by Rye Hart
“Camille – my life is a little bit complicated right now,” he started to explain. “I'm busy and am usually running in a lot of different directions. I really didn't expect you to come back into my life like this and I'm just trying to adjust on the fly here.”
“Well, how about you uncomplicate things and get back to me when you're ready, Preston,” I said, my voice cracking. “Because I'm confused as hell, and I'm not really sure what to think, let alone do about it. All I know is that I can't deal with begin jerked around and having my heart dragged through the mud. Not again. I won't do it.”
“I know,” he sighed. “And I'm sorry. Maybe we can get together in a couple of weeks to talk everything through. I want to tell you everything going on and find some ways for us to work through it all.”
A couple of weeks? He was really pushing me and this conversation off for a couple of weeks? “Sure, whatever,” I said, my tone biting. “Have fun at your soccer games with Melody and enjoy your Iron Man cake.”
It was petty and childish to throw that in his face, but whatever. I hung up before he could even respond. I was hurting and wasn't interested in being mature about it all. When he tried calling me back, I silenced the ringer and went to bed instead. I was already so tired of these games. So tired of asking, but not getting any real answers. Preston's secret life was too much for me to deal with after what I'd just experienced with Stephen. I was tired of secrets. I was tired of lies.
I was just tired.
He could either tell me the truth or not. And I would deal with it, either way.
Chapter Ten
Preston
“The party is a week away,” I groaned. “Do we really need to do all of this today?”
Melody pursed her lips together, with her hands on her hips, the disapproving look on her sour face more than clear. She was a small woman, but I'd learned that it was always best to never let her ever hear you say that. Standing at just around five feet even, she was one of the smallest women I'd ever dated. Yet, what she lacked in size, she more than made up for in personality.
Her blonde hair was pulled back into a fancy twist, every highlighted strand in place. Large frame black glasses that were almost too large for her small, heart-shaped face rested on the edge of her nose. She had a checklist and together, we were going over everything – one item at a time. You'd think we were planning our wedding all over again or something. But no, we were just planning a soon to be seven year old's birthday party.
“You know, when I was a kid –”
Melody stopped me by raising one perfectly manicured hand.
“That was then, this is now, Preston,” she snapped, her tone cold and imperious. “And Carter goes to a private school – which means we need to go above and beyond to impress everyone who attends.”
“I think a bounce house, cake and ice cream would impress any seven-year-old,” I muttered, looking at the seemingly never-ending list of tasks. “Are we really going to have pony rides? Seriously?”
She sighed, pushing her glasses up higher on her nose. “No, actually, I couldn't get the permit in time,” she said. “So see? We're already not living up to the Godfrey's party. And let's not forget that Alistair's party was the social event of the season.”
“They're seven, Melody. Do you know what I was doing at seven?” I asked, and when she didn't answer, I told her anyway. “I was riding bikes with friends. Playing baseball. At seven years old, I sure as hell wasn't giving a damn about social events or impressing anyone but my friends. And all I had to do to impress them was share my comic book stash with them.”
She scowled and started to berate me when Carter, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, came down the stairs. His smile widened when he saw us together at the table, and he ran over, throwing his arms around his mom, wrapping her up in a big hug.
While Melody and I didn't always see eye-to-eye on things – most everything, truth be told – the one thing I always admired about her was how much she loved our son. “Are you guys talking about my birthday party?” he asked, straining to see what his mom was writing in her notebook.
She kept it hidden and gave him a coy smile. “Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, would we?”
“Please tell me at least one thing, will you?” he asked, flashing her his wide eyes and best sad puppy dog look.
“Depends. What do you want to know?” Melody asked, her face looking much friendlier than before Carter entered the room.
“Am I getting the new Twisted Rabbit game?” she asked brightly. “Please? Pretty please?”
“See?” I motioned toward Carter. “Easy to please.”
Melody shot me a look that would have frightened most grown men – and probably should have frightened me too. But, I was either not all that bright, or knew Melody far too well, because I knew she'd never actually do anything to back that glare up. She wasn't a fighter. At least, not physically so. She could eviscerate you with her words, but I’d had years of practice of building up a tolerance to that, so it didn't sting anywhere near as bad anymore.
I turned back toward the task Melody had assigned me – which was painting a sign that welcomed everyone to Carter's party.
“I can't tell you that, silly,” Melody said, ruffling Carter's hair. “Now go on. Don't you have homework to do?”
“It's Saturday!” he grumbled.
“Better than doing it all tomorrow night at the last minute, right?” she asked. “Better to be prepared, isn't it? That way, you don't have to stress about it later.”
I butted in, because I never did seem to learn, “I dunno. I made it through college and medical school by waiting until the last minute,” I chuckled, but Melody elbowed me hard, in the ribs, “But you know, Carter, I could have made better choices and saved myself a lot of trouble.”
