And what about Donald? I needed to deal with the unhealthy hold he had on my heart before I could truly move on, and it was clear he wasn’t ready to let that hold go.
“Set the table for lunch, baby girl,” Mom instructed. As always, I loved the way her voice vibrated through me when she spoke while I hugged her. It was one of the safest sensations I had ever experienced.
Dad came into the dining room as I was placing glasses of iced tea on the table. I didn’t look at him.
He moved to his chair – at the head of the table, of course – and lowered himself into it. “Fall term is open for enrolment,” he said loudly. “You can still get classes.”
Biting back a sigh, I turned to face him. “Can I, now?”
He adjusted where I’d put his glass and then met my stare. “Of course. I could pull a few strings and get you into the English Lit. program, rather than you continue art.”
“Of course,” I said, arching my pierced eyebrow. (Dad did not like my pierced eyebrow. Not one little bit.) “I’d go into the upper level English classes, correct? The ones you’re in charge of?”
“Of course,” he said. “My daughter wouldn’t be slumming it in the other classes.”
“And you’d be there,” I went on, keeping my voice neutral. If Dad sensed my mood, he didn’t show it. “To make sure I was okay? That I was finally living up to my true potential?”
His eyes narrowed. “And why wouldn’t I be wanting you to live up to your true potential? I’m your father. I want what’s best for you. Christ knows you’ve thrown every offer of help and advice I’ve ever given you in my face. Maybe it’s time to realize you need help? Maybe it’s time you stop this ridiculous charade of being capable of—”
“I am capable,” I snapped back. Hot tears stung my eyes. Hotter anger coated my throat. It was just then, right then, that I realized how little Dad looked at me for who I was. How much of a burden was it to have a broken little girl? He’d never been able to accept it. He’d spent my lifetime trying to fix it.
Fuck it. I was unfixable.
My anger grew. My skin prickled with it. My scalp crawled with it. I took all of it, all the anger, all the pain, and shoved it into my gut where it roiled and built inside me like a volcano. I had to leave now before he said something else. Because if I didn’t . . .
The front doorbell chimed – louder than the average doorbell, thanks to Dad installing one specially designed for the Hard of Hearing. I flinched. I couldn’t help but notice Dad did as well. Good. I shouldn’t be the only one on the verge of eruption.
“That’ll be Perry,” he said, rising to his feet.
An icy finger trailed up my spine. I blinked. “What did you say?”
He frowned at me. “That will be Professor Perry,” he said, enunciating each word like I was from another planet.
That icy finger buried itself into my chest, a drilling pressure. My head throbbed.
Professor Perry. Donald. Here. Professor Douchebag was here.
My stomach rolled. I felt nauseous. And angry. Seriously angry. Not at Dad. Not at Donald. But at the world. The world was fucking with me and there was nothing I could do to fuck with it back.
I turned, although spun is probably a better word, ready to flee. I had no idea why Donald was at my home, but I didn’t want to see him. I definitely didn’t want to see him in the company of my parents.
Mom stood behind me, carrying two loaded plates. Beside her, his smile relaxed, his gaze skimming over me as if I was of no consequence, was Donald.
“Perry.” Dad walked past me, hand extended to Donald. They shook hands. “Your timing is perfect. My daughter and I were discussing her return to college.”
Donald raised curious eyebrows in my direction. “It’s Chase, isn’t it?”
I didn’t move. Didn’t respond. If I did, I feared I might throw up. Mom frowned at me, but I couldn’t respond to that either.
What the fuck was going on?
“Chastity,” Dad supplied. “She was in your Art History class last year. But no, I’m suggesting she study English Lit.”
Donald chuckled. The sound of it sank into the pit of my tummy like a hot weight. “Taking after her old man, eh?”
I pressed my palm to my mouth. I was going to be sick. I really was.
“I’ve got to go,” I said, looking at Mom. “I forgot I told Amanda I’d help her with Tanner today.”
