by Kate, Jiffy
The bastard has probably been here the entire time, waiting to catch me in an uncompromising position but I refuse to be played like that.
Grabbing Felicia’s arms, I step out of her embrace.
Before I can speak, memories flash through my mind and my anger builds.
The pictures of me and Casey from last year…
The ones of the two of us leaving the ultrasound appointment…
And now, today.
It was all a set-up.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I growl, backing even further away from her. “You hired that fucking photographer, didn’t you? And you were behind the leaked photos of me and Casey.”
I’ve known the woman standing before me for a large portion of my life, but I don’t recognize her at all. Never in a million years would I expect her to stoop so low.
“I don’t get it,” I continue, needing some answers. “Why the sudden change? Why am I all of a sudden good enough for you again? Is it because I’m with Casey? Or is it because I’m truly happy and you can’t stand it because you’re not? Please explain it to me.”
“I thought I wanted something else… something more, but you know as well as I do the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. During the past year, I’ve realized how great we were together and I want it back.”
I take another step back and shrug.
Moments ago, I was raging inside but now when I look at my ex-wife, I just feel sorry for her.
“It’s not going to happen. The sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll be.”
“You can’t mean that—”
“Felicia, I’m done with this conversation,” I tell her, feeling like we’re at an impasse, but wanting to bring this to an end. “I’m with Casey and happier than I’ve been in a long time. I should thank you, really. If you wouldn’t have left me, I wouldn’t have been free to be with Casey and discover what a true partnership is.”
I pause, feeling the weight of this moment and the realization that comes with it—I’m in love with Casey and the only thing I feel for Felicia is sorry. “I hope you can find that for yourself one day but believe me when I say, it won’t be with me.”
Turning on my heels, I walk out of the park and out of Felicia’s life for good.
Chapter 30
Casey
“Mom,” I breathe into the phone, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I don’t need you putting a tracker on Ross. Besides, you know as well as I do that tabloids and gossip columns cannot be trusted.”
About that time, Charlotte walks into the living room, where I’ve been promoted to. After my doctor’s appointment yesterday, that she insisted on accompanying me to, she has relaxed some and allowed me to move around more freely.
Last night, we called in pizza and watched movies.
Today, she’s planning on calling Frank and asking him to come and pick us up and take us to the French Market to get a sno-ball.
I need it.
Even though I haven’t been doing much outside of being at Ross’s house or the guest house, something about being cooped up at Charlotte’s without Ross is making me go stir crazy. At least when I’m at Ross’s, I feel like I have work to do and it gives me purpose. And when I’m at the guesthouse, I feel like it’s my own space. But here, I just feel like I’m under a very watchful eye and in some sort of weird limbo.
“I’m just worried about you, Casey,” my mom finally replies. I can hear the click of a mouse in the background and I know she’s on a witch hunt for information about Ross and these new pictures she claims have surfaced.
“I’m fine,” I say as calmly as possible.
Looking up, I find Charlotte’s eyes on me from the other side of the room.
“What does she want?” she mouths.
I shake my head, not wanting to get into it, especially while our mother is still on the other end of the line.
“Well, I don’t want to cause you any stress,” she continues. “We definitely don’t need another episode like last week, but being ahead of the game is a preemptive strike. You don’t want to be caught off guard because that gives them the power…”
“Them?” I ask, feeling my frustration grow. “Who’s them, mom? And this isn’t some tabloid war. It’s my life and I’d appreciate it if I could handle it on my own… in my own way.”
Closing my eyes, I place a hand on my belly and exhale. Calm. Calm, calm, calm.
“I’m not Charlotte,” I add, glancing over at my sister apologetically. “This isn’t something a publicist needs to handle. When they figure out that I’m the least exciting person on the face of the planet, they’ll get bored. Next week, someone else will be the weekly scandal and they’ll forget all about me.”
I hope. Not just for my sake, but for Ross’s too.
“Well, I hope next week’s news isn’t the father of your baby getting back together with his ex-wife.”
She drops the bomb so coldly, I feel a chill creep up my spine.
That wasn’t a nice thing to say to a stranger, let alone your own daughter, but that’s my mother. She’s a real talker and she doesn’t beat around the bush or soften the blow.
“I’m sorry,” she says when the line grows quiet. “I shouldn’t have said that, but I don’t want you to get your heart broken. You’re a good person Casey and you deserve to be treated with respect.”
When I still don’t say anything, she fills the silence. “If you don’t want to look at the photos I sent over, don’t. You’re right, this is your life and you should be able to handle it how you see fit. I’ll try to stay out of it, but if you need anything, your father and I are just a phone call and a plane ride away.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, feeling a bit raw from her accusation and tired of the constant back and forth.
Is he?
Isn’t he?
Are we?
Aren’t we?
“I’ll call and check in tomorrow.”
“Okay, talk to you then.”
When the line goes dead, I lean my head against the back of the couch.
Charlotte gets up and comes to sit beside me. “What was that all about?”
Handing her my phone, I can’t look at her as I relay the message. “She sent over more photos of Ross and Felicia and she said they look like they’re new and they’re… romantic.”
