Chapter Twenty

Now…

All evening, he heard the sounds of patrons outside the bar, tugging on the locked door, knocking, the bar phone ringing with people obviously wondering why the tavern wasn’t open, but he didn’t care.

They were closed, and they were staying closed.

There was no way he could see familiar faces laughing and having a good time that evening. No way he could hear the music blasting or fill drink orders when all he wanted to do was punch someone.

He’d moved on to a new stage of grief—anger. And it was almost a welcome relief. He knew it wouldn’t last, but for now, he was clinging to the strong emotion that at least made it possible not to feel as though an elephant were sitting on his chest.

Behind the bar, he emptied the dishwasher, stacking clean beer glasses along the ledge. Twenty-four hours and not a word from Whitney. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but complete silence wasn’t it. He’d held out hope that she’d come to him or call or even a damn text to say…

What?

What did he expect her to say?

He picked up a beer mug and threw it across the bar, the glass shattering into a million pieces as it hit the pool table. Resting his hands against the edge of the bar, Trent let his head fall forward. His body trembled, and the myriad of emotions running through him had him all kinds of messed up.

He sighed and straightened, the tense twisting in his gut never easing. He wasn’t sure it ever would. How could it?

Breakups in a small town were torture. A seven-year relationship that everyone had seen as the perfect pairing was going to be the death of him. Shared friends would be caught in the middle. Family was going to be disappointed. He hadn’t gotten the balls to talk to his mom yet, because she was going to be destroyed by the news.

And they would still see each other all the time. How was he supposed to survive running into her on the street? At the grocery store? At Sarah and Wes’s wedding and Jess and Mitch’s wedding…

Too many damn weddings that weren’t his.

He roughly grabbed the broom and headed toward the shattered glass. The bristles collected the shards into a large pile, and he sighed seeing his fractured reflection in them.

“Hey, do you know the door is still locked and there’s a mob of angry, sober people outside?” Angel’s voice said behind him.

He sighed as he turned. “Bar’s closed tonight. You can head on home.” He’d sent Max away an hour ago and told him to relay the message.

“Max told me what happened,” she said sympathetically as she walked toward him, her heeled boots echoing on the empty air. “I wanted to stop by to make sure you were okay.”

He resumed his cleanup. “Fine.”

“I’m sorry, Trent.”

He was, too, but for what, he didn’t know. He didn’t owe anyone any sorrys. He’d been loyal, faithful, honest, supportive, respectful, and loving for seven long years.

Seven years that she’d simply thrown away as though they meant nothing.

Angel reached for the broom, but he held it away. “I got it.”

She shoved her hands into her jeans back pockets and rocked back and forth on her heels. “Okay…well, why don’t I make us some food? I know you probably haven’t eaten.”

He had zero appetite. Just the thought of food made him nauseous. “You don’t have to be here. I’m fine.”

“The closed bar and the broken glass on the floor suggest otherwise.”

“Really, Angel—”

“Trent. Stop,” she said, touching his arm. “I know what you’re going through, and I may not know how to help, but I can make food and just…be here.”

He hesitated. Finding comfort in Angel wasn’t a great idea, but he was a mess, and she did know what he was going through, having suffered a similar fate. If anyone could help him try to make sense of this shit, it was her.

“You’ve been there for me and the boys; I just want to return the favor,” she said.

He swallowed hard and simply nodded.

Twenty minutes later, the smell of hamburgers and fries had his stomach growling. When she placed a plate in front of him on the bar, he begrudgingly reached for a French fry and popped it into his mouth, burning his tongue. “Hot.”

“That’s typically what happens when things come out of a deep fryer,” she said, sliding the ketchup bottle toward him.

He squeezed some onto his plate as she climbed up onto the stool next to him. “So, want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” He didn’t even know where to begin, and rehashing things would only make him feel worse.

Angel leaned over the bar and reached for a bottle of bourbon. She held it up, but he shook his head. Leaning back on the alcohol was a bad idea. He’d finally gotten over the buzz he’d had that morning.

