by B. Celeste
My lips part, then close, then open again. There’s a lot I want to say but can’t verbalize. Do I want something so personal on blast? I knew it would be if it was picked up, but the potential of it being brought to life is a dynamic I never in my wildest dreams could imagine.
“Are you sure it’ll do well?” I hate the doubt in my words, but at this point that doubt is all that glues me together. “I mean, it could flop. People don’t like infidelity, and—”
“But they like drama and real love.”
That shuts me up.
“And Beck and Ryker?” She smiles at me, a genuine, honest-to-God smile. “They share the purest love I’ve ever seen. I don’t know how you encompassed something so beautiful at your age, but I’m glad you did.”
Thankfully, before I can even try formulating a response, somebody knocks on the door before it cracks open.
“I’ve got Kinley’s hot chocolate, ma’—Ms. Little,” Parker announces, walking in with a large Styrofoam cup in his hands.
The humor on Jamie’s face as he passes me the warm cup is lost on me. Parker just smiles at me, nods at Jamie, before walking out and closing the door behind him.
I eye the cup. “I would have thought offices have those smaller cups you can buy in bulk for cheap.” Taking a sip of the rich chocolate, I lick my lips and sit back. “Why are you making that face?”
Jamie’s lips waver. “We don’t have hot chocolate here.”
Brows pinching, I look from her to the cup, before meeting her eyes in confusion. “What do you mean?”
She points to the cup, which I spin to see a logo printed on the side. “That looks like it’s from the café down the street. We only have coffee and tea, and frankly, not very good options of either.”
Oh. Oh. “Well that was nice of him,” I murmur, glancing over my shoulder at the glass wall behind me. I don’t see him anywhere, so he must be shadowing whoever he’s assigned to.
“Very,” Jamie muses.
I try to refocus the conversation. “So, you’ll let me know when Kim gets back to you about the book?”
Despite my nerves, I know I want this far more than I don’t. No matter how much of myself is inside those pages, my hesitation is the only thing between me and proving to everybody that I can make it just like Corbin.
And I will.
But I won’t forget anyone.
“I promise,” Jamie confirms.
And just after the new year, I get an email with congratulations in the subject line, followed by here’s to the first step of many.
I’ve been signed.
Chapter Nineteen
Kinley / Present
Corbin’s phone goes off for the fifth time in the last half hour as we pass the Lincoln town sign. Population who knows what since someone scraped the numbers off and spray painted a penis where they used to be. Peeling my head away from where it rests on the passenger window, I glance at him with pinched brows.
“Do you need to get that?”
He reaches down where his phone rests in the console between us and glances at the screen after we roll to a stop off the main drag. “It’s just Mom.”
“What if it’s an emergency?”
He sets his phone down again, shaking his head. “If it were, she wouldn’t be calling me,” he answers quietly.
His phone doesn’t go off again, leaving me staring out the window at the businesses that haven’t changed at all. The art gallery still resides where it used to, the flower shop and café beside it still bustling with people mulling about the tables outside and talking with bystanders soaking in the fresh air. It makes me smile with nostalgia.
But my smile quickly falls when we stop at the red light in the center of town. If we turn left we’ll be at the gas station that the town gets everything from—I’ve consumed my weight in greasy pizza and overpriced Twizzlers from the very establishment. It’s where Corbin and Gavin encountered each other before my brother chased him away with lies. The little white building with one neon open sign flashing like always in the window is where a lot of memories were made.
If we turn right we’ll drive down the road that I’ve lived on for most of my life. The same street I’d walk on when the weather was nice, going nowhere in particular until I found my way to the gas station with what little change I had on me. It’s where Gavin and I would ride our bikes up and down the sidewalk until I’d gotten hurt and stopped riding altogether.
Corbin signals right.
My phone buzzes in my hand, making me nibble my lip and study the new email from one of Jamie’s people. After calling her yesterday afternoon and admitting what I’d gotten myself into, there was a lot of silence. Even Jamie, someone put together and on top of life, couldn’t have seen the bombshell I’d dropped.
Her “Oh, Kinley…” is what had me breaking down in the middle of my office after announcing my pregnancy. Corbin gave me the space I asked for to deliver the news because I needed to talk to her on my own. I had to accept that I made this mess and couldn’t avoid the consequences—disappointment and all. Especially not with my pregnancy nearing its halfway point and the images popping up every day from Lena. How could I keep pretending like I didn’t mess up? Like we didn’t?
“You should have told me sooner.”
“I didn’t know how.”
“You understand I can’t stop what’s going to happen once this makes the news, right? And believe me, Kinley, anything can happen now. No amount of power I hold will stop this train from derailing.”
And I’d accepted that, telling her I understood. It was thirty-eight minutes of built up anxiety all pouring from me as we talked. I told her how sorry I was, and she told me apologizing wasn’t going to fix this. So, I let her disappointment absorb into my skin and squeeze my heart.
But I did not cry.
I refused to.
When I asked if I could have control of my email back because I needed to reach out to a few people, she’d been hesitant for reasons beyond me but agreed. Hence the current email I just received from the man who’d taken it over, which included a new password to access the account I hadn’t needed to think about in far too long.
