Love Until It Hurts (Crazy Love Book 2)

by Carmen DeSousa

  “What about family dinners when you were growing up? Didn’t y’all have a specific dinner time?”

  She laughed. “Umm … no. In fact, I don’t think my mother’s ever even cooked in the kitchen. Dad has a few times, but that’s usually just a fish he caught or a pre-made dinner from Fresh Market.”

  I stopped and looked at Charity, thinking what different worlds we’d come from, even though we grew up only a few miles away from each other. “My mom insisted that we have a family dinner together. Even when I was in football and Autumn had band practice or cheerleading, we had to eat dinner together. It didn’t matter if it was eight o’clock. And now, unless one of us is out of town, we still have to get together every Sunday night. Which reminds me, you’re invited. If you want to go, that is. If you don’t come, Autumn will harass me, asking why. And if I try to bow out, the two of them will find me. Heck, they’d probably find some way to track my cell phone or truck.”

  Charity nodded, her cheeks turning up. “That’s nice. It’s nice to be wanted, loved like that.”

  I set down the chairs I had slung over my arm and backed her up against a bench that overlooked the sand dunes and blue-green water at the mouth of Tampa Bay. “I want you like that. If you’d rather not go, I still want to spend the day with you. I’ll take my chances of them tracking me down if it means I get to spend another day with you.”

  “You want to spend another day of your weekend with me?”

  Shocked that she’d ask that, I pulled back. I thought I’d been more than clear about what I wanted. “Of course. I want to spend every day with you. I have to go back to work Monday, but I still wanna see you.”

  She blinked a couple of times, as if what I’d said surprised her. “But … don’t you have friends that you like to hang out with on one of your weekend days?”

  “Sure. I have friends I like to hang out with. In fact, I haven’t hung out with them in way too long.” I shrugged as I fiddled with the white tie of her cover up. “But then, if one of them called and asked to hang out, I’d ask you to come with me. I’ve known my friends for years. It’d be pretty sad if I was tired of seeing you after three days.” I jerked my eyes to hers. “Unless, of course, you have friends you want to hang out with. I’m not saying that I want to keep you from seeing your friends. I know how important friend relationships can be. But —”

  Charity raised her fingers to my lips. “Brock, I understand. No, there’s nobody I want to hang out with more than you.”

  “Good.” I sighed and wrapped my hands around her and pulled her toward me. I pressed my lips against hers, reveling in the fact that they already felt comfortable, familiar, as though we belonged together. Leaning back, I smiled. “I’m sure I’ll want to hang out with the guys eventually, but I sure don’t feel like it right now.”

  She returned my smile. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be with either, and yes, I’d love to have dinner with your family.”

  Chapter 8 – Charity

  It hadn’t even been fifteen hours since I’d seen Brock, and yet, I couldn’t wait to see him again.

  Meeting his mom, and Autumn again, though, I was scared out of my wits. My friends’ parents rarely liked me.

  I scoured my closet for the most sensible clothes I could find that didn’t say I was trying too hard. I threw three dresses on my bed, but then went back for more. Too short, too revealing, too loud. “Ugh!”

  My closet was the size of some small department stores, filled with hundreds of outfits my mother had bought for me over the years. She loved to shop, so if she couldn’t find anything for herself in a store, inevitably, she’d pick up something for me. Those outfits, though, were usually more risqué than something I would have chosen for myself. My mom liked to be the cool mom.

  I finally pulled on a soft angora sweater and a pair of jeans.

  After I twirled in front of the mirror, I smiled. “Yes! Me, but not too me. Respectable enough to meet mom, but sexy enough that Brock would still like what he saw, I hoped.

  The doorbell rang, and I grabbed my clutch and keys, sprinting to the door, pausing to catch my breath before I opened it. “Hey …”

  “Hey, princess.” He looked over my shoulder. “Your parents home?”

  My head dropped as I laughed. “No … Are you afraid I’ll attack you if you come inside the house?”

  “I just wanted to say hello if they were home.”

  “My mom left for New York Friday morning … to shop. She’ll be back tomorrow, and my dad has an ongoing Sunday date with his golf clubs.”

