Flawless: (Fearsome Series Book 4)

by S. A. Wolfe

  On Monday morning, I resist riding my bike to Swill to visit Peyton. Everyone else’s Monday is like my Sunday. I need to learn how to use my time more wisely.

  Before Peyton, I had started to visit a local shelter for the homeless. I’d volunteer in the kitchen, cooking and serving meals. I haven’t stepped foot in the shelter in months.

  Aleska and I drive out there and help restock the food pantry, and then we cook and serve lunch to over a hundred people, mostly vets, but there are some single mothers with young children.

  “I never get used to this place,” Aleska says once we’re back in the van. She’s going to drop me off at home before she meets her cleaning crew at a client’s house. “No matter how many meals we serve, those poor people can never get ahead. They never get a break.”

  “I know.” I stare out the window, at the flowers beginning to bloom. As we drive south toward Hera, it’s more green and lush. “Do you think most of the guests at the shelter still have their dreams?”

  Aleska glances at me before she turns her gaze back to the road. “You mean, like suddenly they’ll get a great job and be self-sufficient?”

  “Whatever they’ve always dreamed about—a job, a home, a family. Some of them are sick, and all of them have been beaten down. Do you think they really have any hope left? Other than hoping they score a bed at the shelter for the night?”

  “I guess I try not to think about it because it’s sad, and it’s scary. Anyone could be in that situation. Lose your marriage and your job, then you lose your house. I want to help, but if I keep imagining myself in their position, it scares the shit out of me.”

  “Since Dad left, it’s always on my mind. Most of us are all just one paycheck or one calamity away from ending up in that shelter.”

  “We’re not that bad off. We have some money in the bank. Our business is doing well. What’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m being realistic. What if something worse than my heart surgery happens? We could lose everything, too. How would we take care of Mom?”

  “You worry too much because our father put you in a horrible position when he left. But we did better than survive. We made something, Talia.” She smacks the steering wheel. “Stop thinking you have to save everyone you meet. Go enjoy your day off. Go have great sex!”

  “Geez.” I shrink in my seat.

  “What? Everyone knows you’re at his house practically every night, screwing each other’s brains out. You stare at each other like you’re about to rip each other’s clothes off with your teeth.”

  “Thanks for the free therapy.” I slam the van door and stomp up to our house. On the front stoop, I turn around to watch my sister drive away. I hate when people leave, but I always stop to watch.

  Aleska drives off at a reckless speed, leaving a cloud of dust. As she turns on the county road, another car slows down as Aleska passes. This scenario is very familiar—the car, its slow rumble toward my home, and me standing at the door, watching it approach. It’s the same midnight-blue sedan I noticed a few weeks ago, but instead of slowly driving by our house as if the driver is looking for something, the driver parks in our driveway, and I see Harmony behind the wheel.

  She looks at me for a moment, then gets out of the car like a woman who has business to contend with. Her expression tells me this isn’t a friendly visit.

  “Harmony,” I say, remaining on the front stoop with my arms crossed.

  “Hello.” She walks toward me and stops at the bottom step. This makes me several inches taller than her, which helps my confidence, and it keeps us separated by at least two feet, which makes me feel safer.

  “You were here before, weren’t you? A few weeks ago, you drove by here. It was before Peyton knew about Finn. Were you spying on Peyton? On me?”

  “I wasn’t spying. I was checking up on him.”

  I scoff. “I won’t ask how you tracked him to my house.”

  “I wasn’t going to let Peyton near Finn without vetting him first.”

  Her condescending tone suggests I’m ignorant about parenting. Perhaps, but I also know you should vet prospective fathers of your children before you get pregnant. I keep that choice remark to myself because Harmony still intimidates the crap out of me.

  “I have to get back to work, so I’ll make this brief,” she says. She’s dressed in a pinstriped navy suit with wide-leg pants. The short, fitted jacket makes her waist look tiny. She looks like a glamorous but tough businesswoman who’s ready to kick some ass. My ass, I guess.

