Love Until It Hurts (Crazy Love Book 2)

by Carmen DeSousa

  The door creaked open, and Morgan peeked in. “Everything okay? You guys kiss and make up?”

  As I stood, I brushed imaginary dust off my dress. Nathan dust. The minuscule particles that had remained of our relationship were no longer visible even beneath a microscope. I no longer cared why he’d broken up with me. Didn’t care to know with whom or when he cheated on me. I was so over men. “No, Morgan! And we’re not getting back together either. Ever.”

  Her eyes were wide and round, childlike. “What happened?”

  “I’m just over it all, all the drama. Life’s too short.” I darted downstairs and charged toward my car, thankful that I was the last to arrive and wouldn’t have to wait for someone to move their car so I could escape.

  Chapter 4 – Brock

  Caitlyn brushed by me, her eyes suddenly dry, her sniffles all but silent.

  Obviously my ex had seen me come home. Seen Charity. And then had waited. Waited until it had been long enough so she could make a scene, put on a show. Why was I surprised? Caitlyn had been a drama queen since she was sixteen.

  “Who’s she?” Caitlyn hissed. My ex-wife didn’t have a discordant voice — it was actually low and southern — and yet, the sound of it sent more heebie-jeebies down my spine than fingernails on a chalkboard. If she had claws, they’d have been bared. Actually, she did have claws. Long acrylic ones, painted blood red, that she was currently tapping on the kitchen counter.

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” I growled back, walking by her, privately adjusting myself. No doubt I would be in pain tomorrow. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so excited by a woman … Actually, I was pretty sure I’d never been as turned on by a woman as I had been with Charity. Even Caitlyn, as much as I’d once loved her, had never made my world feel like it would stop revolving. Caitlyn wasn’t the woman I was supposed to marry. Our marriage — like everything else in my life — had come about from stupid choices, or lack thereof. I snatched the bottle of hard lemonade off the coffee table and headed to the kitchen.

  “Since when did you start drinking?” Caitlyn continued with her questions, her voice taking on a cheerful lilt as though this tidbit of information pleased her. She’d love to see me turn into my father, I was certain. Just so she could claim that she’d been smart to ask me for a divorce when I’d refused to sleep with her or even stay in the same room after I’d discovered her infidelity. I hadn’t asked Caitlyn for a divorce, afraid that my Catholic mother would have had a coronary. But then, surprisingly enough, my mother had told me that if Caitlyn had cheated on me, then I was allowed to divorce her. My mother had also confessed that she’d wished my father had cheated on her instead of everything else he’d done to our family, so she could have divorced him years ago.

  I emptied the contents of Charity’s untouched drink down the drain, but didn’t bother tossing out the other bottles. If I was lucky — I usually wasn’t — maybe Charity would give me another shot.

  Caitlyn’s fingers were still tapping on the counter, reminding me of how lucky I was that I wasn’t enough to please her.

  After inhaling a deep breath to keep myself calm, I turned on her. “Again, none of your business. Ex-wife, remember? You threw away your right to question the people I associate with the moment you started sleeping with that lowlife.”

  Caitlyn snaked her way along the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room of my apartment. She hopped up on a barstool and leaned over the counter, revealing a larger-than-normal chest. She’d either finally conned the money out of her daddy for the boob job she’d always wanted, or her enhanced breasts were a byproduct of her being pregnant.

  The thought of her being pregnant by another man made my stomach turn, simply because she’d always insisted she wasn’t ready for kids. “You really pregnant, Cat?”

  “Yep.”

  “And how do you know it’s mine?”

  She lowered her gaze, finding an interesting piece of paper on the counter to push around instead of making eye contact with me. “Because he always used a condom. You wanted kids, so you didn’t.”

  Bile rose in my throat over the fact that she’d finally admitted she’d had sex more than the one time I’d caught her with him. She hadn’t realized she’d flubbed, or maybe she just didn’t care anymore.

  The bottles of Mike’s left in the carton would have made great stress relievers if I had the courage to smash them against the wall, but this was a new apartment. No sense in trashing it over Caitlyn. “Why are you here? Isn’t he ready to play house with you?”

