White Lilies (A Mitchell Sisters Novel)

by Christy, Samantha

  “Hailey is the only girl I need in my life right now.” He shrugs. “Anything else would just be a complication.”

  “So, what do I do then? You know, to claim her?” My eyes go between Gavin and Mason. “You two experts have any suggestions?”

  “You could start by coming to brunch on Sunday,” Gavin says. “It’s at the new restaurant in Long Island.”

  My eyebrows touch my hairline. “Go in front of the firing squad? Are you fucking crazy?”

  Gavin laughs. “Hey, I’ve had to eat crow with her family more than once. Believe me, they all understand what you’ve been through. Doesn’t mean they’re not upset that you up and left. But I don’t think it would take much to win them over again. And I think it’d go a long way with getting back into her good graces.”

  I take a long swig of my beer. “Her dad scares the shit out of me.”

  Gavin gives me a pat on the back. “His bark is far worse than his bite, my friend. Take it from someone who’s been there.”

  I nod. Then I notice the bartender as she writes something on a napkin and pushes it over toward the three of us. “I get off at two if any of you are interested.” I spot her phone number scribbled on the white square of paper as she winks at us and saunters away.

  The three of us share a laugh and then I put my beer bottle down on the napkin, smearing the numbers as they become completely unreadable.

  ~ ~ ~

  I’ve never been a particularly anxious person. Even when the women in my life were slipping away. I was fortunate that I could take it all in stride and not be destroyed by it. In my business, I’ve seen more than a few people turn to lives of drugs, sex, and even crime to try and get rid of their demons. No, it took more than sickness, death, even emotional abandonment by my own father to break me. It took Skylar Mitchell getting knocked up with the kid I didn’t even know I wanted to have. It took the guilt I harbored over wanting her so badly that it seemed she had become the very air I needed to breathe.

  Taking the #7 from Midtown to Massapequa, I sit for the hour-long ride, entranced by how the tips of the white flowers shake, not from the movement of the train, but because my hands are shaking faster with every mile it takes me closer to her. Closer to her family. Closer to every person I need to make things right with.

  When I get to my stop, I slowly make the half-mile walk to Mitchell’s, needing the time to clear my head and prepare for what I’m sure I’ll be walking into.

  When I open the doors and step into the restaurant, the first pair of eyes I see boring into me are those same emerald-green ones that haunt my dreams. However, they do not belong to the girl that I dream of. They belong to her father. Bruce Mitchell is one intimidating son-of-a-bitch. But he’s a walking contradiction. He’s about as big as I am, and he makes sure everyone knows that his three daughters are his goddamn life and if you hurt them he’ll break every bone in your pitiful body. Yet, he’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.

  I hand him the bottle of wine that I brought and he silently nods as he takes it from me.

  It’s moments like these that I question if I’m being confronted by the leg-breaker or the giant teddy-bear. I’ve never felt more like I might piss myself than right this very second, as he takes me by the elbow. “Come with me, son.”

  Son? He called me son. That has to mean he’s not going to cut me up and put me in the meat locker. I try to breathe a small sigh of relief, but it’s hard with his hand gripping me, pulling me behind him into the restaurant office. I don’t see Skylar anywhere, but we pass by her mom and sister, who give me looks of sympathy that have me feeling like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

  He shuts the door behind us, standing between it and me, eliminating any chance of escape. “How are you, Griffin?”

  “Uh . . . I’m fine, sir. How are you?”

  He scolds me with his stare. “Son, that’s not what I’m asking.” He walks across the room, shaking his head. He leans back, propping himself against the edge of the large desk as it creaks under his weight. “Your wife died and you’re about to become a father. I’m asking how you’re doing with everything.”

  I blow out a breath. He’s not threatening me. He’s not yelling at me. He seems genuinely concerned about my well-being. I guess it makes sense, I am the father of his grandbaby and all. I decide to be just as genuine in my answer. I figure I’ve got nothing to lose.