  “What’s up?” I ask. Say it fast, lady. I’m already hating this!

  “From what Finn tells me, you spend a lot of time with him when he’s with Peyton. You bought new bikes yesterday, and it sounds like you and Peyton are fairly serious about each other. You work together, and the little town grapevine, which does reach Westchester, by the way, tells me that you spend many nights at his home.” Harmony says all this as if she’s making opening statements in a courtroom. She could easily play the pretty district attorney in an episode of Law & Order. Except, I haven’t done anything wrong, and I shouldn’t be on trial.

  “Peyton and I spend time together. We’re friends.”

  “I don’t care what you call it, but I do care that you are doing this in front of Finn. I care that you are using his time with his father to be with Peyton. And I care what kind of impression this will leave on Finn.” With each sentence, the anger in her inflection rises. A contained fury, at best.

  “We are not doing anything inappropriate. When I’m invited to have lunch with Finn and Peyton or go out on an excursion with them, it’s done as friends. I’m careful not to intrude on their family time,” I say, then snap, “And I have never spent the night at Peyton’s place when Finn is there!”

  “Good. Finn is becoming fond of you. Let’s make this easy on him. End your friendship with Peyton. I’m not going to insist you quit working with him today because I know you’ll be working elsewhere soon enough. But you can’t see Peyton anymore. It’s sending the wrong, confusing message to my son.”

  “I can’t see Peyton anymore? I can’t go to a party in case he might be there? I can’t have lunch at the restaurant because he might want to sit down and chat with me? Are you serious?”

  “You’re being dramatic. I know you have the same friends and it’s a small town. And you’re working at the restaurant until your kitchen is functioning again. I know all the details. What I’m saying is that you can’t have this … relationship that’s been going on. I don’t want Finn to get attached to you, and then, when you and Peyton break up—because he breaks up with every woman—Finn gets hurt.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you think I’m the kind of person who would manipulate your son’s affection and then hurt him. I’m not that kind of woman. I like Peyton, and I like Finn. I value my time with them, and I make sure to behave as a guest, not a parent, and not as Peyton’s girlfriend. Which I’m not. This is a very small town, and Peyton has become one of my closest friends,” I say, holding back tears. “You can’t tell me to never see him again.”

  “I can. Because if you don’t, he will lose Finn.”

  “What do you mean?” A tear escapes, and I wipe it angrily against my cheek.

  “Peyton isn’t on Finn’s birth certificate. We never filed any formal papers that state Peyton is the father. I have full custody. I moved back here so Finn could establish a relationship with his father. I have been easing Finn into this slowly over the last few months, and I’m watching Peyton carefully, making sure he can handle being a father. I want this to work for both of them, for all of us, but you’re not part of this picture. You’ll confuse Finn’s heart. I’m not going to let that unstable relationship touch my son.”

  “Are you hoping you and Peyton will get back together so you can raise Finn in the same home? Because I think that ship has sunk. You hurt Peyton by keeping his son a secret for ten years!”

  Harmony’s mouth contorts into a sneer.
“You decide. You can keep sleeping with Peyton and watch him lose Finn, or you can walk away and let them have a relationship. Peyton will want Finn. You know that connection is stronger than anything you have with him.”

  “I agree. Peyton does love Finn more than anyone. So why are you afraid of me?”

  “Blondie, I’m not afraid of you.” She forces a laugh. “I have experienced enough fear on my own, raising Finn as a teenage mother. You don’t know what fear is.”

  I don’t know her fear. I only know my own.

  “You’d really do this to Peyton? Prevent him from dating women until Finn is an adult? Do the same rules apply to you, too, or are you allowed to date while you threaten to take away Peyton’s parental rights?”

  “I’m a realist. At some point, we both may find serious partners and maybe want to marry. By then, I expect Peyton’s relationship to be solidified, and we’ll be in stable, long-term relationships with people who put Finn first.”

