I really don’t know, but for one of the first times in my life, I throw my arms up in the air and shout at my mother. “What the hell, Mom? I’m not fucking pregnant. But what makes you think I couldn’t pull it off, raising a kid while on the run? You did!”
“Oh, thank heavens.” She clutches her chest as her pinched expression eases. Choosing to ignore my outburst she moves on. “I cooked you your favorite: Eggplant parmesan, and for dessert, crock-pot rice pudding. You will eat some of both, too. You don’t look well,” she orders.
Pulling everything out of the bags, she begins dividing everything between us. She pours two glasses of wine—the first time she’s ever brought the beverage over and in the middle of the day no less. Meticulously sitting the utensils out on the tiny dining room table, everything she does is with grace and elegance. I find some humor in the thought, considering she’s just distributing food between us.
As I watch, I secretly wonder if she really had thought I was pregnant. Perhaps that’s what prompted her to bring over the mid-day wine; a strategic at-home booze test. She knows I’m too compassionate a person to drink while pregnant, even if that pregnancy was unplanned and unwelcome.
Finally, what seems like hours later, everything is halved up to her satisfaction.
“Now sit,” she stresses, taking a seat as she begins to spoon the delicious Italian entrée into her mouth.
I reluctantly slide in across from her, but instead of immediately digging in, I bow my head and say grace to myself. After leaving Central Valley, I began giving thanks before my meals despite never having done so before. Although—I guiltily admit— the act is more about feeling closer to Gray, than to God.
“Amen,” I conclude, picking up my fork and pushing my food around on my plate.
“Valley, I shouldn’t have to tell you it’s rude to refuse eating when someone makes something especially for you.” She stretches out the last words, making me feel slightly guilty.
She’s right. I am being rude.
I take a tiny bite, and admittedly, Mom’s recipe is quite a bit tastier than the yogurt and fruit diet I’ve been on lately. Before I know it, I’m shoveling food into my mouth like it’s a competition. I’m also aware what a perk having a mouth full of food can be, which is mainly me being unable to talk about shit I don’t want to talk about. Speaking with your mouth full is one of Mom’s ultimate pet-peeves.
As the silverware clatters and scrapes against the ceramic plate in front of me, I glance up at Mom, realizing she’s no longer eating. When we finally meet eyes, I can see she’s not fooled by my antics, and she looks pissed.
Clasping her hands together and dropping her chin on them so that we’re at eye level, she demands, “Tell me what you’ve been so upset about that you’ve stayed holed up in the house these past few weeks. An honest answer, Valley.”
Even though I’m pissed as hell at Gray, and even though I feel like our relationship was a complete ruse, something deep inside pushes for me to keep his trust; to follow his instructions in not telling anyone he saw me, blah-frickety-blah. So, I tell a half-truth.
Rubbing at my temples and taking a deep breath, I begin. “I just…something happened that reminded me of Gray. And I’ve been thinking about him a lot these past few weeks. Him and Lyra. I miss them both.”
Her expression softens sympathetically. “Do you ever consider that you may not have been in love with Gray like you believe? That maybe you just fancied yourself in love with him because he was the first person you became close to, slept with, and confided your secrets to?” she asks thoughtfully.
I roll my eyes. “Or maybe that’s exactly how I know that I cared so deeply. Maybe it’s because of the fact I could trust and open up to him, feel secure with him that I could trust my heart as well as my body with him. Maybe that’s how I know for sure what I felt for him was real,” I reason.