  “I screwed up, sir.”

  He nods and motions to the chair behind me. I sit, putting the flowers on the floor next to me. My elbows meet my knees as I lean forward and try to maintain eye contact with him. “I’m sorry. I know I hurt Skylar by leaving so suddenly. I know I stayed away too long. I may have messed up my chances. I realize I have a lot of work to do to repair what I’ve broken. But, I fully intend to do just that.”

  He eyes me skeptically. “Why?”

  I question him with the furrow in my brow.

  He walks around behind the desk and takes a seat. “I’m not here to beat around the bush. What exactly are your intentions with my daughter? My grandson?”

  “I . . . well, I want to be in their lives. I don’t want my kid growing up without a father. I don’t want Skylar to have to do this alone.”

  Disappointment bleeds from his deep sigh. He crosses his arms over his chest. “So, that’s what this is all about?” He nods to the flowers lying next to me on the floor. “Doing the right thing?”

  “Yes. Uh, no.”

  “Well, which is it, son?” He stares me down, awaiting my answer.

  Shit, this guy is intimidating.

  How can I explain myself to him without sounding like a complete idiot? “I’m not sure how to say this without sounding disrespectful to both Erin and Skylar. But, sir, I think I’m falling for your daughter.”

  “You think?” His eyes burn into mine, unwilling to accept anything less than the truth, no matter what the consequences.

  My eyes close briefly as I envision Skylar’s face. The soft waves of her silky hair. The smile that crinkles her nose and brings out tiny creases by her eyes when she’s truly happy. The roundness of her belly that carries my son.

  I shake my head. “I know, sir, but—”

  “But your wife recently passed and you think it’s too soon to move on.”

  I look at the floor and nod.

  “Do you think you are trying to replace your wife?” he asks.

  My eyes snap to his. “No, sir. I would never—”

  “Do you think Skylar is trying to replace your wife?”

  “No, of course not,” I say in her defense.

  He points to a picture on the wall behind him. It’s the picture of a family. A mother, father and a young boy about ten years old. I see the resemblance immediately. The boy resembles Skylar. It must be a picture of him. I momentarily wonder if this is what our son might look like.

  “This is my mother,” he says proudly as he looks at the woman in the picture adoringly.

  “She’s beautiful,” I say.

  He points to another picture next to it. I have to do a double-take because although the family appears the same, upon further inspection, the woman is different. “This is also my mother,” he says, viewing the picture with the same reverence as the first. “Well, biology says she’s not, but I don’t give a shit about that.” He points to the first picture again. “A drunk driver took her from us when I was only nine.”

  Gesturing again to the second picture, he continues, “Three months later, my dad started dating Hannah, who was my fourth-grade teacher at the time. She helped me deal with my mother’s death. They married only two months after their first date. They’re still happily married today.” He looks back at me. “Do you think he disrespected my mother by finding happiness so soon after her death?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Then why are you damning yourself for the very same thing? Especially, as I’ve come to understand, since your wife fully intended for you and my daughter to deve
lop feelings for one another.”

  He stands up, walks around the desk and leans down to pick up the bouquet of flowers off the floor. “So, what are you waiting for, son? Either shit or get off the fucking pot.” He shoves them into my hands and then opens the door and walks through, leaving me in stunned silence.

  I stare at the pictures on the wall, looking between the two families. Both happy. Both real. Both looking filled with love. One woman did not replace the other. A person can never be replaced. But life goes on. I know that’s what he’s telling me. I know that’s what Erin is telling me. I just wonder how long it’s going to be before my head and my heart can both agree with them.

  When I walk out into the main room again, my eyes immediately fall upon Skylar. She’s holding Baylor’s baby. The way her eyes illuminate and her face softens as she looks down at three-month-old Jordan makes my breath come quickly. I’ve never seen her react to a child like this. Skylar’s always been standoffish when it comes to kids. Something has changed in the months I’ve been away.

