I stood quickly, wiping my hands down my sides. They clammed up instantly with his question, feeling a little ashamed about my total willingness. Of course he would worry about me stepping in without question. I’m a stranger to him, the stranger who found his children yesterday.
"Yes. I have off today, so if you need me. I mean, I know you don't know me, and with everything that happened yesterday, it seems—”
"No. No. I uh." He cleared his throat. "I really need help today. I appreciate everything. You have no idea. Then it's Saturday, and I have the weekend to find a full-time babysitter." He looked away quickly and reached for his coat, sliding his arms in the sleeves. "Just…thank you." His voice trembled. "And if I said anything yesterday about you being in my house. If I called you anything—I just…” His words faded into mumbled sounds.
“It’s okay, really. I know. It’s understandable.”
"But it isn't, though, is it? Because I don't understand it at all."
His voice was flat as his hand reached for the front door. I wanted to promise him it would get better, that things didn’t always have to be this way. But who was I to say? I was no one in his life.
“I’ll be back at eight,” he said as he closed the door when he left.
I watched him through the window. He stood frozen at the edge of the porch, staring down at the ground. His fists balled tightly, and his back heaved like he just took a painful swallow of cold air. He’s probably having trouble leaving his children—or figuring out what his plan was to find some full-time help—maybe where to get help for his beautiful, haunted wife. Addiction was a disease, and it touched an entire family, usually scarring them for life.
And the only help I could give was right now, just a little Band-Aid to keep the kids here with him and give him a few measly days to sort out his life.
He stood there for only a few more moments as the rise of the sun lit up his frame and sent strange shadows through the curtains. It looked as if he sighed, his chest and back giving a harsh shudder, and then he stepped onto the stairs and vanished into the frosty morning sunrise.
“She can be a fairy!” Addison said, showing me a one-armed dollar store wannabe Barbie doll.
Its blonde hair was matted, sticking straight up, defying any rule of gravity. The face was covered with two mixed-matched colored eyes, and one of its feet looked like it had melted completely off. Addison held it up toward me like it was the most precious toy she had.
"Can we make paper wings?"
“We sure can, sweetheart.”
And that was exactly how my day went. Playing with two adorable children and feeling like I accomplished something in this shitty job. Something good.
Eventually, my phone rang bringing me back down to reality.
“Pop-Tart! What are you doing later? Brooke wants you to come over for dinner, because she didn’t get to really talk to you about last night,” Ryan blurted through the phone.
"Um," I stammered, trying to cover the mouthpiece. "I'm a little busy today." Beside me, Addison was scream-singing the words to some new pop song horrifyingly off key.
There was silence for a minute on the other end of the phone.
Then, “Where the hell are you?” Ryan asked slowly.
“Why? Where are you?”
I ran into the bathroom and closed the door, trying to lower Addison’s volume. Kicking down the toilet seat cover, I planted my bottom down and did my best attempt at muffling the noise with a towel. It was too damp and smelled like manly soap. I dropped it immediately. Addison leaned against the other side of the bathroom door and scream-sung even louder to me.
“Callie. Please tell me you did not go back to the family across the street from you.” Ryan’s voice was a deep growl.
“Oh. Nope. I didn’t go back.” There, truth evaded. I never did come back because, technically, I never left.
“You never left, did you?”
Shit. I kept forgetting what a great detective he was.
"Listen. It's no big deal. I stayed with the kids last night when they took her to the hospital; you know that."
“And then?” he prompted.
“And then Dylan came home and—”
“You’re on a first name basis with the junkie’s hubby?” he snapped.
"Stop. Okay? He needed help. He came back and had to go right to work, and I offered to stay because I didn't have a shift today. That's all."
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked darkly.
“Just babysitting and playing with the kids. They’re adorable.” My voice trembled as I spoke.
“Callie…” His voice was soft and heavy with pity.
“It’s one day, Ryan. One day. I could be around kids without feeling sorry for myself or without your pity, okay?” I rubbed at my forehead with my free hand.
