Bittersweet Moments

by Bowie, Emily

  “Well, this isn’t like that. I just needed time to process, that’s all.” I don’t know why I feel the urge to protect Raya from what Kellen thinks. She deserves all the bad thoughts sent her way, but all the old feelings I had for her have started to rush right back to where they landed in my heart the first time.

  How is it I want to hate her so much, yet I know I still love her?

  CHAPTER 18

  As soon as the door slams shut, I slide down to the floor, hugging my knees and wishing I didn’t feel so helpless. The pain in my ankle has died to a slow throb, hurting only when I place pressure on it.

  Brax’s face haunts me, his expression staying in my head from when he realized Madden is his. The pure shock that I would hide it from him was written all over his face. I could tell he was prepared to give me up if I was happy. But this, I don’t know if he will ever forgive me for the secret. I cry for what I forced us to give up, and that because of me we may never find our happily ever after. I mourn our lost past as I cry harder, never being able to do so before due to the need to stay strong.

  He has every right to feel all those harbored feelings about me. It’s me who has to prove myself. It’s time I deal with the consequences of my actions. Taking deep breaths, I try to hold them in, calming my heart, and slowly the tears begin to dry up as I force myself to get it together.

  The way Brax held me in his arms while taking care of my foot and the soul-wrenching kiss make my heart believe we can make this work. We both still feel that same pull we had before.

  Picking myself up from my pity party, I begin to hobble toward the kitchen. There is no way I will be able to drive, as Brax pointed out so graciously. If I’m going to be here another day, I might as well make dinner for us, and just maybe I can change his mind about us.

  “Hello?” I hear Shay’s voice call out through the entrance.

  My hands wave in front of my face hoping the blotchiness from my crying is less evident as I stand, favoring my good foot.

  She comes around the corner and goes straight to enclose me in her arms. “I can’t believe I’m seeing you two days in a row.” She sniffles into my hair as I hug her back. For a moment, my heart begins to race like it’s being caged, hating that already too many people know I am indeed alive and well. I have to remind myself these are the Steeles; they’re good people.

  “You’re limping.” She looks me over with concern, her hands staying on my shoulders. Instead of being angry with me for disappearing, she was happy to see I was alive and well. It seems to be the Steele way.

  I’ve missed her. She is the person who helped me keep it together during college, but I doubt she ever realized that. She welcomed me into a world that didn’t have bodyguards or demanding, overprotective parents.

  When she finishes her evaluation of how hurt I am, she scolds me, “I know Brax must have told you to sit your ass down.”

  Oh, if only she knew.

  I give her a pointed look. “When have I ever listened to what anyone says?” How true this statement is. “I’m bored and want to make Brax dinner.” I straighten, ready to stand up for myself.

  She laughs at this. “Brax lives the bachelor lifestyle. He doesn’t own food. The only thing his fridge keeps cold is beer.” She opens her arms in the direction of the kitchen, taunting me to check it out myself.

  I hobble toward the fridge, wanting to prove her wrong, only to see half his fridge is beer with an old takeout box. “Then what’s this?” I hold up the container that stinks like it’s been here for months and immediately look for a bag to tie it up in.

  “I’ll help you if you promise to spend some time with me before you go,” she blackmails me. As much as I would love to reconnect with my best friend, I feel like it can never really happen. It also reinforces the realization that Brax and I can never happen. How can I go from hiding to being one of the Steeles right out in the open? These thoughts confuse me, making me second-guess why I came here in the first place.

  “I’ll be back in an hour to drop off the groceries.” She comes in, giving me another hug before she leaves me with my own thoughts while taking my silence as a yes.

  *

  One hour turned into three, which has turned into six. Brax’s wooden table is set with dinner for two. Two candles stand tall in the middle that I have lit a hundred times, blowing them out and wondering if it’s too over the top. This is the only way I can show him how sorry I am right now, and I need it to be perfect.