  Caitlyn slid off the barstool and sauntered her way around the island. “I thought this is what you wanted, Brock. You begged me for kids.”

  I shoved the bag into the fridge. “Yeah, well. I thought we’d be married. I thought my wife would have kept our wedding vows.”

  “Brock …” She slid her hands up my shirt, and I recoiled backward, forgetting the stove was behind me until one of the knobs gouged into my thigh.

  “Don’t Brock me. Dammit, Cat, I gave you all of me. I threw away my school and career goals for you. I worked my ass off proving to your father that he could trust me with the business. He was gonna retire and give us everything. You would have had all the money you said you needed. But that wasn’t enough for you.”

  She jutted out her bottom lip. “I was lonely.”

  “Oh, of course. Go ahead, blame it on me. Unlike some men, I never went out drinking and partying after work. I came home to you. Every night. You didn’t have to work, go to school, take care of kids … nothing. Such a rough life you had.”

  “We were too young, Brock. I wasn’t ready.”

  The kitchen suddenly felt too small, as if I might suffocate. I wanted to get away from her, but more importantly, I needed to get her out of my apartment. I never should have let her slither by me. “Then you shouldn’t have told me you were pregnant.”

  “I thought I was.”

  “Maybe you’re mistaken again.”

  “No, my doctor confirmed it.”

  “I guess I should have demanded the rabbit test before I married you. But don’t worry … I tend to learn from my mistakes. When you’re far enough along to take a paternity test, we’ll talk. Until then,” I took her hand, relishing the way she stared up at me, as if I was stupid enough to propose to her twice in a lifetime, and led her back to the door, opening it, “stay out of my life!” I nudged her outside, careful not to touch her anywhere other than her hand so she wouldn’t bruise up and claim I’d hit her.

  “I can’t believe you!” she screamed. Her voice echoed in the corridor. Typical. She’d always liked an audience. “I thought you wanted kids.”

  I stayed in the doorway, but blocked her from being able to slink back inside. “I do want kids. As I said, when you’re able to do a paternity test, call me.”

  “So … if it’s yours, we’ll get back together?” she asked, attempting to sound seductive, but again, her tone grated on the very essence of my soul. I could never be with her again.

  I laughed. “Not on your life! But I’ll be a good father.”

  “Maybe I won’t allow that.”

  “Good night, Cat!” I slammed the door and strolled out to the patio. Custody was the least of my concerns. Caitlyn didn’t have the patience to be a mother. And no way would she give up her social life. She’d probably end up dumping the baby on my doorstep, which would be fine with me. She was right. I did want a family, a chance to prove myself as a father. I just always assumed I’d be married when I had kids.

  Other than the fact I was alone, the night air was perfect to sit on the lanai and think. Florida in the fall was incredible. Lower humidity, temperatures cool enough to stay outdoors, but not so cold that your bones ached, unlike where my relatives lived in New York. I’d always hated it when my mother dragged my sister and me up there.

  The sweet scent of the hedge of crepe jasmine wafted up the three stories. For some reason, the aroma was alway
s stronger at night, the reason I enjoyed sitting outside, unwinding. From life. From my ex-wife. From work …

  Although I’d told Charity “Not really,” when she asked if I liked my job, I did like my job. The sales end of my job anyway. I enjoyed chatting with my clients. What I couldn’t stand was the dirty part of it. The grunt work. I was thankful that I had a job, but I’d already paid my dues. I’d started off in the trenches when I was fifteen, but had worked my way up to sales and overseeing the work others did with my previous company, but had to nearly start over after Caitlyn had her father fire me.

  I’d been talking with Tom, suggesting we do as Jesse had mentioned: hire on more apprentices so I could get out there and win more contracts. He’d been hesitant, but when I made it clear that I wasn’t looking for a grunt job forever, he’d told me he’d come up with something. He’d already lost his son; he didn’t want to lose me too, he’d admitted. Truthfully, I should be trying to start up my own company, but I simply didn’t have the capital at the moment, and Tom had been more than fair.