She smiled on the outside, but her eyes were filled with irritation. Which was typical. I was used to her baleful looks by that point. She knew better than anyone that we Winters men were procrastinators. But, thankfully, we were also geniuses who could handle the pressure. Or, at least, that's what I'd always told myself. She had been there, beside me, shoulder to shoulder, all the way through medical school. As stressful as it was, those had been far happier times.
It seemed like so long ago now – and a bit like life on a different world.
“Before I do my homework, can I show you one thing, pretty please?” Carter asked.
I cut a quick glance at Melody but didn't wait for a response. “Sure thing, buddy,” I said. “What is it?”
“Come outside, I'll show you!” he shouted, rushing toward the front door.
Melody looked at me, and I said, “What? How could you say no to that face?”
“He looks just like you, and I say no to you all the time,” she said, hurrying toward the door herself.
Had I known better, I would have assumed she was joking. But one look at her face told me she wasn't. Melody was too serious for her own good. It was one of her major shortcomings in this life. That and caring far, far too much about what people thought of her. It had been that way through med school, and it had only gotten worse as we'd gotten a bit older.
The whole birthday party thing was only the latest example, and I feared it would only get worse as our son got older. She was always trying to keep up with the Joneses – if not, one up them.
“Come on, dad!” Carter yelled for me.
“I'm coming,” I laughed, putting down the paintbrush and wiping my hands on my pants.
Melody's list was almost two pages long and seemed to be growing longer by the second. Still, we had to make time for the birthday boy. It was, after all, the sole reason we were going through this whole ordeal to begin with. When I stepped outside into the warm California sunshine, I found my son riding his bike in the driveway and Melody standing off to the side, smiling as wide as I'd ever seen her smile.
“Watch this, I can do a wheelie!” Carter shouted.
Oh God, let's just be thankful I'm
a doctor, I thought to myself as Carter pulled his small bike into a wheelie with ease. He laughed and waved, and for the first time in a long time, a genuine smile crossed my lips and a laugh bubbled up in my throat.
Chapter Eleven
Camille
After everything that had been going on, I had to know the truth. I decided the only way I was going to get the truth about Preston was to drop by his house unexpectedly. Not very cool and was likely to result in somebody being pissed off, but it seemed like the only way I was going to get some straight answers, since he wasn't giving them to me. I knew he was hiding something and I deserved to know what it was.
It was a bright, sunny Saturday and I had my trusty Google Maps out and ready to roll. I'd found his address thanks to a quick Google search. Yeah, it was a bit stalkerish maybe, but desperate times, and all that. Of course, there was a chance the info was outdated, but what else was I going to do besides sit at home, stew and obsess about everything in minute detail. When I was done with that part of the program, I'd move straight into feeling sorry for myself about everything going on, and how my life had been turned completely upside down, all because I was surrounded by shady men.
I knew me and knew that was the road I was headed down if I didn't force myself out of my house and onto a path of action.
My GPS guided me to an affluent Hollywood Hills neighborhood, which seemed right based on where he worked and conversations we'd had. I kept an eye out for his car, though I had a feeling, he likely had a garage or some private parking spot, because hey, it was Hollywood Hills and people were rich out there. “Your destination is on the right in 200 feet,” the electronic voice said.
My heart jumped into my throat and my pulse raced at the sound of the voice. I looked to the right and saw that there was a two-story home with a white facade. It was more modern than I’d expected, considering the fact that Preston always had a more classic, refined air to him. But, then, Hollywood Hills had a mix of modern, square homes, more classic architecture, and everything in between.
The house on the right – what I was assuming was Preston's house – had a nice, large front yard that was bright green, even though we were suffering through yet another drought in Southern California. All the houses in the neighborhood had green lawns, as a matter of fact. Apparently, being rich meant you could afford a nice, lush lawn. A palm tree was out in front of Preston's place, providing just a touch of shade to the lawn – a lawn that happened to be occupied as I pulled to a stop.
From my vantage point, I was able to make out a little boy on a bike and a woman, standing off to the side, watching him. I double checked the addresses, thinking maybe I was off a house or two, but no, according to my Google search, that was the right place. The address was listed on the mailbox.
At first, there was no sign of Preston and I almost gave up, thinking that maybe the information was outdated after all. But, as the little boy pulled into a wheelie, I saw a man – a tall, blonde man – rush forward. I squinted my eyes and tried to convince myself that it wasn't Preston. The woman in the front yard was totally not his sister, I knew that much. Preston's real sister was five-foot-eight, and thin. She'd been a model once upon a time, built for the runway. This woman was tiny. The man turned toward me but wasn't looking directly at me. He lifted the boy into his arms and swung him around. I caught a glimpse of his face, and my heart dropped into my belly. I suddenly felt very ill as I tasted the bile rushing up into my throat. I started my car and having no opportunity to turn around without looking suspicious, I continued driving down the street, praying that Preston didn't turn and see me through my tinted windows as I passed by.
I could see them, though. I saw them and they all looked very happy. The little boy looked just like him, and there was no denying Preston was his dad. The woman was pretty and was made even prettier by her giant smile. They all looked so content. So happy. So goddamn All-American.
