Lia sidled around the kitchen island, gray eyes intent on my face. “I want you here. I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. It’s the first time, really, since Dad died that we’ve spent more than a few hours together.”
“But you have a whole life, and I’m in the way.” I leaned my chin into my cupped hands, restless, searching. As I had been since . . . well, if I was honest, since Dad died.
“You’re part of my life, Bri. An important one. But if you want to move on, you should. I don’t want to hold you back from any of your goals.”
I opened my mouth, ready to tell her I’d go. Out of pride more than anything else.
Asher slid behind Lia, arms around her waist, lips pressed into the side of her neck. They’d built the kind of relationship I craved. I wasn’t ready to leave, because then I’d have to face that my years with Ken Brenton were over—wasted. I’d have to start over. Again.
“I’m your house sitter this weekend. My longtime dream is being realized. Who wouldn’t want this all to herself?” I gestured around.
Asher chuckled, his hazel eyes dancing with mischief. “You hate to clean more than I do.”
“But not as much as Mason. Think how much easier it’ll be to keep a clean house without the Legos scattered across the living room like tiny IEDs.”
Lia sighed, leaning back into Asher’s chest. “Those things hurt. I caught one with my heel on the stairs last night. It used to be a propeller.”
Asher stepped back, his sigh gusty. “I’ll talk to him.”
He squared his shoulders at the landing, calling Mason’s name.
“He’s so cute when he’s disciplining,” I said.
“Mmm.” Lia set her glass of lemonade on the counter. “So what’s this about? You’re restless. And unhappy.”
I walked to the row of windows at the back of the house, staring at the thick copse of trees, their bright green needles raised to the relentless summer sun.
“I am. Not just job-wise.”
I turned back to my sister, thrusting my hands into my pockets. Part of me worried I’d fixated on the idea of disliking journalism once Ken The Asshole planted it in my head.
“The money’s fine for what I’m doing, especially with my rent-free, hobo lifestyle.”
“We haven’t talked much about your break from Ken,” she said, her voice careful, her eyes assessing.
“The Asshole fits him better. You know the worst of it.”
“He wanted you barefoot and pregnant. He’s pestering you. Is that why you’re still here?”
A woodpecker drilled its beak into the thick bark of a pine nearby. “I’m relieved our relationship is over. He didn’t love me—not the way Asher loves you. The deep, forever kind. In fact, there were times I had no idea why Ken wanted me. What he saw in me. Except that Rosie liked me, and he seems to like to please his aunt.”
Lia wrapped her arm around me. I stood inches taller than my big sister. She gripped my waist, her fingers firm on the curve.
“He wasn’t the right man.”
I tipped my neck so my cheek rested on her hair. “Figured that one out already.”
“Once you admit you made a mistake, you’ll forgive yourself.”
I straightened and narrowed my eyes at Lia. “You think that’s what I’m waiting for? Forgiving myself for getting so deep into a relationship I knew wouldn’t go anywhere?”
Lia met my gaze, hers steady and patient.
“Why is that so hard?” I whispered.
“Because we’re hardest on ourselves.”
I put my cheek back on top of her crown. “You got smart.”
“I’ve always been this smart. You just started listening.”
If I wasn’t feeling so sorry for myself, I would’ve giggled. Lia was much better with words than I’d ever be. That’s why I wrote for newspapers and she wrote best-selling novels.
“You’re right. I’ve been hiding here. I think I should head back to Seattle soon.”
Lia pulled back, surprise and concern flashing through her gray eyes faster than mist drifting on an ocean breeze. “If that’s what you want.”
“I think it’s what I need to do.”
“I need you to be happy.”
“Thanks. I’ve got to face up to the life I left at some point. And I miss Rosie.”
Lia smiled. “Ken’s aunt is the best thing that’ll ever come out of your relationship with him.”
“I should call her.” I rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the guilt building there. “Soon. We went to lunch when I drove back to Friday Harbor to clean out my desk, but I couldn’t tell her about losing my job and the stunt Ken had pulled. When she asked if we were still seeing each other, I totally chickened out and changed the subject.”
