Flawless: (Fearsome Series Book 4)

by S. A. Wolfe

  “Jess, this isn’t about you,” Imogene says. “Sorry, I know you’re emotional about your friend not telling you some very big news, but she had her reasons. People are in a lot of pain after surgery. They can’t lift anything, certainly not babies, and they need quiet time with rest, not squealing babies, no matter how cute they are.”

  “You’re right. It’s not about me.” Jess exhibits a marked sadness.

  My omission has damaged our friendship, and it’s a reminder of another relationship I need to repair. “I wanted to tell you more than anyone, but it was an overwhelming period for both of us. You were pregnant and scared, and I was scared about dying. I didn’t have any energy left to be a friend to anyone.”

  “Your reasons are justified,” Emily speaks up, and Archie agrees.

  “Well, this is why my mother is angry at me today. She and Aleska got me through this tough time and kept our business going. My mom did all the cooking for my clients, as you know. She’s hoping by divulging my health crisis—which has been resolved—she can deflect from what we’re doing today.

  “This is an intervention, Mom. No one is questioning your devotion to us as our mother. Even when we disagree or argue, I will say you are an excellent mother. But you’re also very sick. You deserve more than this, and so do we.”

  “That was lovely,” Lois says. “You have such smart, loving daughters, Mila. Not every parent can say that.”

  “It’s true. It’s so true,” Eleanor says, holding my mother’s soft, unlined, alabaster hand with her wrinkled, tan one. Perhaps the only benefit to being housebound is my mother doesn’t have any sun damage and looks much younger than her age. Sitting between the two older mavens with their frosted and styled, silver hair, my mother looks like she could be my older sister. “We’re not here to harass you. The scary part is over; we’re all talking about this in the open. No more denial. We just want you to see a doctor.”

  My mother pushes Eleanor’s hand aside and abruptly stands up, holding the lapels of the robe tightly. She actually steps onto the coffee table and hops off the other side, which is the fastest route to the front door.

  Did I mention my mother is fast?

  She’s fast.

  And clever. She must have figured out Peyton’s job was to keep her contained in the living room and prevent her from running to another part of the house. She fooled us. She slithered between Imogene and Jess, as far away as she could from Peyton and me, so we couldn’t grab her. We definitely didn’t expect her to run out the front door.

  The door hangs open as we all move to the entryway and watch her jog down the front walk, hugging her robe as she takes each barefooted step.

  “Uh, should we chase her?” Leo asks.

  “Go, Mom! Look at her! She did it!” Aleska exclaims, stepping onto the front stoop.

  “Don’t do that. Don’t encourage her to run,” I say. “This is crazy. I didn’t expect her to actually run outside. What are we supposed to do now?”

  “Let her wear herself out?” Lois asks. “Why not? Let her run.”

  “Do we have a Plan B? Are we just going to stand here and watch her?” Carson asks. Like everyone else, he can’t take his eyes off the runaway, peach-colored robe.

  “Move!” Peyton barks as he pushes people aside and heads out the door after her.

  I’m right behind him, jogging a little to keep up.

  “What are we going to do?” I ask.

  He begins jogging, and I have to start sprinting to keep up.

  “We’ll try to reason with her.”

  He catches up to my mother and returns to a comfortable gait. I stay on his other side because I think any attempt that I make to talk my mother through her breakdown will only enrage her further.

  I glance behind us and see our friends following like a slow-moving herd of confused cows. My family is the center of this public comedy. Even Norma is making her way behind everyone else, clomping her walker down the sidewalk.

  We reach our roadside mailbox, and my mother suddenly wraps her arms around the battered tin box like a shipwreck survivor who finds a lone buoy in the middle of the ocean.

  “You did it,” Peyton says. “Can I walk you back inside now?”

  My mother looks terrified, wild-eyed, and her face has contorted into someone else entirely. Someone who looks lost.

  I put my arm around her. “You’re safe, Mom. Let’s go back inside,” I say, trying to be as comforting as I can to make up for my less-than-gentle manner from before.

