by Mia Kayla
"Excuse me for a second. Bathroom break." I rushed through the kitchen doors, up the stairs and into my childhood room, where I shut the door and plopped on the bed, clutching the pillow against my chest.
I needed a minute. One minute.
Deep breaths left my mouth, and I focused on the ceiling as memories of the past few days, weeks, and even years pushed to the surface.
Any other day I would’ve given in, but not today, not my father's birthday. And my mother? Couldn't she sense the distress in my tone? Why did she constantly take Roland's side?
I peered up at the pink and purple curtains that hadn't changed since I was a kid. The light colors had comforted me when I was younger, but not today.
A heavy sigh escaped, and I let all the frustrations of the day and our relationship pour out of me. The deep-rooted animosity that was growing within me directed at Roland could not be healthy.
I was unhappy.
That was the truth of the matter.
And things had to change.
After ten minutes and in typical Angelica fashion, I put a smile on my face and headed downstairs like everything was right in my world, just as my mother had taught me. The house could be burning down, but my face would maintain its steady calm.
I ate my cake, while Roland stood, tapping his watch numerous times. But I'd decided I wouldn't let him ruin one of my favorite celebrations, so I simply ignored him.
Was this my life now? My insides twisted from fear of my future. It was only going to get worse down the road. He’d work more, expect more from me, be more controlling with my time. I couldn’t allow this to happen. I wouldn’t.
Not able to stand Roland's face any longer, I moved to the kitchen and helped Tene and Mother clean up the dinner dishes, while the Spencers sat with my father in the family room, enjoying cake and coffee.
You'd think Kathleen Spencer would’ve offered to assist, but no. Not when she thought that was purely the maid's job.
One thing I appreciated about my mother was that, though we could afford maids and butlers and chauffeurs, we never had them. My father had taught us the business side of Armstrong Realty, but my mother had instilled in us the value of a clean house and taught us to be self-sufficient.
I continued to empty the leftovers into the garbage while Tene filled up the dishwasher.
"Girls, I've booked us tickets to the Jones’ charity function in a couple of months," Mother said.
The tension in the room was palpable. Tene had already told my mother that she had plans and couldn’t attend, yet my mother seemed to ignore her. It was a never-ending battle between them. An emotional tug of war.
Tene's jaw locked as she crossed her arms across her chest. "Mother," she hissed, "I told you how many times that I couldn't go to the Jones' function? That I bought tickets to Ed Sheeran way before you even told me about this charity event."
My mother turned toward her nonchalantly, scooping the extra pasta into a Tupperware container. "Well, you know we have to show a united front. Especially at an event as big as this." She turned toward the fridge, opened it, and glided the container inside. "Cancel it." Her tone was clipped and short. She wasn’t budging.
Tene's eyes shot in my direction, as though asking me to help her out. If looks could kill, my mother's head would be mounted on the wall like a deer's head. She motioned her hands in a choke hold as though she wanted to strangle my mother.
I pinched my thumb and pointer finger into an okay sign. "Calm down," I mouthed.
Tene was anything but calm. I knew the next thing out of her mouth would be bad.
"Mom, we don't need Tene there,” I said quickly. “I'll be there, plus Roland will take her spot."
She flipped toward me. "Roland is already going with his family to show support for the Jones' loss of Abigail to cancer. They are showing their support, and we need to show ours. It's disrespectful if we don't."
My sister's nostrils flared, her face turning a shade darker. And I knew she was about to huff and puff and blow the house down. “We aren’t even close to them. We only started going because your country club friends started going to the Jones’ fundraisers.”
I got between them, blocking Tene's view of my mother. "We've been going ten years in a row, and it's really not Tene's fault that they moved the date when they specifically had the first weekend in October every year before this year's event."
"Well, you just can't assume things, dear."
"Mom," I begged.
"Oh, my god," Tene sassed. "You're too much. Seriously?" She raised her hands, exasperated. "How the hell was I supposed to know they'd change their date? What did you want me to do? Wait for them to decide? Mother, that's ridiculous!"
I could see the train wreck coming and felt a panic, desperately wanting to stop it. You'd think since these blowups happened on a semi-monthly basis, that I'd get used to it. Still, I hated confrontation. It wasn't in my nature, and most definitely not when there was tension in the family.
"Tene ..." My wide eyes were begging her to chill out, but it was too late. All I saw was pure rage in her features.
"Lower your voice. We have company." My mother's features turned murderous as she moved her focus toward the door.
Tene’s temper flared. "What? So everyone doesn't know how dysfunctional we are! How you like to control me or, more so, this family? That all you care about is what people see on the outside? You don't care that I'm unhappy, that this is more a dictatorship. This family. This life. That if we don't do what you say, you’ll throw our trust fund in our face.” Her voice was cold and lashing. “I made those plans more than six months ago. I'm not purposely doing this to spite you! What don't you understand? I'm sure the Jones' won't even know that I'm there."
"Enough!" My mother's shout silenced her.
Tene's chest rose and fell with each breath, as though she'd just run a mile and was not slowing down. Her face was flushed pink, and her hands were fisted tightly at her sides.