  “But you get to decide who Peyton sees and when he can have a relationship or you’ll take his son away,” I say. “He’ll fight you, Harmony.”

  She smiles. “You think Peyton’s going to fight me over you?”

  “No. He won’t take you to court over me, but he’ll fight you tooth and … whatever that saying is. He’ll fight you as long as it takes for Finn. For Finn. You’re doing this destructive thing, Harmony, not me.”

  “Good, then you’ll make this easy, right? You’re done playing around with Peyton because you know Finn is more important. Do we agree on this, or do you want to make this really messy and very public? Do you want Finn to see this played out in front of everyone?”

  “I would never hurt Finn.”

  “Then I’ll take that as a yes to my terms.”

  With her ramrod-straight posture and head held high, she walks back to her car, gets in, and slams the door as her final word on the matter. I don’t watch her drive away because, for the first time, I’m not sad to see someone leave. I’m seething.

  As soon as I open the front door, I hear the loud cackle of women’s laughter in the kitchen. My instinct is to flee the house, bike over to Swill, and tell Peyton everything.

  Harmony’s ultimatum hit me in the gut. I knew it was a matter of time before Peyton and I would fizzle and end. We would part as friends who entered into this with defined terms. But each day brought me closer to understanding him, and each week brought me closer to caring about him. I’m not truly ready to end it with Peyton, but since this new deadline is being forced upon me and Finn’s happiness is at stake, I don’t have a choice.

  Norma and one of her daily caregivers, Olga, and Lois, and my mother are sitting around the table, playing cards. Baby, the pampered Saint Bernard, is lying next to the sliding door in a pool of sunlight. He’s on his back with his legs splayed in the air, letting the sun warm his belly.

  This is my real life.

  “Son of a bun! I’m out!” shouts Lois.

  Great, my mother is playing poker with Hera’s one true card shark. Lois only plays for cash pots, and she has no problem taking money off friends. In this case, my mother’s spending money comes from Aleska and me. I’m enabling my agoraphobic mother and her gambling.

  “Could you not clean out my mom’s wallet today?” I ask Lois.

  “I’m actually doing well,” my mother gloats.

  “It’s all right, sugar,” Norma chimes in. “We’re only allowed to use ones.”

  I shake my head. “I’m no math genius, but whether my mother loses five fifties or two hundred and fifty ones, it’s all the same.”

  “These gals are ruthless,” Olga says, shooting me a concerned look. “I can’t afford this job.”

  “Oh, shut up. I’ll give you a pay raise to keep playing,” Norma says.

  I open the fridge and grab a Snapple. Then I head down to my room for some quiet contemplation and more self-loathing. I get a swig of sugary tea and a two-minute face-plant on my bed when a simple knock on my door turns into an aggressive assault.

  “It’s open!” I yell.

  “It’s me,” Lois says as she enters, then closes the door securely behind her.

  “It is you.” I roll over on my side. “What do you want?”

  “First of all,” she says, scrunching her nose and looking around the room, “I gotta say this room is depressingly bland. I’ve seen generic hotel rooms that are more exciting than this.”

  “I just sleep here.” And I hadn’t planned on spending my life in my mother’s home.

  “We’ll talk decorating another day. I’m here to tell you that Peyton spoke to me about the intervention you two have discussed.”

  “He did? Already?” I sit up, more alert, my mind racing. With all he has going on in his life, Peyton’s actually ready to follow through on the enormous challenge of my mother?

  “Yes, and I have to say I agree, and I’m on board with Mission Getting Mila the Hell Out of the House.”

  “I doubt Peyton called it that.”

  “No, I came up with MGM THOOTH, and I have been discussing it discreetly with all parties.”

  “All parties? You make it sound like the UN is involved.”

  Lois gives a casual shrug. “With your mother, this is more like negotiating an international arms deal. She is stubborn! I’m this close”—she illustrates with her thumb and pointer finger—“to slipping Valium in her coffee and dragging her to the nearest lockdown unit for some tough love and a good kick in the ass.”

