“Hey baby. Anything come in the mail today?” Drew asks.
“Um . . . don’t know. Hang on a sec.” I put the phone down on the floor and backtrack to the front door to the pile of mail lying where it fell when the postman shoved it through the mail slot.
I gather the pile and take it into the kitchen. “Let me see . . .” I thumb through the envelopes and food store flyers. My heart thumps in my chest when I spot it. “Yes, something from Villanova.” It’s our first choice school.
Drew breathes into the phone. “Me, too.”
“Did you open it?” I ask anxiously, as the white creamy envelope shakes in my hand.
“Nope. Wanted to wait to see if you had one. Open it on three?”
“Wait! What if one of us doesn’t get in?” I ask.
“Then we wait for the rest of the acceptances to come in, and we go to the school that accepts us both,” he says, impatiently.
My stomach tightens. “What if . . . you know . . . that doesn’t happen? If none of them do?”
“Come on, Jillian. No way that can happen. We’re both in the top 10 percent of our class in one of the best high schools in the state. Our test scores are freaking fantastic, you cheer, I have baseball . . . seriously, they’d be lucky to have us.” His words are encouraging, and there’s no mistaking I’m the worrier in this relationship.
I blow out a breath. “You’re right. On three.”
We rip open our envelopes. I squeeze my eyes shut, open the paper, and then look. As soon as I see “We are pleased to offer you . . .” I have to squelch down a squeal of delight.
“What does yours say?” Drew asks. From the breathy quality in his voice, I can tell he’s holding back good news.
Just in case, I answer calmly, almost sadly. “I got in.”
He releases a breath. “Me, too.”
I release my squeal of delight, and jump up and down. We hoot and holler into the phone until we’re both hoarse.
We’re laughing as I collapse into the wall, and slide down into a heap on the kitchen floor.
“This is it, baby. The first step to the rest of our lives together,” Drew purrs into the phone. I love that he’s so romantic and has never once thought we were too young to be this committed to one another. Part of it has to do with his reaction to his parents’ divorce, and not wanting to end up like them. The other is a strong hunger he has to live his best life and thinking that includes me.
Me? I can’t imagine loving someone more. I feel lucky to have found him, lucky that he’s mine.
I close the diary and sigh.
In my mind’s eye, Raine reminds me of an older version of Drew—a physical representation of who he’d be if he had lived. What I didn’t count on is that Raine would be able to sneak under my defenses so easily because of it. I can’t deny how attracted I am to Raine or how much my heart yearns to embrace him. But I struggle to sift through my emotions and separate my growing feelings for him with the echo of love in my heart for Drew. At times, they still seem almost inseparable.
I channel my inspiration into crafting the encounter between Becca and Drew—the tension, the confrontation, the dialogue, and the conflict. I stop typing after I fast-draft it and sit back in my chair satisfied. As part of my process, I set it aside, and pull up the last chunk of scenes I worked on. It’s further along in the plot and less fraught with my own personal experiences.
Another hour passes, and I decide I’m done for the night.
Before I shut down, I check my email. I see one from Brigitte and open it.
How’s your first draft coming? I’ll need it in eight weeks, so chop-chop! Before you ask, I’m still working to sell them on the book cover design.
Well, don’t keep me hanging. How was the date with the lawyer?
I groan, and craft a reply.
Glad to hear the publisher is pleased. But tell whoever you’re working with at the publishing house to get a life, it’s Sunday! Take the same advice for yourself. I appreciate your perseverance on the cover design. I don’t plan to give up on it.
As far as the date? Awful. Actually, it was worse than awful. I’m surprised it took his wife as long as it did to divorce him. Seriously, he was a callous asshole and older than my grandfather. If he’s forty-eight, then I’m twenty-one.
Going to visit Aunt Vera tomorrow and then head to the beach house for a couple of days to write.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, tempted to add something about Raine. On second thought, maybe it’s better if I keep him to myself for a while from those who don’t already know he’s here. Not to mention, if I tell her he’s living with me, she might worry he’ll become a distraction. I can’t lie. I’m worried about that, too.