  The dinner that I worked hard on sits on the stove close to being room temperature now. I huff, hating that I tried so hard. What was I thinking? This was silly. I should have called Nate and had him come and get me.

  I twirl my thumbs in disappointment. Slowly, I get up to hobble into the living room, deciding it’s time for me to leave. This obviously was too much to take on. I had thought and trusted Brax when he told me he would check in on me. In my own weird way, I thought it was his way to show me that he cared—wanted to take care of us—by making me stay.

  I get it though; I broke his heart and stomped on his dreams. I deserve far worse. Getting forgiveness this soon would have been too easy.

  I blame my irrational feelings on too many romantic movies. Those things fill my head with nonsense. It’s far from reality. If it wasn’t, no one would want to watch, because they would be living it.

  Midhobble and midthought, the door opens and Brax stomps in, making an entrance. His face looks like stone as he barges in like he’s a king on a mission. It only takes a moment for that look to melt away as he sniffs the air.

  “Did you cook?” Confusion tones his question as he takes a step in with less force.

  “You can throw it out. It’s cold, and honestly I’m not a good cook anyway,” I lie. I’m a damn good cook; my mother made sure of it. It also helps me to stay out of my head. Cooking feels therapeutic.

  I watch him go into his kitchen, lifting up the lid to the casserole I made. “This smells amazing.” He looks at me with a smile I once was privy to all the time. “I never eat anything hot, so this is the perfect temperature.” I watch as he dishes each of us a plate.

  “I really need to be going,” I pray he will let me out of my misery by letting me go. I’m not sure how much of his back and forth I can take before my guilt eats me altogether.

  “Nonsense, you must be starving.” Right on cue, my stomach grumbles from smelling this for over an hour. “And you’ll never make it with that foot.” He nods toward my swollen foot all bandaged up.

  “Why didn’t you come back sooner?” I sit on the arm of his couch, needing to take pressure off my feet, hating the way I sound overbearingly clingy.

  He sighs, taking a seat at the table. “Can we just eat and deal with this later?”

  “No, Brax, we need to talk this through and communicate.” I watch as he takes a bite, my mouth watering from knowing it must taste fabulous. My stubbornness is taking over the need to eat.

  He takes another bite before using the linen cloth I placed beside the plate to wipe his mouth.

  He turns in his chair to look over at me. “Where was your communication five years ago, Ray?” Standing up, he continues, “You don’t get to turn this on me. I have not done anything wrong.”

  I want to stand up from the couch I’m sitting on to make myself his equal, but it’s impossible. He steps a foot from me, anger coming through his features. His movements are not as jerky as they were earlier. He looks to be more in control. “I want to meet Madden. You will let me,” he commands, his voice deep with expectation.

  This is what I want, the whole reason why I’m here. But why am I nervous, like I want to hide Madden only for myself?

  Brax must be able to see this fear etched onto my face. “Raya, I will be meeting my son.”

  “You’re not meeting him till you get your anger issues taken care of,” I fight back. “I will not place my son into the arms of someone who hates his mother.” I poke his hard chest, my momma claws coming out.
“You need to get your act together.”

  He glares back at me, and all I can think about is, even with a scowl, he is sexy as hell.

  “Don’t forget, princess, you came to me. You have been the one doing all of the choosing for everyone around you. Just because you got bored playing housewife and needed a real cock, don’t get your panties—”

  I can’t take his ridiculousness anymore. I know for a fact that his mother taught him better manners than this. My hand rises and slaps him across the cheek, leaving my palm tingling with the sharpness of the hit. I pretend it doesn’t hurt me. No one talks that way to me. I don’t care who you are; I have enough common sense to know when I’m being put down for no other reason than the other person is hurting. I’d dealt with that type of abuse my whole life. I promised myself I would never be treated like that again. I will not be someone’s stomping mat to make them feel better. I am worth more.

