Time Exposure (Click Duet #2) (Bay Area Duet Series)

by Persephone Autumn

  Would she go to him to be consoled? Would she use her friendship with him to punish me? God, I hope not. The Cora I know doesn’t seem the type to do such petty or callous things. But the Cora I know isn’t the Cora that exists today. And that scrap of knowledge stings more than anything.

  Even if Cora refuses to see it, it is more than obvious Jonas likes her. Hell, any man who looks at a woman the way he looks at Cora doesn’t just want to be friends. He may even love her.

  At the thought, my skin prickles. He could be soothing her right now. Wiping her tears away. Holding her in his arms. Shushing her cries over another man. A man who claims to love her, but supposedly has a fiancée. A fake fiancée.

  And suddenly it feels as if I just handed over the love of my life to another man. “What the fuck was I thinking?”

  I wasn’t thinking. That much is now obvious. My reaction to a friend’s unfortunate situation was simple. Or so I thought at the time. My friend needed help and I offered up my solution. To make people believe we were engaged. An easy, straightforward way to improve her life. No big deal, right?

  Wrong. Evidently.

  But it isn’t real. And Layla damn well knows nothing about our engagement is tangible. There will never be a wedding or vows or permanency. No flowers or additional jewelry or change of name.

  So why the show? Why the hell did she act like a catty bitch last night? I saw the wicked gleam in her eye, the vicious curl of her lip. Why did she intentionally try to hurt the one person who matters most to me? I don’t get it. Don’t understand her motive. What does Layla stand to gain by ruining what Cora and I have? If Layla really was my friend, if she really cared about me as a person, she would have cheered me on. Not shattered my dreams.

  So many questions need answering, but they will have to wait until later. Right now, I need to focus on fixing my relationship with Cora. It will take time to mend our relationship, but she needs to know the truth. From my lips. A truth I should have told her from the get-go.

  Once I fly back to California, circumstances will change. Life will change. And unfortunately for those in my line of fire, the people stepping on my toes with stiletto heels, they will wish they never fucked me over.

  It is one thing to fuck with me, individually. But it is a whole new ball game when you involve people I love.

  My internal tirade gets disrupted when I hear a car pull into Cora’s driveway. When I lift my head from my hands, I catch her profile behind the tint. But she is so focused on parking the car, I don’t think she has spotted me yet. Not like most people survey their house the second they get home.

  So, I choose to stay seated on the stoop and let her see me when she is ready.

  My eyes remain glued on her as she opens the car door and steps out. As she swipes her fingers under her eyes and sniffles. As she steps around the front of her car and starts for her back door. Her eyes swollen and red. Cheeks blotchy and wet. Hair windblown. Clothes the same she wore last night. Posture defeated. And the second she notices me on her back stoop, I catch the break in her stride as she stumbles a little and takes a step back.

  “Gavin?” she asks as if it is impossible for me to be here. Her voice gruff and scratchy and parched. “What are you doing here?”

  I rise, roll my neck and shoulders, and take a few tentative steps toward her. But when I do, she steps back again and keeps the distance between us. There may be ten feet between us, but it feels like ten miles. And she wants this distance because I hurt her. Again.

  “Hey, baby. I was worried about you after you left last night. You were so upset. A little after you left, I got a ride here to make sure you were okay. When I saw your car wasn’t here, I worried. So I stayed, wanting to be here when you got home. I needed to know you were safe and knew you wouldn’t answer if I called or texted. And at some point, I must’ve fallen asleep.”

  We stand there and stare at each other. She doesn’t say a word while I study her more in-depth. Her eyes are bloodshot, her green irises more opaque. Dark half-moons paint the pale skin below her dark lashes. Lines crease her forehead and the small space just above her nose pinches her brows together. She bites the inside of her cheek as she looks everywhere but at me. The blotchy patches on her cheeks spread down her neck and onto her chest.

  It has only been one night and she already looks like she hasn’t slept for weeks. And I am the sole reason. If she looks like this now—after just one night—how will she look for the several days I am gone? How did she look for the years I was gone?

