The Road to Rose Bend

by Naima Simone

  “Oh, Sydney,” her mother tsked softly. “You do understand why he’s upset, don’t you? With you moving and him living so far away, he’s missing out on these important moments and feels like he’s not even a father because he’s not an active part of this pregnancy.”

  “I know all this, Mom,” Sydney said, impatience creeping into her voice. She did know. And the guilt hadn’t abated at all. It was that shame that lent her tone an edge. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I made a mistake, and I’ve already promised that I’ll do better in the future. It’s all I can do given the circumstances. Especially since those circumstances aren’t likely to change any time soon.”

  “Are you—” Patricia faltered, and she glanced away from her.

  “Just say it, Mom,” Sydney said, but then held up a hand, palm out. “No, wait. Let me finish it for you. Am I sure that I’m doing the right thing?”

  “Sydney, you know I love you. But I’m so worried about you. The divorce. Suddenly showing up here with no plan. Taking a baby away from her father and raising her alone? How can I not question if you haven’t thought all of this out? If you’re not acting impulsively without weighing the consequences of your actions.”

  “Why do you just assume that I haven’t weighed them? Assume that I don’t have a plan? Maybe I haven’t shared my plans with you. Has it occurred to you that I’m afraid to share them with you?”

  Heat scalded her face, prickled over her skin, under her arms. Fear—of hurting her mother, of being hurt by her mother—pumped through her, mingling with the resentment and anger that had become an emotional staple when dealing with her parents.

  Not good enough. Not the right daughter. Not anything more than a spare parts factory.

  The vitriolic mantra hissed inside her head like a venomous snake. A mantra that had firmly entrenched itself deep in the bone marrow she’d once donated to her sister.

  “Afraid?” Her mother frowned. “Why would you ever be afraid of me?”

  “Seriously?” Sydney asked, incredulous. “Because I know whatever I told you wouldn’t be supported but criticized, torn apart and denigrated.”

  “So, you want me to support you being a single mother?” Patricia demanded. “Support the added stress and pressure along with the financial burden you’ll face?”

  “Yes,” Sydney nearly shouted. Turning away, she clenched her jaw, trying to leash her temper. “If it’s my choice,” she said, softer but no less vehemently, “then yes. If the alternative is being trapped in a loveless, too-polite, barren marriage where I’m slowly suffocating and losing myself, then yes. You might not agree with it, but I expect you to support me.”

  “I...” Her mother glanced down at the printout in her hand before lifting her gaze to Sydney’s. And the disappointment there slashed a cut so deep, Sydney wondered how her mother didn’t see the wound. “Everything you said starts with I. But it’s not just about you anymore. It’s about Daniel and this precious baby.” Her mother slightly shook the scroll of images. “It became that when you got married. Even more so when you irresponsibly had sex with a man you shouldn’t have divorced in the first place.”

  Selfish. The word echoed in her head, ricocheted off her skull and buried deep into her soul. It raked her, leaving her exposed, pulsing, a living, breathing bruise.

  To her parents she would never be anything but that girl who cared only about herself, her needs, her wants.

  In an instant, she was transported back to that night eighteen years ago in Baptist Memorial’s pediatric ICU when Sydney had screamed and curled into a ball, hysterical at the prospect of enduring another surgery and painful recovery—this time for a partial kidney donation. She’d stolen that from beautiful, sweet Carlin.

  And she’d sealed her fate as the selfish, doomed-to-disappoint failure of a daughter. Her parents had never uttered the words, but Sydney knew they’d never forgiven her for that one, irreversible act.

  Which was fair, she supposed. Because she hadn’t completely forgiven herself.

  And here they stood. Constantly hurting one another. Disappointing one another.

  “Sydney,” her mother continued, her voice gentling. “It’s not too late to fix things. I’ve talked to Daniel. He wants—”

  A needle scratched across a record, loud and discordant, in her head. She stumbled back a step, staring at her mother, disbelief and anger filtering through the shock. “You did what?” she asked.