“Callie, I didn’t mean anything by it. I just know that you—”
“Screw you, Ryan. Screw you!”
I ended the call instantly.
“Callie?”
Addison knocked on the door. God, I hoped she didn’t hear me curse or anything.
“Yes, Addison? I’m just going to the bathroom.”
“Do I have to take care of Ben, like when Mommy takes a nap in the bathroom?”
When Mommy does what? I opened the door and plastered a smile across my lips.
“What do you mean, Mommy takes naps in the bathroom?”
Addison twirled around like a ballerina and curtsied. "Mommy takes her medicine with the pincher and the big rubber band, and then she has to sleep, so I have to sit with Ben.”
I knelt in front of her. “Mommy does this a lot?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. Mommy is always got a tummy ache and needs her medicine. Can we still play now?”
“Sure, hun. We can play now.”
Chapter 8
Dylan
“Is she hot? The cop?” The guys at work were relentless.
“Yeah, is she?” They crowded closer to me with eager, curious eyes. “Did she have on her gun belt? Fuck, did she pull out her night stick?”
Was she hot? I didn’t really notice.
“My wife was kind of on the ground, passed out. I wasn’t looking to start a new relationship right then with the person trying to save her.”
“Who said anything about a relationship? Swipe right, that’s it. It’s all about hooking up.”
“This is why you’re single and can only get dates with second cousins, Frank," I said, shaking my head.
“Nah, man. She’s gonna be the replacement. You’ll see. She’ll be wearing a little dark blue nightie when you get home. Cook you dinner – and BAM. Dylan’ll be riding her like a cowboy, and Sheri be long gone.”
What the hell was wrong with them?
“Thank you, assholes. That’s really sensitive to the position I’m in, you know, with my wife being in the hospital and all.”
I wiped the grease from my hands over a towel and tossed it behind me as I walked away from the petty conversation. These guys still acted like they were in high school.
Frank followed me into the break room—which was no bigger than airplane bathroom equipped with an ancient coffeemaker—and slammed right into my back when I stopped short.
“I’m trying to give you some advice here,” he continued, patting my shoulder with a heavy hand. “Look. When was the last time you and your wife were alone? You know, biblically.”
Biblically? What adult talks like that?
I shrugged him off, not wanting to say aloud, suddenly extremely embarrassed. It had been over a year. Probably when Ben was conceived. Shit, maybe it's closer to a year and a half? It didn't matter to me. I wanted my wife to be okay. Her pregnancy was too hard for her. She couldn’t work. Move. Think. Breathe. And I did my best to take over all the obligations so she'd feel better. I never strayed, either. I understood – God, I understood – and I tried my best. I did everything for her. Whatever she needed, no matter how much I needed to sacrifice,
I did whatever I could without resentment or pause.
I took care of Addison. I worked so Sheri could stay home. I cleaned and cooked and didn’t lay a finger on her in any sexual way—because that’s what she asked of me. For the last year, my hand became my closest companion.
“Yeah. See? I can tell it’s been a while for you. You don’t smile at all. A guy that gets pussy on the regular smiles at work, no matter how rough his job is.” Frank folded his hands across his chest and nodded at me gravely.
“Frank. I have a baby at home. She had a hard pregnancy. This is my wife you’re talking about here.”
He patted me on the lower back and smirked. "I'm just saying, if the cop is hot and your wife isn't able to, you know, no one will ever know. But tell me everything, got it?" He leaned in close to me, smelling of gasoline and body odor. "I have a thing for female authority figures."
“Yeah, I get it,” I said, backing out of the break room. “Look, I gotta go. My wife is in the hospital, and my kids are with a sitter I barely know. I don't have time for this bullshit with you."
He held up his hands and sucked in his lips. “Okay. But send me pictures on the down low,” he whispered. “With the nightstick.”