“Rosie’s the best. She’ll understand. Give her my love when you call her. If you want to go sooner, we can find someone here to look in on the house.”
“It’s for a weekend, Lia. Not a biggie. And I think I’ll like the solitude. It’ll help me think through some of these decisions I need to make. I can’t leave my stuff in storage forever. And I’ll need closure with Ken.”
Lia nodded slowly, eyes never leaving mine. “You know I’m here any time you want to talk.”
“Thanks for not pushing.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t do any good.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I couldn’t tell her that.
“I’m going to help Abbi pack,” I said.
Lia smiled at her daughter’s name. “Explain to her she doesn’t need four swimsuits to go to San Francisco, please. We’re touring Stanford, not hitting the beach in San Diego. I’m not getting through to her with her excitement-fogged brain.”
“Will do.”
The emptiness of the house settled over me before Asher finished pulling down the driveway the next morning. I’d never learned how to be alone. I’d always lived with someone—Lia and my dad, then my mom and her new family, various roommates, and finally Ken. That’s why I’d wanted these three days. To prove to myself I could be alone.
Less than a month from my thirty-first birthday and just now learning how to be by myself. Sighing, I scooped up another pile of Legos Mason had dribbled across the living room and headed toward the overflowing bin. Not wanting to face the silence yet, I pulled out the vacuum and ran it over the whole first floor.
The kitchen clock read nine when I finished, so I changed into my running clothes. Attaching my iPod to my armband, I shoved in my earbuds. Setting out, I ran toward the trail Abbi had shown me earlier this summer.
As I hit the path that looped around the small lake, a doe slid from the tree line. I stopped. Just before she lowered her head to drink, she raised glimmering brown eyes, her entire body poised to sprint away. I wanted to touch her. To feel the velvet of her nose against my palm. I wanted to stop squelching my desires and actually do some of the things with my life that others did so effortlessly.
When I stepped forward, I hit a small twig and she flinched back. In one leap, she disappeared. I stood there, breathing hard as mosquitoes swarmed my sweaty skin.
I’d always been afraid to look for a man I actually wanted. Like the doe, I was too skittish to let him close enough to find out if we’d be compatible. I could continue to do so and pine for a relationship like Lia and Asher’s, or I could stop trying so hard to keep people out and face the fact I was lonely and sad because of my fear.
I turned and jogged back to Lia’s house, pondering the changes I’d need to make.
Chapter 3
Hayden
Going straight to hospice would have won me points, but I couldn’t care less about scoring points with my mum. We didn’t have a relationship, hadn’t for nearly two decades. So I chose to focus on my needs, which included some much-needed rest. Sleeping was rare what with the late-night performances and hours-long partying. The thirteen hours of pillow time proved how much my body needed to reset.
I woke up at 4:00 a.m., stretched my
arms over my head. Dark though it was, I wanted to get out into the city, go for a run. I loved running on the beach back in Sydney, where the warmth of the sand in summer traveled up through my feet, pumping into my muscles and making it easier to take the next step. Impossible here, so I settled for the popular running trail in the Olympic Sculpture Garden suggested by the sleepy-eyed desk clerk.
I ran down rain-drenched Elliott Ave., marveling at the lit skyline, so different from my dad’s hometown of Melbourne, which boasted a low-key city center. This place reminded me more of Sydney but with some extra eye-popping style. Home to some of the world’s most well-known brands, Seattle was primed for further success.
The smattering of people I passed moved out of my way as I ran, unaware and uncaring—to them, I was just another driven, success-oriented city dweller. They didn’t see that as I ran faster and harder, I slid closer to the demons I’d been fighting for years.
Namely my mum.
Rather, our relationship. My last memory of her was a blurred image of her being loaded into a police car.
