Page 19 of We Drank the Dawn

We could go to Meadowbrook! A smile curled into my lips again and my heart lifted in my chest. Peter could visit with Bea and Wren, which I just knew would be an encouragement to him. There wasn’t much to see or do around there, and that would work out beautifully. Peter and I could just sleep in, go on walks, sit on the porch swing, read a book together, or maybe even ride the horses. They even set up that giant hammock for the bed and breakfast’s guests—I saw a picture of it on Meadowbrook’s Instagram page. For a second, I allowed myself to imagine laying in the crook of Peter’s arm, a warm breeze whipping through the roots of my hair and gently pushing us as we dozed.

Peter could definitely ride a horse. Especially with the cowboys helping us stay safe.

Hollie and Bea would feed us, which would be an added bonus.

And in October, the weather would be divine.

Meadowbrook had a way of drawing out the best in people. In Bea, Hollie, my nieces, and even us. The last time we were there, we had an amazing time. Flashes of our night together after Hollie’s wedding, played unbidden in my head. I shouldn’t go in with high expectations. I knew that. But despite discouraging myself, my heart practically levitated with hope.

It was time to change my tactics.

Quickly, I toweled off and rushed to my phone.

I tapped out a text to Bea.

Me

Bea, I know this is last minute, but if I showed up with Peter on Sunday, would you guys have a place for us to stay? I’m thinking a week. We need to get out of here.

Before the text even said delivered, I flipped to my massage schedule and canceled every one of my massages for the next ten days.

SEVEN

Peter

Three days later

“What’s going on here?” My father’s voice echoed in the foyer.

I stiffened at the sound. He’d been driving for almost two solid weeks and wasn’t supposed to be back until late tonight. I could fill an entire book with the humiliations I’d experienced since the accident. But my father watching my wife cry in his living room while I slouched on the couch, feigning indifference, would go down as one of the worst.

I adjusted my posture as an instant surge of adrenaline hit my blood and reddened my cheeks. If Mom was here, it would be easier. He was softer with her around. I cleared my throat and turned my hat frontwards over my head, shielding my face.

His voice softened. “Sarah, honey, are you okay?” I could imagine him placing his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it slightly as he pulled her into a side hug—like he did with my sisters.

Her quiet crying stopped as she sniffed. “No, Cal, I’m not. I came to pick up Peter but he’s refusing to come home.”

“Home?” A ripple of shock turned his tone to steel. “Son, how long have you been in my house?”

My tongue dried in my mouth. Dad was a big softie—in fact, most people knew him as a bit of a pushover—but Ben and I knew the truth. Callum Thompson could and would muscle his sons around when necessary.

I opened my mouth, but no words came.

What had started as one night turned into three. She’d come every morning to retrieve me, her emotional desperation growing each time. I didn’t want to admit any of that.

“I asked you a question, Peter.”

“I’ve…been here since, um, Friday.”

“Friday morning,” Sarah clarified with a whisper.

A chilling silence filled the room. “And…I’m assuming your wife has been here with you?”

I said nothing.

“Son?”

“Uh, no. She hasn't, sir.”