I walked away. I had to. Everything was a joke to these idiots, and nobody cared that my wife almost overdosed and left my kids alone. When I told my boss that morning what happened, I thought he'd have the heart to tell me to spend time with my family, but he didn't. He told me to rotate the tires on a minivan in bay three.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm pulling up to the curb in front of my house, half-frozen because the heater in my car refused to go on. I was beyond exhausted. I was so exhausted, I started seeing things, like green lights that were really red and a bear wearing a sombrero. If I didn't get to sleep soon, I was going to drop where I stood. The only good thing about the heater not working was that the icy temperature was the only thing keeping my tired ass awake.
I dragged my feet across the lawn and couldn’t quite make the key go into the keyhole correctly. Finally, I got in, and the house was eerily quiet.
My heart started beating faster. Did I make a horrible mistake leaving my children here alone with the cop? There was no sound of life. No crying or screaming. No soap operas blaring or loud screaming children.
I dropped my keys on the couch and rushed through the hallway. The first door I opened was Ben’s. He was snoring softly in his crib, and the sounds of a soft lullaby drifted to my ears. I closed Ben's door and drifted toward the whispered words of the story. I inched the door open to my daughter’s room, and Addison was just falling asleep as Detective Ward finished the last sentence where everyone was living happily ever after.
The sight of my daughter curled up innocently against a stained pink pillow took my breath away. I never understood what love really was until my daughter was born. It's an age-old cliché, but it's true, and I hope I could get Sheri to remember how much her children needed her, and how much she needs to live for them.
The detective slowly closed the book and placed a quick kiss on Addison’s forehead. That was the first time I actually saw Detective Callie Ward. The very first time. It was as if my consciousness had blurred out her face, her body, her entire being until then. Long blonde hair and pale, perfect skin, highlighted by pink cheeks and full lips. Her mouth was what drew me in, and the echoes of what Frank said at the shop just minutes before.
"Goodnight, little princess."
Her voice was raspy and low, digging up long ago buried thoughts inside my head. For months, I haven't thought about sex, or lack of it in my life, yet right there at that moment, the way that woman looked at my daughter made me pause and look, really look at her. I gripped onto the doorframe to steady myself and catch my breath. There were no thoughts of Sheri; I didn't even know there was a Sheri at that moment. There was just Addison, snuggling close to a beautiful woman. What my family should look and feel like…
Lush lips—slightly parted, kneeling in front of me. Stop. Stop. Stop. What the hell?
Callie’s eyes looked up and met mine, and for a brief second we stayed and stared at each other without words.
“Hey,” she whispered, slipping out of Addison’s bed.
“You’re pretty good at this, huh?”
I didn't know what to say. I was confused and tired and unfocused, and all I wanted was for my wife to be here and be as good and healthy as this woman was who was standing before me.
She looked wide-eyed at me and slid soundlessly toward me. “I, uh. No, well…I’ve never done this before.” Her voice was low and exquisitely distracting, as if sweetness had a sound. There was a sharp, unidentifiable tug in my chest.
I backed up against the wall of the hallway. My head spun. I was half-dreaming, half-sleeping.
“You okay?” she asked.
Her voice was sexy, seducing. I wanted to hear it whisper my name. Damn Frank and the rest of the guys for making me think of her like this now.
I looked up above Addison’s nightstand, toward the crucifix Sheri hung on the wall. This is shit. What the hell is happening to me right now? I was a man; that was it. A fucking human being, and it was natural to want another human being, especially since I'd forgone being inside one for so damn long. And I was tired. Half-asleep.
How often had I dreamt of this calmness in my house? It was all just misleading and confusing. I was in shock from what happened yesterday, overexerted and drained.
She shifted a bit, walked closer, and the hint of strawberries filled my senses. I moved a bit, too, unconsciously, my body suddenly aware of every move she made. She was wearing a very tight T-shirt and a pair of those skin tight leggings that hid nothing of her perfect figure. I staggered away like a fourteen-year-old as the all the blood in my body rushed to my groin.
Jesus, I wanted to reach out and touch her. Maybe just a hug to thank her?