Tears burned at my eyes as I drove past, and I resisted the urge to drive by again. Part of me wanted to find a reason not to believe that Preston had lied to me – or rather, hadn't told me the entire truth. “Good for you, Preston,” I muttered sarcastically, as I wiped the tears from my eyes. “I guess at least one of us can be happy.”
The fact that he'd cheated on his wife – with me – despite knowing what I had been through with Stephen made my stomach churn even harder. I regretted everything I ate that day and had to pull over and throw the door open. I heaved and heaved, finally throwing up in the gutter on the side of the road. It wasn't the first time I'd thrown up since all this drama had happened, and surely it wouldn't be the last. My body never really handled stress well.
Finding out I was the other woman, well, I'd say that was pretty damn stressful.
***
Stephen, we need to talk, I texted him that night. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes as I waited for a response from my ex. God, I couldn't believe I was doing this.
The phone rang, which made me jump out of my skin. Stephen had never been a big fan of texting. He was one of those people who preferred talking on the phone. I wasn't. As soon as I picked up, he started in on me, his tone openly hostile.
“I'm not selling my stakes in Zesta, Camille,” he said. “So, if that's what you want to talk about, then–”
“No, actually. I wanted to talk to you about your proposal.”
There was a silence from both of us that was long, drawn out, and positively pregnant with anticipation. Finally, Stephen spoke up.
“Camille, are you serious? That's great!” he said. “I'll be right over.”
“Tonight?” I asked, looking at the clock.
It wasn't that late, but still, I hadn't really prepared to see him face-to-face tonight. My heart dropped, and my stomach churned once more.
“Of course, sweetie,” he said. “To celebrate us getting back together.”
Before I'd made the call, I thought long and hard about everything. I knew what I was getting into – and that meant getting back together with Stephen. Because as they say, the devil you know is better than the devil you don't.
In the case of one Preston Winters, I had been totally unprepared for him being married and having a family. While he hadn't exactly lied to me, he hadn't been honest with me either. I really didn't want to go through that again. At least with Stephen, I knew what I was getting into. I knew he was a liar and a cheat – and as long as I knew the lay of the land going in, it was something I could work with. Something I could plan for and deal with.
We'd have an agreement in place. An understanding. Something written down and notarized, making it all legal-like. Then, it wouldn't be cheating because I'd know about it. Sure. That would work, right?
“I'm not feeling up for celebrating tonight, I think I have a stomach bug.”
More like, I'm stressed out beyond belief, sick to my stomach that I'm about to sell my soul, and my body can't take it anymore. “But there's one more thing I'd like to ask of you first, if you don't mind,” I said.
“Sure, what's that?” he asked, his voice eager.
“Well, I think if we're going to do this, we should both get tested. Not just for STD's, which we'll need to do that too, but I also want to check into the whole fertility thing. Get some professional help and see if maybe there's not something we can do to, you know, have our own kids one day.”
“Oh Cammy,” he said, pity heavy in his voice. “Would that make you feel better? If we at least tried that route?”
I swallowed down all the doubts coursing through my body, not to mention the swell of anger that was rising in me.
“Yes, it would,” I said, my tone even and measured. “I've already been scheduled for a few tests, I just haven't gone through with them yet. From there, we can talk to Dr. Garcia and see what our options might be.”
He was quiet for a long time before answering. “Sure, if it makes you feel better, we'll do it. But don't get your hopes up, Camille,” he said. “And, it's no big dea
l. These things happen to people all the time, baby.”
“I won't,” I said quietly.
Another lesson I learned in the wake of the fallout from the Preston situation – never get your hopes up for anything, ever again. Because just when things appear to be going well, the Universe finds a way to tear you right back down again.
“And thank you, Stephen.”
“Of course, Camille,” he said. “You and I really do make a wonderful team, and my short time with Jessica has only made me realize there's only one woman for me.”
“I'll make the appointments and send you the information,” I said. “Goodnight, Stephen.”
“Goodnight, Camille. I love you.”
I hesitated, wanting to say the words back because I felt like a jerk for not reciprocating, but instead, I let it go. I hung up the phone and put it away, crawling underneath my covers, hiding myself away from the world and all of the lies.
You couldn't trust anyone apparently. Sadly, it was a lesson I'd had to learn that the hard way.
Chapter Twelve
Preston
Between work, soccer practices, parenting, and planning for this birthday party, the days all seemed to blend into one another. It was a constant blur of activity and motion and before I knew it, it was Wednesday. It was Wednesday and it occurred to me that I hadn't heard from Camille in days. I couldn't help myself from starting to worry. Our last interaction hadn't gone over too well, but I hadn't had the chance to fix things with her. I needed her to know she was important to me, but with so much going on, I just hadn't had the time to make sure she knew that.
I needed her to know. I needed to fix things with her because I didn't want to lose her. Not for a second time.
After Carter's game, I tucked him into bed before settling in my own room. I was beyond exhausted, but that was no excuse to put it off any longer. I needed to start setting things right, so I grabbed my phone and called Camille.