  A red hot poker scalds my heart at the pain I have caused her. The pain evident in her eyes and her posture and the way she reacts to me. How she purposely backs away when I try to get close. When I try to repair the shifting fault lines in her heart.

  But I refuse to let everything we have gained get thrown aside like last week’s leftovers. Our relationship isn’t garbage and neither is how we feel about each other. Last night’s debacle with Layla was just another rift. But we will get past this. We will flourish. Together.

  “Gavin, I think you need to leave.”

  “Baby, please—”

  “No,” she yells. “You don’t get to call me that anymore. You don’t get to be smooth and sweet and all baby this or baby that. Not after what just happened. It’s time for you to leave. I’m exhausted and Luna is probably crying for me. So, please. Just. Go.”

  “If you’d just let me explain—”

  “No, Gavin. The time for explanations has passed. You should’ve told me about her a week ago when we were catching each other up on life. I haven’t withheld anything pertinent from you. And I’d thought you’d done the same. But I guess that’s what I get for thinking.” She stops for a moment, chest heaving and fists clenched at her sides. When she speaks again, her voice drops and I have to fight to hear what she says. “So, please, I beg of you. Please leave.”

  I don’t want to stand out here and argue with her. Cause a scene and have her neighbors come check to see if she is okay. If anything, I want to walk her inside and wrap her in my arms and tell her everything will be okay. That I will fix the problem I created. That I will right my wrongs. And that I will return to her again.

  But actions speak louder than words. And right now, she needs actions. Actions that tell her I won’t break my promises. Not again. Actions that prove Layla is what I say she is. That she is a friend I did a favor for and nothing else.

  I take a step toward her, and this time she doesn’t back away. Her frame wilts like a sad flower, I know it’s due to hurt and sleep deprivation. When I stand an arm’s length from her, I reach for her hand. She doesn’t stop me, but closes her eyes and hangs her head in defeat. She is tired and hurt and needs time to think. But I need her to not give up. Not on me and not on us.

  Taking advantage of her non-retreat, I hold her hand for a beat. “Baby,” I whisper. “I know you’re upset with me. I would be, too. But I promise you, I will make this right. You and me—I am not giving up. It’s not my style. Never has been. My initial reason for returning may have been for work, but once I laid eyes on you again… it was as if I could finally breathe for the first time in thirteen years. As if I became whole again. I screwed up. Big. I own this mistake. Am punishing myself for it. But when I fly back to Cali tomorrow, they won’t know what hit them.” With my other hand, I lift her chin so her swollen eyes meet mine. “Once I’ve fixed my mistakes there, I will be back. And then, I will fix what I’ve messed up here.”

  Her chin trembles in my grip. She tucks her lips between her teeth to keep from breaking down in front of me. Tears pool in her eyes as they dart between mine. She wants to believe me—I see a tinge of hope just beneath the surface—but doesn’t know if she can. When all is said and done, I will be the man she deserves. The man she can believe and count on. No matter what.

  “I love you, baby,” I choke out as a tear rolls down my cheek. Because I won’t leave here without her knowing how I feel. We may have only reconnected a week ago, but I
have loved Cora half of my life. No use in denying it. “And I will be home soon. Before my birthday.”

  And before I can stop myself, I lean forward and place a tender kiss on her lips. Our lips may touch for less than two breaths, but those two breaths are equivalent to forever. And as difficult as it is, I back away and drop my hands from her. I grant her the space she needs.

  Without another word, I step around her and walk toward the park across from her house. But just before I get out of earshot, I overhear her wails as they bounce off the trees and wisp away in the wind. Her cries for us. And for herself. And the love that binds us together like nothing else. A love that brought us together, shredded us, and will unite us again.

  The second my feet touch the grassy park property, tears stream down my face. I stare back at the house briefly, and although I cannot see her, I feel her. Feel her anguish. And I vow to never be the reason she cries like that again. Vow to wipe away all her pain.

