out a quick sigh before his eyes took in Wyatt and looped back to me. He didn’t say anything. Wyatt dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “Morning, Brent.”

My brother was tactful enough not to ask why Wyatt was here. He glanced back toward me. “Dad needs a ride to an appointment today. I forgot, and I have to get to work.”

I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but I knew my brother was hiding something, and it bothered me. A lot. But now wasn’t the time to get into that. “Okay, what time is his appointment?”

“Noon,” Brent replied.

I reached for my phone on the counter and pulled up my work schedule. “I’ll be at work, but I can have somebody cover for the hour.” I was trying really hard not to get snippy with my brother. It would’ve been great if he had told me sooner, but I wasn’t going to mention that now.

“Thanks. Good to see you, Wyatt,” he said. With a quick wave, my brother was gone.

Wyatt held my gaze as I returned to the kitchen. “You okay?” he asked a moment later as I sat across from him.

I took a sip of coffee and shrugged. “I don’t know. Something is going on with my brother, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“Kenan says he’s doing great at work.”

“I’m sure he is. I know I worry too much,” I replied with a sigh. “I was eight when he was born, and my mom died.”

“Your mom died when you were eight?”

I nodded. “She died from complications after Brent was born.”

Wyatt’s eyes widened slightly, with sadness and understanding flickering in his gaze. He had lost his father during his childhood. McKenna was one of the few friends when we were little who seemed to understand the kind of psychological blow it was to lose a parent.

“That must’ve been really hard,” Wyatt offered carefully.

A familiar tightness clutched around my heart. I took a slow breath and swallowed through the thick feeling in my throat. “It was. I think you probably understand maybe more than most.”

“I know it was really hard when our dad died.”

“I’m sure it was. My dad did his best after my mom died, but he worked a lot.

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