She snickered.
He found himself smiling. “Oh, stop.”
She laughed. “Smith Ramsey, the man who taught Tilly the word ‘fuck-knuckle,’ has definite ideas on well-written books.”
“Shut up.”
She finally quieted. “Okay, so you don’t want to read her book, maybe because learning certain things, no matter how poorly written, might hurt.”
She’d hit it in one.
He sighed. “Yes.”
“Give it to me.”
He handed it over. “This makes me a huge pussy for not having the stones to read the truth on my own, doesn’t it?”
“Not at all.” She pulled him close for a kiss that comforted. “Now I tell you what.” Erin opened the journal, and his heart raced. “If you make me a nice cup of tea, I’ll just sit here and read some of this. Will that work?”
“Um, sure. Yes. Great.” He stood and stepped toward the kitchen then stopped. “What kind of tea?”
“Surprise me.”
An hour later, Erin closed the book. She frowned, and her mouth remained a flat line. “Smith?”
He sat next to her on the chaise, sprawled out reading the next in a fantasy series he’d found at the library, one of his favorite places to go when he had any free time. He’d lost himself in the book, used to escaping the shittier things in life with make-believe.
Smith set his book aside. “What?”
“I think you should read this.” She scooted next to him and pointed to a passage written in very neat cursive.
Charles has no idea, and it’s best I keep it that way. If he knew Allen’s name, who Allen really was, I fear he’d kill my love.
But my baby boy, my little Riley. So special. I miss him every day, but at least he’s in good hands with Meg. I miss my sister. I miss my son.
And it happened. As I’d feared, I made a mistake. Charles heard Cash talking about what should have been our little secret, my private nickname for my boy. Charles came to me and demanded to know why I’d called him that. And it all came spilling out. How much I missed Allen. How Cash reminded me of his father.
Charles hit me that day. Only once. A slap across my face.
And then he cried. My big, strong husband cried like he’d only cried that one time before. And I knew then I should never think to leave him. Not when my love meant so much to him. I saw the depth of Charles’s pain, and it moved me so.
I swore I’d never see Allen again. And from that day forward, I meant it. Allen was heartbroken. But Charles. He glowed with joy, that I’d chosen him over my true love.
I tried to hold onto that joy. But so lost without Allen, I turned inward. And found happiness in the words of others.
Erin said quietly, “I wonder if that’s why he stopped coming around, because Angela told him it was over. I’ve read through most of this and don’t see anywhere that she told Allen about you. I have a feeling she kept you a secret.”
“But he used to visit me all the time.” Smith paused. Or had he? Allen had come and played with him, yes, but the majority of the man’s time had been spent with Margaret. Maybe he’d been kind to Margaret’s “son” to keep her happy. “So, he might not have known about me.” He for damn sure couldn’t trust Meg’s version of the past.
“I don’t know. I’ve still got a few pages to read. But you’re right. Most of this reads like a bad romance.” She flushed. “I read, you know, and the stuff I like is so much better than this.”
He nodded, distracted. Now more than ever he needed to read Allen’s letter.
Erin turned back to the journal. Smith stopped her. “No. You’ve done enough. I should read this.”
“It’s bad. And there are more spots like this passage, earlier on, that are…” Her eyes welled. “I don’t think Angela was all there, but her feelings were real. She loved her children, all of you.” She sniffed. “But she didn’t show it well at all. I feel so bad for your brothers. I know Meg abused you.”
“She didn’t—”