  “He was my son-in-law for five years,” she snapped, then heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “He’s hurting, too. So, of course I called to check on him.”

  Sydney chuckled, and it scraped her throat raw. “You called to check on him. And your daughter, who lives in the same town, you didn’t reach out to once. News flash, Mom. I’m hurting. I’m scared. I’m alone. I needed—need—you, but it’s Daniel who receives your concern...your love.”

  “Sydney.” Her mother lifted an arm. “I—”

  “I shouldn’t have come here,” Sydney whispered. “This was a mistake.” As was stepping out on that bitch Faith.

  Pivoting, she strode toward the exit, and for every step she took, it seemed like the smothering air forced her back three. With a sob, she finally, finally reached the door. Thankfully, no one stood on the other side because she burst through as if chased. Maybe she was. By her guilt. Her conscience.

  Not stopping, she barreled down the sidewalk, almost blind and deaf to anything but the pain that throbbed with every heartbeat. She pushed into the pharmacy and blindly hobbled to the book and magazine section at the back. A large rack of the audiobooks Cole had told her about offered a partial barrier between her and the rest of the store. And she took advantage of it.

  The air punched out of her lungs on a loud, harsh gust.

  She scrubbed her hands over her face, and when the strap of the shopping bag abraded her cheek, she realized she still clutched the gift from her mother. And that she’d left the sonogram pictures behind. A sound between a sob and a serrated chuckle escaped her.

  Dammit.

  She couldn’t go back.

  Not now. Not when she so precariously teetered between screaming at her mother to, for once, have her back and begging her to see Sydney, accept her...love her. Not out of obligation because Sydney was her daughter. But love her because she actually liked her. Admired her. Saw her as more than a troublesome, rebellious child. Saw her as a strong, capable woman who made her smile.

  Today had been the first time in years that her mother had simply smiled at Sydney.

  How sad did that make them?

  Worse...what did that say about Sydney when her own mother couldn’t find simple delight in her?

  Another sob crawled its way up her throat, and her hand rose as if the gesture could contain the cry that threatened to rip free. Tipping her head back, she sucked in a shuddering breath, blinking against the burn of tears. Jesus, today had started off so well. Joy-filled. Even wondrous. And now... She shook her head, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes, the shopping bag knocking against her chin.

  Now, she huddled in the back of the pharmacy trying to avoid an epic breakdown right between the Good Housekeeping magazines and the fiction section.

  “Have you been over to The Glen? It looks fantastic. Cole Dennison definitely came through with his promise about making the rally bigger. I know you didn’t vote for him, but I’m glad I did,” a feminine voice said from the other side of the audiobook stand.

  At Cole’s name, Sydney stiffened, and lowered her arms and head. Like a tuning fork, every bit of her went on alert. Eavesdropping was a sign of poor upbringing—hadn’t that been one of her mother’s endless rules?—but that didn’t stop Sydney from edging closer to that partition. Focusing on this conversation also provided the added benefit of distracting her from crumbling into an emotional heap.

  And if some
thing inside her hungered for any mention of Cole? Well, that was just because he was her friend.

  The lies we tell ourselves.

  “I mean, I like Cole,” another voice, a woman’s, a little deeper, joined in. “I just thought he was a little young for the job. Jasper Landon is older, more experienced and has been mayor for years.”

  “He also hasn’t brought any change here in years,” the first woman observed dryly. “He made campaign promises to win another election and didn’t see one of them through. I should know. The previous election, I voted for him just because he swore he’d update the technology in the school system, including buying Chromebooks for every student. I’m still waiting on those,” she said.

  “Okay, that’s one thing—”

  “And approving raises for the police department,” the first woman continued. “Which, I might add, Cole has already done, and he’s only been in office months, not years.”

