by Mia Kayla
I knew how this worked.
Tit for tat.
I was in business after all.
So, I offered, “I can’t sleep because of the nightmares.” My voice didn’t sound like my own; it was soft, distant, disconnected.
She peered up at me because I’d gotten her attention.
I hadn’t told anyone but my therapist that I still had nightmares of Natalie dying on the hospital bed. I still pictured her elated face as the nurse set a crying Mary in her arms, moments before she coded blue and they rushed me out of the room. Her blood pressure had skyrocketed. She’d had preeclampsia and …
Becky’s voice was careful, curious, just like I was. “Do these nightmares come every night?”
I let out one slow breath. I didn’t want to give too much, reveal too much truth, truth that I didn’t want others to see—that I really wasn’t okay.
My brothers continued to worry about me, and I didn’t need to add anything else to their plates. To everyone, to the world, my life, even after my deceased wife, was perfect. They just didn’t know that, every day, I walked through life, not seeing, only going through the motions. I wouldn’t consider this living, just being.
I stared at her for a few seconds before letting a little more out. “Not every night. But most nights.” I took a sip of water, waiting for her to give me something … anything. More …
Because I wanted to know her more. It had only been days since I’d met her, but the need to know her surpassed my need to keep my nightmares a secret. A truth that shocked the hell out of me.
After a deep breath, she whispered into the air, “I have nightmares too.”
We were both silent for a beat, knowing we were sharing intimate details now, breaking the seal of the nanny-employer relationship. She could probably guess what mine were about. I found it unfair that my life could be read in a newspaper or on the internet, being the CEO of a high-profile company, and I knew nothing about what kept her up at night.
I needed to know, so I kept going, giving snippets of what haunted me, snippets I never let anyone else see. “Sometimes, I get a break. The longest has been a week, and then I think the nightmares are over … but they come back clearer.” More frightening. So vivid that I wake up sometimes in a cold sweat, screaming out for Nat.
Becky held her glass tighter, her gaze dropping to the table.
“You’re lucky.” She stood. “My nightmares never give me a break.” She walked to the dishwasher and placed her glass in the top drawer, already done with the conversation. “Good night, Charles. Thank you.” She lifted her foot and wiggled her bandaged big toe.
“Good night.” I guessed that was all I was going to get, but if her nightmares never ceased, maybe she’d be down here tomorrow night.
My shoulders eased, and as pathetic as it seemed, I was relieved she had nightmares too. Because tonight was the first time since Natalie had died that I felt less alone.
Chapter 11
Becky
The next morning, I was up early before the girls to make breakfast and pack their lunch. Patty had given me a schedule of when the girls got up and what time they had to be out of the house, so they weren’t late for school. I’d functioned on schedules with Eleanor and her meds, so Patty’s detailed directions had put me at ease.
When I stepped downstairs, Charles was already there, standing by the coffee machine, dressed in a dark navy-blue suit, all ready for work.
I staggered to a stop and stole a moment to take him in, as his back was toward me, his head downturned, watching the coffee brew.
It seemed as though it had only been hours since I’d last seen him. I doubted he ever slept if he had frequent nightmares. I didn’t like that the similarity bonded us, but it did.
A deep cough escaped him, a very dry cough, and it startled me from my stalking-fest.
I approached slowly. “Are you getting sick?”
He turned to face me, his eyes widening. For once, I’d startled him. “No. There’s no time to get sick.” He poured himself a cup and reached for another mug. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please. Just black.” I leaned against the counter.
He stared at me for a second too long before pouring me a cup. “I’ve never met a woman who liked her coffee just black.”
“Black like my soul.” I smiled, reaching for my cup as he handed it to me.
He laughed. It was a quick chuckle, but I drank it all up because even after knowing him for only a week or so, I’d only heard it a couple of times.
I sipped from the cup and smiled. “Usually, sickness doesn’t pick a time.” I lifted a finger. “Actually, it picks the worst time to take you down.”
He nodded his head. “Yeah, which is why I take a ton of vitamins. There isn’t a cold I haven’t killed yet in a few days, tops.”
“Lucky.” I made my way to the fridge, self-conscious as he leaned against the counter, ankles crossed, just staring at me.
This time, I wore a gray sweatshirt over my white tee. I wasn’t making the same mistake that I’d done last night.
“Sarah is up,” I said, matter-of-fact.
“Yeah, she’s usually up before her alarm. She’s my organized child. Mary …” He shook his head and took another sip of his coffee. “Good luck waking that kid up. She’s a whiner until we’re almost out the door.”
I laughed. “I have to look at their schedules to see what time they get out of school.”
“Three thirty.”
I knew from what Patty had said, as it was a private school, they didn’t have bus service, and I’d be picking them up daily.
“I’ll be in the carpool line at three.” That was a great amount of time at home. I mean, besides the girls’ laundry and getting dinner ready, there wasn’t much to do. “I know that Patty said you didn’t like her tidying up, but I like doing stuff like that, and there is so much time in the day, so …” I smiled before I took another sip of coffee.