  Brock actually stepped over the threshold. “Oh … And you? What do you normally do on Sundays?”

  I snuggled into his arms, surprised at how comfortable I felt. “Not much. Usually just hang out around the pool, or go to my grandmother’s house and hang out around her pool. We don’t do much, but she always has food, and she likes it when I’m there.”

  “So your parents are never home?”

  “Not very often. They both work a lot. During the week, I rarely see them. And on the weekends, they like to unwind, which I guess I understand. As I mentioned yesterday, Dad and I eat dinner together a couple nights a week, though.”

  “That’s nice,” Brock said, running his hand through my hair. “You ready?”

  “Yeah … unless you’d like me to show you around.”

  His mouth edged up on one side, but it didn’t look like a cocky smile. He actually looked shy. “I’d like nothing more, but —”

  I looked up at him from beneath my lashes. “I know … not here … not yet.”

  His arms tightened around me. “I just don’t want us to make a mistake.”

  “I understand, Brock, and just so you know … I don’t view what we’re doing — whatever it is — as a mistake.”

  He slowly shook his head back and forth. “Whatever we’re doing? See, that’s just the thing, Charity, I told you what I wanted almost immediately. I know you thought I was tossing you a line, but I meant what I said the first night. I have no interest in dating around. I want you. You just have to decide if I’m what you want.”

  “Oh, I don’t think there’s a doubt what I want. I definitely want you, Brock.”

  “I’m not talking about physical wants. Do you want to introduce me to your parents?”

  “You’ve already met my parents.”

  Brock narrowed his eyes. “As your boyfriend?”

  My heart hammered in my chest. I wasn’t embarrassed to be with Brock, but was I ready for a commitment? To introduce him to my parents? “Brock, I …” I stammered. “You haven’t asked me to be exclusive. I —”

  “It’s okay, princess. I just wanted to see your reaction.”

  I smacked his chest and tugged away from him. “I’m not embarrassed to be with you, Brock, if that’s what you meant.”

  He pulled me back to him, pressing his lips against mine. My heart raced again. Yes, I definitely wanted to keep Brock around for a while. But, boyfriend? I just wasn’t sure if I was ready for all of … him. His ex. His family. They were so different from my family.

  Brock pulled his head back, but stared down at me. “No rush … Just want to make sure we’re heading in the same direction.” He took just my hand and led me out the door.

  We were going to his mother’s house … so had that been his intention? To introduce me as his girlfriend? No, it had been his sister’s idea, I remembered.

  ***

  Brock’s mother lived in an older neighborhood of Clearwater. Street after street, and lot after lot, consisted of traditional Florida houses made out of cinder blocks. Although most Florida homes were required to be built with cinder blocks, rarely did I see houses that weren’t covered with stucco or siding.

  Brock pulled up in front of a small corner lot that was well-kept, with trimmed shrubs lined up against the front of the house beneath jalousie windows. My grandmother had had the old-fashioned windows in her house, but she’d replaced them when I was a child.


  In front of the greenery, colorful marigolds in yellow, red, and orange added a touch of fall to the well-manicured yard. It was clear that Brock’s mom hadn’t spent a hundred thousand dollars, as my parents had, to professionally design the front and back of our property, but I bet she spent more time enjoying hers.

  Brock hopped out of the truck and made his way around to my side, opening my door. “Don’t let my mother scare you. She sounds scarier than she is when she gets to rambling. If she slips into her native tongue, please understand that she doesn’t mean it to be insulting. She just likes to say some things in Spanish, says it’s prettier. But she tends to shorten words by eliminating whole syllables, so even people who understand Spanish don’t always understand Puerto Rican Spanish.”

  I slid into his arms. “Do you speak Spanish?”

  “Of course. She was adamant that we grow up bilingual.”

  “That’s smart.”

  Brock led me to the front door. The main door was open, allowing light inside; only the clear storm door was closed. He knocked as he opened the solid glass door. “Mai, it’s me.”

  “Mi’jo! In the kitchen,” a loud, happy voice called back.