  “Lois, you know that would never work. If she doesn’t have the will to help herself, we can do interventions every week and they’ll all fail.”

  “Don’t I know that. I’ve had enough friends battle addiction and other issues to know what works and what doesn’t, but that doesn’t mean sometimes I just want to slap your mother silly.”

  “You and me both. But when I say it, I sound like an ungrateful daughter.”

  “You aren’t. You and Aleska are both fabulous, and any mother would be proud of you. Let me take the reins from here. I’ll organize this with Peyton.”

  It doesn’t seem right to drag him into my family’s problems when I’m about to break everything off with him.

  “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to cry. Sweetie, it’s all going to work out. Don’t worry about your mother. It really will be fine.”

  I let her believe all my grief is for my mother. “Why do you need to involve Peyton? I think he has enough things on his dishes.”

  “On his plate?” Lois chuckles. “Yes, he does, but he also really likes you and wants to help. And he’s big and strong, and I may need him to put the straitjacket on your mother and shove her in my car.”

  I smile faintly, trying to mask my misery. “Let’s hope my mother has the same sense of humor about this when all her well-intentioned friends invade her home and insist that she get a life.”

  “Now that’s the spirit.” Lois shakes her fist. “This is your day off! Why don’t you go see that handsome fella and share an ice cream sundae?”

  “Ice cream sundae?”

  “I was being polite. Ice cream sundae is code for hot, sweaty sex. Somebody in this house should be having some, and it’s not going to be your mother anytime soon.”

  “I never would have broken that code.”

  “Talia, dear, you cannot spend your day off here in this house when there’s a nice man who would love to see you.”

  Despite Lois’s prodding, I don’t run out to see Peyton and hang around the restaurant while he works, soaking up his lusty attention. Instead, I learn how to lose at poker and bridge, and I think about what I’m going to say to Peyton. I have to end a friendship with a man who has become the best lover I’ve ever had.

  I thought a carefree relationship with him would be easy. I thought terms like fling and casual meant that people could come and go from these relationships without consequences. Maybe other people, not me. This was not designed for me.

  After my last losing
round of cards, I drive over to Peyton’s house. He texted me at nine and said he was on his way home since Bash is handling the closing.

  I let myself in with the key Peyton slipped into my hand a few weeks ago, which seems like years now. I put my purse on his kitchen counter, but I leave my jean jacket on since I don’t think I’ll be staying long.

  “Hey,” he says with a grin as he comes padding down the hall, barefoot and shirtless, wearing loose-fitting sweatpants that hang low on his narrow hips. He finger-combs his wet hair roughly. “Needed a quick shower. Got blasted by the stout tap tonight.”

  I inhale his damp, musky scent as he cups my head and gives me a quick but thorough kiss.

  I have one hand resting on my purse as though I’m prepared to promptly leave once I’ve said what needs to be said and, with my other hand, I’m clutching my cell phone so I don’t touch him and slide my hand down his bare back, which is what I really want to do.

  “Take off your jacket and shoes and get comfortable.”

  Before I can respond, my phone rings.

  Peyton watches me as I let it ring several times and go to voice mail.

  “Are you not taking calls tonight?” He looks at me quizzically. I haven’t spoken a word yet.

  “No. It’s not important.”

  “Come here,” he says, pulling me by the waist. He wraps his arms around me and nestles me against his warm, freshly showered skin.

  I let go of my purse, but I still grasp my phone as I circle my arms around his waist. I love the way he smells and feels. Everything about him is sensual. I long for this, for him, as he looks at me with a steady gaze. Then I remember what I came here to do. It’s about Finn. It’s about me moving on to something more stable and permanent.

  He kisses me again, and then my phone rings. We keep kissing until the ringtone becomes annoying.

  “Please answer it. I won’t be offended.”

  “I can talk to them later,” I say as the last ring ends.

  He sighs and shakes his head. “Give me your phone.” He releases me and puts out his hand. “At least listen to the messages in case it’s an emergency. It might be your mother.”