Call me if you need me . . . J
I hit SEND.
My lips press together. Speaking of Vera and people who already know about Raine, I eye the clock. Nine-thirty. It’s still early enough to check in with Kitty, plus I owe her an apology for snapping at her earlier.
I dial.
She answers on the first ring. “The prodigal sister returns,” she says and sighs.
I roll my eyes. It’s clear who Jenny inherited her melodrama from. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Kitty, I only talked to you this afternoon. It hasn’t been that long. Did you have a chance to see Aunt Vera since we spoke?”
Her voice takes on some excitement. “Jenny and I went over after dinner. We ran into the doctor, and he said her kidneys are responding and she may be off of dialysis soon. Isn’t that wonderful news! I figured I’d let you cool off and surprise you tomorrow morning.”
“That’s fantastic news, Kitty!” Her words fill me with relief, and for the first time since Vera’s admittance into the House o’ Death, I feel truly hopeful.
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Kitty says. “Jillian . . . I’m sorry about making you angry before. You know, about your house guest.”
“Thanks, and I’m sorry I went off on you,” I say and release a breath. “But I need you and Jenny to trust me on this one.”
“We love you, Jillian. We’re allowed to worry.”
“Maybe, but you’re not allowed to nag or judge.”
“Fine.” She relents, but I can tell from her tone she’s not happy. “So how is your house guest doing?”
“Healing. That’s all that matters. And you’ll be pleased to know he’s an excellent cook and has volunteered to man the kitchen while he stays here. He made chicken marsala for dinner. It was fabulous.”
“How long does he plan on staying?” I hear suspicion in her voice, and I don’t like it. “As long as he wants,” I say, resisting the urge to snipe at her.
She humphs. I can picture the look of disapproval written all over her face. “I guess you’ll be bringing him to dinner next Sunday?”
“Wow, Kitty. Way to make a question sound like an accusation. If he’s welcome, yes, I’ll bring him. Otherwise, I’ll see you for Sunday dinner when he moves out—whenever that turns out to be.”
“Of course, he’s welcome,” she says more pleasantly, and I sense defeat from her side of the phone.
A triumphant smile pops to my lips. “Fantastic. You have a week to get used to the idea and figure out how to be cordial to him. We’ll be at the beach house for the next couple of days, since I need some uninterrupted time to catch up. I’m on deadline.”
“You’re taking him with you?”
I pull the receiver away from my ear and give it an incredulous look. Didn’t we just hash this out? I place the phone back at my ear. “It’s either that or leave him here on his own. Frankly, I’d like the company and the hot meals.”
“I give up. Sleep with whomever you want. Just don’t come crying to me when he breaks your heart.”
My mouth drops open. “Kitty, I’m not sleeping with him! I’m giving him a place to stay. He’s cooking. We’re friends. End of story.” Okay, I admit I’m downplaying the situation. I’m not sleeping with him . . . yet, and we’re just friends
. . . for now. But is it really necessary for her to give me all this grief just because he’s younger than me? Okay, probably by two decades. Whatever happened to: “I hope you meet someone nice and fall in love again?” Does that only apply to men within a certain standard deviation of my current age?
“Whatever you say, Jillian. But someone his age is bound to eventually leave you for someone younger once the novelty of an older woman wears off.”
“You would know this how, Kitty? Your vast experience with younger men?” My hand strangles the phone, wishing it were Kitty’s neck. “And thanks for the vote of confidence! I’m glad I have no other qualities that would attract a man other than a quick romp in the sack to satisfy his curiosity of having sex with an old hag!” I say in my own defense, but I can’t deny she’s tapped directly into my deepest fears.
“I didn’t mean it that way, Jillian. Let me quit before I say anything else to make you angry. I’ll let you know if anything changes with Vera while you’re gone. ’Night, sweetie.”