What the fuck was wrong with me?
I sounded like a creeper.
I just needed sleep.
“Tired. Very tired, and I’m starting to see shit that isn’t there.”
There, that explained it. Now, hopefully the woman will move away and take her tits and ass with her.
It was just the emotional and shitty mental state I was in, the crap I went through in the last twenty-four hours. The things the guys said to me, the things I saw my wife go through, it was all insanely raw and fresh and making me feel out of my damn mind. I had self-control, and right now, yeah, it felt like a thin line that kept me from reaching out and touching her, but it wasn’t real. None of this was real. My wife would get better. My kids would be fine, and I...I would be fine. We’d get back to where we were, where we were all supposed to be, and then we'd be happy.
“Are you hungry?”
She was closer now, smiling up at me, giving me a questioning look.
I had no idea what the fuck was going on. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” My words sounded breathless and achy, but she didn’t seem to notice.
She walked past me, through the doorway, and headed for the kitchen. I trailed after the scent of strawberries and watched her point to the refrigerator.
“I made a turkey meatloaf with baked potatoes and green beans.”
My entire body combusted into flames, and I collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs.
"You? You cooked dinner?"
My expression must have looked mortified—Sheri had never—not even once in our entire relationship cooked me dinner.
“For me?”
She burst into a fit of giggles. The sound was intoxicating. Shit, this wasn’t going to end well, was it?
"Actually, no. I did, however, make dinner for your daughter, and there's some left for you."
“Oh. Right, yeah. Of course.”
I'm such a dick. I'm a dick who was at the lowest point in my life, and I needed to shut up and thank her and stop being a dick.
The room went silent, and when I looked up, she was watching me intently.
> “You okay? You’re just tired?” she asked me softly.
My head shook on its own accord. “Nope,” my mouth said.
Her face was stoic. No hint of emotion, except maybe waiting…as if she was maybe waiting for me to say something.
She set a warmed plate of delicious smelling food in front of me and touched her hand lightly to my shoulder. It was a reassuring gesture, nothing sexual or alluring, just friendly, yet it was something I felt I’d been craving for so long. A simple thing I’d spent so long without.
“Your family will get through this, Mr. Sanborn. You’ll see.”
“Please, call me Dylan.”
She smiled pleasantly. "Okay, then please call me Callie."
I nodded and took a bite of her dinner. I really wanted it to taste like shit. I really did. I wanted something to be horrible about the beautiful, sexy, lovely, drug-free woman in front of me. I hated her, actually. I slammed my fork down loudly and pushed away from the table.
She either pretended not to notice or didn’t care. I balled my fists, the tension in my arms and shoulders building up to an overwhelming tightness.
I hated the woman standing in front of me. Cleaning up the leftovers in those tight pants. I hated her. I wanted to yell and scream at her to get the fuck out of my house, out of my life. Fuck, I hated her.
“Well, have a good night, Dylan.”
Her smile was sad, making my teeth clench together in anger. What did she have to be sad about? What in her perfect life made her frown? She made me sick.
I growled out a “goodnight.” Rage made my words sharp.
I hated her for being fine, while my wife, my life, and my kids weren’t.
When I heard the click of the front door, I polished off the rest of the meal. I had no idea how she had time to get food today and cook, and I looked around the house, which looked clean.
She cleaned my house.
It was unsettling, that’s all. Everything was going to be fine—there was no way my heart or my life was going to fall apart over guilt or regrets or my powerlessness over Sheri’s addiction. She still loved me, right? We were in this together. Sickness, health, rich or poor. All that shit. I was overthinking too much about someone who was just nice to us, to me. Someone whose job it was to help in these kinds of situations. I ran a hand through my hair and took a deep breath. Detective Callie Ward, no matter how beautiful, how perfect, or how nice she had been, was not going to destroy anything with the bat of her eyes. This was just a setback for Sheri. We were going to be fine.
Finding Love (Behind Blue Lines Book 3) Page 5