  When she glances up to catch me watching them, my heart thunders. She’s absolutely fucking gorgeous. I take in the clingy white dress that shows off her growing belly. It falls to just above the knee, revealing toned legs that are evidence of her continued use of the bike. It’s hard not to notice her generous cleavage accentuated by the locket that falls almost perfectly between her breasts. I want nothing more than to reach out and touch it, grazing my fingers along her every curve.

  I take a moment to remind myself I’m in the presence of her family before my pants get any tighter.

  “Griffin, so nice of you to join us.”

  I turn around to see Skylar’s mom as I try to determine if the comment was genuine or sarcastic. Probably a little of both.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Mitchell. I’m grateful to you for having me. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “Call me Jan.” She points to my bag. “And if you’ve got a camera in there, I’d love it if you could take some pictures. Nothing formal, just a few shots.”

  “Sure. No problem.” We talk for another minute, but my mind is somewhere else. Mainly on the hand of the asshole who has his arm draped around Skylar. The guy is tall and built like a goddamn Mack Truck. He’s got spiky hair and two full sleeves of tattoos.

  “Griffin?” Skylar’s mom tries to get my attention.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” I say without looking at her.

  She follows my gaze. “Oh, that’s Scott Carlson, Gavin’s partner from L.A. I think Skylar might have dated him a while ago.”

  My face snaps back to hers and she’s wearing a huge smile. I’m familiar with this smile. It’s Skylar’s. They couldn’t be more different in every other way. Her mom has light-blonde hair and blue eyes, and I’d be surprised if she was over five feet tall. But the gorgeous smile she shares with her daughter is unmistakable. This is amusing her, I can tell. What the hell did I walk into here? Am I being punished? Gavin invited me for Christ’s sake. Invited me to a brunch where he knew Skylar’s ex would be.

  I return my attention to Skylar and watch her extract herself from Thor to make her way to the bathroom.

  “Will you excuse me, Jan?” I say without breaking my stare of her daughter.

  “Certainly.” She laughs. “Good luck, Griffin.” She walks away, leaving me to wonder—good luck with what?

  On my way to the bathroom, I pull Gavin aside, not even caring that I’m probably bruising his arm with my angry grip. “What the fuck, Gav? Her family already thinks I’m a goddamn turd. But you brought me here knowing her ex was going to be here? That’s just wrong, man.”

  He shakes my hand off his arm. “Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t know myself until a few hours ago that he was even in town. He wasn’t supposed to be here until tomorrow for a project we’re working on at the studio. Anyway, he’s not really her ex.”

  “Not really her ex? What the hell does that mean?” I stare him down as it hits me. “Shit. You mean he hooked up with her. How many times?”

  “I’m pretty sure it was just the one night. Last year when Baylor and I were in L.A. and she came to visit. It was no big deal, Griffin. He’s a good guy. A player, but a good guy.”

  “If everyone can come take a seat, we’re ready,” Skylar’s dad calls out.

  I motion to the table. “Go on ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Gavin walks away while I stand in the deserted hallway, leaning against the wall by the ladies’ room as I wait for her to emerge.

  The door swings open. She sees me and sighs. “Griffin, hi. I know my folks are glad you could make it.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “And you? Are you glad I could make it?”

  Her hands come up to rub her belly. When my eyes follow the motion, she stops, putting them down by her sides. “Uh, sure.” Her voice is tentative and very unconvincing.

  “What about Scott Carlson. Are you glad that he’s here, too?”

  Her lips pucker and she chews on the inside of her cheek. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Griffin. You know what I was like before. I’m not that way anymore. Not that I have to explain it to you.”

  “Not like that anymore?” I ask. “Does that mean John-the-food-guy hasn’t been invited into your bed?”

  A stubborn burn shoots from her eyes. “He’s a liquor distributor. And what I do with him is none of your business, Griffin.” She turns to walk away.