Mom’s frown deepened. She slid Donald a look. My stomach rolled again. Oh God, I did not want her wondering about Donald.
I looked at Donald, fighting to keep myself composed. “It was nice to meet you again, Professor Perry,” I said, forcing a smile to my lips. “Don’t look for me on campus, however. Dad’s delusional.”
Dad’s scowl blackened. I hurried from the dining room before he could respond. I did not look at Donald. Snatching up my keys and cell from the console table, I yanked open the front door.
And stopped at a gentle hand on my arm. Mom.
I shot her a look over my shoulder, my smile wobbly. “I’m okay. Dad and I were having a fight before you and the professor came into the room, is all.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“I’m going to go see Amanda,” I said. “It’s probably better I’m not here while Dad plans out the rest of my life for me.”
Sorrow flickered across Mom’s face. “Okay.”
I risked another second of being in the same breathing space as Donald, and gave her a kiss. “I’ll call you later.”
Love you, she signed.
Love you back, I signed in return.
I’d just wrapped my fingers around the Speeding Dragon’s door handle, when someone touched my elbow.
I didn’t need to turn to know who it was. “Leave me the fuck alone, Donald,” I growled.
“I miss you, babe,” he said, his lips near my ear, his chest brushing my back. I could barely discern the words. God knows what he would say if my parents saw him this close to me. “Please let me help you forgive me?”
Babe. Forgive. Miss . . .
I ground my teeth. I didn’t need this. I didn’t. I wasn’t . . . I wasn’t . . .
Capable?
I could hear Dad’s voice demeaning my abilities. And now he’d brought the one man who’d ruined my chances at completing the college education I’d wanted. Dad’s ability to find the thing that hurts you the most and use it against you was devastating. He’d done it to Amanda with Tanner, and he’d done it to me over and over with my hearing. Mom said he didn’t do it on purpose, and I guess I knew he didn’t. But . . .
Without looking at Donald, I shook off his hand and opened my car door. “Enjoy your time with my father. I’m sure whatever reason you came up with for coming here will make your failure to talk to me bearable.”
He murmured something in protest.
I ignored him until I was buckled into my seat. Then, and only then, did I look up at him with a wide, cold grin. “What? I can’t hear you, remember?”
He opened his mouth, but I closed the door on his response, started the car and reversed out of the driveway.
I didn’t look at him.
What I did do was drive to Amanda and Brendon’s. Sometimes only a sister can understand the frustrations of family.
Amanda hugged me when I walked into their apartment, her expression worried. Had Mom called her? Warned her? Sent her a text telling her I was on the way and angry with Dad?
If only it were that simple.
“Tanner awake?” I asked, searching over her shoulder for my nephew. If I focused on the hug, I’d be in tears. I didn’t want to be in tears. Tears were for those incapable of dealing with the insanity of life.
I was dealing. I was.
Amanda let me go and shook her head. “He’s taking a nap.”
Despite the fact Tanner is three and has been cleared of cancer, he still has a long battle ahead of him. He tires easily. He gets sick easily. His immune system took a battering and it’s taking his
little body a long time to catch up with his whole I’m-three-and-indestructible attitude.
I let out a sigh and wandered into the living room. I’m not so selfish and self-absorbed that I’d wake him up from something as important as sleep. So I dumped myself onto Amanda and Brendon’s sofa, parked my ankles on their coffee table, snatched up the remote and turned on the television.
What the fuck was I doing?
The cushion beside me shifted as someone joined me on the sofa. “Everything okay?”
I turned and looked at Brendon.
Brendon is an eternal optimist. That attitude sometimes drives me mental, but it has its perks. Like giving the guy a perpetual smile. It was hard to be grumpy in Brendon’s company. Of course, part of my grumpiness was the result of his cousin, so I wasn’t finding it so hard at that point in time.
It didn’t help that Caden and Brendon could be brothers, they were that similar in looks. If Brendon grew a beard . . .
“Well?” he prompted with raised eyebrows.