And when I logged in, my phone was swarmed with notification after notification. My eyes widened when I saw Edward Mansfield’s name in one of the exchange threads dated from two days ago, marked with utmost importance.
But the bump of rough road pulls me away from the email in question, guiding my eyes upward to see us traveling down Alden Street until panic seeps in.
Swallowing my anxiety, I shove my phone in my coat pocket and reposition in the seat to grab the small bag of pastries that I bought before we left Lake Roe. It’s not much of a peace offering, but I couldn’t show up empty handed.
From the corner of my eye, I see Corbin.
Well, not totally empty handed.
“You’re turning blue,” he notes.
The same doctor’s office sits at the corner, followed by a tiny park with a fountain that broke long before I was born. A few houses have been updated with fresh paint and new colors—some yards planted with new flowers, trees, and bushes. Others never changing at all.
“Breathe,” he instructs, reaching over and squeezing my knee. I place my hand on top of his and keep it there.
“It’s easier said than done.”
His lips quirk at the sides. “I would have thought you worked out all your anxiety this morning when you woke me up by—”
“Can we not talk about that?” I cut him off, feeling my face heat. I’m already sweating profusely under my clothes, I don’t need more reasons to drown in my nervous perspiration.
He laughs. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“I’m pregnant and horny,” I deadpan, causing him to choke on his laughter. “And that’s the last thing I want to think about when we’re about to see my family.”
“Someone’s in a mood,” he muses.
My eyes narrow at him. “I’m about to be in a worse
mood if you don’t be quiet for two seconds. I’m…” Realizing I sound psycho I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath before facing him again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to expect. A lot of staring. Disappointment. Maybe some cuss words. I need to know what to anticipate.”
The red house with large tractor tires filled with flowers makes its appearance. Holding my breath as Corbin slows down and turns on the blinker, I take in the rusty decorative windmill and chipped white paint on the enclosed porch I used to sit in with Dad and watch the thunderstorms.
Everybody’s cars are in the driveway, so Corbin pulls off to the side of the carport. I know once I get out, I’ll see just how different his lifestyle is from theirs—a shiny new car among rusted older models. He shuts off the vehicle and unbuckles, but I just remain planted in my seat gripping the pastry box in my hands until my fingertips hurt.
“Little Bird…”
“I should have gotten pie,” I blurt, staring at the assortment of donuts and muffins. “Gavin prefers pie. Mom too.”
Dad has always loved donuts more. Sometimes my driving lessons would take us to the town over where we stopped at a bakery and loaded up on glazed donuts—his favorite. The same ones that I made sure are inside the box in front of me.
Corbin reaches out and turns my chin toward him. “Your family isn’t going to care about the lack of pie. They’re waiting to see you, not what you brought. Which is probably a good thing since you brought me.”
How can he find this funny? “For all we know you’re walking into a firing squad. Why aren’t you peeing your pants or something?”
“That’d be embarrassing for one,” he replies, shrugging loosely. “And because we can’t change anything that’s happened. We’ll walk inside hand in hand and take their reaction together. Good or bad, Little Bird. We’re a team. There’s no going back.”
He takes the box from me and undoes my seatbelt, giving me a small head bob of encouragement as he opens his car door. Knowing I can’t stay in here forever, I do the same and walk around the front of the car where he stands with an outreached hand.
The sound of Mom and Dad’s fourteen-year-old chocolate lab barking as we walk up the front steps has me gripping Corbin’s hand tighter. He doesn’t seem phased even though I must be crushing his bones. We both stop at the door, him looking over at me and me forcing myself to believe we’ll be okay.
Twisting the door handle, I walk in first with Corbin directly behind me. Buddy’s wagging tale and whitened fur greets me, making me smile as I reach out and rub his head. The hammering of my heart doesn’t ease despite his excitement to see me.
Dad’s remodel of the mud room makes it more spacious than it was growing up. Bright green walls greet us with homemade signs I know they bought from various garage sales over the years. The wood floor beside the door is lined with work boots and dirty sneakers and hanging above them are hooks for coats that Corbin puts his on before turning to me expectantly.
His eyes tell me what I already know.
With or without the jacket, there’s no denying what’s under my coat. As I reach for the zipper, footsteps sound on the kitchen linoleum before stopping behind me. When I turn, Dad looks between Corbin and I with his gray brows raised before they drop to my midsection.
“Hi, Dad,” I squeak.
His lips part as he blinks, his throat bobbing over the sight of me. I try to keep calm, forcing even breathing, and do my best to smile even though it’s weak. He manages to meet my eyes with his distant lighter ones, before nodding his head and rubbing a palm over his graying beard.
Corbin steps forward and stretches his hand toward him. “It’s nice to see you again, sir.”
He doesn’t say it with any fear, and I wonder if I can soak up some of his strength for myself. My chest feels heavy as I watch Dad’s gaze lower to Corbin’s hand. When he finally lifts his own to shake it, I let out a breath of relief.
“Can’t say I thought I’d see you again,” Dad admits without any hostility in his words. It’s just a casual statement—one that I can’t blame him for making. They tried talking to me about Corbin a lot when I was younger, and I always shut them down.