  “Of course …” Brock, as always, held onto my hand as he guided me through a stone-tiled entry. The area was open, inviting, and comfortable. Two overstuffed chairs and a loveseat in a white-and-tan jacquard print sat to the left. A coffee table covered with pictures sat between the three seats. It looked like a sitting area that was actually used, not a formal area that was graced only once a year.

  Brock continued toward the back of the house, to an open kitchen with a long counter that overlooked a family room that appeared to be half the size of the entire house. Sliding glass doors stood open to a screened-in lanai that covered a kidney-shaped pool. Behind the pool, a small forest of areca palms and a white PVC fence provided privacy from the neighbors, whose houses were less than fifty feet away.

  What the house and property lacked in square footage, it more than made up for in charm. It might not be large, but the warm colors of orange, red, and tan were inviting.

  A tiny woman stooped over a stove. Her long chocolate hair was braided and yet still reached her waist. She stirred a pot, then covered it, wiping her hands on the side of her apron as she turned around. “Oy! I look a mess.”

  Brock released my hand to embrace his mother. “You look beautiful. Mai, this is Charity. Charity, my mother, Luisa Cordero Ryan.”

  Mai, I’d heard him correctly the first time, but hadn’t been sure. My mouth instantly watered at the spicy aroma of tomatoes, peppers, and onion. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Ryan. That smells delicious.”

  Luisa stepped around Brock and hugged me. “Luisa or Mai is fine. No need to be formal. Brock’s never been one to bring home strays, so you must be special.”

  “Mai … you promised …” Brock groaned.

  Luisa tapped her son on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Mi’jo, I won’t bring out the baby pictures.”

  A draft whipped the back of my legs as I heard the front door open.

  “Mai!” a female voice called. “I’m home, and I’m starving!”

  “In here, Mi’ja!” Luisa laughed. “Autumn’s always hungry. Her manager won’t allow her to eat anything but ensalada when she’s on the road.”

  Autumn strolled into the room wearing jeans and a white tank top, so I felt better about my choice of casual clothes. As I’d noticed Friday night, she was petite and curvy, and now I could see the resemblance to her mother. Brock too. All three of them had striking hazel eyes that stood out in contrast to their tanned skin.

  “Mai, I haven’t eaten real food in weeks! You know how they starve me on the road.” Autumn leaned back from her hug and ran to Brock and me. “Char! You came! Now we can get to know each other.” She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. She let me go after a few seconds and reached out for Brock, whispering something in her brother’s ear, which made him laugh.

  “I agree.” He peeked at me and winked, mouthing, I’ll tell you later. He pulled back from his sister. “Let’s eat! Mai, what do you want us to do?”

  Luisa shooed the siblings and me to the lanai. “The table is set. Go sit down. All I need is to bring in the pot of sancocho.”

  After pulling out a chair for me to sit, Brock reached into a basket on the table and pulled out several slices of bread before plopping into a chair too. “You want butter on yours, Charity?”

  I nodded, trying to remember the last time my family sat down to a Sunday dinner together. I was pretty sure the answer was never. Thanksgiving, of course, because my grandmother insisted. But just the three of us? Other than at a restaurant, I couldn’t remember sitting down to a real meal.

  Brock passed me a couple slices of the warm buttered bread as Luisa carried a large pot to the lanai and set it in front of him. The petite woman took a seat across from me, next to her daughter. Brock reached for my hand and his sister’s as Luisa stretched her hand across the table to me.

  Luisa bowed her head. “Dear Lord, thank you for all you’ve given to us. Thank you for my children and our guest, Charity. Please bless this food we are about to receive.”

  “Amen,” everyone said in unison.

  I wasn’t a stranger to prayer; my grandmother insisted. But prayer — or church, for that matter — was not common practice in my house.

  Brock scooped out a Hungry Man portion of the stew for me, then continued ladling out helpings for the others. I inhaled, wanting to dig in. Along with the peppers, onions, and tomatoes, I’d smelled, the stew was thick and juicy with chunks of beef, diced up potatoes, small ears of corn, and what looked like squash.