“Your cousin pisses me off,” I said.
No point in beating around the bush with Brendon.
“What’s he done?”
I shook my head and rubbed at my face with my hands. “Nothing,” I grumbled into my palms. I wasn’t there to bitch and moan. I was there to decompress. To get my head around things I should already have my head around.
“Want me to beat him up for you?”
The question took me by surprise. I couldn’t help but laugh. “No,” I said, smiling even as I shook my head. “Not yet, at least.”
Brendon studied me for a heartbeat, and then dipped his head in a single nod. “Let me know when. He’s due a nipple cripple or two.”
“Eww.” I shoved at him. Shoving at Brendon is like shoving at a brick wall. “Go away, weirdo.”
He grinned at my laughing protest and got to his feet. “Consider me gone.”
Amanda didn’t waste any time replacing him on the sofa. When she dropped onto the my right side – the side with the partially working ear – I knew what was coming.
“So?”
I stubbornly refused to react. Or look at her. Instead, I changed channels. When the hell had Ellen become so skinny?
“Chase.”
“Oh look,” I said. “It’s the Robocop remake. Or is it a reboot?”
“Chase.”
I continued to channel-surf. “Think I need one of those,” I said, watching a woman with a body forged by countless years of working out and food deprivation, doing her best to convince me how easy it was to lose weight and look good by buying one of the torture devices she was currently swiveling around on. I changed channels.
“Chase.”
A really, really young George Clooney was looking very sexy in hospital scrubs while barking instructions to a really, really frazzled nurse.
“Chase.”
Before my thumb could press the remote again, Amanda plucked it from my hand.
I huffed out a breath that was part growl, part groan, and slumped back into the sofa, folding my arms over my chest.
“Mom called,” she said.
I snorted out a chuckle. “Did she tell you Dad and I were at it again?”
“She did. She also said you were acting weird around one of Dad’s work colleagues who was there to see Dad.”
My tummy turned into a twisting knot. Yeah, Mom never missed anything.
“What gives?” Amanda asked. “Who was it?”
I didn’t answer. If I said Donald’s name, everything would come spilling out, and I didn’t think I was ready for that kind of confession.
When I insisted on remaining silent, Amanda did what she always used to do when we were younger and I was ignoring her: she dropped herself firmly onto my lap, straddling my thighs and trapping me.
“Hey!” I protested, trying to squirm out from under her.
Amanda is not a big girl at all, and when Tanner was diagnosed with leukemia, she lost a lot of weight. A scary amount, to be honest. Now that’s she’s married to a personal trainer, she’s become this super fit, super strong woman. Once upon a time I would have been able to get her off me, but not any more. I love Brendon to death for how happy he’s made my sister, but right at that moment I wanted to smack him. This was an unfair advantage.
“Hey,” she said back, holding my head still between her hands. “Talk to me.”
“You’re not going to like what I’m going to say.” As far as excuses go, it was a lame one. I knew it, and by the way Amanda laughed, so did she.
“I mean,” she said, not relaxing the pressure on my thighs or my cheeks, “if you want to sit here and sulk like a baby I’ll let you, just say the word. But I can’t promise Bren will follow suit. You know what he’s like. So I figure it’s better for you to tell me what’s got you so snippy – and while we’re at it, where Caden is. Brendon’s first line of attack will be to pick you up and swing you around above his head, making helicopter noises until that scowl’s gone.”
“I’m not Tanner,” I grumped.
“True,” Amanda agreed with a contemplative nod, “but you’re behaving like him when he wants a cookie and I give him an apple.”
I reached up and tried to remove her hands from my face. She still didn’t budge. When had she got so strong?
“So,” she said again, wriggling her butt against the tops of my thighs. “Is this about an apple or a cookie?”
“Ow,” I muttered, squirming on the sofa. “You’ve got a bony tailbone.”
“Caden is the apple, isn’t he?”
My tummy tightened at his name. Goddamn it.