  “Mom!” Aleska reaches us. “That was awesome! You did great!”

  “We need to get her back inside,” I say.

  “What? Are you nuts?” Aleska puts her hands on her hips with indignation. “She needs to keep going.”

  “She’s not even dressed! Her hair is wet, and she looks crazy!” I snap.

  She needs a soft-spoken therapist to urge her back to her senses. Obviously, I’m not that person. Lately, whatever my mother does or says grates on my nerves, and I can’t cheer her on while she parades down the street in her robe. And parade she does. She lets go of the mailbox and begins her march toward town. She follows the shoulder of the county road, which is rocky. The crushed gravel must be killing the soft skin on her bare feet. Fortunately, there’s never much traffic on this road, maybe one to two cars per hour. We have this vast, open road to ourselves, with the rest of the circus following. We’re like carnival people without the fun costumes.

  “This isn’t safe, Mila,” Peyton says. “You’re going to hurt your feet. Let me get you back home.”

  “No! No, I said I’d go outside. That was the deal, and now I’m outside and I might as well go to Bonnie’s Diner for a cup of coffee.” She walks faster and moves off the shoulder to walk on the paved asphalt.

  “You’re going to town in your robe? Really? We didn’t ask you to do this, Mom,” I say.

  Peyton and Aleska flank her sides so she can easily ignore me.

  “Arguing with her is not helping,” Peyton says.

  “Walking half-naked to town isn’t exactly the way she should be introduced back into society,” I say sharply.

  “Hey, she’s out of the house. You’ve been begging her to get out and she’s out,” Aleska barks back.

  “Can’t you see she’s having a breakdown?” I shout.

  “Mila, what do you want us to do for you?” Peyton asks gently. His voice is full of kindness, a distinct contrast to her squabbling daughters. “I can get my truck and drive you back home. It’s your call.”

  My mother doesn’t respond. She keeps walking angrily in the direction of town. She releases her tight grip on the robe and begins pumping her arms furiously as if we’re all in a walk race.

  The sound of a car slowing down behind us makes all four of us turn our heads. It’s the sheriff.

  My mother scoffs and looks away, walking with intention.

  The sheriff is in the proper lane that heads into Hera, and we’re walking illegally in the middle of the opposite lane, so he’s able to cruise right next to my mother.

  He leans an elbow out of his window as he drives and smiles at us. “I got a call that a band of gypsies are heading into town.”

  “Oh great, the fuzz!” Lois says loudly from behind us.

  The sheriff looks back at Lois and sighs. She has that effect on everyone.

  “Norma called me,” he says.

  “Sheriff,” Peyton says. “We’re trying—”

  “Sheriff!” my mother interrupts. “I’d like to report a home invasion. A dozen people showed up at my home and forced me out.” She uses a haughty voice without looking at the sheriff and keeps walking. And we keep following.

  “Mom!”

  Aleska laughs. “I wish I had brought my phone so I could film this.”

  “These are her daughters,” Peyton explains to the sheriff. “Her friends and family staged an intervention. And she’s angry with us, so she decided to leave, and …”

  “I know,” the s
heriff says. “Norma told me that part, too. You must be Mila. I’m Sheriff Doyle. Everyone calls me Gavin.”

  My mother finally gives him the courtesy of her attention.

  “Norma said I should arrest you and take you to the hospital.”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong! There’s no law that says you can’t leave your home in your bathrobe!”

  The sheriff smiles. He has a rugged face with a nice smile. He’s maybe a few years older than my mother. I wonder if he gets calls like this all the time—dealing with wacky locals who do odd things like taking their horse into the grocery store with them. It happened!

  “Sweetheart!” Eleanor shouts from the herd. “Let Gavin take you to the hospital. My therapist is there and ready to see you. They will give you fantastic drugs to knock you out and make you feel good, and then we can all discuss this rationally!”

  “I’m not going to arrest you, Mila,” says Sheriff Gavin. “But I’d be happy to drive you wherever you want to go.”

