When It Falls Apart (The D'Angelos, #1)(2)

The disappointment in his voice snapped her chin up. “My father is sick.”

“Your father is always sick.”

Why did he do this? Why did he always do this? Marshall’s judgment on her relationship with her father came through in his digs, sighs, and shakes of his head. “I’m his only daughter.”

“You have a stepsister.”

“Who is going through a divorce and has her own ill parents. It’s not the same.”

Marshall rolled his eyes, drank from the glass. “This is getting old.”

They’d argued about this before when she’d returned from California after almost six months of rehabilitating her father. The first couple of weeks had been touch and go. But once it became certain her father would survive, the long haul of rehab took over. A lengthy stay at an in-patient rehabilitation center was followed by daily visits to physical, occupational, and speech therapy when he returned home. He progressed from a wheelchair to a walker to walking on his own, albeit slow and wonky, and if a stranger was watching, they’d think he’d been drinking. His speech suffered, but he managed well enough. And the right side of his body simply didn’t speak to the left side very well.

But he’d survived.

“What do you expect me to do?” Brooke asked Marshall.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Is he dying?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

A flash of something she didn’t want to name crossed over his face.

“How long will you be gone this time?”

“My dad is in the hospital right now with a possible expiration date on his life and all you want to know is how long I’ll be gone? I don’t know, Marshall. A week. A month . . . a year?” Three years she’d been with this man. Six months in they both agreed that marriage was a paper that neither of them needed. Both of them from divorced families, hers several times over and his twice . . . they didn’t need it. They agreed to keep it honest and faithful. And they’d done that. At least she knew she had. Their base was Seattle, but they traveled often. She worked from home with a creative marketing company, which had made life easier when her father got ill two years prior.

“I don’t get it, Brooke. It wasn’t like the man was around for you growing up. I don’t know why you bother.”

Her backbone stiffened. He wasn’t wrong. She hated him for pointing that out. “It isn’t for you to understand. You either support me and my decisions or you don’t.”

For several moments they stared at each other. Her expression neutral. His blank.

Finally, Marshall set his glass in the sink and left the kitchen without any further words.

She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed the hurt that pooled in the back of her throat, and typed in her airline of choice.



“I can take you to the airport.”

Marshall stood at the door while Brooke rolled both suitcases from the bedroom and hiked her massive purse on her shoulder. “Carmen is picking me up.”

Brooke had booked the flight, slept the rest of the night on the couch, and all but ignored Marshall as she packed.

“You’re mad.”

“I’m hurt. There’s a difference.”

“Babe . . .” He placed a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off.

“No. Don’t.”

He dropped his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

She paused. “For what?”

“That you’re mad.” He quickly corrected, “Hurt. That I hurt you.”

She rolled her eyes and reached for the door.

“Brooke.”

“I have to go.”

“Those are big suitcases.”

She’d packed as much as she could fit in the luggage she had. The last time, she’d been caught unprepared and needed to buy clothes. That wouldn’t happen again. “Are you afraid I won’t be back?”

“Yes.”

The look in his eyes said he wasn’t lying.

“Good. I might not.”

Marshall’s jaw dropped.

“What? Really?”

Her heart raced in her chest and her pulse soared as she spoke. “Last night I needed the man in my life to put his arms around me and ask if I was okay. I needed him to see if there was something he could do to make things better. All I got was a whiny kid that was mad that I was screwing up his vacation.”

Marshall recoiled. He was three years her junior, something they’d joked about in the past, yet his lack of maturity seemed to be playing a role now. “I guess I deserve that.”

She started past him and he grabbed one of her suitcases. “At least let me help you out.”

Without argument, she allowed him.

Carmen had her car parked in the red zone with the engine running.

Her best friend jumped from the driver’s seat and rounded to the back of the car. “Perfect timing,” Carmen said.

Marshall hoisted both bags into the trunk and closed it before standing back.

He looked at Brooke and she stepped out of his orbit . . . making it clear she wanted nothing to do with any goodbye hugs, kisses, or promises. The restless night on the couch reminded her of those she’d had during her father’s rehabilitation. She knew that the days with her dad were likely numbered, and this was only an example of Marshall’s behavior around things he didn’t approve of. His lack of support before bothered her, now it crushed her.