by Jewel E. Ann
My lips press to Morgan’s head as she gets worked up even more. “I suck at this dad thing. But …” I laugh through the pain. “It’s only for eighteen years, right? That’s… fuck…” I sniffle and hold Morgan secure with one hand while I wipe my face with my other hand “…three years longer than you got.” The words fight their way into existence. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand the reasons why. What kind of god takes away a daughter, a friend, an angel?
Morgan lets out a shrill scream.
“Let me.”
I turn toward Swayze’s voice. She rubs Morgan’s back without meeting my gaze—my pathetic tear-filled gaze. I hand my daughter to Swayze and within seconds, she calms down.
Magical breasts.
Yes, it’s a perverted sounding thought but it helps me regain some composure, so I let it chase away the grief.
Turning back to the headstone, I squat until her name is inches from my face.
“I met my soulmate when I was seven. She didn’t care that I was poor and living in a dysfunctional home. She always gave me half of her allowance. When I refused to accept it, she’d leave a bag of groceries on our front doorstep with a note that said, ‘For now … I love you.’ She agreed to be my girlfriend until she found a real boyfriend. That went on for nearly five years.”
I pick at the grass. “I was her now. She was my always. And I thought that would add up to forever.” My jaw grinds side to side as I blink away more emotion.
“She didn’t care that I loved hockey more than anything … except her. She didn’t care that we would probably live in an old shack because the chances of making it to the NHL were slim. And she dreamed of being a famous poet, but I told her the only famous poets were dead poets, like all famous artists.”
“So she’s famous now,” Swayze murmurs.
I grin at the ground. “In my eyes, yes.” Standing, I take a few steps back and rob a single flower from a freshly-laid bouquet next to another grave.
“What are you doing?” Swayze asks in a hushed voice like we’re going to get caught committing a crime.
I set the single flower on Daisy’s headstone and take a foil-covered chocolate out of my pocket and rest it next to the flower. “She made me promise flowers and chocolates, but I rarely had the money to buy them. In fact … I never bought them. So …” I shrug.
“You stole them.”
I nod.
“Did you steal that chocolate?”
I laugh. “One of my colleagues has a bowl of them on her desk. I pocketed several when she ran to the restroom.”
“Wow.”
I glance back at Swayze. “It’s stupid. I know. I can afford them. It’s just—”
She shakes her head. “That’s not what I meant. It’s the way you loved her. It’s …”
“Pathetic?”
“Beautiful.” Tears fill her eyes as she smiles, but she quickly blinks them away and averts her gaze to Morgan.
“I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to convince myself I was too young to really love her. It has to be the trauma of losing her so suddenly at such a vulnerable age. Some people think kids are resilient. They heal faster because their cells divide faster. It’s true on a physical level. But … emotionally, I think what happens to us when we’re young changes us forever. A broken bone is nothing compared to a broken heart. One is a scratch. The other leaves a scar on your soul.”
Morgan fusses.
“I’m going to take her back to the car and give her a bottle. Take your time.” Swayze turns and takes several steps.
“Have you ever had your heart broken?”
She glances over her shoulder, blond hair whipping across her face. “No.”
“I hope you never do.”
Her lips turn down ever so slightly as she nods. “Me too.”
CHAPTER TEN
Nate fell in love with a girl who died. To this day, he still feels like they were soulmates. I don’t know how to deal with that because of all the things I do know.
I know the tree house he talked about. He fell from it and broke his arm, but he told his parents it happened on his bike so he didn’t get in trouble for trespassing.
I know his cast was covered in signatures and pictures from his friends, including a hockey stick drawn along the entire length of it.
I know he wanted to shave his head when his uncle lost his hair from chemotherapy.
Every day I seem to know more about him than the day before. But … I don’t know a thing about Morgan Daisy Gallagher except what he tells me.
“Look, Professor, she has a new roll. I’m certain it wasn’t there last week.” I glance at the camera in the nursery while running my finger along the tiny new roll on Morgan’s back as I pull her onesie over her head. I don’t know if he’s watching right now, but acknowledging the cameras in the house makes me feel more comfortable than trying to ignore them.
Morgan is two and a half months now. In just six weeks she has stolen my heart, and I wonder if I’ll be able to love my own children as much as I love her. It’s like she’s a little duckling who imprinted on me. I don’t know why she seems to choose me over Rachael or Nate. But I feel like she needs me.
“And…” I continue talking as I snap her pajamas “…I have a job interview tomorrow. It’s not a permanent position. It’s for a maternity leave. But with school just around the corner, I think all of the permanent positions have been filled. This is a good place to start. Something to add to my résumé.”
“I think you’re right.”
“Oh, jeepers creepers!” I jump at the sound of his voice.
He grins, standing at the door. “Sorry.”
I pick up Morgan and hug her to me like she’s the one who just had the crap scared out of her. But she’s fine. It’s my heart that’s still in my throat. “You’re home early.”
“Yeah.” He grips the back of his neck. “Fighting a headache. Has she been fed?”
I nod.
“Good.” Nate takes her from me with his strong hands. I swear I could draw every line of them from memory.