  “Maybe I want to go home and just make sticky buns,” my mother snipes.

  “I like sticky buns,” he says. Oh, this man is a pro with crazy people. “How about I pull up ahead on the side of the road and you get in and we can talk? I can’t in good conscience let you walk barefoot, especially if you’re going to cover a few more miles.”

  “I could talk.” My mother lifts her chin and shrugs. Now she’s cool and collected. Whatever happened to “it takes a village?” How about “it takes a man?” I guess sometimes it takes the attention of one person who can affect you.

  I notice the sheriff doesn’t wear a wedding ring. I wonder if he’s single and looking for a challenging woman with enough baggage that would sink a boat, but who happens to make great sticky buns.

  “This could be very good,” Peyton says to me, a little smile dancing across his lips as we watch the sheriff park on the side of the road, and my mother almost skips over to his car. Then she gets in on the passenger side, leaving the rest of us standing awkwardly in the road.

  The others start to walk back to my house, but Peyton and I stand where we are as if we’re both hoping for a private moment together.

  “For a guy who says he doesn’t want to settle down and have a family, you sure know how to insert yourself into other people’s lives.” Confident that Harmony is not in the vicinity and none of my friends would spy for her, I playfully punch his shoulder.

  For the first time, I witness him blush. He looks down and smiles, and there’s a sweetness that covers up those rough, sometimes arrogant edges of his.

  “It must be this town, and Finn. Hard to be the same person when my circumstances have changed.”

  And then I remember Harmony’s words, warning me about what will happen if I choose to maintain a close friendship with Peyton.

  He will lose Finn.

  I can’t jeopardize Peyton’s new family.

  “You have everything you want,” I say. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Not everything. So, why don’t we grab dinner together someplace? I can give you dating advice.”

  “Very funny, but I can’t. Anyway, thank you for today. My mother doesn’t know it yet, but she thanks you, too.” I step away from him, feeling reluctant but sure it’s the right thing to do. “It’s all going to work out. Right?”

  “It’s a big question.” He studies my face, and for a brief, dreamy moment, it seems like we’re both back in Carson’s SUV, driving a baby through the wooded hills, laughing and flirting and experiencing that first real flicker of attraction.

  And now I’m left with longing.

  “I hope it all works out,” he says. “For both of us.”

  Peyton

  “DO YOU HAVE TO be so obvious?” Bash asks, plating some new entrees he’s trying out. He wipes the rims of the plates with a towel, then places them on the main worktable so the servers can sample them.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, noticing Talia’s delivery bags are loaded and stacked, but she’s nowhere in sight. The cooks and servers are on a short beverage break in the bar while Bash sets up the menu tasting, so we’re alone and I can speak freely.

  “She’s in the cooler getting some extra parsley for her garnishes,” Bash says.

  “Huh. So, what are you serving here?”

  “Get off it, dude. You didn’t come in here to eat the same food I had you sample two hours ago. You’re in here to see Talia, and I know it. The staff knows it, and Talia knows it, which makes me wonder why she’s taking so long in the damn cooler. First you two were barely talking to each other, then you were always together, showing up together, leaving together. Then it went back to not talking. What the hell happened?”

  “I had a kid, I guess.”

  “He’s a great kid, and Talia really likes him. That’s not the problem.”

  “The kid comes with a very intense mother, and I suppose my career choice isn’t exactly ideal for a woman who wants a normal life. Same issues I had with Flora.”

  “No, these aren’t the same issues you had with Flora. Number one, you weren’t in love with Flora.”

  “I never said I’m in love with … anyone.”

  “Fuck that, dude. You are so into Talia. And why not? She’s great. And she works in the same business as you—there’s no way your career is a problem for her. She likes working in our kitchen, and we like having her here. So do you. And everything between you two was falling into place perfectly. When you found out about Finn, Talia didn’t judge you. This is light years ahead of what you had with Flora or any other woman. So what the fuck are you doing to screw this up?”