My mother pointed her manicured fingernail in Tene's direction. "You're canceling that concert."
That was the last straw. Tene’s anger hardened her features. "Nope. Not going to happen. I'm going to that concert. And while you're at that charity function, I'll make it a point to get butt-ass wasted and laid—by multiple men."
My mother's jaw tightened, her disgust clear on her face. "That's all you're good for, anyway."
"Mom," I pleaded, "Stop. Please."
Tene flinched at her words. "I'm leaving this joint. Tell Dad, Roland, and the Spencers I said bye." Tene crossed the kitchen, gave me a hug, and stomped past my mother and called back, "You never know, I could be the one to give you your first bastard grandkid." She laughed without humor as she stormed out and the door slammed shut behind her.
My mother huffed through her nose, shaking it off as though it had never happened, then she turned to me, smiling. "Should we bring the cookies out?" She maintained composure, though her eyes showed the true torment reigning in her heart. That's how we were built the same. Everything around us could be burning down to the ground, but we'd maintain composure with a smile on our faces.
Concern crossed my features. I knew their relationship took a toll on her, but I didn't know why she pushed Tene so hard.
I approached her and put my hand on top of hers, to stop hers from trembling. "You know she says those things to get a rise out of you. Just like you say those things to get a rise out of her." Silence ensued until I spoke again. "Are you okay?"
My sister dated, but she was no hooker. She didn't just sleep with anybody. If anything, she was far pickier than most of the girls in Rosendell.
My mother's trembling hand touched my face. "At least I have one daughter that cares for the well-being of her mother."
I smiled, just a small smile, but my insides churned. Her words spoke to the truth of the matter; I had always been the obedient one, the one who listened, the one they depended on. The one who never strayed.
As
many times as I'd been jealous of my sister because of her beauty, I'd been equally jealous of her I-don't-give-a-shit attitude. Because there was freedom in doing what you wanted and not basing every decision on how your choices would affect others.
And I was certain there was happiness in that freedom.
I had a pounding headache during the ride home, so I rubbed at my temple and tried to tame the brewing migraine that heightened with the sound of Roland's voice.
"It's almost eleven o'clock." There was an eerie calm to his tone with a menacing undercurrent. "You know I have work tomorrow. You know that I will most likely be up all night. We should’ve left earlier."
I simply stayed silent and still, and the only indication of the anger brewing inside of me was my nails indenting my palms.
I tried to block him out, but he kept going and going like the Energizer Bunny, his mouth, his complaints, flowing nonstop.
When he pulled into our garage, he grumbled about work and having responsibility. By the time we walked into our condo, the meter on my mood box went from hot to boiling hella overflowing hot. The pounding in my head intensified as though a jackhammer was drilling holes in my brain.
On autopilot, my feet took me into our room and into our closet, and I pulled open the dresser to get my pajamas.
“And now I’ll be up all night working on this proposal. If we only left when I told you to leave.” He had followed me into our closet.
I jerked in his direction, unable to handle it anymore. “Can you please be quiet? I get it, okay!”
My pounding headache coupled with his dictating tone had been my undoing.
He glanced at me with indignation. “I don’t think you get it. How important this job is to me ... how important this deal is.”
My eyebrows shot to my hairline, and the pounding in my head now spread to my ears, my neck, my pulse.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
“Will you shut up? You know what I’m not dealing with? This!”
At my wit’s end, I pulled out a suitcase and stuffed some work clothes and undergarments and toiletries for the next week into a duffel bag. Maybe I could sleep over at Tene’s for a night. But if I didn't leave soon, all this pent-up animosity would turn into a hatred for the only man I'd ever been romantically involved with.
“Where are you going? Are you leaving me?” He barked out a laugh, his tone dismissive.
And then he proceeded to change into sweatpants and a T-shirt while my suitcase laid directly by my feet.
Something suddenly sparked inside of me, and I felt a fight forming within me.
He doesn’t believe I can do it. Leave him.
Who is this man? Where is the man I fell in love with?
I couldn't take any more of this life, any more disappointments, any more heartbreak. I grabbed the extra keys to the condos I managed on the southside of Rosendell and slipped the oversized bag on my shoulder. When I stormed out of our walk-in closet, Roland was strolling out of the bathroom.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?"
I said the words to his face, so he’d know I was serious. “We’re done. We’ve been done for a while now.”
The words rang out true and loud, like a final bell in a Las Vegas fight.
I lifted my chin, though my pulse beat a million times a minute.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. Actually leaving him.
But I was. I felt the decision solidify inside me, and I knew I was doing it. "It's over, Roland. We have a lot to talk through—the logistics of the apartment and our belongings—but since I know you'd rather work, and you have a long day tomorrow, I'm going to be considerate, and we can talk about this later." My voice dripped with icy sarcasm.
He gripped my wrist tightly, and his face paled with anger. "You're being ridiculous."
I tugged at the hand clutching my wrist, cutting off the circulation. "Let me go, Roland. You’re hurting me."