“None for me,” he said, shoving more fries into his mouth.

“Well, I’m going for it,” she said, pouring a shot.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Better than you, but only slightly,” she said before tipping the alcohol back. “My kids have informed me that they want to go back to L.A. and live with Brad. They left last week, and until we can get a court date where I can fight for custody or Brad gets tired of having them underfoot, that’s where they will be staying.”

That was why the boys hadn’t been to football practice. “Damn, Angel, I’m sorry…”

“Apparently, they told Brad that I’m dating Max, so I was the lucky recipient of nasty text messages.”

Trent’s jaw clenched. That prick. His anger and sympathy for Angel’s situation gave him a momentary respite from his own troubles. “Why didn’t you tell me all this?”

She sighed. “I kinda got a vibe that you wanted to keep the working relationship professional. We’d already blurred lines, becoming friends, and technically you’re my boss…”

So she’d caught that. Trent felt like an idiot. Of course he could be friends with Angel. There’d be no harm in it, and he’d let some insecurity make him unavailable when she could have used someone to talk to. Luckily, she’d had Max, but he wasn’t sure his buddy was a great listener when he struggled to keep his lips and hands off the woman. Max meant well, but it was his ear that Angel might have needed.

“Sorry about that. It was…”

She waved a hand. “I get it. It’s hard for some people to believe that a man and a woman can just be friends,” she said, and there was an odd note in her voice that he couldn’t quite figure out.

He nodded, and they continued to eat. As he cleared away their dishes a little while later, she turned on the music and poured two shots of bourbon. This time, he accepted it. “Just one,” he said.

She held her glass up. “To shitty situations.”

He’d toast to that all day long. He clinked his glass to hers, and they tossed them back. Angel set her glass down on the bar and climbed off the stool. “Let’s dance.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Oh, come on. Dancing is one of the known cures for heartache.”

He doubted that, but she yanked his hands, pulling him from around the bar, then dragged him toward the dance floor as the fast-tempo song ended and a sad country western ballad started to play.

He raised an eyebrow. “This is supposed to cure my heartache? A song about a dude losing everything?”

“It’s not an exact science,” she said with a laugh, taking his hand and slipping into his arms.

His chest tightened as she forced his arm to wrap around her.

Whitney loved to dance. She’d pull his awkward ass out onto the dance floor all the time. He’d fallen in love with her in his arms in this very spot years before.

Angel started to sway, and he struggled to breathe as he forced his own feet to shuffle across the wooden floor. The sultry twang of a guitar and the soulful sound of the singer’s pain echoed, resonating in Trent’s head.

Time wasted on a love that was never his…

He swallowed hard as Angel rested her head against his chest. “The only way to heal is to give in to the pain,” she said.

He was afraid if he did that, he’d never survive.

He breathed in the scent of her hair, and it only reminded him of how much he missed the smell of Whitney’s hair when she was lying on his chest in bed. His grip tightened on Angel, but all he was envisioning was holding Whitney in his arms as they swayed to the music, late after the bar was closed and they were all alone…

He cleared his throat and started to move away. He couldn’t do this. This drowning in sorrow in an effort to kill the pain and resurface a new man, without the lingering, torturous heartache wasn’t a method to healing he wanted to go through. He wanted to keep pushing down the pain until it was buried so deep, it could come back in moments of weakness.

And he certainly didn’t want to lean on a friend like Angel.

“Trent, there’s something I’ve been needing to tell you,” she said, and he immediately tensed at the serious, apprehensive tone.

“What is it?” As he pulled away, a loud, smashing noise interrupted whatever she’d been about to say, and the bar door burst open a second later. An angry-looking man in a suit entered and stalked straight toward them.

“The bar is closed,” Trent said, meeting the guy halfway and preventing further access to the place. Were people really so pissed he was closed that night that they were breaking his damn door down? This guy was definitely an out-of-towner.

“Brad? What the hell are you doing here?” Angel asked, rushing up behind Trent.

