BROKEN COURAGE (Broken Redemption Book 3)

Chapter 3

Lucas

When we arrive home from her appointment, the girl's excited squeals greet us at the door. In an instant, Embree's demeanor changes. Before my eyes, the somber, broken girl who avoided my gaze and remained silent during the ride home transforms into a joyful, loving mother. The abrupt change is so stark, it sets off a whole host of alarms in my head.

I knew she did this.

I observed it firsthand when I first returned to Ruby Creek, but until now, I never fully grasped how adept she is at burying her true emotions. The artificial facade she presents seems effortless, which is disheartening and leaves me questioning how much of what she shows me is also an act. While I believe I'm perceptive enough to see through the walls she builds to keep others out, I can't shake the nagging doubt that perhaps I may not be able to read her as well as I thought. It fills me with a sense of unease and makes me wonder if there are times when she's with me when she's only pretending to be happy like she's doing now with the girls.

For the rest of the day, I give Embree her space. It's clear she's not ready to talk, and with the girls around in addition to my mounting anxiety, I figure it's best to wait until this evening to sit her down and push the issue. I don't expect her to divulge everything, but I need to ensure she understands I won't let her shut me out indefinitely. I'm willing to wait, but to do so, I need to be able to trust her. Something I can't do if she continues to hide or pretend nothing is wrong. I thought our conversation yesterday clarified that fact, but it seems this time I'll need to be more assertive. I meant what I told her. I refuse to allow our newfound relationship to regress after everything we've already overcome.

By the time we sit down for dinner, nothing has changed. Embree still wears that flawless smile she's honed over the years. She laughs at the appropriate times, her gaze avidly drifting between Zeb, James, the girls, and me as we engage in conversation. Yet, every now and then, I catch a fleeting glimpse of the sorrow she's striving to conceal. It becomes more pronounced as dinner unfolds, and for the first time, I realize how difficult it must be for her to keep up the pretense.

As usual, Zeb and James are the first to finish. They gather their dishes and leave the dining room to return to the control room for the evening perimeter check. Their departure plunges Embree and me into an uncomfortable silence that we awkwardly attempt to fill by focusing on helping the girls finish their meals. The air is thick with tension, and with every passing minute, it becomes increasingly difficult to ignore it.

"Alright, girls, bath time. Go on upstairs and start getting ready," Embree tells them.

"Yay!" Alyssa squeals, then turns to me. "Uncle Luc, you're coming with us, right?"

"Uncle Luc has done more than enough, so tonight, we're giving him a break."

At Embree's response, my eyes snap to her. Since the drone incident a month ago, I've been the one giving the girls their nightly baths. It's become our thing, and the feeling that she's taking something so precious away from me is like a punch to the gut. The fact she won't look at me, even as my eyes plead for her attention, only adds to the frustration and hopelessness expanding in my chest.

Clearing my throat, I glance over at the two little girls who are as much a part of me as the woman who unknowingly is tearing out my heart. "Go on up girls, I promise I'll be there to help your mama tuck you in."

By the time the girls leave the room, Embree's already rushed off to the kitchen. Unable to let this go, I grab the few remaining dishes and go off in search of her. Her back is to me as she stands at the sink. Her rigid posture and stiff movements are evidence she's steeling herself for a confrontation. It both hurts my heart and pisses me off, but I tamp it down, swallowing the poison churning in my gut in favor of proving to her that regardless of what's happening, all I want is to be there for her.