Truth (Betrothed #10) - Penelope Sky Page 0,22

to the top floor then stepped inside.

Balto was on the couch, shirtless, wearing a hooded expression as he regarded me. “What’s that?” He glanced at the flowers in my hand.

“They aren’t for you.” I held up the grocery bag in my hand. “And neither is this.”

“So, you’re bringing flowers to my wife?” He rose to his feet. “Get your own woman flowers.”

Cassini came out of the kitchen, wearing jeans and a loose black top to hide her stomach. “Wow, they’re beautiful.” She took the lilies from my hand and smelled them. “That was thoughtful of you. Thank you.” She looked down at my bag. “And there’s more?”

I held up the bag and opened it. “Ice cream, cookies, brownies…since Balto runs this place like a prison.”

She chuckled. “Thank you, Heath. That was very thoughtful.” She took the bag into the kitchen then placed the flowers in a vase filled with water. She set it on the dining table, so they could feel the sun in the morning.

“Just wanted to see how you were doing.” I felt guilty for everything, even though it had all turned out alright. I’d taken something from Balto that wasn’t mine…and it was wrong.

“I’m fine,” she said. “The pain stopped, and everything returned to normal.” She placed her hand over her stomach as she came back to me. “And having my husband back is nice, even though he’s been a little moody.”

Balto stood there, quietly hostile.

I knew that hostility was directed at me. “He’s always been that way, so that’s nothing new.”

She smiled then looked at her husband. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Don’t need to,” he answered. “My brother already knows exactly what I want to say.”

“Yeah,” I said, placing my fingers against my temple like I was reading his mind. “Lots of f-bombs and liberal use of the word asshole.” I dropped my fingers, trying to lighten the mood with a joke.

Cassini continued to watch her husband. “Balto, let it go.” She placed her palm against his shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. “You had to be there for your brother, and then he was there for me.”

“I don’t need another man to be there for my wife. I can do that by my damn self.” He turned away and headed back to the living room.

That stung. “I think he’s just jealous that I didn’t bring him flowers.”

He halted but didn’t turn around. Then he kept walking again.

Cassini lowered her voice so he wouldn’t hear. “He’ll get over it. Don’t worry about him.” She moved into me and kissed me on the cheek. She squeezed my hand before she turned to the kitchen to continue preparing lunch.

Balto sat on the couch, staring at the TV and ignoring me.

I walked over to him. “I got some chocolate ice cream bars.”

He stared at the screen, his hands together as his elbows rested on his knees.

I hated it when my brother was mad at me—especially when I deserved it. I moved to the armchair across from him.

He still ignored me.

“It won’t happen again, alright?”

“Doesn’t matter if it won’t happen again.” He turned back to me. “It already happened. You took my wife to the hospital when it should have been me. I’m the fucking father. I’m the fucking husband.”

I bowed my head in shame.

“If you’re lucky enough to have a wife and a kid someday, you’ll understand how shitty that feels—when your wife needs you and you aren’t there. You took that away from me. For what? So I could collect money you don’t even need?”

Cassini came back out of the kitchen, probably hearing every word because Balto spoke so loudly. “Balto.” She raised her voice, her hands on her hips, her attitude in full force. “We can’t change the past, so just drop it. It wasn’t like Heath took a vacation and asked you to fill in. He was really hurt—might have died.”

Now Balto bowed his head.

“Our son is fine, Balto. Forgive your brother.” She turned away and headed back into the kitchen.

He was quiet.

I lifted my head and stared at him for a while. “You have no idea how terrible I feel…”

“You don’t feel worse than I do,” he whispered. “Now my first memory as a father will always be that…”

“But your first memory won’t matter compared to all the other memories you’ll make, Balto. The first real memory is the day he’s born—and you’ll be there for that. I’ll be there too because I’m not going to miss it for anything.”

He took a quiet