Brad? Her ex? Trent took in the tall, thick man in front of him. Made sense, actually. He’d never seen Angel’s ex, but this guy was exactly what he would have pictured, if the guy had warranted any of Trent’s headspace at all. Expensive suit and shoes. Rolex on his wrist. An arrogant ego that filled the room.

“This the asshole the boys were telling me about?” he asked Angel, glaring at Trent.

“No, and it’s none of your business anyway,” Angel said, attempting to step between them.

Trent held her back carefully. The guy reeked of alcohol, his pupils were dilated, and he looked more than ready for a fight. Angel hadn’t told him everything, but he suspected the guy was abusive.

Brad turned to her. “Not my business? Damn right it’s my business. We’re still technically married. And you’re shacking up with someone else, in front of the boys?”

“You have a girlfriend living with you,” Angel countered.

Trent gave her credit for not wavering. This man was trying to intimidate her, but she was standing strong.

“She’s not living with me, and it’s different,” Brad said. “Do you really want the boys to see their mother like that? Hooking up with strange, random men?”

Wow. Double standards. Even if that wasn’t at all what Angel was doing, she was entitled to live her life any way she wanted. She owed this clown absolutely nothing.

“Get out of here, Brad,” Angel said.

“We need to talk,” the man said, moving closer to her.

“We’ll talk through our lawyers. Please leave.” She folded her arms across her chest, and Brad reached for her, obviously changing tactics as his expression softened.

“Come on, Angel, let’s just talk.”

Angel moved away from him. “No. I’m not letting you do this to me anymore. This manipulation and gaslighting. I’m done, Brad.”

“I’m the manipulator? You’re trying to destroy the relationship I have with my sons. All the lies you’re telling them about me. And actually, I don’t even care about Eddie—he’s not even mine…”

What? Angel had never mentioned that. He glanced at her, and she looked more than a little panicked.

Angry once again, Brad advanced on her, and Trent had had enough. The guy had definitely picked the wrong day to break the door of his bar and start this shit. Angel was handling it quite well, but the man didn’t seem to be taking the hint. He’d try making the message clearer.

“Hey, Angel said she’s not interested in talking. This is my bar, and I’m asking you to leave,” Trent said, standing between Angel and her ex.

The guy scoffed, looking amused. “Do you know who I am?”

“I know you are trespassing, and I could call the police about you damaging my door.”

Brad glared at him as he moved closer until their faces were inches apart. “I’m not leaving without Angel.”

“Oh, I think you are,” Max’s voice behind Brad caught all their attention.

And a strong right hook caught Brad’s chin as he turned to face Max. The guy reeled backward, holding his jaw. “Motherfu—”

“Max!” Angel said. “What the hell?”

Brad staggered slightly, but he made a beeline straight for Max. Trent intercepted and caught the hit that was intended for his friend. The blow to the eye was a lot harder than he’d anticipated. This shit ended now.

A quick struggle later, he and Max had restrained Brad and tossed him out of the bar. “Don’t ever come back here,” Trent told the guy.

“And do not go near Angel again,” Max added.

“This isn’t over, Angel!” Brad called to her where she stood, slightly shaken inside the bar entrance.

Max and Trent blocked any access, and Brad climbed into his Beemer and peeled out of the parking lot.

Going back inside, Trent shot a look at Max through his quickly swelling eye. “Dude, what the hell? I had it under control.”

Max shrugged. “I just really wanted to punch the guy,” he said. “Angel has opened up to me about…a lot.”

So Trent’s suspicion of abuse was right. He couldn’t exactly stay pissed with Max now.

Apparently, Angel could, as she delivered a lecture once they were back inside. Though Trent could tell she wasn’t entirely upset that her ex had gotten what he deserved.

“I’ll go find something to use as a temporary fix for the door,” Max said.

“Thanks, man,” Trent said, going back behind the bar. He opened the ice cooler, but Angel pushed him out of the way.

“Go. Sit,” she said.

Trent sat on a stool while she made an ice pack for his eye and poured another shot of bourbon.

“Thanks for your help,” she said. “Sorry about the door.”