“Maybe my little girl will go down easily for me so I can get some sleep and get rid of this headache.” He sits in the rocking chair by her crib.
She fusses.
“You’re off an hour early. Go do something fun. Make me envy your youth.” Exhaustion wraps around his words as he attempts to smile, but it, too, is weak.
Morgan squirms and her lungs start to stretch releasing a shrill cry.
“Not tonight, pumpkin. Please.” He kisses her head as she continues to thrash and wail.
My lips twist to the side. “Take off your shirt.”
“Huh?”
“Let her feel your skin, hear your heart, smell your scent. Here …” I take her from him.
He regards me with hesitation for a few seconds before unbuttoning his shirt.
One button.
Two buttons.
Three buttons.
Without warning, my eyes fill with tears. “Nate …” I whisper.
Unbuttoning the last button, he glances up, concern pulling his eyebrows together. “What’s wrong?”
I close my eyes, but I still see his hands working the buttons to his shirt, a white shirt, not green like the one he has on now. And he’s not in a nursery, he’s in his bedroom on Gable Street. Something like water drips onto his hand. He pauses and then continues with shaky hands.
“Nothing,” I say while blinking open my eyes.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”
I sway back and forth, soothing Morgan, but my eyes don’t leave his shirt. “Promise not to fire me?”
“Swayze—”
“Just say it.”
A slow breath leaves his chest. “I won’t fire you.”
“Two …” My voice cracks as I start to speak, so I swallow past the thickness in my throat and start again. “Two inches above and to the left of your belly button there is a mark. It’s like a birthmark, but there is no pigmen
t. It’s most visible during the summer when the rest of your skin has more color.”
The only thing more painful than memories that have no place in my life is seeing the confusion on his face. He has to be trying to recall a time that I’ve seen him without a shirt on or photos on the mantel—of which none are of him without a shirt.
“It’s a heart shape.”
“Give her to me,” he says with cold words.
My gaze moves up his unbuttoned shirt that he’s not removing any further. Our eyes meet with a clash of emotions—my sympathy and confusion, his anger and pain. I hand Morgan to him.
“Go home,” he says, no longer looking at me.
A million feelings race between my head and my heart, but I can’t bring a single one to life with words. Words are definable and they can be arranged to make sense. Nothing about the images and memories I have of Nate are definable or make sense. So … I leave.
*
I’ve cancelled my last three sessions with Dr. Greyson. Avoidance may be the coward’s way out, but it feels like I’m asking him to solve the unsolvable. I’m so tired of being a mystery.
Griffin has a bike he needs to finish working on for a friend. I told him earlier that I have a design I need to finish so we should hang out tomorrow. Yet, I can’t think about my project, and I can’t wait until tomorrow to see him. My car navigates to his house without any other reason than I need to see him.
The second I step out of my car, I inhale the earthy scent of Griffin’s neighborhood. It’s black dirt and fresh-cut grass. The lawns are dotted with dandelions and patches of clover instead of carpets of perfect grass and pungent chemicals that keep them so perfect. Clothes hang from clotheslines instead of perfume-laced air flowing from dryer vents.
It reminds me of the neighborhood where Nate grew up.
“Hey.” I smile at the unexpected gathering in Griffin’s garage.
His parents, Sophie, and Chloe greet me with the usual Calloway enthusiasm that I love.
Griff looks up from his stool where he’s working on his friend’s motorcycle, black bandana soaked in sweat, grease smudges covering his face, hands, and arms. His gaze makes a head-to-toe assessment of me—it’s endearing, possessive, and erotic. The muggy ninety-degree temperature doesn’t begin to compare to how he’s looking at me.
“Swayz.” A naughty grin, that I hope his family can’t see, pulls at his mouth. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
I gather my hair off my neck and hold it into a ponytail for a few seconds. It’s so hot. No breeze. Just sticky heat. “Am I crashing the party?”
Sherri laughs. “No party. We made the mistake of thinking it was a good night for a bike ride. It was a short one.” She fans herself. “Chloe wanted to stop and see Griffin on our way home.”
Typical Griffin. His family stops by, but he continues to work. I admire and hate his focus, but it’s fun to be his distraction when he lets me.
Sophie stands in the path of the fan. “It’s so hot.” She holds out her arms.
I grab a water from the small refrigerator below one of his workbenches and twist off the cap. “No Hayley?”
“She has a date.” Scott rolls his eyes. “I don’t approve.”
“Stop.” Sherri shakes her head. “Simon is a nice young man.”
“He’s nineteen.” Chloe’s eyes widen like it’s a crime.
“He’s in a fraternity,” Scott grumbles.
Griffin flips over the five-gallon bucket near him and slaps the top. “Sit.” He glances up at me and winks.
I take my usual spot.
“So, what’s up?” He returns his focus to the bike, but I know he’s engaged in me. My grocery store guy is the king of multi-tasking.
I shrug, looking around at his family as they wipe sweat from their brows, suckle from their water bottles, and inspect Griffin’s perfectly-organized garage like they haven’t seen it a million times before. “Just … I don’t know.”
His hands pause while he brings his focus back to me. I’m dying to say something, and he knows it. Griff reads me like he wrote the book on Swayze Samuels.