  “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. Talia just decided we had to end anything beyond friendship. She claims we both have a lot of baggage and somehow we’re not right for each other.”

  I haven’t spoken to anyone about this, and Bash and Greer are usually the first people I turn to when I have a problem.

  Over the few months we’ve known each other, something about my relationship with Talia gave me a sense of great accomplishment, as though I’d become a better person, the man I had been striving to be. I felt like I was transforming into someone else, hopefully someone good, but that feeling faltered when Talia ended it.

  “Adam Knight is interested in her, and I don’t know whether it’s genuine or if he’s playing her. She knows what she wants. She has long-term plans carved in stone when it comes to her personal and professional life. So maybe she’s playing along with Knight, maybe it’s just sex, maybe it’s more. I’m fucking clueless because she won’t tell me a damn thing. But believe me; it’s pissing me off.”

  “Because you’re in love with that fiery little blonde.”

  “Stop exaggerating. I never said that.”

  “So, why are you jealous of Adam? Because you don’t want her to fall for the dude. Shit, even I can see that.”

  Talia enters the kitchen, so I swallow my next remark.

  “Hey,” I say to her.

  “Hey there,” she returns, carrying a bouquet of parsley over to her delivery packages. “Well, I’m taking off.”

  “You’re leaving early today?” I ask. I could kick myself because, yes, I’m so obvious. I even know the woman’s delivery schedule.

  “I have a light load tonight, so I want to get the dinner service done early. Norma’s my last delivery, and I promised her that I’d stay for a game of cards. She wants to talk about my mom.”

  “Good. And your mom is doing well? Lois told me your mom has made a couple of visits to a doctor.”

  “Yes, it’s very exciting,” Talia laughs in a high lilt. “Thanks to Sheriff Gavin. He comes by the house every day and has coffee with my mom. He’s the one who takes her to her appointments. He’s designated himself as her driver and assistant for the next month, according to our calendar on the fridge. You were right when you said he could be a very good thing for my mother. I think they like each other.”

  “I told you I know something about men.�
��

  “Oh, Christ,” Bash says. “Talia, can you hang on while we taste these new dishes? I want your feedback.”

  The staff break has ended and everyone is filing into the kitchen and milling around the new plates of food Bash has on display.

  “Gather round,” Bash says.

  “Yes, Chef!” the staff sings out in unison.

  As Bash explains the dishes, their titles and descriptions, so the servers can pitch them to customers, everyone grabs a clean fork and takes a few bites from each plate. I check the iPad I’m carrying and review the reservations and any important notes Greer may have added. I also watch Talia out of the corner of my eye, tasting the food and complimenting Bash.

  “Everyone, listen up,” I say. “We have some very special guests tonight, so I want you to be in top form. I know you give it your best, so tonight shouldn’t be any different, but be aware of the special company we have this evening.”

  I give these pre-evening meetings before we open, and Talia is sometimes here, but this time, I’m suddenly more self-conscious as she watches me.

  With the weight of her gaze upon me, I’m humbled. And I’m neither a humble man, nor am I known for being philanthropic, but Talia looks at me in a way that suggests I am a man worth knowing. It is a lofty feeling. If I was meeting her for the first time, I would simply think she’s checking me out—because that’s who I used to be. However, after months of being with her every day, I know more about Talia than any other person. I have memorized her, all of her, down to the smallest details to capture her essence.

  I scroll through my tablet. “Tonight we have Major Schmidt with us. He’s an old friend of Bash’s family and served in Iraq and Afghanistan. I hold a special place for people like him. Make him feel welcome, please. We’re seating him and his guest at table eleven.”

  Talia smiles at me. It throws me off for a moment, and then I remember to read off the rest of the VIP reservations.

  “We also have Joley Casper joining us tonight. As most of you know, she’s a popular food blogger in New York City. She has a huge Twitter following, so she’ll be watching and tweeting while she’s here. God help us. She’ll be here at seven, and we’re putting her at table five. Let’s give her something to rave about.”