  My thoughts drifted back to Charity. She was the last thing I should be thinking about, but I couldn’t stop myself. She was a spoiled rich girl who thought the world should bow down to her whims. And God help me, I didn’t want to allow a woman to have that type of power over me ever again, but I wanted her. Not just a physical want, I wanted all of her. I loved hearing her laugh. Even loved challenging her. She may be spoiled, but she’d melted in my arms. On the dock, and then here. Damn the interruptions.

  I glanced at the time: it was only ten. If Jesse was busy with his wife, he wouldn’t answer. I decided to send a text, though. Hey. Can you ask your wife for Charity’s cell? I want to thank her for driving me home.

  A few minutes passed, but then the number lit up on my screen with a smiley face. Jesse was a few years younger than I was, but I could imagine us becoming close friends.

  I texted Charity a simple: It’s Brock. I’m sorry …

  I waited, hoping it’d be enough to break the ice. Certainly she couldn’t hold me to blame because my ex-wife had shown up, claiming that she was pregnant.

  Okay, so maybe that was a lot to handle on the first date.

  The minutes ticked by, but still nothing, so I decided to try one more option.

  Thank you for the ride, Char. Can we not call that our first date and try again?

  Nothing.

  Well, I’d tried. What else could I do? I certainly didn’t plan to stalk her, demanding that she give me another chance. Maybe Charity was right. Maybe something like fate did exist. If so, Fate and I needed to have a sit-down and discuss my love life.

  I left the patio door open and went to get ready for bed — alone. Was that it? Was I just lonely? Nah, I’d had plenty of opportunities over the last couple of months, but no woman had enticed me in the least — physically or mentally.

  Instead of staring at my phone, I decided to do what I did most evenings; I clicked on HBO and watched a couple episodes of GoT. Nothing like war to clear your head before bed.

  At midnight, I chanced one more glimpse at my phone, but stopped myself when I started to try again. “Don’t do it, man! Keep your wits,” I said aloud, hoping that my brain could make my heart — and libido — get the message. “You’re better off without a woman in your life right now anyway. Especially if there’s any chance Cat’s really pregnant with your child.” I sighed, deciding to use my brain for once. I wouldn’t call or text anymore. The ball was in Charity’s court.

  As I started to set down the phone, it chimed in my hand. Sure. Call me tomorrow.

  Everything in me wanted to call her now, but I restrained myself. Instead of even replying with a simple, Cool or Sounds good, I opted for the emotionless thumb up option, which simply told her I’d received her response. I couldn’t let her know how much her four little texted words had made my night.

  Even the news that I might be a father didn’t repulse me. Surprisingly, the idea was a little exciting. After all, I knew I’d never be like my father.

  Chapter 5 – Charity

  Chime after annoying chime rang in my ear. For some reason, I still kept my phone at the head of my bed, as though some emergency call was going to come through in the middle of the night.

  Most of the time it was group texts, asking me to join a party.

  My parents had complained for years, saying it disrupted my sleep. They were probably right, but what did I care? I was eighteen. I slept when I wanted to sleep.

  I used my thumb to scroll up the screen: Morgan. Nathan. Kayla. Nothing more from Brock. I wasn’t in the mood to read apology texts from Nathan while he had a hangover. Or from Morgan, wondering why Nathan and I hadn’t hooked up last night.

  Instead, I skipped to Kayla’s text: Hey … we gave Brock your number last night. Hope that’s okay.

  “A little late for that, cuz,” I said through a laugh as I turned on the shower, but I texted back a quick: NP! Thnx !

  It felt good not to have a hangover after going to a party, even though my insides felt as though I’d been thrashed around. A tight pit had lodged itself right above my abdomen, as if I’d been punched in the gut and my body was preparing for more of the same.

  Why was I so stressed ?

  “Oh, yeah!” I said loudly, my voice echoing inside my sprawling bathroom. “Nathan cheated on you, and you were too stupid to know it. And the first guy you’ve liked in eight months turns out to have an ex-wife who might be pregnant. Charity Jane Bauer,” I spoke my full name, preparing to chastise myself, since no one else was ever home to do it, “your life has become one of those silly soap operas that you tease Gram about watching.”