My dad was a quiet, introspective man. Almost a caricature of an artist from an era long past. But he’d been dead-set serious about two things: always treat women with respect and never, ever have sex with a woman I didn’t plan to spend my life with. He’d learned the second lesson the hard way when he was forced to marry his pregnant college girlfriend.
She’d lost the child two weeks after the wedding, but divorce wasn’t common in the sixties, making the marriage much harder to dissolve. He spent nearly twenty unhappy years with a woman he not only didn’t love, but didn’t respect. Thankfully for my father, his ex-wife didn’t like the music-teacher salary and upgraded to a financial executive sometime in the eighties.
Several years later, Dad met my mother when he flew to Seattle for a guest lecture series. She’d been a promising concert pianist, and he one of her teachers. I’d never understood their relationship and not just because my dad was her father’s age at least. Neither had my mum, it turned out.
I’d missed her for the first couple of years after my dad and I moved to Melbourne, expecting her to show up laughing as she ran toward me for a hug. Her laugh—that’s what I remembered. A fairy’s laugh that made me believe in the magic she spoke of so often.
But she never came; she never even called.
So I stayed in Australia, through uni. Dad held on, through one illness after another, pleased with my growing knowledge of music theory and expanded musical capabilities.
I’d hit college hard because I had something to prove after my too-quiet youth spent with a kindly, puttering piano teacher who wore cardigans over his stooped shoulders in the heat of summer. Even Ets didn’t approve of my media-loving, bad-boy-off-the-rails actions during our first small Aussie tour. After one of our concerts, I met Asher Smith, one of my heroes and an all-around fabulous bloke. He’d pointed out I’d fallen for all the vices of fame without the trappings of success. To some degree, I owed Asher a debt.
I’d read in an online paper he’d reconnected with the woman he’d loved years before. The woman we talked about during our late-night philosophical ramblings. I couldn’t be happier for him.
I turned back toward the hotel, my sneakers pounding against the rain-slicked pavement. My stride was long, confident—the one thing I could control in this city of my childhood. A small flash of excitement bubbled through my melancholy as The Edgewater, my hotel—one that had hosted a long list of rocker guests—came into my field of vision. I loved the view, the illusion I could reach out and touch the crisp, navy waves so different from the ones in Wollongong, my favorite Sydney beach.
I slowed to a jog, then a walk, shocked by the crowds pushing through the narrow streets that led to Pike Place Market. I ducked into a coffee shop, asking for a latte as the crowd eddied and boiled with early-morning commuters stopping for breakfast and a paper.
As a young mother strapped her child onto her body in some sling contraption, a memory bubbled up, breaking past my normal defenses. I stared up into my mum’s face, her brown hair swinging forward, covering us both. She’d liked to play outside, no matter the weather. “I breathe out here, Hayden. Don’t take the connection with nature for granted. It grounds us.”
I’d loved our hours-long rambles, the swish of her skirts through the grass. Her sun-warmed hair when she picked me up and carried me, exhausted, back to the house.
But my mum ditched me. Not the other way ’round. I gripped my latte and trudged back to my hotel.
Chapter 4
Briar
Going back to Seattle meant facing the reason I’d left in the first place, and the long drive left too much time for my mind to conjure the months-old memories that caused me to break off my relationship with Ken.
Jess had called me more than a month ago at work, something she never did. We’d met in the premed program. I’d ultimately switched to journalism and she chose pharmacy. Now, we were occasional-text friends, not as close these days compared with when we were on campus.
“Can you come in to pick up your script today?” she had asked.
I had glanced at my clock, then at the pile of papers sitting next to my keyboard. “I have a lot to do before I put this edition to bed for the weekend,” I’d said.
“Please, Briar. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need to talk to you,” Jess had said.
“Can’t you just tell me over the phone?”
“No. And don’t let your boyfriend pick up your script this time. Please come by. I’m here until nine.”
Walking up to the counter two hours later, I’d felt my stomach cramp when Jess had immediately waved me toward the consultation window, ignoring the five people ahead of me in line. But her words had still shocked me.
