Honest Love (Broken Hearts duet Book 1)

by Lauren K. McKellar

  “I thought you weren’t going to come for another week …” Her voice broke as she finally pulled back and looked Piper in the face. “My baby, look at you. You’re so beautiful.” She peppered Piper’s face with kisses, and the little girl tossed her head about to duck the onslaught. “Why are you here?” Giselle’s face tensed. She clutched Piper tighter to her chest. “Is something the matter?”

  “No. No, God, no.” I nodded to the chair opposite. “Sit. Relax. I just thought …”

  “You thought what?” She challenged me with a look. “You thought you’d come give me another lecture? Tell me how I can be a better parent?”

  “No.” I looked at the speckled floor below, then up at her face. Her eyes seemed so much tireder, so much older than they did before. “I … I want to say sorry about that, actually. I was out of line. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

  And I meant it. When I thought of the thrill that had jolted through me when Everly told me I was a good parent, it made me smile. I could only imagine how much it would have hurt to hear the opposite.

  Giselle was looking at me as if I’d sprouted two heads.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again, since it seemed perhaps she didn’t hear me on round one.

  “I’m just … wow.” She blinked, then nodded, as if taking it all in. She turned Piper so she faced her. “Did you hear that? Cameron just admitted he did something wrong. Holier than thou, can-do-no-ill Cameron—”

  “Giselle,” I groaned. Damn it, you gave the woman an inch. Still, that wasn’t the reason I came, and I didn’t want to get into a fight. Not when I was finally beginning to understand this woman more.

  “And what’s this I hear about you not staying at my place? Where have you taken my baby?” She clutched her closer to her chest, as if she could keep her there.

  “Relax. A friend of mine has a house up the coast—a family home. I just thought it’d be nice for her to be nearer to the beach. Fresh air and all that.”

  “What would be nice is if you consulted her mother before making rash decisions,” she snapped.

  “What would be nice is if her mother—” I clenched my fists under the table and stopped myself. Piper’s eyes were worried as she tracked between the two of us.

  I took a deep breath, counted to three, and when I finally looked back up at Piper and Giselle, what I saw made me smile. Giselle ran her hand over Piper’s head one, two, three times, humming some song to her, and Piper was rapturous. There was no other way to describe her wide eyes, her beaming smile, and while part of me was happy, a small sting tore at my chest. Would she ever look at me like that? Would I ever have that bond with her, or was it a mother–daughter thing?

  When the song finished, Giselle pulled her close again, breathing her in.

  “She said her first word,” I said quietly.

  Giselle’s knuckles turned white as her fingers clenched her tighter. “She did?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “Duck.”

  “Baby! Can you say duck?” Giselle pulled back to ask her. “Duck?”

  Piper shook her head, and even though I was fairly sure she didn’t understand the meaning of her action, I didn’t miss the look of hurt on Giselle’s face.

  “Piper, what did we see at the park? Did we see … ducks?” I tried. I wanted Giselle to have this—to experience this small joy. “Duck? Quack-quack-quack?”

  Piper looked at me, and a small smile crossed her features, as if she was remembering. “Gah.”

  “Duck!” I grinned, slapping my hand on the table. “Did y’hear that? She said duck.”

  “Gah,” Piper said again, and I reached over and squeezed her arm. Damn, she was cute.

  “She’s not really saying duck.” Giselle’s voice was cold.

  I frowned. “What do you mean? She’s copying me, right out—”

  “She’s copying you, but she’s not got the D or the K.” Giselle sighed.

  “But she’s copying the sound I made. That’s like learning to speak, isn’t it?” Was I going crazy? Surely this was a big deal.

  “Whatever, Cameron. Just trust me, she’s not saying duck.” She turned to Piper again. “But it was nice of Cameron to bring you here, wasn’t it?”

  And even though I’d not used the word myself, even though it was a term that had felt unfamiliar to me for so long, I hated that she used my name instead of ‘Dad’.

  Perhaps that was why I did it. Or perhaps it was because it’d been on my mind, and I wanted to gauge her reaction when I told her the news. The news I hoped would change things for Piper. For the better.

  “Giselle, when you’re outta here, I want to see her more often.” I kept my voice level, devoid of emotion.

  It was as if I’d slapped her. She looked at me, her mouth twisted in pain.