Mom shocks the hell out of me when she doesn’t argue but nods silently as if she gets what I’m saying for once. Like she’s examining things from a different angle than she has before. Extending her hand across the table to clutch my fingers between hers, the expression she gives implores me to listen to her next words closely. “Don’t dwell on the past too much, Valley. Find comfort in the now, and retain hope that one day things won’t be this way for us. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me? Well, you’re right. And perhaps one day, things will work out so that you can have a relationship with whoever you want without having to worry or hide.” Her tone is wistful and sad, almost fooling me into believing she gets where I’m coming from; that perhaps she herself has some experience in being away from the one person she’s given her heart to. But that doesn’t make sense at all because she’s only ever been with my psychopath of a biological sperm-donor. “For the record, I think you’ll make a wonderful mother someday. You’re a caring and wonderful person, and you love people whole-heartedly. I know you’d do the same with your own kids. When the time is right,” she adds pointedly at the end. Giving my hand a firm squeeze before releasing it, she throws me a wink. “And on that note, I think it’s time for some dessert.”
Chapter Ten
THAT EVENING, MOM’S words from lunch are still bouncing around in my head, and as much as any kid hates to admit when their parent is right, maybe she is. I mean, really, what am I going to do? Yearn for something the rest of my life that I can’t have? Hell no. That’s just wasting time. It’s not me. I may have cared, and trusted, and loved so deeply I don’t feel like I can go on. But I know that’s not true. I’m strong. I’ve been strong my entire life because I haven’t had much choice in the matter. It’s a core part of who I am.
So, tonight, I’m going out. I’m having fun. I’m living and I’m moving on with the hope that one day, my life will be different. Maybe I’ll once again be able to view the world without seeing the bad in everything, but I’ll never get there if I don’t try.
For now, I’m going to accept what is and make the most of the hand I’ve been dealt. And despite the fact it’s a pretty shitty one at the moment, I’m going to throw back a few cards and hope they’re replaced with something that gives me a hand of higher advantage. Life is a gamble. I can either sit on the sidelines and play safe, or I can go all in. The former of the two would just keep me at a standstill, keep me afloat. The latter is bold and risky, ballsy even, but if it pans out, it can be life-changing.
I’m going all in. I’m taking what I’ve been dealt, and I’m forcing it to be something better. Attitude is everything.
For once, I make a fuss over getting ready. Going all-out, I apply my makeup with finesse and style my hair as if it took me hours to achieve. A feeling of giddiness overcomes me; I’m as excited as if I were going to prom. Scratch that. Prom wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. I’m as excited as if I were a bride preparing for her big day.
Tonight, the club I usually frequent is as busy as ever. Following my usual routine, I greet Brock at the front door but instead of making my way straight out onto the dance floor, I head toward the bar. Alcohol isn’t necessary for me to have a good time, it just helps the memory of Gray to become a little fuzzier; my emotions to become a little more numb.
I need the relaxation effect. And the relaxation effect I’m seeking doesn’t take very long, probably because I haven’t had much in my stomach lately. As I take the last few sips of my drink, I feel the air shift as someone slides onto the barstool beside me.
“Scotch on the rocks, please,” a vaguely familiar voice requests.
I cut my eyes to the side, and sure enough, Pierce’s strong and chiseled profile comes into view. He glances over at me and the corner of his mouth tilts up. With great confusion, I witness his hand slicing through the air and coming to rest in front of me, hanging there as if wishing to make an introduction. “Hello, I’m Pierce,” he says, as he clasps my hand and gives a firm shake.
“Do you not remember me?” I shoot him a quizzical look, feeling slightly insulted and equally ashamed
at the fact I nearly went home with him.
He raises his eyebrows, not answering as if he expects me to introduce myself anyway.
Whatever, I’ll play his stupid game. For now. Clearing my throat, I reply seriously, “I’m Kate.”
He full-on grins in response. “Nice to meet you, Kate.” Then he leans in to whisper conspiratorially, “I thought after the strange turn of events the night we first met, we should start over.”
The bartender drops Pierce’s drink of choice onto the coaster in front of him. Other than to slide a bill back in exchange, Pierce doesn’t otherwise acknowledge him, his attention completely on me. Feeling as if I might crack beneath the heated look he’s giving me, I quickly flick my gaze away. He’s making me flustered and it’s not exactly something I’m used to. Only one other man has evoked a similar response, even if this is muted in comparison.