I smolder. “Thanks, Kitty. I’ll probably talk to you tomorrow . . . if my old arthritic fingers can still dial the phone.”
I hang up, drained from the conversation and ready for a snack. Pushing away Kitty’s words, I shove down my insecurities. Raine makes me feel a lot of things, but he doesn’t make me feel like a novelty. I wonder what he’s up to. The house is big enough so that I can’t hear him, but knowing that he’s somewhere close by makes the house feel more alive.
Thinking back to sleeping by his side last night fills me with warmth. It felt so good, reminding me how much I missed the intimacy of sharing my bed and feeling needed. A twinge of disappointment settles in the center of my chest at the prospect of sleeping without him tonight.
I switch off my laptop and snap off the light behind me as I leave my office. Rather than head to the kitchen like I intend, my feet carry me toward Raine.
Chapter 18
Raine
I’M RELAXING ON the guest room bed and leafing through the internship paperwork Nessie dropped off at the bar last night when my cell phone rings.
I glance at the number. Speak of the devil. What the hell could she want? I decide to be civil and ignore the fact that she probably cheated on me with Mercedes dude before we split up.
“What’s up, Ness?”
“Are you okay?” she says, an edge of panic in her voice.
I sit up straighter. “Huh?”
“Your crazy father called me! He’s looking for you.” She’s afraid, I can hear it. Vanessa knew enough about me to know what my father was capable of, although she never witnessed it firsthand during the time we were together.
A shiver runs up my spine. “He called you?”
“Yeah. I mean, he sounded normal, but I know you said he could come off that way sometimes.”
My stomach drops. “You didn’t give him my number, did you?” Whenever I call him, I block my phone number so he can’t contact me directly.
She sighs. “No. I didn’t. We may not be dating anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’d throw you to the old wolf.” She sounds almost nice, like the old Ness I thought I once loved. I’m thankful that she did me a favor.
“He told me you were in the hospital last night and wanted to make sure you were okay.” She sniffs in disbelief.
A sudden head rush leaves me feeling faint as my heart kicks up painfully against my ribcage. “How did he know I ended up in the hospital?”
“Holy shit! You were really in the hospital? I thought he was lying,” she says in a high-pitched wail.
I have to move the phone away from my ear. “Ness, don’t yell! You almost busted my eardrum.”
“Sorry. What happened? Are you okay?” she asks with renewed concern.
I draw a hand over my bruised face without thinking and wince. I choose to avoid any details until I figure out what she knows. “I’m fine. What did he tell you?”
“He said you never came home last night after work. He called around to the local hospitals today and found out you were admitted to Memorial Hospital after a bar fight. He wondered if I knew where you were.”
That lying sack of shit! Of course, he didn’t tell Ness he was the one who’d put me there in hopes of lulling her into telling him something.
“And?” I ask with exasperation.
“And what?” she snipes. “I don’t know where you are! All I told him was that I’d seen you at work last night.”
I breathe easier. That’s good.
“So where are you, anyway? He said the hospital told him you went home with your aunt. I thought that was odd since they all live in Sweden.”
My jaw tightens, and my relief turns to dread. “I’m staying with a friend.” My safe haven suddenly feels threatened. I need to tell Jillian. If the hospital gave out her information, we could be in for an unwelcome visit. On the other hand, if my father thinks he can come within a football field of Jillian . . . The thought of him touching her soft skin or even looking at her makes my hand clench into a fist. Let’s just say I’d kill to keep her safe.
“Oh, really? Someone old enough to be mistaken for your freakin’ aunt?” she says incredulously. “Getting a little desperate there, aren’t you?”
My blood pressure shoots up until there's heat rising off my cheeks. Vanessa would never be half the woman that Jillian is.
“Back off, Nessie,” I growl and grip the phone hard.
“You always did have mommy issues,” she says with a trace of evil glee.
That’s it! I fucking snap. "I have issues? Me? How about we talk about your issues? Oh, wait! I don't have the whole fucking night to list them!"
“At least sleeping with someone twice my age isn't one of them,” she snarls.