Just saying the words makes me feel sick to my stomach, and it’s not morning sickness.
Thankfully, since I’ve entered my third trimester, I’ve felt much better. It kind of went away overnight. Now, I’m just dealing with anxiety and high blood pressure, and what a joy that’s been. One thing is for sure, pregnancy is not for wusses.
However, the blood pressure was much better at my appointment yesterday. My doctor told me to continue to rest and relieve as much stress as possible.
I doubt new photos of Ross and Felicia are what he had in mind.
“Want me to look?” she asks, still holding my phone. “Or we can pretend they don’t exist and you can wait and talk to Ross when he gets home.”
I nod, glancing out the window. We could do that. But something my mom said strikes a chord inside me—it’s better to know. I’ve always been one to be prepared… tests, road trips, hurricanes, holidays, birthdays… you name it, I’m prepared.
“Let me see them,” I say, turning back to her. I’m not a chicken. And even though everyone around me has handled me with kid gloves lately, I’m not fragile. I might’ve had a mental breakdown, but everyone has their breaking point, and it doesn’t make me weak.
She scoots closer until we’re side by side, then she pulls up my email and opens the latest one from our mother. When she clicks on the link and the page loads, the first thing I see is Ross, wearing an Atlanta Braves baseball cap. He might think he’s disguised, but I could recognize that gorgeous profile anywhere… and God, I miss him.
But then, my eyes drift across the photo to Felicia.
They’re sitting on a
bench in what looks like Jackson Square and Felicia is laughing. With her head thrown back, she looks gorgeous in the afternoon light. The way her body is angled toward Ross’s makes them appear… intimate.
When Charlotte scrolls down, the second photo seems even more incriminating. They’re standing in this one and her arms are around Ross’s neck. It looks like a kiss in motion… her head is angled and his is tilted down.
My stomach lurches and I push the phone away.
I can’t.
Shaking my head. “I don’t want to see anymore.”
To Charlotte’s credit, she doesn’t say anything… she doesn’t try to tell me that what I’m seeing is fake news, but she also doesn’t jump to conclusions about Ross or speak badly of him.
Instead, she takes the phone from me and sets it on the coffee table, then stands.
“I’m calling Frank and having him come pick us up,” she announces as she walks out of the room. “We need sno-balls sooner rather than later.”
An hour later, we’re in the backseat while Frank drives us to the French Market. As I watch the city go by, my mind drifts to Ross… not that my mind is ever far from him, but something about this ride reminds me of our date to Cafe du Monde.
As much as I’d like to go back to that night, when we were still in our bubble and everything was still our secret to keep, I’m glad the past week has happened. It forced me to really look at my life and what I want out of it. For so long, I’ve felt like I was drifting, not necessarily on a path, but just floating through life.
My parents were always very driven people, striving for success and more success. They always knew where they were going in life and they’ve always had back-up plans for their back-up plans.
Charlotte basically had her life planned out for her, and even when she was being used by the industry, she still had an end game. She knew what she wanted. And now, after years of playing other people’s games, she’s finally living life on her own terms.
Me, however, I don’t know, I just never really had a clear direction of what I wanted to do. I enjoy helping people and I like giving things order, which makes me good at what I’ve been doing. But Charlotte needs me less and less and I don’t want to be Ross’s paid employee anymore.
I want to be in his life, but under much different stipulations.
“Do you want Frank to get our sno-balls?” Charlotte asks, bringing me out of my thoughts.
Turning to her, I frown. “No, why?”
She shrugs. “You just haven’t been out much and I didn’t know if—”
“I’m okay,” I tell her. “I need to get out… I’ve been subconsciously sequestering myself for the past few months. Outside of a couple of times, I haven’t been anywhere. But I’m done with that. I don’t want to hide and everyone knows about the baby, so what does it matter anyway?”
Charlotte smiles and she looks proud. “Good for you,” she says, squaring her shoulders and nodding her approval. “It took me years to make that leap. But I’ve always known you were way smarter than me and it’s showing.”
Shaking my head, I laugh. “I’m not smarter than you, but I have learned from watching you. You’re way more courageous than you give yourself credit for… I admire that. I’ve also always loved the way you’ve been unapologetic about being yourself.”
“I hid behind a label and a rock-and-roll lifestyle for years,” she says with a snort. “That’s not courageous.”
“But you’re not anymore and that is.”
Reaching across the seat, she grabs my hand. “Can you let us out and make the block a few times, Frank?”
“Sure thing, Ms. Carradine,” he replies from the driver’s seat as he slows down beside the entrance to the French Market.
When we step out of the car, I inhale the familiar scents of the Quarter—some good, some not so good, but the combination is distinctly New Orleans.
“Maybe we should grab a po’boy before we get a sno-ball?” I suggest.
Walking down the sunlit sidewalk on a summer afternoon with my sister—no disguises, no secrets hanging over my head—it makes me feel alive and free.