  Five

  Cora

  Once I make it inside, I throw my purse to the floor and go feed Luna. From the back door to her food bowl, she weaves between my legs and meows her love for me. At least I have someone who will give me her undying love. All she wants in return is the occasional scoop of food, water, a clean litterbox and my affection.

  If only human relationships were so simple.

  I scoop Luna some food and pet her a few times while she eats and purrs simultaneously. Once she is sated, I head to the bathroom and do my business. A moment later, I swap out my clothes for a tank top and undies then crawl into my bed. Since I left the door cracked for Luna, I fetch my eye mask from my nightstand and block out any semblance of daylight.

  Even if it’s just a few hours, I need some sleep. Because no matter how much I tried to fall asleep on Shelly’s comfy couch, it never happened. My mind ran vicious circles in the dark. And the muffled tears never let up.

  One moment, my mind was trying to rationalize the reasons he would be in a fake relationship with someone. Why he would let the world think they were engaged. What would Gavin gain from a setup like that? Especially if he professes to love me the way he does. But instead of coming up with viable answers, all I did was cry more. And I prayed that Shelly couldn’t hear me sobbing into the pillow.

  A few minutes later, Luna jumps onto the bed and curls up beside me. Her purrs soothe in a way nothing else does. As if she senses my forlorn demeanor, she inches her way up to my shoulder and nestles in the crook of my neck, purring stronger. I tug the sheet higher and get hit with Gavin’s smell on the cotton. Upset as I am, his beachy-pine scent soothes me. Settles my soul. And within minutes, I fall asleep.

  I jolt awake to the sound of my phone ringing. As badly as I want to ignore it, I can’t. It could be someone other than Gavin calling me. When you work for yourself, you never get a day off.

  Rolling over, I slap my hand over the surface of my bedside table until I come into contact with my phone. Not removing my eye cover, I manage to answer the call. “Hello?” My voice is raspier than a grizzly bear.

  “Cora, it’s Mom. Did I wake you, sweetie?”

  I push the mask up to my forehead and hold the phone away from my ear a second, checking the time. Holy shit. It’s just after three in the afternoon. I am more than thankful for the sleep, but most of the day has withered away. But it’s not as if I had plans, so whatever.

  “Yeah, but it’s okay Mom. Is everything alright?”

  A second later, a knock raps at my back door. I bolt upright and hold my breath as my heart hammers a vicious rhythm in my chest. Shit. Did Gavin come back? Please, please, please don’t let that be him. I don’t think I can deal with him—or us—right now. I just need more time to process everything.

  I shove the covers from my legs and plant my feet on the floor, reluctant to move. The knock comes again as I pad down the small hall to the back door. Unfortunately for me, the back door is solid and I’m unable to see who stands on the other side—unlike my front door. I really should invest in a peephole or one of those video doorbells for the back.

  As I stand at the door, hand on the knob, reluctant to turn it, my mom speaks up. “Cora, it’s me. I’m the one knocking on your door.”

  Relief hits and I remember how to breathe again when I discover Gavin isn’t the person outside my house. In the last two minutes, I somehow forgot I’d been holding the phone to my ear and my mom was on the other end. Probably because the moment there was a knock at the door, Mom stopped speaking. If she would have just told me it was her outside, I wouldn’t be tiptoeing through my own house and she’d be inside already.

  I twist the knob and swing the door open. I shield my eyes as the bright afternoon sun temporarily blinds me.

  Stepping off to the side, I let Mom pass and then shut the door. I follow her into the kitchen and notice she’s putting food in my fridge. “What’s all that?” I ask.

  “I stopped at the Patch and picked up a few things for you. Figured you wouldn’t be in the mood to go anywhere.” Her tone casual and body language easygoing. As if today is just another day.

  She pulls out a couple pans and pots and starts chopping vegetables on the cutting board. Then she fills a pot with water and turns on a burner. I follow her movements for a few minutes while she busies herself in my kitchen. She moves as if she has cooked here hundreds of times, when it is quite the opposite. Of the countless times Mom has been in my home, never once has she cooked here. So watching her right now is peculiar. It isn’t an anomaly to see my mom in the kitchen. But to see her in my kitchen, bustling around like she cooks here every day, is weird.