When he didn't release me, I jerked my hand away from his grasp and turned toward the door.
"You're acting crazy." He followed me down the hall to our foyer where I slipped on my shoes and stuffed an extra pair of heels into the bag. "Get back here!" His tone hitched with a possessive desperation.
I stormed through the doors, and he followed me into the hallway, throwing his hands in the air. "Throw your tantrum, Angie. That's fine because you know you'll come right back here." Such confidence in his words, but for the first time in our relationship, I saw a spark of doubt in his eyes.
I stood there, hoping that he’d soften, fight for me, fight for us, something, anything.
But after a few seconds, I knew he wouldn’t.
When the elevators pinged open, I stepped in. I watched the elevators close in front of me, shutting the door to my old life out and leaving me all alone with my new one.
But for the first time in years, hope bloomed. And my faith flared in promises of a better future.
Armstrong Realty owned condos on the south side of Rosendell. We rented them out as temporary housing, mostly to working professionals. Fully furnished with pots and pans and dishes, our condos were in move-in condition, and I was ready to move in.
Maybe this was reckless. Maybe I wasn't thinking things through for once. But one thing I knew was that I was done with empty promises, and I was emotionally and physically tired of being in a one-sided relationship. I threw my packed bag on the kitchen counter and surveyed the area. The one-bedroom condo was modest with a tan microfiber couch against the wall, kitty-corner to a 50” flat screen TV.
My phone pinged again with a text. I ignored it because it was most likely from Roland. He’d been texting since I’d left, but there was nothing that would get me to talk to him. I'd said my piece back at the apartment.
I grabbed the small suitcase and proceeded to the room. The motif that Tene had decided on fit the room perfectly. Everything seemed to match, from the purple trim on the curtains to the bedspread, to the throw pillows on the couch.
This was one of the properties that I knew well. There were seven units per floor, and we were ten stories high. Every room had exactly the same furniture in exactly the same spot. I dealt with the condos because those were, in my mother's words, “easier” to take care of. As though I couldn't handle any more than that.
Although this property and another set of condo units down the street were my responsibility, Tene did the decorating, like I couldn't handle making decisions for a property I was in charge of.
A thick cloud of bitterness surrounded me, almost shocking me because I’d had no idea it existed. Why hadn't I realized this before? Had my natural calm nature suppressed all this hidden animosity?
I pushed all the negativity aside and propelled myself facedown onto the bed. My body was surprisingly tired, and all my muscles went limp.
Eight years.
Eight long years with Roland.
Any other man would be begging for his girlfriend back by now, but Roland had too much pride.
I knew in my heart that I couldn’t live like that anymore and fight for an already dead relationship. The realization hit me, directly in my chest—that my dream of forever had ended.
And this was not how I expected my life to turn out.
Chapter 7
Today was a new morning, a new day, a new start in life. My breakup with Roland weighed heavily on me, but I trekked forward. My father had entrusted me with the downtown locations, so, although my mind was mush, and I was tired from lack of sleep, I had pushed myself out of bed this morning and visited all my tenants downtown.
I'd woken up early to tell everyone that I'd be taking over Tene's territories. Now I was at my hardest stop of the day—Allswell.
The restaurant was jam-packed when I’d arrived, full of businesspeople and some families with kids in the outer booths.
Cade was behind the bar, tending to a woman who looked twice my age. By the way she sat, leaning into him, I could tell she was flirting and not hiding it. Had to
give it to the aggressive cougars out there—they knew what they wanted and weren't afraid to pounce.
As if knowing I had just entered, Cade's head lifted, and when our gazes met, he smiled, accenting the dimple on his chin. His reaction to my entrance was noticeable as the woman in her tight, fitted skirt suit turned her whole body to see where his attention was focused.
I decided to sit at the edge of the bar and wait until he was finished. When he abandoned the woman and walked over to me, my pulse increased, thumping on the inside of my wrist.
"Angel." That one word falling from his lips had goose bumps forming on the back of my neck.
"C-Cade." My voice quivered with an embarrassingly husky desire.
Goodness, I need to get a grip.
A sexy smile played at the corners of his mouth. "How can I help you?”
I tucked an escaping strand of hair behind my ear and readjusted myself on my seat. "I came over to discuss a couple of things."
"I'm not usually one that can mix business with pleasure, but with you, I can. Name your poison."
You.
The thought was quick. Automatic. I jerked back and forced it down, all the way down to the pits of hell. I was glad I hadn't spoken that out loud.
"Just water, please," I said.
“I’m not much of a drinker, either. See how much we have in common?" His laugh was low, throaty.
“But you work at a bar?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“That doesn’t mean I’m automatically an alcoholic. Water is my poison, too ... among other things.” His eyes held a devilish glint of humor.
This man would be my poison if I wasn't careful, and I prided myself in being careful, and most of all, dedicated. Dedicated to my job and to my family. I couldn't mix business with pleasure with Cade.
"Truly an angel.” He placed some ice in a tall glass and filled it with water. "Oh, how I'd love to corrupt you." His nearness was overwhelming.