After we grab two po’boys—crawfish for Charlotte and cochon de lait for me—we stroll while we eat and talk about nothing and everything—the fact we’re not melting from humidity today, a woman’s killer shoes, predictions for today’s game, plans for starting on a nursery for the baby… but that brings me back to that feeling of limbo.
Where will the nursery be?
Ross’s guesthouse?
That seems weird.
“I feel like we’re avoiding the elephant in the room,” Charlotte says as we walk through the French Market toward our favorite sno-ball stand. “How are you feeling about Ross and the photos? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to but I don’t want you to feel like you have to bottle it all up. That’s not good for anyone and definitely not you… or the baby.”
She pauses. “And I’ll listen without prejudice, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
“I know,” I tell her, looping my arm through hers. “And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me over the past week… giving me a safe place to land and being a buffer to the media and Ross. I needed this time to think and soul search. So, I just wanted to say thank you for that.”
Pulling her arm from mine, she wraps it around my shoulder and hugs me as we continue to walk. “You never have to thank me for that… or anything else. We’re family and we’ve always got each other’s backs… it’s me and you, always.”
I nod, feeling a lump forming and not wanting to turn on the waterworks in public.
When we get to the stand, Charlotte orders for both of us, choosing our favorites, and places a twenty on the counter.
“I don’t like the photos,” I tell her, my eyes traveling to the people milling around and back to the guy making our frozen treats. “They make me sick, actually. But they also helped me realize I’m in love with him. I wouldn’t feel so strongly about those photos if I didn’t… I want to fight for him. I want to tell him how I feel… take the risk and let the chips fall where they may.”
She turns to me with a knowing look. “That’s what I thought you were going to say.”
Of course she did. She’s my sister and even though we’re two completely different people, we’ve always been on the same wavelength and usually know what the other needs or wants before they do. And she’s always been on my side, regardless of the situation and I can’t even begin to tell her how much that means to me.
“Thanks for this,” I tell her, holding up my sno-ball. “Not just for treating me, but for getting me out of the house and always giving me a safe place to talk.”
Charlotte gives me a smile, bumping my shoulder with hers as we walk back through the market. “I love you and I just want you to be happy, you know that.”
“I love you too,” I tell her, leaning my head over as she pulls out her phone.
After she lets Frank know we’re ready to be picked up, telling him our location, we start toward the crosswalk.
“Ms. Carradine,” a man says, coming out of nowhere and invading our personal space, immediately putting me on high alert.
Out of instinct, I step in front of my sister, putting a hand out. “Please leave her alone—”
“Is it true you’re pregnant with Ross Davies’ baby?” he asks, louder than necessary and making my spine go rigid.
My heart begins to race as I realize he’s not after a photo of Charlotte or a comment about her latest project…it’s me he’s after. As my hand goes protectively to my belly, I start to reply, but Charlotte beats me to it.
“Move out of our way or you’ll be talking to my lawyer.”
“I just want a statement…” he says, following us as Charlotte pushes me toward the corner.
“No comment,” I tell him, keeping my head down.
“Have you seen the new photos of Ross and his ex-wife?” he calls out, drawing attenti
on from bystanders who are now watching with great interest.
Charlotte’s hand clasps my wrist. “Just keep walking.”
When Frank’s car pulls up at the curb, I feel relief wash over me. He steps out, immediately taking charge of the situation. Opening the back door, he ushers both of us inside before closing it and telling the reporter to fuck off.
His words, not mine, but I concur.
With adrenaline pumping, I glance out the back window as we drive off and watch the reporter fade into the background. I’m sure he got a photo and I have no doubt it will resurface in some form or fashion, but I know from experience it’s futile to worry about stuff like that.
“Shit,” Charlotte says, blowing out a loud exhale. “I didn’t see that coming.”
“Me either.” But I should have. I just haven’t reconciled the fact that I’m now linked to Ross Davies and he’s been known to have his face grace the covers of magazines across the board, from sports publications to gossip magazines. When you’re as gorgeous and talented as he is, that’s going to happen. If I want to be a part of his life, it’s something I’m going to have to come to terms with.
“Are you okay?”
Inhaling and exhaling until I feel my heartbeat go back to normal, I nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Frank, can you take the scenic route?” she asks.
“You got it.”
After a few minutes, we both realize we still have sno-balls to eat and make quick work of them before they melt. The coolness alleviating any lingering tension.
Frank drives us out of the French Quarter and instead of going directly to the Garden District, he turns the opposite way and gets on I-10. We drive for a good fifteen minutes before he gets off on an exit and starts taking roads I’ve never been on before.
As we drive, the only thing I can think of is needing to see Ross.
I need to talk to him.
I want to feel close to him.
I miss him.
“Can you take me to Ross’s house?” I call out, loud enough for Frank to hear me.
“Are you sure?” Charlotte asks. “I don’t know if you should be alone—”
“I’m fine,” I say, cutting her off. “I know you’re concerned, but I’m not fragile or breakable. And I want to be there when he gets home. His house is well-protected and since I haven’t been seen there in a week, I doubt anyone will be camped out, knowing he’s on the road. Besides, if Frank drops me off, my car won’t even be there.”