“It’s nothing. A quick fix. And you were holding your own.”

She nodded, but her hand trembled as she sat next to him and placed the ice pack against his face.

“About what he said about Eddie…is that true?”

She avoided his gaze as she nodded. “That’s…um, what I was trying to say. Before.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed as her gaze met his. “You didn’t recognize me when I came in here months ago, looking for a job, and I was going to tell you then…but it was awkward.”

Trent’s heart raced, and his palms sweat. What the hell was she saying? He peered at her face, but just as before, he didn’t remember ever having known her before recently when she moved to town.

“We met before. One night fifteen years ago… Settling here in Blue Moon Bay wasn’t a coincidence. It wasn’t just a random spot on the map.”

He swallowed hard as realization sank in. She’d purposely moved there to be closer to him. For what exactly? “Why… What… You never reached out.” He felt woozy, and it had nothing to do with the shot or the punch. At least not the physical one from Brad.

“I met Brad right after, and he’s been in my life—in Eddie’s life ever since.” She shook her head. “It may have been wrong, but it was just one night…” Her voice trailed.

She was saying he had a son? That Eddie was his? The room swayed all around him as he tried to understand. She’d been there for months. Allowed him to get to know Eddie… He swallowed hard, and his heart echoed in his chest. “Does Eddie know?”

“No!” She shook her head. “And I want to keep it that way. For now.” She ran a hand through her hair, looking almost as conflicted as he felt. Conflicted, guilty, remorseful… A long, awkward tension filled the silence between them.

“Please say something,” she whispered.

What the hell did she expect him to say? He was still in complete shock. His entire life had been upended in a matter of days. Over and over again. He had a kid. A fifteen-year-old son. One he’d known nothing about. One he may never have known about…

“I…uh…”

The sound of heels on the bar floor made them both turn.

Who the hell was there now?

His eyes widened as he saw Whitney enter. Then things moved as if in slow motion as she took in the scene in front of her. One she was completely misreading if the hurt and confusion in her expression were any indication.

Shit.

But no. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He’d been in the bar thinking about her, missing her, mending a crack in his heart that kept reopening with every memory that surfaced. And just moments ago, his world had once again been knocked off its axis.

But he could see how she might misread things right now. Him and Angel in the bar alone together and the other woman tending to his busted eye.

He stood up so quickly, he knocked the stool over. “Whitney?”

“Sorry…” she mumbled.

“What are you doing here?” Had she come to talk? To tell him she’d reconsidered? His heart raced as he walked toward her, a brief moment of optimism, before she shut it down.

“I just came to make sure you were okay…” Her gaze drifted toward Angel, then returned to his. “But it looks like you’ve got things covered,” she said before turning and walking out of the bar.

“Whitney!” he called after her, but she was gone.

…

The weather had quickly taken a turn for the worse as Whitney jumped back into her vehicle and drove away from the tavern. A sob nearly strangled her, and she swallowed it down.

What had she expected? Certainly not the sight of Angel and Trent together, alone in the bar, that she knew would burn in her mind for a long time. All this time she’d told herself that there was nothing between Trent and his coworker. She’d ignored any gut instincts she felt about that situation and continued to believe in the love and commitment they’d had.

But she hadn’t been completely truthful, either, so maybe neither was Trent.

She wasn’t even sure why she’d gone to the bar anyway. She’d left the office in a haze, and the vehicle had seemed to have a mind of its own, heading toward the bar…toward Trent. She missed him, and she’d just wanted to see him…

Then, noticing the broken door, she’d been worried.

She flicked on the wipers faster as the rain got worse. A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance before a flash of lightning lit up the dark, stormy sky. Her hands shook on the wheel as the eeriness of the memory of the night of her accident caused goosebumps to surface on her skin.

Sarah and Jess had been reaching out to her that day, offering support and letting her know they were there for her if and when she needed them. She knew she would. Eventually. And while she’d been a terrible, distant friend lately, she knew they would be there for her without question. But right now, she just wanted her mom.

