Feisty Red (Three Chicks Brewery #2) - Stacey Kennedy Page 0,56

of Amelia. But they hadn’t seen Clara’s tears today, the hurt in her eyes that he’d put there, and her belief that, as Mason’s mother, she’d failed at protecting Mason from something that could deeply hurt him and leave a lasting imprint on his soul. Sullivan didn’t want to cause damage. He didn’t want to be a part of the problem. He wanted to watch her and Mason thrive, smile, laugh. “History is repeating itself all over again,” he said with a weight on his chest. “I hurt her, and it’s fucking killing me.”

A pause. A long, heavy pause.

Then, “I know you think all is lost,” Hayes said, cupping Sullivan’s shoulder with a strong hold. “But there’s got to be a way to fix all this that doesn’t involve you leaving.”

“Besides,” Beckett said with a smirk. “If River Rock does one thing well, it’s protecting the people who live here. We just need to get on top of this.”

They made it all seem so simple. Sullivan arched an eyebrow. “Any ideas on how to do that?”

Before anyone could come up with a response, the bar’s door opened and Clara headed in with Amelia in tow. Sullivan whirled around on his stool right as Clara closed the distance with a fast-paced speed and grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt. “Don’t go. Stay. Here in River Rock, with me and Mason. I want you in our lives. I want to be your wife. I want you to be Mason’s father. I want forever.”

Sullivan sensed the crowd go still around him. The music faded. The noise gone. Only Clara remained, and each demand she made hit him straight in the chest. “I want those things too, Clara, but how?”

Determination glowed in her pretty eyes. Her voice was steady, lower pitched. “Well, first, stop running away and face this. I heard one of the reporter’s from earlier is currently working at the coffee shop. So, let’s go talk to her. Let’s tell our story. Our way. Our truth.”

He cupped her warm cheek. “What if that hurts you and Mason?”

“It won’t,” she said, lifting her chin, adamant. “It can’t. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the past, and it no longer hurts me. We wouldn’t be us if we hadn’t been through what we’ve been through. I’m tired of pretending. All of it happened, the good, the bad, and the awful, but somehow we came out of it all better people. I’m really proud of that. Aren’t you?”

Damn. He loved this woman. “I am proud of us.”

“Good,” she said, firmly. “Then, let’s go tell our story. No more hiding. No more pretending. Let’s put it all out there so the only story out there is our story.”

Hayes, Beckett, and Amelia closed in around them—his chosen family—and he felt all the shame of his life melt away, surrounded by so much love. “Let’s tell our story. Our way. Our truth.”

15

When Clara and Sullivan entered the coffee shop, she found the space nearly empty, but she spotted the wives of the Blackshaw brothers—Harper, Megan, and Emma—chit-chatting over dessert in a booth by the large window overlooking downtown. The barista stood behind the counter stacked with chrome espresso and frothing machines. Freshly brewed coffee infused the air, alongside the tingle of spices. Clara gave the Blackshaw wives a quick wave, which they returned, but she stayed focused on the woman sitting at the booth near the window. She was a cute twenty-something girl with long brown hair, black glasses, and bright-colored lipstick. Clara remembered her from when the reporters had showed up at the house earlier.

“We got this,” Sullivan said, next to her, obviously sensing her slight hesitation.

“Yeah, we do,” she said, taking his outreached hand. She was taking Pops’ advice to heart, and now that she knew what he meant, it all seemed very simple. The truth had to end this. They got lucky that they’d found any of the reporters, but small towns were good for keeping tabs on people. One visit to the local B&B, and Clara had learned the reporters came to the coffee shop often. The reporter’s head was down, her fingers flying over her keyboard, likely writing a story on Clara and Sullivan’s life. Determined to put a stop to this for good, Clara sidled up to the booth. “Hi,” she said by way of greeting. “I’m Clara Carter, but I’m guessing you already know that.”

The reporter glanced up, her eyes going wide, her face losing some color.

Clara heard Amelia ordering dessert behind them,