  “Fine,” the deep-throated woman grumbled. “But Jasper hasn’t suffered a heartbreak like Cole. C’mon, Lynn, be truthful. Cole hasn’t dated since Tonia died. He’s not the same man. We both know he’s not over it. That kind of thing can make it hard for a person to focus on anything, much less being mayor of a town.”

  Sydney scowled, glaring at the audiobook she held, Michelle Obama’s Becoming. This woman obviously knew nothing about Cole if she believed he wouldn’t give his all to this town. Hell, he’d proven that.

  “Are you kidding me?” the first, and obviously much smarter, woman scoffed. “Who wouldn’t be scarred by that? He lost his wife—his childhood sweetheart—and their baby in childbirth. What was supposed to have been the happiest day of his life turned into the most tragic. But that has nothing to do...”

  Sydney couldn’t hear the rest of the women’s conversation. She couldn’t hear anything past the deafening cacophony of words in her head, crashing against her skull like thunderous waves.

  He lost his wife—his childhood sweetheart—and their baby in childbirth.

  ...the happiest day of his life turned into the most tragic.

  She pressed a fist to her chest, right over the heart beating out a rapid tattoo. But it didn’t stop the shock, grief and pain that threatened to rip a hole right through her rib cage.

  No one had mentioned...

  She’d assumed that Tonia and his son had died in an accident. Like a car crash. Not while bringing their baby into this world.

  No wonder he’d paled when he’d first seen her stomach behind the church. And no wonder his hand had trembled like a leaf battered by a summer storm when he’d touched her belly in his office. Jesus. How had he managed it? Had that been the first time he’d touched a pregnant woman since Tonia? Why hadn’t he said something? Told her?

  Why had he insisted on going with her to her prenatal appointment today?

  You’re also a soon-to-be mother who is about to experience one of the most emotional moments of her pregnancy.

  He’d murmured those words in the clinic lobby, and he would know. And that moment would be branded in his memory because it’d been one of the few times he’d seen his son. One of the joyful times he and his wife had shared during her pregnancy. God, it must’ve been torture reliving that today.

  And he hadn’t uttered a word.

  Instead, he had been there for her. If she’d known, if she’d had the slightest clue, she would’ve never...

  The sob that she’d managed to suppress when she’d first entered the pharmacy tore from her. Whirling around, she rushed past the two women who’d unknowingly revealed the awful truth and rushed out of the store.

  She didn’t stop until she reached her car, started it and peeled out of the parking lot.

  Cole.

  She had to get to Cole.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  COLE PERCHED ON the end of his desk, glaring down at the sullen teen slouched in the chair in front of him. Trevor Haynes, with his dirty blond hair, green eyes and tall, lean figure, was a good-looking kid. He would be even more so without the petulant gleam in his eyes and the sulky set of his mouth. Insolence damn near leaked out of his pores, and Cole grit his teeth against yanking him straight in that chair. At least if he was in his law office instead of here at city hall, he could yell. But he had a town council meeting in thirty minutes, so he had to forgo the loud telling-off.

  “Can we make this quick, Cole?” Trevor grumbled. “I got shit to do.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Cole snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. “And it’s Mr. Dennison to you. At sixteen, you’re not a grown man, but you’re almost there. And when you’re honorable enough to keep your word and make responsible decisions like a man, then you can call me Cole. Until then, you haven’t earned it.”

  The teen flinched but tried to cover it by slouching farther into the chair.

  “Fine, Mr. Dennison,” he muttered. “Mom’s expecting me home by six.”

  “I know exactly what time she’s expecting you since she and I discussed your new curfew.”

  “You did what?” he snarled, shooting up in the chair and gripping the arms. He scowled at Cole. “You had no right—”

  “No right?” Cole repeated softly. “Are you forgetting who went to bat for you and got your felony larceny of a motor vehicle charge down to a joyriding misdemeanor?”

  “Mom paid for you to be my lawyer. That was your job,” Trevor sneered.