  I gently grab her arm as I come up behind her, pressing myself into her back and pushing her hair over to one side. “I plan on making it my business, Sky,” I whisper into her ear. “I plan on making everything about your life my business. Everything about Aaron’s life. Get used to having me around because I’m not going anywhere.”

  Goosebumps erupt on her neck where my breath flowed over her smooth skin. Even from behind, I can tell her fingers have come up to touch the locket that rests over her heart. I hear her let out a long sigh before her feet start moving again. I watch her walk away without looking back. Yet everything about her body tells me that she wants to.

  I know what I have to do now. Before I join everyone at the table, I send a text to Mason telling him tonight will be the last night I crash on his couch.

  chapter twenty-six

  I don’t have much. One suitcase full of clothes I bought in Miami. My duffle bag full of cameras. The few shirts I retrieved last week. Moving back into my townhouse should be easy. So, why does it feel like the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do?

  When I came here last week, I wasn’t thinking about Erin. Not with John-the-food-guy laying his hands all over Skylar. Today, however, there’s nobody here but me. Me and Erin’s ghost.

  I stand in the entryway of the study, the room where Erin died. It’s been transformed back to the way it used to be, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to walk into it again. It was the place Erin would sit and grade papers for her second-graders. She would work on lesson plans. She even did some in-home tutoring from time to time if a student was falling behind. Her teaching textbooks still line the shelves of the built-in bookcase. Pictures of five years’ of second-grade classes along with some teaching awards she won flank the bookshelves.

  Skylar hasn’t changed a thing. The room is a shrine to Erin. I wonder if Skylar felt guilty about taking over the master suite so she decided to leave this room untouched. Maybe it would have been easier on everyone if she had boxed up all this stuff and put her own stamp on the study. Would I be able to cross the threshold then?

  I carry my suitcase upstairs and unpack in the guest room, all the while wondering if I’ll actually be able to sleep in the bed I once shared with Erin. I’ve never slept in it alone. When we moved Erin downstairs, I crashed on the couch. But there is no couch in here. The room isn’t big enough. It’s either sleep in the bed or sleep in my studio in the basement.

  I focus my attention on the picture sitting on the nightstand. It’s always been one of my favorites. Erin was only eighteen an
d had recently gone through chemo. Her hair was just beginning to grow back, but she had the face of an angel, and even in the absence of hair, was as beautiful as ever. I sit on the bed and hold the picture. An angel. Is that what she is now? Can she see me? Does she know what’s happening and does she have any control over it?

  I try to push the guilt down once again. The guilt over living in her house with the woman carrying my child. The woman I’m trying to get into my bed—well, maybe not this bed. And even though I keep telling myself it’s what Erin wanted, I can’t help but think about how fucked up this is. I want Skylar. I know I do. But I also know I’d take Erin back in a second if I had the opportunity. Is that fair? Is it fair to either of them?

  I set the picture back on the nightstand and reach into my bag to retrieve my other favorite photo. I stand it up against Erin’s picture and look at the two most beautiful women in my life as I wonder if it’s possible to love two women at once?

  ~ ~ ~

  Music blares from my earbuds while I watch the miles fly by on the digital screen of the treadmill. My eyes flicker over to the stationary bike that sits in the corner of the basement. I imagine her riding it. I can almost picture what she would look like with her hair pulled up into one of those messy buns women so effortlessly do, sweat trickling down between her full breasts.

  I run faster to get my mind off her, but I almost trip over my own feet when I look up to see Skylar standing in the doorway. Her mouth is slightly open and her eyes are glued to my bare chest. She appraises me like a starving animal assessing a piece of meat. Shit, the way she’s looking at me right now; it’s how I see her in my dreams. It’s how I picture her lying beneath me. It’s the same look she had on her face the night of Erin’s funeral when we made love. It’s the look I want to put on her face every damn time she sees me.

  She finally blinks herself out of whatever zone she’s in and snaps her eyes to mine. The moment is over. Her stare changes from that of reverence to one of confusion. I can’t pull my eyes away from her full lips as they move with words I cannot hear.