“Talk to me, sis,” she said, her expression growing softer. “Tell me what’s taken your happy.”
It wasn’t my tummy that tightened this time, it was my heart. I love my sister more than I can possibly articulate, bony tailbone and all. When I still didn’t say anything, she slipped off my legs and curled onto the sofa beside me, taking my hand in hers and tucking a non-existent strand of hair behind my ear.
No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t stop myself turning to give her a wobbly smile.
“Where’s Caden, Chase? What’s going on?”
“He’s still in LA,” I said. Christ, why did my whole body ache at that statement?
Her eyebrows rose. “And you’re here? Why?”
A sigh tore at my chest. “Because he won’t stop trying to protect me. Because he thinks he knows what’s best for me, and what isn’t.”
“And you don’t like that.”
It wasn’t a question. She knew me well, my sister.
“I don’t. But I like . . .” I stopped. Tears were burning my cheeks. Annoying, stupid, ridiculous tears.
Amanda tucked that imaginary strand of my hair behind my ear again. When we were younger, when I had hair long enough to sit on, she used to twirl a strand around her finger while we watched television together. Then, when I turned all that hair into dreadlocks, she’d tug on one whenever she wanted attention. The tucking action was her new thing, her response to the new pixie-cut, I guess. She studied my face, my eyes. “This isn’t just about a dog, is it?”
Before I could answer, Brendon appeared in the living room and my heart swelled with happiness. On his hip, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his hair a spiky blond mess poking up in all directions, was Tanner.
“Someone wants a hug from Aunty Chase,” Brendon said, crossing the room to deposit Tanner on my lap.
“Aunny Chase!” He snuggled into me in the way only three year olds can – with absolutely unabashed delight. “Where you been?”
“Caden and I got held up in LA,” I said. For some reason, my cheeks filled with heat.
Tanner’s eyebrows shot up in an expression so like Amanda’s I laughed. “Did they have guns?”
“Oh champ, I don’t mean that kind of held up,” I said, giving him a comforting hug and tickle. He giggled and squeezed me back.
He pulled away and gave me a curious look
. “Where’s Cade?”
“He’s still in LA.”
Tanner pouted. “Why?”
Tanner had a serious case of hero worship for Caden. It had nothing to do with the fact it was Caden’s bone marrow that saved his life, and everything to do with the fact that Caden makes the best sock puppets and draws the best pictures and carries Tanner around on his back singing songs about Batman and Superman and Iron Man, and wears T-shirts and socks with superheroes all over them, and is fun and crazy and . . .
I closed my eyes. If I didn’t, tears were going to spill, and Amanda and Brendon were watching me too damn closely for me to let that happen.
“S’okay, Aunny Chase,” Tanner said, patting my shoulder. “Cade will come soon.”
I opened my eyes and gave my nephew a wet smile. “He will,” I mumbled.
Tanner frowned, and then a wide grin split his face “Is he bringing the doggy here?”
I burst into tears. Brendon scooped Tanner from my lap, and Amanda drew me close and nestled me under her chin, her hand smoothing up and down my back. She murmured words I didn’t hear but felt. Soothing words that vibrated like a low hum in her breast. I burrowed into the sensation, trying to stop my tears and failing.
Fuck. I was a mess.
When I finally got control of myself I wiped at my eyes and nose with the back of my hand and levered away from her body.
She looked at me, worry all over her face. “Okay, Chastity, time to cough up and explain what’s going on.”
I let out a shaky sigh and sniffed. There was nothing refined or ladylike about the way I’d been crying. It gave “ugly tears” a new definition. There are few people in the world whom I would allow to see me like this. Amanda is one of those few.
“Talk,” she said now, watching me swipe at my nose. “We need to fix this.”
Such is Amanda’s approach to life. Problem? Fix it. When it came to her own problems . . . well, that’s a different story. I’m sure if you ask her, she’ll tell you.
Undeniable (Always Book 3) Page 16