  “Listen up, Trevor,” Cole said, praying for the patience of Job. “Your mother works at the Sunnyside Grille, sometimes double shifts, to make sure you have food in your stomach and a roof over your ungrateful head. Yet, she took money that could’ve gone to rent, bills and your college fund, out of her pocket so she could put it toward a retainer for me. And it still wasn’t enough to cover what I charge. So yes, Trevor, she might’ve given me money, but you were more a pro bono than paid client.”

  Trevor flattened his mouth into a stubborn line, but he didn’t say anything.

  “And a detective who knows you’re my client decided to call me instead of arresting you and turning you in with the rest of that pot-smoking bunch of asses you call friends. The same bunch that got you in trouble last time—”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Why do you think you’re sitting here with me right now instead of being bailed out by your mother?” Cole barked. “But you were there, and technically, you could’ve been arrested along with the rest of them. Given you’re not, I figure that gives me a right and a vested interest in what you do.”

  A thick silence filled the office. Trevor didn’t meet Cole’s eyes, but studied the scuffed toes of his sneakers.

  “I’m sorry.” The apology, although gruff and mumbled, sounded sincere. “I didn’t think. I...” He blew out a hard breath and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “And thank you. For...everything.”

  Cole stifled a sigh, along with the urge to clap a hand on the boy’s shoulder and pull him into a hug he undoubtedly thought he was too grown for. But with his father, a mean drunk who’d possessed an allergy to work, having abandoned him and his mother years earlier, and his mother working long hours to make ends meet, Trevor had missed out on the positive influence of a man in his life. These last two brushes with the law had the teen toeing a thin but pivotal line. He could go either way at this point—to the college his mother was scrimping and saving for or the jail he’d managed to avoid. So far. He was a good, smart kid. A hardworking kid who fiercely adored his mother and had gotten a job at a gas station as soon as he turned sixteen. But his mother and Cole could only do so much. Trevor had to pick a path. Now, not later. And fight to remain on it.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Cole warned, pushing off the desk and rounding it. He slid his hands into his front pockets. “When you’re not at Mr. Wilson’s gas station, then you’re going to be out at Kinsale Inn, working with my brother Wolf. I’ve a
lready cleared it by him. And when you’re not at either of those places, you’ll be home. By six. You have a problem with that?”

  “Are you kid—”

  Cole nodded and smiled. “Just what I thought. You don’t have any problems. Especially since the only alternative is juvie.”

  “Then no, I guess I don’t have any problems,” Trevor drawled.

  “Right.” Cole made a show of glancing down at his wristwatch. “You have about twenty-five minutes to make it home before curfew. Make sure you bring your school and work schedule by my office sometime tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.” He shoved to his feet and finally met Cole’s gaze. “And again...thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Trevor,” Cole murmured.

  The teen didn’t waste time crossing the room to the door and pulling it open. And almost plowing into the woman standing on the other side.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had someone with you,” Sydney said, lowering the arm she held midair as if prepared to knock. “I can come back later.”

  “No, you’re good,” Cole assured her. “We’re just finishing up here.”

  “Excuse me,” Trevor muttered, stepping around Sydney and disappearing. Probably eager to get away from Cole before he tacked on another restriction. Like he’d said. Smart kid.

  Smirking, Cole waved Sydney inside. “Come on in. What’s going—the hell?”

  The air exploded from his lungs as her compact body collided with his. Before he had time to register that Sydney was pressed against him, her full breasts crushed to his chest, hips notched tight, thick thighs tangled with his and her arms wrapped around him like a drowning victim clutching a life raft, a jagged, wet sob ripped through the office.

  He stiffened, his arms rising of their own accord to close around Sydney’s shuddering frame, to clutch her close. Try to absorb the tremors that seemed capable of shattering her to pieces. He glanced toward the open door and frowned. Sydney had only been back in his life for a handful of weeks, but he knew she would hate for someone to catch her like this. He didn’t view her tears as a weakness, but she would. He couldn’t allow anyone to see her so vulnerable.