“Tampered with them how?” I had asked. Much as I’d wanted to think I’d heard Jess wrong, she wouldn’t lie to me. Anyway, who would joke about something as serious as altering prescriptions?
“That’s why I called you,” she had said, leaning out the little consulting counter. “I needed to tell you this in person. Ken wanted me to drop a placebo pack in instead. One he’d had made to fit the usual package. Wouldn’t be hard—I mean, he has access to that kind of stuff through his medical practice, and you’re on a generic script.”
“He picked up my prescription for me last month,” I had said. Blood rushed to my head, and I’d swayed.
Jess had gripped my upper arms as her mouth thinned in grim acknowledgment. “I know.”
“I was covering a big story.” I’d cleared my throat.
“This is the first time he approached me. I can’t ask my colleagues about his actions, Briar. This is so fraudulent . . . ” Jess had shuddered. “You need to take a pregnancy test.”
“Why would he do that?” This was the part I couldn’t wrap my head around.
Jess had rolled her eyes. “Like he was going to tell me.”
“Can I dig into this further?”
“If you do, there will be an investigation and that’s enough to put me on probation. I didn’t report him for two reasons.” My stomach had dropped as she said the words. “My word versus his, and I wanted to tell you—as a friend. And because tampering with birth control is wrong. But please don’t drag me into this anymore. Please.”
I had nodded my understanding. Much as I’d hated letting it go, I wasn’t willing to hurt Jess. I’d held up the small white bag. “These?”
“Are good. New Rx shipment came in an hour ago. I filled your script myself. To make sure.”
“Thanks, Jess. I—I don’t even know what to say.”
She’d pulled me in for a hug. “Good luck.”
I had hugged her back, hard. Then I’d walked dazed toward the pregnancy-test shelf.
I’d picked up two tests, paid for my purchases, and had walked to a coffee shop on the corner. After ordering a light latte, my comfort drink, I had gone to the bathroom. I’d read and followed the instructions—they were the same
for both brands. Then I’d waited.
I had picked up both sticks, and I’d taken a deep breath. Not pregnant.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I’d leaned forward, closed my eyes, and wondered how I’d managed to end up in a coffee shop bathroom thanking some greater entity that my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend hadn’t tied me to him forever through a child. I’d turned on the tap and let cool water pour over my wrists, reviving me enough to come to an important conclusion.
I’d been with Ken three years too long.
Tossing the tests into the trash, I’d collected my coffee and walked back toward my car.
Lia called Ken The Asshole. I’d ignored her dislike of him because Ken was wealthy, powerful in his field.
He had been the kind of man I should want. But he’d proven to be underhanded, manipulative. I had a choice: I could go home, confront him. Or I could go to visit my family and consider what I knew, dig a little deeper into Ken’s motives.
Either way, our relationship was over.
I had turned left, heading toward Simon and Ella’s house, where Lia had been staying that weekend. While they hadn’t been expecting me, I hadn’t thought dropping by would be a problem. Lia and I might not hang out or even talk as much as some sisters did, but we had long shared a fierce bond—one forged over the tough years between the time our mother left us to start her new family, our dad’s death, and the forced move to Seattle, when we were inserted into our mom’s new life.
Ken’s number had popped up on my screen, cutting off the song I hadn’t been paying attention to. I’d pressed Ignore, dismissing him from my life.
I blinked the memories back and focused on the rest of the drive to our once-shared condo. After more than a month of silence, I was finally ready to talk to him about his underhanded method to get me pregnant.
For a man who didn’t like PDA, Ken had gone out of his way to woo me back via clichéd gifts—why would he think I needed a third Kindle? Or a card that said “You complete me”?—for the past few weeks. When those didn’t work, he’d started with the biweekly call. I miss you. I don’t understand why you left. We were so good together. I have an event and want you there. As his arm candy. I was smart enough to hold a conversation but not ambitious enough to screw up his desire to be the oncologist in Seattle.
Between Breaths (The Seattle Sound Series Book 2) Page 2