  “Charity,” Brock said, “you probably heard Mai say sancocho, and as you probably guessed, it means stew. In Puerto Rico, when a person has spent all day in the hot sun, they say, sancochao, which means stewing in the heat.”

  I giggled as I thought about that. “Smells incredible, and ‘stewing in the sun’ is something I like to do on Sunday. Now I get to eat it.”

  The three of them laughed, and I immediately felt at home. Rarely did my family — or my friends for that matter — laugh at my dry sense of humor. But already, I felt comfortable with this family, who’d welcomed me into their home with open arms — literally.

  The conversation never lacked throughout dinner. When Brock or his mother and sister weren’t probing me about intimate details of my life, one of the family members were usually inquiring about Autumn’s time on the road with her band, Brock’s new job, or Mai’s week at the senior home where she worked.

  After dinner, everyone helped clean up, except me. Apparently guests weren’t allowed to clean up. Instead, I sat at the counter and watched as Brock scraped the leftovers into plastic containers, Autumn rinsed the serving bowls and dishes, and Mai loaded the dishwasher. All the while, they laughed and joked with each other, occasionally pulling me into the conversation.

  It was official, I was in love with the idea of this family, which was scary. Was it the notion of family that I loved, or was it because I already felt such deep emotion for Brock that his family appealed to me?

  After hours of laughing and reminiscing, Autumn and Mai suddenly needed to see a new addition to Mai’s garden. “We’ll be right back, Brock,” his mother said, making it clear that we weren’t supposed to follow.

  Brock nuzzled my ear. “So … what do you think? Ready to run?”

  I turned into his nuzzling, sneaking a warm soft kiss. “Ready to run? As in, go home?”

  “As in … to give up on me?”

  “Not a chance. Your family is great. They’re so welcoming. Please don’t expect this kind of friendliness with my parents.”

  Brock tilted his head. “What do you mean? I thought your family was great, welcoming a complete stranger into their house on Thanksgiving.”

  “That’s my grandmother, not my parents.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Want to plan it?”


  A smile sneaked up on me. Brock really did want to meet my parents … officially. “Sure. I’ll talk to my dad tomorrow after work. He’s usually home early on Monday nights.”

  “Great. I’ll leave it up to you, then. Whatever you want to do. Please tell him I can bring dinner … or we can go out, whatever they prefer.”

  “I’m sure he won’t let you bring food — or pay. He always pays. But I’ll ask.”

  Autumn and Mai strolled back into the parlor, arm in arm, giggling like two schoolgirls. Were they really just that happy to be together, or were they tickled at the two of us snuggled together on the loveseat? I’d never been close to my mother. I’d always thought that she wished I was more like Kayla, since Kayla was more like my mom’s twin sister who’d passed away six years ago.

  Brock stood up, his hand still wrapped around mine. “Well, I guess it’s time to get Charity home. Thanks for dinner, Mai!”

  Mai rushed forward, taking my hand in hers. “You’re welcome back any time, Charity.”

  “Thank you, Mai. I’d like that.”

  Autumn wrapped her arms around me. “So good to see you again, Char. Maybe we could go out for coffee or something sometime? I’m out of town this week, but if it’s okay, I’ll have Brock give me your number and I’ll call you when I get back.”

  “That sounds like fun.” I peeked up at Brock. “Make sure you give Autumn my number.”

  He laughed. “As if I’ll be able to forget. She’ll stalk me until I do it.”

  Autumn pulled me into another hug, but this time whispered into my ear, “My brother’s a good man, Charity. I’m living proof of that. Be good to him, okay?”

  I pulled back, forcing a smile, but then nodded. I had no plans to hurt Brock. I couldn’t help but wonder what she meant by “living proof,” though.

  Mai and Autumn hugged Brock, then followed us outside, waiting on the front stoop until we drove off.

  Fifteen minutes later, Brock pulled into my driveway, but didn’t turn off the ignition. “Can I make you dinner tomorrow?”

  “At your place?”

  “Of course … where else would I make you dinner?”