Chapter 19
Jillian
“WHY ARE YOU being such a bitch?” he says. His words are muted through the guest room door. My hand freezes mid-knock and my heart unexplainably sinks.
He pauses, I assume, to listen to her response—whoever it is.
“What? Ness, I really don’t need your bullshit right now, or ever again, for that matter.”
My stomach knots. His use of a nickname tells me he’s close to her . . . girlfriend close. Or, given the nature of his words and what he told me the other day—ex-girlfriend. Either way. Great. Just fab.
Another pause.
“You know what? That’s none of your goddamn business,” he snaps. “I—”
The floors creak as Raine paces briskly inside, his bare feet stamping across the wood floor.
“What?” His footsteps abruptly stop. “Okay, that’s enough! Why do you make everything sound so cheap? You don’t even know her!”
My ears prick up on high alert as blood pumps in a heavy rhythm under my breast. Who “her?” Me “her” or another “her?”
“Don’t ever say something like that to me again. Wait, let’s do one better. Don’t ever call me again,” he snaps. “Ha! I’d cut my own dick off before I’d stoop low enough ever to fuck you again.”
My eyes pop wide at the vehemence in his voice followed by a small stab of triumph. Ex-girlfriend. Definitely. The sound of his cell phone slamming onto a solid surface in the bedroom echoes through the door two seconds before he opens it and I stumble into the room.
His face twists into a scowl. “Jillian? What’re you doing?”
My mouth suddenly goes dry. “I wanted to know if you, um, wanted something to eat.” Crap. I regret the words the moment I speak.
His eyebrows fly up. “You’re offering to cook after our conversation earlier?” Crossing his arms over his chest, he says, “or were you hoping I would?” The anger I heard in his phone call is still evident, but waning.
I shrug and glance briefly away. “I can make us something.”
His mouth twists into a half smile, and then he reaches out and spins me around to face the kitchen. My shoulders tingle from the touch of his fingers. “I can’t wait to see this. Okay, Julia Child, lead the way.�
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I stop when we reach the stairs leading to the lower level. “Before we go to the kitchen, do you want a tour? I realized I never showed you around.”
He grins and gives me a pointed look. “You’re stalling.”
My eyes widen with innocence. “No. Really, I’m not.” Well, maybe I am. “Come on.”
I lead him down past my studio to the gym and flip on the lights. It was Robert’s more than mine while he was alive. The gym is fully outfitted with multiple sets of free weights and every flavor of exercise equipment imaginable, including a full Universal Gym.
Raine whistles and walks past me to the weights. “Sweet.”
I clear my throat. “My husband used to have a personal trainer come to the house. I haven’t been down here much myself since he died, but God knows, I probably should be. You’re welcome to use it all.” I’m assuming he must work out to stay in the shape he’s in.
He picks up a forty-pound weight, winces, and places it back down. “How did your husband die?” he asks softly.
I stare at his back and try to swallow back the dryness in my mouth. “Heart attack.”
He turns to face me. “I’m sorry. How old was he when he died?”
“Forty-eight,” I say with a tight smile.
His face softens. He strolls back over to where I stand, and places his hands on my shoulders. “I have an idea.”
“What’s that?”
He lowers his head and touches his forehead to mine. “I can be your personal trainer. But I want you to know that you have a warped perception of your own body. You’re beautiful, and I like you just the way you are. That said, I believe in fitness. I’ll help you get more fit with the understanding that there’s nothing wrong with the way you look. Deal?”
My cheeks grow warm, but not as warm as my heart. I’m speechless. How is it that he knows the right thing to say? “Deal.”
“Great. Meet me here at eight tomorrow morning.”
My eyes go wide. “Tomorrow? That soon?”
He folds his arms over his chest with a self-satisfied smile. “No reason to wait. Besides, I need to earn my keep. We can get on the road after a workout and a shower. I’m no pushover, Jillian. I’m going to make you sweat.”
Caught Up In Raine Page 10
