“And Jeff knows them, too. Through you. He also knows to be on his best behavior with you because of that.”

“Jeff is a good man.”

“So are you. And you’re the last person he’d want to disappoint.”

He sipped his beer.

There might have been bugs out, if they’d been there a month or so earlier. And there were still no lights out on the ocean. She needed them there. Needed something to look at besides him.

Because out on the water, alone with Brett, all she wanted was to crawl on his lap, have him wrap his arms around her, grab her sides with fingers that could work magic on her body and never let go.

But of course he would let go.

And she’d fall.

“If Jeff was struggling with anger issues, he’d do something about it. Like me.”

Ella froze. Not because of the chill in the air, but from the inside out. Like him? The words were so random she couldn’t help but stare at his silhouette in the darkness.

“What do you mean, like you...and struggling with anger issues? You didn’t even act out in anger, Brett. Not ever. Heck, you never even raised your voice. You were afraid you’d be like your dad, sure, but you never were, Brett. Not ever.”

While she could hardly believe her brother would hurt his wife or child, she knew, with every ounce of her being, that Brett could never be that man. He had a shut-off valve that would stand up to anything.

He sipped again. And she wondered, with guilt and a small bit of hope, too, if he’d had so much beer that his tongue would be loosened.

If maybe, this one time, Brett would open up to her about the residuals left behind by his father’s anger. To her knowledge only her brother and his mother had ever been that lucky.

“What do you think you did?” she asked. Because she knew damn well he’d never stepped out of line. Hell, for that matter, he’d never even stepped up to the line. There’d been a time, in one of her lowest moments, when she’d wished he had lashed out. At her. At the world. Even if it meant slamming his fist through a wall. At least then he’d be fully alive.

“I went to see a divorce attorney while my wife was pregnant with our child,” he said.

She was on a precipice. She couldn’t see. Didn’t know how she’d gotten there or where she was going. Holding on to the arms of the chair, she rode the water with the boat.

“Because you were struggling with anger issues?”

“Yes.”

Ella’s jaw dropped. Leaning forward she reached for his beer. Took a swig and handed it back.

History had a cruel way of reinventing itself. “No, Brett, you left because you didn’t want to be a father to the child I was carrying. And truth be told, you’d been leaving me slowly long before I got pregnant. I think it was because I wanted more than you could give me,” she said softly, but very clearly. Because one thing she’d learned over the years was that she had a right to be heard. “I needed you to be all in and the more I needed from you, the more emotionally distant you became.”

He didn’t say a word. And she knew she’d said too much. So she took another sip of his beer. It was still more than half-full.

“You used to tell me how you feared being like your father,” she said to the night air. Unable to look at him again. “But that was just fear talking. A result of having grown up in an abusive home. You told me so yourself. And I’ve done a lot of reading since then.”

She could smell him, though. That aftershave...she wished she’d never chosen it.

He reached down beside his chair, and she heard the refrigerator open and then shut, followed by the sound of a beer cap twisting.

“I wanted to share your daily ups and downs. You didn’t,” she told him, sorry if he didn’t like the truth, but intending to get it out anyway.

He’d started this.

She’d been prepared to go back inside, sleep on the couch he wasn’t using and leave him in the room with a sleeping toddler.

Their marriage was long over. What she’d once thought they’d had, if they’d had it, had been destroyed a long time before. Facts were facts. She’d learned to accept them. He couldn’t come along now, all these years later and suddenly try to rewrite the script.

“I believe in helping others,” she said now, taking the cold beer he’d retrieved and opened as he handed it to her. Finding a sad humor in the knowledge that he must not have wanted her to share his. “And I believe in asking for help when I need it. I think people being there for people is what life is all about.”

He didn’t respond for a third time. Déjà vu. As usual, she was talking to herself. But when, in the past, she’d have fallen silent in response, she didn’t this time. She wasn’t speaking for his benefit. She was speaking for her own.

“You’re just different,” she told him. “All those years of infertility treatments and you never once told me you didn’t want to be a father. Don’t you think that’s something I should have known? Instead, after I finally get pregnant, you go see a divorce attorney without even talking to me first. And look at The Lemonade Stand. You’re its founder, and no one there knows who you are. Because you can’t get that close. Can’t let anyone share the emotional parts of your life. Even your career... You don’t do charity work yourself—you check up on those that do to make sure they stay honest. It’s commendable work. Necessary work. You’re a great man, just one who’s chosen to live life from the sidelines.”

She’d figured it all out a couple years ago. Once she’d come through the haze of hurt and disbelief after her world had fallen apart.

But she was fine now. Or thought she was until she heard him say, “I’m not denying any of that.”

Somehow she managed to stay upright. To sit there without dropping the bottle of beer she held. Inside she crumbled.

She’d been right!

And only in the confirmation did she realize that she’d subconsciously been hoping that someday he’d tell her differently. That she’d spew her accusations and he’d dispel the hurtful assumptions and tell her...what?

“However,” he continued, “it’s important for you to know, in light of Jeff’s situation, that I tried to talk to you about my issues, but you refused to believe me.”

“What?” If he’d told her he was a Martian she couldn’t have been more surprised.

“I told you I struggled with the very real possibility that I could be like my father.”

He had. Several times. “In the beginning, yes, you did. You were completely honest with me way before you even asked me to marry you. But that was it, Brett. I assured you that I wasn’t afraid. That your fears were just that—fears. Not reality. And our years together proved me right. Even in the worst times, you never once showed any sign of violence.”

“Why do you think I grew more and more distant?”

Confused, Ella stared toward his shadow in the moonlight. Was this really happening?

“You want me to believe that you were struggling with anger issues?”

She sat. Welcomed the air cooling her hot skin.

“The first time I noticed a burning need to lash out was your freshman year in college when we were all at the homecoming party at the Delta house and that lecher, Danny Simpson, had you up against the wall, pawing you...”

She’d forgotten all about that. Danny, while pretty much a loser slob, hadn’t been a mean guy. He’d been attempting to come on to her and had been too drunk, falling against her and trapping her against the wall. He’d also apologized a thousand times over the next day and had appointed himself her silent slave for the rest of their years in college.

“I didn’t even know you saw that,” she said now. She’d been at the party as Brett’s date. From the moment she’d stepped foot on campus as a freshman, in his and Jeff’s sophomore year, she’d been Brett’s date.

“I was heading over to save you from him, but you disentangled yourself and led him to a couch before I could get to you.”