  With a shake of my head, I hopped inside the shower and raised my face to the hundreds of gushing needles, letting the hot water pummel me. Each breath I took below the spray invigorated me, as if providing me strength to make it through another harrowing day.

  My phone chimed again, but the sender would have to wait while I washed yesterday off my body. Nathan’s moaning and crying about one thing or another, words that didn’t make sense, had invaded my sleep. Flirting … yeah, I could own that, I guessed. But cheating … When had Nathan cheated on me, and why did he feel so guilty about it now? Or was it Brock who’d had me tossing back and forth all night?

  Clean and clear-headed — as clear as I could get in twenty minutes — I hopped out of the shower, wrapping one towel around my hair and another around my body.

  The last missed text was from Brock. I’m off today. Unusual for a weekday. But Tom gave me the entire weekend off for the holiday. Can I come get you?

  “Come get me?” I said aloud. Without warning, I smiled, but then I felt that tightness in my chest again. Was seeing Brock a bad idea? Was he my rebound — or worse, was I his? I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  Instead of overthinking things, I decided to continue with the friskiness we’d both enjoyed last night … before everything had gone wrong. ‘Come get me?’ What do you plan to do with me?

  I just want to spend the day with you, Charity.

  Hmm … that didn’t sound too playful. How should I dress?

  Comfortable. Casual. Whatever you like.

  Anything was better than sitting in an empty house all day, and I did like Brock. Okay. Gimme an hour. I texted him my address, supposing he didn’t know where I lived. Kayla might have given him that too, but I doubted it.

  As the previous evening, Brock just thumb-upped the text, letting me know he was okay with an hour. Obviously, he was playing it cool. No smiley faces to give me the wrong idea, I guessed.

  Ten outfit changes, six shoe amendments, and fifty-five minutes later, I scrutinized the meager contents of my parents’ pantry, foraging for a snack.

  My parents had more than ten thousand square feet of tile, wood, and plaster to house two dogs and three people, but damned if I could even find a cookie — well, a cookie fit for human consumption, that is. My mom had plenty of dog treats. She love
d her fur-babies, as she called them; so much that she’d even paid so they could fly with her to New York. Heaven forbid she ever grace the aisles of a grocery store, though.

  I sighed and peered out the window, hoping Brock hadn’t eaten lunch yet. I’d never suggest it, but it was a safe date, so he had probably planned to take me out to eat. Not seeing him, I continued my search of the cabinets for edible rations. The few cans I found had expired two years ago. Normally, I would have already left the house to grab something, but I had to wait for Brock since I’d told him I’d be here. If he was late —

  The roar of an exhaust pipe made its way to my ears. A truck. Of course, Brock would drive a truck. I liked trucks, though. I liked shimmying up inside while my date watched. Okay, so I was a flirt, but I only flirted with the man I was with — or wanted to be with. Contrary to Nathan’s accusation, I’d never flirted with other guys when I was with him … even when he asked me to.

  As hungry as I was, I didn’t dart for the front door. I waited for a knock or the chime of the doorbell. No way would I go out with Brock if he wasn’t man enough to come to the front door. Seconds later, the engine was silent, and the doorbell chimed through the cavernous rooms of the house.

  I took a deep breath and made my slow way to the door, opening it slowly as though I’d forgotten I had company coming. The image that greeted me broke down my guard, causing me to smile.

  Brock. He looked even better in the bright sunlight than he had the previous evening. Tall, lean, in jeans and a T-shirt again, with some band I didn’t recognize, Band AMIE, written out in elegant script on an all-black background. The way he filled out the shirt — and the jeans — had my heart tapping out an excited rhythm.

  All of a sudden, food wasn’t what I was hungry for. “Hey … Come on in.”

  Brock poked just his head around the entryway, looking behind me. “Are your parents home?”

  “No,” I offered with a teasing smile, biting down softly on my bottom lip.