marriage feeling fragile and unsettled. Jase made her feel flustered in a different way, but she couldn’t allow herself be affected by any man when she was working so hard to be strong.
Of course she’d known Jase liked her when they were younger, but she hadn’t been interested in her brother’s best friend or anyone from small-town Crimson. Emily’d had her sights set on bigger things, like getting out of Colorado. Henry Whitaker and his powerful family had provided the perfect escape at the time.
Sometimes she wished she could ignore the changes in herself. She glanced at the mirror again. The basics were the same—blond hair flowing past her shoulders, blue eyes and symmetrical features. People would still look at her and see a beautiful woman, but she wondered if anyone saw beyond the surface.
Did they notice the shadows under her eyes, the result of months of restless nights when she woke and tiptoed to Davey’s doorway to watch him sleeping? Could they tell she couldn’t stop the corners of her lips from perpetually pulling down, as if the worry over her son was an actual weight tugging at their edges?
No. People saw what they wanted, like she’d wanted to see her ex-husband as the white knight that would sweep her off to the charmed life she craved. Only now did she realize perfection was a dangerous illusion.
She heard Jase’s laughter drift upstairs and felt herself swaying toward the open door of the bedroom that had been hers since childhood. Her mom had taken the canopy off the four-poster bed and stripped the posters from the walls, but a fresh coat of paint and new linens couldn’t change reality.
Emily was a twenty-eight year old woman reduced to crawling back to the financial and emotional safety of her mother’s home. She dipped her head, her gaze catching on a tiny patch of pink nail polish staining the corner of the dresser. It must have been there for at least ten years, back when a bright coat of polish could lift her spirits. She’d had so many dreams growing up, but now all she wanted was to make things right for her son.
“Em, dinner is almost ready,” her mom called from the bottom of the stairs.
“Be right there,” she answered. She scraped her thumbnail against the polish, watching as it flaked and fell to the floor. Something about peeling a bit of her girlhood from the dresser made her breathe easier and she turned for the door. She took a step, then whirled back and picked up the lip gloss, dabbing a little on the center of her mouth and pressing her lips together. Maybe she couldn’t erase the shadows under her eyes, but Emily wasn’t totally defeated yet.
Before heading through the back of the house to the patio where Noah was grilling burgers, she turned at the bottom of the stairs toward her father’s old study. Since she and Davey had returned, her mom had converted the wood-paneled room to building block headquarters. It had been strange, even ten years after her father’s death, to see his beloved history books removed from the shelves to make room for the intricate building sets her son spent hours creating. Her mother had taken the change easier than Emily, having had years alone in the house to come to terms with her husband’s death. That sense of peace still eluded Emily, but she liked to think her warmhearted, gregarious father would be happy that his office was now a safe place for Davey.
Tonight Davey wasn’t alone on the thick Oriental rug in front of the desk. Jase sat on the floor next to her son, long legs sprawled in front of him. He looked younger than normal, carefree without the burden of taking care of the town weighing down his shoulders. Both of their heads were bent to study something Jase held, and Emily’s breath caught as she noticed her son’s hand resting on Jase’s leg, their arms brushing as Davey leaned forward to hand Jase another Lego piece.
She must have made a sound because Jase glanced up, an almost apologetic smile flashing across his face. “You found us,” he said and handed Davey the pieces before standing. Davey didn’t look at her but turned toward his current model, carefully adding the new section to it.
“Dinner’s ready,” she said, swallowing to hide the emotion that threatened to spill over into her voice.
Jase had known her too long to be fooled. “Hope it’s okay I’m in here with him.” He gestured to the bookshelves that held neat rows of building sets. “He’s got an impressive collection.”
“He touched you,” she whispered, taking a step back into the hall. Not that it mattered. Her son wasn’t listening. When Davey was focused on finishing one of his creations, the house could fall down around him and he wouldn’t notice.
“Is that bad?” Jase’s thick brows drew down, and he ran a hand through his hair, as if it would help him understand her words. His dark hair was in need of a cut and his fingers tousled it, making her want to brush it off his forehead the way she did for Davey as he slept.
“It’s not...it’s remarkable. He was diagnosed with Asperger’s this summer. It was early for a formal diagnosis, but I’d known something was different with him for a while.” Emily couldn’t help herself from reaching out to comb her fingers through the soft strands around Jase’s temples. It was something to distract herself from the fresh pain she felt when talking about Davey. “Building Lego sets relaxes him. He doesn’t like to be touched and will only tolerate a hug from me sometimes. To see him touching you so casually, as if it were normal...”
Jase lifted his hand and took hold of hers, pulling it away from his head but not letting go. He cradled it in his palm, tracing his thumb along the tips of her fingers. She felt the subtle pressure reverberate through her body. Davey wasn’t the only one uncomfortable being touched.
Since her son’s symptoms had first started and her ex-husband’s extreme reaction to them had launched the destruction of their family, Emily felt like she was made of glass.
Now as she watched Jase’s tanned fingers gently squeeze hers, she wanted more. She wanted to step into this tall, strong, good man who could break through her son’s walls without even realizing it and find some comfort for herself.
“I’m glad for it,” he said softly, bringing her back to the present moment. “What about his dad?”
She snatched away her hand, closed her fist tight enough that her nails dug small half-moons into her palm. “My ex-husband wanted a son who could bond with him tossing a ball or sailing. The Whitakers are a competitive family, and even the grandkids are expected to demonstrate their athletic prowess. It’s a point of pride and bragging rights for Henry and his brothers—whose kid can hit a ball off the tee the farthest or catch a long pass, even if it’s with a Nerf football.”
Jase glanced back at her son. “Davey’s five, right? It seems a little young to be concerned whether or not he’s athletic.”
“That didn’t matter to my in-laws, and it drove Henry crazy. He couldn’t understand it. As Davey’s symptoms became more pronounced, his father pushed him harder to be the right kind of boy.”
She pressed her mouth into a thin line to keep from screaming the next words. “He forbade me from taking him to the doctor to be tested. His solution was to punish him, take away the toys he liked and force him into activities that ended up making us all more stressed. Davey started having tantrums and fits, which only infuriated Henry. He was getting ready to run for congress.” She rolled her eyes. “The first step in the illustrious political campaign his family has planned.”
“Following in his father’s footsteps,” Jase murmured.
It was true. Emily had married into one of the most well-known political families in the country since the Kennedys. The Whitakers had produced at least one US senator in each of the past five generations