  “Mom?”

  Lifting her eyes from the cutting board, she peeks up at me. “Yeah, sweetie.”

  “What made you think I might not be in the mood to go anywhere?”

  I have a sneaking suspicion what the answer is, but I need to know for certain before making assumptions. Before opening my mouth and spilling all the juicy details of my wretched love life.

  “When Shelly came into the shop this morning, she looked a bit rough. I asked her why and she said you were at her apartment last night. She said you were upset, but didn’t tell me why.”

  And thankfully Mom isn’t one to pry, but I have no doubt she wants to know why her twenty-nine-year-old daughter spent the night at her friend’s house. Pretty sure she also wants to know the source behind why I was so upset. Because why would a grown woman, who owns her own home and lives alone, go to her friend’s place and spend the night? Adult friends don’t generally have sleepovers on purpose.

  Does Mom know Gavin is in town? Mom was friends with Gavin’s mother, but I have no idea if they have kept in touch. Does she know that he was the model I photographed all week? It wouldn’t be surprising if Shelly told her everything, but maybe my best friend kept this news to herself. Shelly picks and chooses what to share with Mom. She doesn’t want to be the gossip mill, but she also wants to look out for me.

  “Yeah, it was a rough night,” I say.

  Mom nods then throws noodles in the boiling water before heating up the other pan. Once the pan is hot, she adds the chopped veggies to the pan and tosses them. And right now, I love Mom more than ever.

  Shelly may not have told her the reason why I am upset, but she must have indicated it was pretty bad. And what did my mom do? She left work early and went to the store, buying me groceries and comfort foods. And now, she stands in my kitchen and cooks me stir-fry. She may not know the extent of what has me upset, but she knows I need her comfort more than anything.

  When the pasta finishes, she scoops it out of the water and adds it to the veggies. Then she pours in a sweetened soy sauce from my fridge. After it all comes together, she portions us both out a plateful and we go to the couch.

  A few bites into the delicious meal, Mom speaks up. “So, you want to talk about it?”

  She doesn’t make it uncomfortable. And when I glance up from my plate, she’s digging around in her plate with her chopstick
s. Mom has always had a finesse with conversations. Something I never had. Not with anyone except Gavin. And even that was questionable over the last week.

  Conversations with Mom have never been awkward—not even the period and sex talks when I was younger. She always has this gentleness about her. One which could console the most anxious soul. And right now, her tranquility is the exact balm I need.

  Thinking back, the past week had been great. Or so I thought. Until she showed up last night. Until some “fake” relationship they had was used as a weapon against me. The smile she threw after she spotted me in the room, that was nothing short of malicious. She knew her words would hurt me. Hurt us. And she tossed them like landmines and waited for the fallout.

  Without further ado, the tears start back up and I immediately hate my stupid emotions and bodily functions. Can I not cry for a few non-sleeping hours? Is that too much to ask?

  After I get my tear ducts under control, I peek up at my mom. “How much do you know about this past week? Besides me telling you I had a photo shoot on the beach.”

  She sets her plate on the table, half her food forgotten. “Shelly said Gavin was your model for the shoot.”

  I nod. “Did she say anything else?”

  “Only that she was worried about you. But she gave me no specifics.”

  I set my plate beside hers, mine hardly touched. Eating is the last thing I want to do, but I appreciate that Mom isn’t pushing the topic. For a moment, I stare at the fireplace as flashes of the past week flicker through my mind. Next thing, I cover my face with my hands and start crying. If Gavin leaving thirteen years ago is any indication of what is to come, I may as well just throw in the towel. Trying to be “okay” is getting old. And I am so tired of pretending to be something I am not.

  Normal. Happy. Thrilled with my life.

  “I let him in again, Mom. I let him wiggle his way into my heart and he broke it all over again.” I stop, unable to contain the torrent spilling from my eyes.