  Brax takes a step back, his hand rubbing the red spot on his face from my slap. His eyes are wide and his mouth twists with every emotion he must be feeling right now. I don’t bother to speak again. He needs to deal with this by himself. I turn and hobble toward the spare room. He calls my name as I reach the threshold. I don’t turn around. Instead, I slam the door and lock it behind me.

  My head thumps on the door, knowing I fucked this all up. Why can’t I keep my mouth shut? I need to keep saying sorry until he believes me. I deserve no explanation. Slowly, I slide down the door, wishing Brax and I could communicate better.

  CHAPTER 19

  I’m an asshole. Even as the words come flying out of my mouth, I regret them. I deserve the door to be slammed in my face. I even promised myself I would keep my cool before I came back. That’s what took me so long to get back to her. I refused to come until I could have an adult conversation without me blowing a gasket. I guess that didn’t work out like I hoped.

  I haven’t felt this out of sorts since the day she left me. Going back into the kitchen and seeing my plate on the table angers me. Me and my stupid temper. If I didn’t care as much, this would be so much easier. Taking my plate, I rinse it off then place the whole casserole under the tap. Each scrape it takes to clean the pan, I try to work out why I got so angry in the first place.

  This energy surging through makes me want to go for a run. If I’m honest with myself, the only reason I don’t go is because I want to see her when she finally leaves her room. If I’m not here, she has no reason to stay. I may not get a next time to see her or my child.

  It’s too early to sleep, but sitting in my living room just doesn’t feel right. Heading to my room, I sit on my bed to watch some TV. I can’t focus, flipping to different shows until I give up, keeping it on for background noise only. My phone sits in my hands till I decide to scroll through all my social media accounts, looking for Raya. The only one there is her old account I have stalked for years, needing to feel closer to her. When in truth, she was always a couple hours away from me.

  The time slowly ticks by, my legs bouncing from the unease. I have a pile of paperwork I can go through. Pulling out my laptop, I try to buckle down, going through different mineral legal examples that seem similar to what is currently happening to our ranch. It only holds my attention for a few short minutes until I can hear her muffled voice.

  I’m jealous that I’m not the person she decided to call and talk to first. It’s stupid, because I’m fully aware she tried to talk to me. Fuck it. Packing up my computer, I head out of my room toward hers. My hand is up, ready to knock, but I can’t do it.

  This is another example of me storming over here because my emotions are running high. I need to let her talk on the phone. I can’t be barging in and demanding her to talk to me. I stand here, her muffled voice on the other side, before I turn away to walk back quietly.

  I leave my door open, watching the light under her door, waiting for her to go to sleep or leave the room, maybe giving me an excuse to apologize.

  It’s been about an hour since I’ve heard her, the silence driving me crazy. Finding a piece of paper and pen, I decide to write her an apology.

  I’m sorry for being an ass.

  Might as well jump right into it.

  Leaning over, I see the light is still on in her room. Standing up, I take my note, slip it under her door, and wait.

  Nothing. I hear no movement. A tip of the paper is still showing under the door. My eyes stay on the untouched paper until I can’t take it anymore. Slipping it back from under her door, I write another message on it.

  Can I ask you a question?

  Sitting on the floor, I lean on the wall by her door and wait. Still, nothing. I wait five minutes, counting each second in my head. To my surprise, the paper disappears from my view to be pushed back underneath.

  What is it, Brax?

  Biting my bottom lip, I know I have her attention. Quickly, I scrawl my question before placing it back.

  When is Madden’s birthday?

  I hear the paper being written on and wonder if she’s sitting at the door just like me. Then the paper shoots under once again. Leaning over, I’m able to read her response.

  It was on the first day of spring.

  Leave it to Raya to make me work even for this. I know it’s near the end of March, but I want to be sure of the exact date. I quickly Google the first day of spring.

  The paper moves to her end again before I get a chance to respond.

  You’re googling it right now, aren’t you?