Meeting Pierce again is odd. The fact he’s chosen to ignore the way everything unfolded the first time we met—how I bailed on him after practically inviting myself over—is an olive branch extended at a time it’s so desperately needed. It doesn’t mean I want a sexual relationship just yet—despite seeking him out for just that on that first night. As I’ve ascertained before, like recognizes like.
He’s lonely. He hides it well.
I’m lonely. I don’t hide it well.
This reintroduction couldn’t have come at a better time. Not quite like fate, but like a sign I need to heed closely.
Could he be the one person capable of pacifying the storm roiling inside me? My runner-up choice for soothing the Gray-induced ache I simply can’t seem to shake? I’m going into things with eyes wide open this time. Fuck that stupid saying I was so hell-bent on attempting before, “the best way to get over someone is to get under somebody else.” Whoever came up with that shit needs therapy.
We could both use a friend, a companion, someone to share our free-time with.
I glance sideways at his cut and defined form, at his handsome face again. Well, maybe for physical needs as well if things should progress that way.
For the first time in what seems like forever, I feel like breathing is a bit easier.
“Starting over would be lovely, Pierce.” I realize my smile feels surprisingly genuine, unlike the ones I’ve been giving Mom lately.
“Dance with me?” he suggests, holding his hand out.
Without thinking much about it, I reach out and take his hand in agreement. “I’d love to.”
Pulling me to my feet, I don’t miss the way his eyes roam up and down my body appreciatively as he takes in my ensemble in its entirety. Which suddenly reminds me I’m wearing a dress that’s rather short. Self-consciously, I tug at the hem of my little red halter-top bodycon to make sure I’m not showing more skin than I intend. His lip twitches smugly when he catches the movement, pretending like his eyes are completely turned away from me.
I follow his lead to the dance floor in full-blown confidence. I’ve never been a fan of dancing with a partner. It takes all the fun away. I’ll shake my ass all day and make a complete fool of myself so long as it’s just me. Add another person to the equation, however, and my confidence is sure to falter. I start worrying about how I look and if I’m doing it right. I’m trying to keep an open mind. but I know what to expect.
Except, I quickly learn Pierce knows how to move. He’s sexy, and charming, and is self-assured. So much so, the feeling transfers over to me. He’s confident enough for the both of us, and I find it’s easy to turn over the reins and allow him to lead.
All I have to do is move with him, and I actually appear to know what I’m doing.
He’s nothing like I was expecting, surprising me at every turn. The polar opposite of Gray in just about every way; he’s not intense and brooding but easygoing and fun. I’m giggling and laughing and smiling the entire time we’re dancing. And when he pulls me closer as each song progresses, I’m not distraught or irritated. His touch just barely pushes the boundaries between friendly and possessive, but it’s exactly the perfect balance. Just what I need from him on this night.
His well-roundedness is undeniably sexy. As is the fact he can make me forget all the sadness I’ve been carrying around and just…let go.
We dance for a few songs then head back to a private booth in the corner he apparently had reserved for himself earlier. Kind of strange for a man to come to a bar alone, and reserve himself his own private area, particularly if he’s not with friends or a date, but I don’t question it. Perhaps he’s well known around these parts and likes his privacy. Striving for privacy is definitely something I can relate to. My entire life revolves around how under wraps I can keep it.
We slide into the semi-circular booth, sitting close enough that we can converse—which is extremely close considering this a club and the music streaming from the countless speakers around the expansive space is positively booming. He motions for one of the cocktail waitresses prancing around.
“What would you like? Another Sex on the Beach?” he asks as the waitress closes in on our table. It surprises me that he remembers such a small detail from that first night. Surely he frequents this place and has all kinds of women on his arm. How he remembers my drink over the drink choices of the countless others potentially drifting in and out of his life is baffling.
“Surprise me,” I insist, “I’ll have what you’re having.”
He smirks at me. “Are you quite sure? You’re making me feel like I should choose something girly.” He chuckles.
