“Go on then, talk.”
I glanced around the chapel. There were only a few of us left. Billy had pulled out his keys and Sienna had come over to claim Jethro. Drew had finished his call with Quinn and gave me a thumbs up just as Ashley caught up with him. He put his arm around my sister’s shoulders and they walked toward the exit.
“You brought Roscoe?” I asked Duane.
“Yeah.”
“Hey Drew,” I called, causing the big man to turn.
“Quinn said yes. They’ll be there.”
“Oh, good. Say, do you mind taking Roscoe home?”
“Sure.” Drew motioned Roscoe over, and our brother happily obliged, taking his spot on Ashley’s other side and wrapping his arm around her waist.
Feeling a set of eyes on me, I turned and found Billy watching us. He shook his head firmly, but his gaze was sympathetic.
“I have to.” I shrugged, because what else could I do?
Duane looked between me and Billy. “Have to what?”
“Just a minute.” I peered around my twin toward the door.
Jethro and Sienna as well as Drew, Ash, and Roscoe left the chapel, leaving just me, Duane, and Billy.
“What’s going on?”
I turned back to Duane, heat crawling up my neck, splinters in my chest, and struggled for a way to start.
“Are you trying to freak me out? ’Cause it’s working.”
“Beau has something you need to know and it will suck. But it’s true.” Billy came to stand next to me.
Duane shifted restlessly, crossing his arms. “What is it? Are you sick?”
“No. I’m not sick.”
“Then just say it.”
I sucked in as large a breath as I could manage, bracing myself. “You know how the Wraiths chased Shelly and me a few weeks back?”
“Yeah. They were after Cletus last Friday, too.”
Billy and I looked at each other.
“They were?” Billy’s tone was sharp. “What for?”
“I think he punched Isaac Sylvester and broke his nose in the Piggly Wiggly.”
“Oh.” Billy frowned thoughtfully. “He probably deserved it.”
I didn’t bring up that Billy thought all Wraiths members deserved broken noses.
I was tempted.
But I didn’t.
“Here’s the thing. What happened with me weeks ago has nothing to do with Cletus and Isaac Sylvester. It was ’cause Christine St. Claire wanted a meeting.”
Duane nodded. “I remember.”
“She ambushed me Wednesday morning at Hank’s place.” Now my place . . .
“Before y’all went fishing?” Duane guessed.
“Yeah. And she told me . . .”
“Yeah?” Duane’s brow wrinkled.
Billy stepped forward. “She told him that—”
“No. Billy.” I gave my older brother a severe scowl. “This is my refrigerator. I need to do it. You can’t be doing everything for all of us. Don’t keep shouldering all the burdens. Otherwise, we’ll never learn how.”
Billy jerked back an inch, staring at me like I’d surprised him. But he also snapped his mouth shut.
Turning my glare back to Duane, I decided I just needed to say it. I just needed to rip off the Band-Aid and say it.
“Christine St. Claire is our biological mother. She and Darrell had an affair. Momma—our real momma—adopted us. Billy knows where the paperwork is and he’s known about this for a while. And that’s it.”
Duane blinked at me, more like a confused fluttering of eyelids, his mouth agape. “What?”
I didn’t respond. He’d heard every word out of my mouth, he just needed a minute—or a lifetime—to come to terms.
My twin backed up a step, his knees hitting the bench behind him. He sat down, his eyes unfocused, his face dropping to his hands.
I exhaled a breath that felt like fire releasing from my lungs. Waiting. Watching Duane suffer through this sucked. I tried to swallow. I couldn’t.
“Who else knows?” Duane didn’t look up as he asked the question.
Billy looked to me, as though requesting permission, and I nodded.
He took a seat next to Duane and set about answering this and related questions. Listening to and looking at my twin now was like hearing and seeing myself from weeks ago. I knew what he was going through. I’d been where he was.
Maybe I wasn’t finished dealing with the fallout. Maybe I’d never be finished.
Yet I didn’t feel as stricken. As raw and empty. And that was because of Shelly. I’d stumbled through the darkest part, but I hadn’t been alone. My burden had been shared with and ultimately lightened by the woman I loved.
33
“I shall take the heart. For brains do not make one happy, and happiness is the best thing in the world.”
― L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
* * *
*Beau*
Unsurprisingly, Duane was in a daze.
But the one point that seemed to make him feel better—or rather, allowed him to focus—was Claire McClure being our half-sister.
Billy drove his truck back to the house, leaving us only after assurances by Duane that he wasn’t going off the deep end. Then, on the ride home, my twin and I discussed a plan for breaking the news to Claire.
“I’m glad you told me before the wedding. With Jess and I leaving Thursday, this might be our only chance to speak to Claire, both of us, in person.” He was rubbing his forehead like it hurt. “But I wish you’d told me earlier.”
Clearing my throat, I readjusted my hands on the steering wheel. “I don’t know why she told me.”
“Who?”
“Christine St. Claire.”
“Oh.” Duane glanced out the window. “She probably wants something.”
“She didn’t want me to tell you.”
He huffed a humorless laugh. “Then she definitely wants something.”
I nodded at that.
“Does it matter?” Duane asked. “Does it matter what she wants?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m leaving on Thursday. You’re going to be on your own. We’re both in agreement: she told you the truth because she wants something from you. So my point is, what does it matter what she wants?”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“No.” Duane’s response was immediate. “And you shouldn’t be either.”
We drove in silence for a while. Or rather, the interior of the car was silent, but I was pretty sure we were both dealing with noise in our heads.
Duane pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and started typing.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m texting Jess. Telling her to meet me.”
“Do you want me to drop you off somewhere?”
“Home is fine.”
I understood his desire to see her.
I understood needing a safe place to rest your head, and your worries.
And I especially understood how the soft arms of a woman, especially the woman you loved, made everything better.
As though reading my thoughts, Duane said, “I like Shelly.”
“Me too.”
“I think she’s good for you.”
I gave my brother the side-eye. “What do you mean?”
“She’s an interesting sort. She’s . . . tough. But she’s not.”
Shifting in my seat, I turned the GTO into our driveway. “There’s nothing simple about her, that’s for sure.”
Duane was quiet until we parked. But as soon as I cut the engine, he twisted to face me.