“Thanks for stopping by,” he says, giving a particular look to his parents.
I cringe. He’s clearly dismissing them for me.
“You’re kicking us out?” Sherri says, but the glimmer in her eyes negates her attempt to sound offended.
“Unless you’re going to get your hands dirty helping me, then yes, you’re dismissed.”
“You don’t have to leave.” I love his family. The last thing I ever want is for them to think I don’t want to be with them.
“Sophie’s going to overheat. We do need to leave.” Sherri kisses the top of Grif’s bandana-covered head, and then she kisses the top of mine like I’m one of her own. “I love you two.”
“Love you too.” I smile.
They mount their bikes and give a final wave as they ride off.
“Spill.” His hands resume their work.
“Why do you think I have something to spill?”
“Then shut the garage door and take off your clothes.”
Da—amn!
I’m dating the sexiest man alive. It’s a fact.
A part of me wants to shut the door, shut off my mind, take off my clothes, and let Griff do what he does best—make me feel like we are the only two people who exist in the world. We make love like one soul—his pleasure is mine and mine is his.
But … tonight I can’t come undone from his touch. I need him to put me back together because Nate’s existence in my world has shattered me.
“Something is wrong with me.”
“Who told you that? They’re an idiot. You’re perfect.”
Gah! If only it were that easy. I’m fine—perfect—because my grocery store guy says so. I’ve never been anyone’s perfect.
“No. That’s not it.”
He pauses, giving me a concerned quirk of his brow. “Are you sick?”
“I don’t think so. It’s … something really hard to explain.”
“Try.”
“I think I can read minds.”
He chuckles as he should because it’s crazy. “Really? What am I thinking right now?”
“That’s easy. You’re thinking I’m cuckoo.”
Another chuckle. “No. Well, maybe. Go on. I’m listening.”
“It’s not really mind reading. It’s more like I can access memories, but not with everyone. Actually, just one person and it’s not all of his memories, just some … from when he was younger.”
Griff nods once. “And by ‘his’ you mean mine?”
“Nate’s.”
“The professor’s?” He gives me a quick sidelong glance before returning his attention to the motorcycle.
“Yes. Remember I tried telling you this the day I saw him at Dr. Greyson’s office. I said I knew him, but he didn’t know me?”
“Then we had sex.”
I chuckle. “Yes. I think all of our conversations end in sex.”
“As they should,” he mumbles while spraying something onto one of the bike parts. “But I don’t really understand the mind reading.”
“You don’t have to understand. I don’t understand it either. I just need to talk to someone about this because I know it freaks Nate out, and I don’t want to lose my job. But keeping this to myself makes me feel like I’m losing my mind. And I don’t really want to lose that either.”
“What does Dr. Greyson say?”
I rest my elbows on my knees and wring my hands together. “I tried to tell him, but then it got uncomfortable and I was worried he’d think I’m crazy, so I haven’t been back in several weeks.”
“He’s a shrink, Swayz. I think crazy is his specialty.”
“So you think I’m crazy?” I jump up and the bucket crashes on its side. Preserving my sanity has taken priority in my life, and I can’t stop my need to defend it.
“No, that’s not what I mean.” He grabs a towel and wipes his face
and hands as he stands. “I just need you to explain it to me better so maybe I can wrap my head around it.”
I cross my arms over my chest and pace the length of the garage. “How can I explain it to you better if I can’t explain it to myself?”
“Babe …” He grabs my arm and I jerk away. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know!”
“Then why did you tell me?”
“Because I had to tell someone.” I stop and move my hands to my hips. This isn’t about him. I don’t know why I’m taking it out on him. But I can’t stop. And I hate that I can’t.
Griffin pushes out a long breath and rubs his lips together, mirroring my pose. “Okay. You told me. Now what?”
“You think I’m crazy.”
He drops his chin toward his chest, shaking his head as he chuckles. “If I say no, you’re going to call me a liar. If I say yes, you’re going to be pissed off.” Glancing up, he shrugs. “I’m fucked either way.”
“I have to finish a design. I’ll just see you later.”
“Swayz, don’t leave.”
I keep walking to my car.
“Fuck …” Griffin’s parting sentiment fades behind me.
*
On the way home I stop for chocolate and wine. This time I have my wallet so there’s no need for a grocery store guy to save me. Too bad. I already miss him even if I’m mad at him for no good reason. Maybe I should grab tampons just in case.
“What’s in the bag?” Erica yells down as I unlock the door to my apartment.
“Wine and chocolate.”
“You break up with Sex on a Stick?”
I grunt a laugh. “I hope not, but he may break up with me.” I glance up. “Are you on neighborhood watch or something?”
“Date. Blind date. Well … not like he’s literally blind. You know what I mean.”
“And you’re waiting for him in the hallway?”
“Too desperate?” She rubs her glossed lips together.
“You’re asking the wrong girl. I won the man lottery. I didn’t have to work for it. I kinda went from nothing to everything with one trip to the grocery store.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Stop bragging. The dress though, it’s good. Right?” She does a quick three-sixty so fast she has to grab the railing to keep from stumbling in her high heels.