It might be a horrible idea. But she was desperate for comfort, for her mother to hug her and lie to her and tell her things would be okay, like when she’d suffered her first broken heart years before.

Funny, at age fifteen, she hadn’t thought pain could cut any deeper, that her shattered teenage heart would never recover.

She’d had no idea the pain life could bring.

Pulling into the parking lot of Rejuvenation just as the darkest night closed in around her, she got out of the car and jogged through the puddles of rain and mud toward the door. Her swollen ankles were throbbing, and her struggle to focus and to act like nothing was wrong was giving her a migraine.

Pretending everything was fine was exhausting. Soon, she’d be forced to give up the charade, but at least now, there would be fewer people around to see her fall apart, to fuss over her and treat her differently.

“Whitney, what a surprise. We weren’t expecting you today,” Molly, an evening-shift nurse, said as she approached the desk. “They say the roads are terrible for driving.” She wrapped her cardigan tighter around her body over her uniform as she nodded toward the storm.

“It’s treacherous out there, for sure. I know Mom doesn’t like nights like this… Is she awake?” It was only a little after nine, but her mother spent a lot of time sleeping these days.

“I think so. Go on in and check. Mary’s making the rounds soon for lights out, but feel free to stay as long as you want,” she said. Her forehead wrinkled. “Whitney, is everything okay? You look really pale, dear.”

She nodded, demanding her voice not to break, hoping the rain could be blamed for her running mascara. “I’m fine. Just tired from long hours at work.” It wasn’t a lie, but it was just the tip of the iceberg. But how could she admit that her deteriorating health was slowly killing her?

“Okay…well, if you need anything, let me know. We can roll in a cot for you if you want to stay the night.”

It was a rare exception she was offering, and Whitney was grateful. “I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

Walking down the hall, her chest tightened. It was quiet, and the activity rooms were empty. From several open room doors, she saw residents sitting in their chairs or getting ready to call it a night. They all had their own pain, their own heartache, their own illnesses… How had she thought she could find a sense of peace here? Maybe she should just leave. Could she handle her mom not knowing her right now?

Pausing at the door, she quietly opened it. Her mom was in her usual chair near the window, and she turned, hearing her enter.

The smile that spread across her face gave Whitney a sense of relief, and her knees sagged a little beneath her.

“Whitney!”

“Hi, Mom,” she said, rushing over to hug her.

She wrapped her arms around Whitney and squeezed tight. Her mother’s hug was the only thing keeping the pieces of her heart together. “I didn’t expect you tonight. I’m so glad you’re here. Though this weather isn’t great for driving…”

Her mother’s eyes shone with clarity when she pulled away, her face beamed, and Whitney hated that she wasn’t able to fully appreciate this rare moment with her. She longed for times like this when they could talk, reminisce about the past, plan for an uncertain future without allowing reality to give them doubt.

But she was overcome with gratitude for this opportunity that came when she needed it most. Selfishly, she needed this.

“You’re upset,” her mother said.

Whitney shook her head, but it was no use. She’d never been able to keep things from her mom. Growing up, the woman had known everything she’d tried to hide.

“Where’s Trent?” she asked, looking at the open door behind her.

“He’s not coming,” she said, a sob escaping her. He might never be coming again. Wasn’t that how it worked after a breakup? You also broke up with the family. Her mom, both in her lucid and non-lucid state, would miss him, but it was too much to expect that he’d continue to visit now.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Lydia studied her face, brushing her damp curls behind her ears, the way she had when Whitney was a child.

Unable to speak over the lump in her throat, she knelt on the floor and rested her head in her mom’s lap.

“Oh, sweetheart,” her mother said, stroking her hair.

Whitney closed her blurry eyes and allowed her body to sag. Her mother’s soothing touch and words helping to ease the ache in her chest. “It’s okay… Whatever it is won’t seem so bad in the morning.”

She always said that. That troubles always looked darker and more insurmountable at night. Daybreak brought with it a new perspective, a new hope…

Unfortunately, these troubles weren’t something that the light of day could chase away.