They drop their hands and I take the pastries from Corbin. “I brought you all something. Is, uh, Gavin here? I thought I saw his truck outside.”
Dad steps aside after accepting the box, examining the contents through the plastic top. “I told him to stay in the other room for now. It’s just him. Kayla and Sam are visiting her parents. We thought it might be best…” His eyes glance at my torso again before quickly darting away to look in the other room. “He and your mother are in there waiting. Better take off your coat. Looks like there’s a lot to discuss.”
Corbin’s hand goes to the small of my back, which Dad doesn’t miss. He simply purses his lips and nods before walking back through the kitchen.
With shaky hands, I unzip my jacket and let Corbin help me out of it. He hangs it beside his and takes my hand. “Good or bad,” he reminds me, gesturing to toward the voices.
The sweater I wear is loose enough not to cling too much to my midsection, but it’s clear as day what’s going on beneath the scratchy knitted material. Corbin and I walk side by side toward the voices, the light from the dining room reflecting from the black linoleum under our feet. I focus on that.
When we near the archway that connects the kitchen and dining room, all talking ceases. It’s Corbin who powers through and squeezes my hand once before we stop in front of everybody. The pastry box sits open between Mom, Dad, and Gavin on the table.
Gavin blinks as his gaze slowly trails to Corbin. He doesn’t make a face or say a word. His expression remains blank.
Mom’s eyes widen when she sees my stomach, and I want nothing more than to hide behind Corbin. But I don’t. I stick it out and give her a timid smile, but she doesn’t return it. She just stares, unblinking, and I can’t figure out what her expression says.
“Well,” Dad says, gesturing toward the empty chairs at the other end of the table, “might as well come on in, kids.”
My lips part in surprise as I unwrap my hand from Corbin’s and walk over to the first chair closest to Mom. Corbin takes the chair at the end of the table opposite of Dad, leaving only one open spot between he and Gavin.
The room is eerily quiet.
It’s Corbin who clears his throat. “Kinley and I wanted to talk to you all about something important before it hits the papers.”
There’s another pause while my family shifts their attention to me. They all knew the biggest news because of Gavin, and they’re smart enough to piece together that showing up here with Corbin means that something is going on beyond what their eyes can see. Still, verbalizing that isn’t any easier.
But I know I need to. Heart thumping violently in my chest, I take a deep breath. “I know that you aren’t going to be happy with what I’m about to say, but we made our decision. It’s pretty obvious that I’m expecting and soon enough a lot of people are going to learn that too. The things said about us in the news will get a lot worse because of it, and we’ve accepted that we deserve as much. But what we’ve chosen to do is final and there’s nothing you can say to change anything at this point.”
Mom’s brows arch like I’m calling her out, making me sink down a little in my chair in discomfort. “Corbin and I spoke when I was in California and buried a lot of bad blood from high school. We both made choices that weren’t smart given the circumstances, but…”
Words escape me as Corbin’s hand finds mine. He cups it on the table, squeezing once and nodding as I meet his eyes. “The stuff the media is saying is true and even though I’m not proud of it, it made me realize what I’ve always guessed all these years. I’m not over him.”
Now Gavin swears. Corbin doesn’t let go of my hand as Gavin’s chair scrapes back and he stands. “When we spoke—”
“Sit down,” Dad tells him, snapping his fingers and pointing toward the chair my brother occup
ied.
“Dad!” Gavin argues, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. “You can’t just sit there and let them tell us this like it isn’t fucked up. This whole thing is—”
“If their minds are set, they’re set,” Dad says, though I can tell he isn’t as okay with it as he pretends to be. What parent would be? They raised me to have morals—respect for others. Everything that I was taught disappeared when I set my eyes on Corbin Callum and kept them there.
In high school.
In California.
Right here nine years later.
Eyes watering with the intensity of the moment, I look at all of them. “Things are going to get … bad. Worse than they already are because we decided to speak up before somebody else can.”
It’s Mom who presses for what I won’t directly say. “Someone else being…?”
Corbin answers for me, knowing the expression on my face tells him I can’t verbalize an explanation. “My soon to be ex-wife, ma’am. I’m not proud of what I’ve done either, but Lena and I have been separated for a while. We agreed long before the movie even started that we would end the marriage.”
Gavin scoffs in disbelief. “And how’s that going?”
“Gavin,” I whisper defeatedly.
He doesn’t say anything more to my surprise, sitting down when Dad shoots him another look.
“The media thinks what they want to,” Corbin continues, making eye contact with each of them despite the icy look Gavin returns. “Since we’re still married it makes things between Kinley and me complicated, but not impossible. And, frankly, I’d go through anything if it meant being with her again. Your anger, the publics’ anger, anything.”
Mom leans back in her chair until it creaks. “Regardless of your separation, you still cheated on another woman.”
Corbin nods once, not arguing with her.
I sit straighter and count to three, channeling Dr. Ray’s techniques. “We can’t deny what the press has been saying about us because I’m pregnant. And I’m … a lot of things. Sorry. Scared. Guilty. But neither one of us can change what’s happened. We can only move forward the best way we can, and we chose to do that together.”