“No,” Charles said, his answer firm with a rich timbre of his voice. It wasn’t even a soft no. It was a hard no means no. “We have a cleaning lady. Your main priority is taking care of the kids, helping them with their homework, doing activities with them.” His fingers tapped against his mug. “You’re up early, and you most likely won’t sleep before ten. After dinner and homework and baths and getting ready for the next day, it’s a lot.”
I blinked at him, tightly holding my hot mug. “But I won’t even know what to do with myself.” Maybe it was embarrassing to admit, but I had no life beyond my job. And I preferred it that way because keeping myself busy with my job kept my mind wandering into the past, to memories I never wanted to revisit. Plus, my job kept me inside, avoiding the possibility of being found.
“Relax,” he said, his voice gentler this time. “When they’re home, you’ll be busy.” He lifted his eyebrows to bring his point home.
I placed my coffee cup against my lips, taking a sip. “Honestly, there is only so much TV I can watch.”
He studied me for a second, unnerving me. “Have you ever thought about finishing your nursing degree?” His voice was soft, cautious even. He placed his coffee cup on the counter.
Just the thought sparked me with excitement. Had I thought of it? I’d dreamt about it. I knew I was going to eventually get my nursing degree because I wanted something of my own. I didn’t own a house or a car, but I wanted a degree. And when I did get it, no one could take that away from me.
“I want to,” I said vaguely.
At my response, his face lit up. “You should. You could take some classes at the local community college. You’ll have from after they leave till three to take classes. And I’m sure they offer online courses too.”
I gulped, touched by his kindness. He barely knew me, and he wanted good things for me. The sentiment was overly kind, and a rush of energy surged through me at the thought.
“Thank you.” I placed my hand on his forearm, grateful. With the raise that I’d received from watchin
g Eleanor to now watching the girls and the fact that rent was free, I could afford the credits at a local community college.
His eyes flickered to where we were connected, and a moment later, he pressed a hand on top of mine. “You should really think about it. We can make it work around here.”
Our eyes locked for a few long seconds, and the natural, comfortable feeling I felt around him shifted into something else, something deeper, more intense. I had to turn away from him and place my own mug on the counter.
“Thank you,” I repeated. My heartbeat picked up in my chest, and my cheeks warmed.
To distract myself, I opened the fridge and got some eggs out, clearing my throat. “So, per Patty, Mary likes scrambled, and Sarah like her eggs sunny-side up. How do you like your eggs?”
“I don’t eat,” he deadpanned.
“At all?” I playfully widened my eyes. “How’d you gain all that muscle, then?”
The side of his mouth tipped upward. Goodness, was it cute. Why couldn’t I get a full-on smile? I was sure when his smile surfaced, it was wonderful, like the sun shining through the clouds after the rain.
“I mean”—he shrugged—“I don’t normally eat breakfast. If I do, it’s not a big one. I just grab another coffee when I’m near the office.”
I flicked my hair over my shoulder as I grabbed a bowl to scramble Mary’s eggs. “You should know that breakfast is the most important part of the day.”
I passed him the carton of eggs, and he placed it on the kitchen island. Then, I passed him the bacon. His fingers brushed mine as he took it and set it on the island.
“Did your mom tell you that? That’s something my mom always said when she was making us breakfast.”
I blinked up at him, my smile slipping. Any mention of my mom sent me to a place in my past that I didn’t like to go. My voice was low, almost hoarse. “My mom … yeah, I don’t like to think about her often.” The last time I had seen her was years ago. “She”—I went to the fridge again, getting out the orange juice—“wasn’t a very good mother.” I stared at the bowl of fruit, at the salad, at the milk and swallowed hard.
“Becky, I’m—”
I held up a hand and smiled that forced smile that always seemed to pop up as a coping mechanism. The one that said everything was okay when it really wasn’t.
“Don’t be sorry. My life is so much better now that she’s not in it.” I sucked in a hard breath and I flicked my hair over my shoulder as I grabbed a bowl to scramble Mary’s eggs. “I didn’t even check for the lunchmeat. Patty mentioned that Mary only eats ham,” I said, changing the subject so quick that I probably gave him whiplash.
I heard the fridge open, and a moment later, ham was on the kitchen island.
“Yeah, Mary is addicted to ham. We have to have it in the house at all times. She even likes it in her eggs.”
I chanced a glance at him and read curiosity in his eyes, but I was so thankful that he didn’t press me further. I didn’t have any friends for that very reason. They would want to know everything about me, which included my past and that was off-limits.
He moved to the other counter, grabbing a loaf of bread. “I liked to tag-team with Patty in the morning when I could. I hope that’s okay.”
“This is your house. Of course it’s okay.” I moved around him and got a pan from the cupboard.
“Becky …”
At the sound of my name on his lips, I turned to face him, pan in hand.
“I want you to feel like this is your house too. I want you to move freely around this house as you would your own house. That’s what I told Patty when she moved in with us that very first day. And I want you to be open with me—about the kids and about you, what is bothering you, about how we can make this transition easier for all of us.”
I stared. Because I couldn’t say anything. No one had ever really wanted to take care of me like that. Put me at ease, make me feel at home. Not a man anyway. Never in my life.