  I chuckle at her true accusation. Do I admit this? Picking up the paper, I decide on my response.

  I’m a rancher. Of course I know when the first day of spring is.

  I put the paper on the floor next to me and let it stay there as I decide if that’s what I want to respond with. Still not sure, I pull it back. I want to say sorry that I missed his birth, but my fingertips won’t move to write it. I am sorry I missed it, but it’s her fault. I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter, because honestly, it doesn’t. Neither of us can change that. We can only go forward from here.

  I have so much I want to ask and say, but I can’t find the wording without it sounding like I’m being an ass. Deciding to stay on safe territory, I add to my messy handwriting.

  Can you tell me about him?

  Then I slip it under fully. My fingers can feel her grip on the paper as she takes it while it’s still in my hands. A few more moments pass before I see a full paragraph being slipped under.

  He is such a sweet little boy. He loves to run and play with his invisible friend Fred. I think it’s because we’ve had to move often. It’s been hard for him. He’s around only Nate and me so much he had to make up a friend who would be his constant with each move.

  I’m not sure how to respond. I want to be Nate. Maybe that’s why I’m having a hard time. Someone else got to see and feel everything that I should have.

  Did he cry a lot as a baby? I ask.

  From what Shay told me about her children, Connor was colicky, crying all the time. While Mattie has been a dream.

  Raya: No, he never cried. He still doesn’t. He is the strongest little boy I know. Always so brave.

  Me: I see he takes after you. I cry all the time.

  I try to lighten up the mood, not sure if I can get much deeper while I feel so raw.

  Raya: Lol. He’s sweet like you though.

  Me: I am really sorry for earlier. Can I make it up to you?

  Raya: How?

  She responds immediately, putting me on the spot. My stomach grumbles, reminding me neither of us had dinner. I think about my fridge and know I have nothing. I don’t even know how Raya found food to make for tonight. My stomach coils with regret once again, realizing how much extra work she must have gone through to make that for us. I should have packed it up to eat later. But I was hurting too much to use any logic.

  Me: I can make you Bagel Bites.

  Yup, that sounds about right. Other than a bottle of Grey Goose, I don’t have much in the free
zer either. I never eat at my house. Either I go out or Ma makes dinner.

  Raya: Such a sweet talker.

  Now I know she’s being sarcastic.

  Me: What can I say? I’m pulling out all of my moves here.

  The paper moves back and forth. We have written so much it’s almost completely full. I pull the paper out from under the door, feeling the weight of her fingers on it.

  Me: Pretty please with an orgasm on top?

  I scratch that out, not sure if she would take that as a good thing.

  Me: Pretty please with a cherry on top?

  I wait for her response, and nothing. I can see the shadow of her by the door. “Raya, can you please come out?” I ask aloud.

  I’m met with silence. Just when I think of giving up and heading back to my room, I see the paper being pushed toward me.

  Raya: Only because you asked kindly.

  Standing up, my legs stiff from being on the ground, I head to the kitchen to start the oven, waiting for her to come out. I fidget, wondering if maybe she changed her mind, but then it slowly creaks open till she is standing in her doorway.

  “I’m sorry for everything, Brax. I wish I could turn back time for us. I have no idea how to make this right.” Her words crackle as she visibly fights off more tears.

  She steps out, and when she begins to hobble, I walk toward her, ready to help.

  “I’m fine,” she says, too proud to accept my help while pushing my hands away. I can see the guilt that eats at her but choose to ignore it. This woman drives me crazy, never allowing me to think properly. I scoop her up so that I cradle her in my arms.

  “Just let me try to be charming.” When I look down at her, I see the relief in her eyes, and hope. She doesn’t protest any further, making me puff my chest out. Man, she’s adorable.

  I place her on my counter before pulling the box from my freezer, emptying the contents on a baking sheet.

  She giggles, watching me. I turn to look at her, and she tries to cover her mouth but only for my account, because it does nothing to stop her.