“I’m not scared. Give me your worst,” I assert, raising my eyebrows in challenge.
He shrugs at me. “Well, if you insist.”
Our waitress seems to be on standby, clearly unamused by our exchange as she awaits our order. She quickly wipes the annoyed look off her face once he turns back to face her. “We’ll take two scotch on the rocks. And not that generic junk you serve just anyone at the bar. The best you have. Here’s my card.” He pulls his wallet out and slides a credit card from one of the slots to pass to her.
As he’s doing so, I get a glimpse of his full name displayed on his driver’s license: Pierce Anderson Wilder. I mentally stash the info away so I can Google him later. There’s an air of mystery to Pierce that he seems to strive to keep hidden from new acquaintances. I just want to make sure it has more to do with his job than the fact he might potentially be someone who’s in bed with Dominic Malone, so to speak.
He gives me a feeling of sincerity in his presence though, like he genuinely wants to get to know me. There’s nothing about him that hints at him wanting to cause me harm. But if there’s one thing I learned from Gray, it’s that I can’t trust my gut instinct when it comes to another person’s intentions toward me. Sometimes our instincts can be muddled by desire.
The waitress strolls away, and Pierce tucks his wallet into his back pocket before he turns to me and leans forward. Cocking his head sideways, he regards me like he’s trying to figure me out. Instead of typical chit-chat, he surprises me by asking something I least expect.
“Tell me a secret. One no one else knows about you.”
Normally, that type of prompting from another person would have me scrambling to remove myself from the situation and distance myself as quickly as possible. But when I stare into his vivid blue eyes, so bright they remind me of two sapphire gemstones, it calms me. I soon find I’m far too intrigued by him and his enigmatic persona to refrain from answering his question. After all, it wouldn’t be fair to ask a question of my own if I refuse to answer his.
Honing in on a random spot on the table, I try to figure out the best way to approach his question. My brain plays out several possible answers, but none are quite satisfying, or nearly as captivating as his mysterious air. So, I strive for honesty—it feels nice not having to lie, as I’ve so often done in my life. “That wasn’t just a friend the night we met. That was an ex, who more or less wanted to break up a second time, because apparently the fact that we spent three years a
part without officially calling it quits, wasn’t official enough. He wanted to make sure we broke things off properly.” Hiding the disdain in my voice as I recount the events that evening is a hopeless feat. It still makes me bitter just thinking of it, much less speaking the words out loud.
Pierce’s eyebrows shoot up at this. “Wow. Way to rub salt in an old wound. What a wanker. I’ll show him some propriety.” His British accent becomes a little thicker as his voice quivers with emotion.
Subsequently, my insides also begin to quiver. Just the thought of him becoming outraged on my behalf is a turn-on. Is chivalry still a thing? Because I’ve got this hot-as-fuck, British gentleman warming the seat beside me and, at this point, all signs point to…YES, chivalry is most definitely still a thing. I blink several times as I realize his mouth is still moving while I’ve been in La-La Land.
“I was going to ask you about what had happened, but I didn’t want you to think I was some nosey bloke who needed to tend to his own. Everything had me worrying about you the rest of the evening. I could tell something was up though, especially since he said there would be no rainchecks between us,” he mocks Gray’s brusque and dominating voice from that night and we both burst with laughter. “Wait a minute,” he says, his grin caught by the weight of gravity, “that doesn’t count. I hate to tell you, it’s not exactly a secret if other people know he’s your ex.”
“No. But it is a secret that he came to town to do so. My mother would have a freaking fit if she knew,” I admit.
“Uh-oh. Sounds like Mom isn’t a big fan of the ex. If she’s not a fan, I’m going to trust her judgment. You’re too good for him, Kate. It’s his loss. You’re gorgeous, and refreshing, and a whole hell of a lot of fun. He’s a blithering idiot, but to be honest, I’m kind of glad. I’m enjoying your company.” The look he gives has me blushing all over.
Love on the Rise: Book Two of The Against All Odds Series Page 8