When I didn’t answer, he tipped his chin. “Can you do that?”
I nodded. “I think so.”
He proceeded to pack on the mayo and ham as he made the girls’ sandwiches.
“Patty wasn’t kidding. You’re a very hands-on dad.”
His eyes met mine briefly before focusing on his task at hand. “I try to be. I don’t want them to feel like they’re missing anything by not having their …” His voice trailed off, and he paused for a second before packing the sandwiches into brown paper bags. Then, he proceeded to the pantry to get some chips. “It’s the one job I can’t fail at.”
Now, that I understood better than he’d ever know.
Chapter 12
Charles
The last time I had gotten a call from school, Sarah had sprained her ankle. So, when the principal called me to tell me that Sarah had gotten in trouble, I was driving ninety on the highway, rushing to the school.
I had called Becky, but she hadn’t answered. When I’d told Brad and Mason that I was leaving work early to head to the school, they had wanted to come with me, overly concerned for the kids, but I’d flat-out told them no.
Adrenaline pumped in me as I turned into the parking lot, my heart beating a mile a minute. Sweat beads lined the back of my neck as I jumped out of my car, got to the entrance, and rang the buzzer for them to let me in.
When the door buzzed, I yanked it open and didn’t stop my quickened stride as I made it to the principal’s office. I stopped mid-step, hearing Becky’s heightened voice beyond the principal’s door, which was slightly ajar.
“So, there are no repercussions for the other girl? None whatsoever?” Becky’s back was toward me, her hands fisted by her sides.
I walked straight into Carol, the principal’s office without acknowledging the secretary, noting Sarah was sitting in the chair in front of her desk.
“That’s straight-up bullying, and this is bullshit. You can’t reprimand Sarah for sticking up for herself.”
“What’s going on here?”
My voice had everyone—Becky, Carol, and Sarah—turning in my direction.
“Charles …” Carol stood from behind her desk and adjusted her red suit jacket. “Sarah got into a fight this morning with Jennifer O’Neal.”
My eyes flickered to Sarah before landing back on the principal.
Becky took a menacing step toward the principal. “You can’t start the narrative like that!” Her eyes were blazing fire, the green popping. She flipped toward me. “Charles.” She tilted her head and clenched her teeth in a sarcastic smile. “Let me start the real narrative here. Jennifer O’Neal decided to pick on Sarah’s half-ponytail today and make fun of the fact that it wasn’t perfect, but it was okay because she didn’t have a mom to fix her hair.” She threw up both hands and then turned her attention back to Carol. “Let’s just tell it how it really is, right? And why isn’t Jennifer O’Neal in here, getting reprimanded, huh? Why is she not in here? I think her parents should get a call, too, because she’s a bully.”
Carol pulled at her suit jacket and placed a hand on her lip, leaning in. “Jennifer wasn’t the violent one in this situation.”
I breathed through the next seconds, searching Sarah’s face but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
Becky screeched, “Violent? She pushed the kid who was getting in her face. I would have done more than push her. Unbelievable. You’re …”
Before Becky got out her next words, I lightly took her forearm and ushered her behind me.
“Is that what happened, Carol?” I asked, eyes devoid of any true emotion, wanting the facts.
“Well, yes.” She addressed me with a quiet firmness, “According to Jennifer, she said something about Sarah’s hair but did not in fact mention her mother. That’s why she’s not in here.” She had the decency to look somewhat apologetic. “But she will be talked to. Separately.”
“Really?” Becky said with doubt. “So, Sarah shoved the girl because she’d mentioned something about her hair. Real
ly? Charles, do you believe that? Come on now.”
“Becky,” I said, my voice meaning to calm her down, but looking at the fire behind her eyes, I wondered if it was possible to calm her.
“You know how kids are, Charles,” Carol contested.
My eyebrows pulled together, and all my muscles tensed. “I know how kids can get, but I know how my kids are. And my kids are not violent unless provoked.” Well, one of my kids really. Mary was violent when she threw her tantrums, but I was working on that. I tipped my chin to Sarah. “Let’s go. I’m taking you out of school early. Becky, please grab Mary, too, and I’ll meet you in the front. I’m going to talk to Carol for a bit.”
Becky lifted her nose, her eyes still narrowed at Carol. She slipped a protective arm over Sarah’s shoulders and ushered her outside.
When the door shut, Carol sat down, but I stayed standing. This was going to be short and to the point. “I suggest you set up a meeting with Brandon and Ellie O’Neal. I want to be involved in the meeting. Make it for sometime within the next few days.”
“That won’t be necessary. I will speak with them directly,” she said, a hint of alarm in her eyes.
I paused and stared at her, giving her a moment to shift in her seat. “It is of the utmost importance that I meet with them.” I paused again, and she adjusted the collar of her shirt. “You see, I know that the O’Neals are generous contributors to this school. But … so am I. I don’t have to remind you who single-handedly funded the gym.” I tilted my head. I didn’t know the figures exactly, but I was pretty damn sure that out of all the parents of this elite private school, I gave the most. “I’ve been here a long time, Carol, and I love this school, but I will not have my daughter being bullied.”
“Charles …” she stammered.