  “Not sole custody. I know I can’t have that, I do. But I was hoping she could live with me maybe every second week. Or every weekend. Or—”

  She clutched Piper close to her chest. Spit flew from her mouth as she hissed, “You do not get to steal my baby.”

  “I didn’t say steal. I just thought we could—”

  “No! That’s why I asked you, Cameron. Out of all the people I knew, you were the least likely to try take her from me.” Her voice sounded like oil, thick with hate. “You want to steal her. But you’ll never have her, y’hear me?”

  How could she think I’d steal her? I’d thought she’d be happy I wanted to spend more time with Piper. Happy I’d want to be in her daughter—our daughter’s life. “I’m not trying to take her away—”

  “Yes, you are. You just said you want her in your life.”

  “Some of the time,” I corrected her.

  “So you don’t love her enough to be a full-time dad?”

  “For hell’s sake.” I ran a hand through my hair, my elbows on the table. Piper let loose a whimper. “We have to go. C’mere, Piper.”

  “No!” Giselle’s knuckles were white again. “You can’t take her away from me.”

  “You can’t keep her in here, either.” I kept my voice calm. “We can talk about the custody thing another time.”

  “You’re taking her away. Stealing what’s mine.” Her voice was raised, and the family at the next table over turned to look at us.

  “Giselle, we need to go.” I pushed back in my chair, walking around to her side. She turned her back to me, humming in Piper’s ear. “Let me have her.”

  “No!”

  It was like arguing with a child. In fact, I swore Piper had more sense than this. “Giselle, please.” I felt eyes on my back, and I turned to see the guard by the door training his gaze on us, his lips a thin line. I didn’t want Giselle to get in trouble. Despite everything that’d happened, I didn’t want that.

  I sunk back into my seat. “Just breathe. You don’t want to make your time in here any harder than it already is.”

  The ocean seemed to wash over Giselle’s features. A wave of peace inched from her furrowed brow to her clenched fists, loosening her muscles.

  “I’m not going to take her away from you.”

  “Because you can’t,” Giselle said, but the venom had left her tone.

  “Because I won’t.” I glanced at my watch. Half past two. “But I really do have to go, sorry. We need to get back before bath time and all the rest.”

  Giselle stood, holding Piper close and rocking her side to side, her eyes pressed closed again as she took those last moments for herself.

  “Just remember what I said,” she said. “You can’t take her away from me.”

  “Okay,” I simply said, as it seemed easier than arguing my point. “Okay.”

  Seemingly satisfied, she walked with me toward the door before handing Piper back into my arms. Once her butt rested on my forearm, Piper snuggled in, her face next to my neck.

  I didn’t realise it, but at some point I’d tensed every muscle. I exhaled, and everything relaxed—my shoulders, my jaw, the aching in my chest.

  This was what w
as right.

  Having Piper here with me.

  “Goodbye, Giselle,” I said, but she was already walking away. Perhaps it hurt her too much to see me leave with her baby girl, even though moments ago, I couldn’t tear the two of them apart.

  Perhaps it was that one painful reminder that she’d pushed everything good in her life too far away.

  The next day, Piper and I took a drive out of town. After traversing the narrow and windy road, we pulled over outside a wooden shack bursting with flowers and colour. Bright blooms danced in the sea breeze, reds and yellows and pinks and oranges in all different shapes and sizes. Piper was fascinated by the brightest, most garish ones, and I laughed as she grabbed at the petals, looking to me in excitement as she did.

  She was particularly attracted to a bunch of pink gerberas, cooing in delight as she bashed at the petals with a less-than-gentle hand, and I placed some money in the honesty box, enough for two bunches.

  On the way back to Copacabana, there was a smile on my lips. Piper sang merrily in the back seat, and I was happy. I’d started discussions with Giselle about custody.

  But it was more than that.

  I felt as if I knew what I wanted. As if for so long, I’d been focused on existing and remembering, and now, I’d given myself permission to move forward.

  It still bothered me why Giselle had trusted me to look after Piper. All I could think was what she’d blurted out—that she’d thought I wouldn’t take her away. That she’d been desperate for someone and thought I’d be a good babysitter for a few months, one who would hand her baby back over with outstretched arms.

  It would have been easy for me to react that way—to keep myself as closed off to Piper as I had to everyone else since the explosion.

  But Piper had worked her way into my world.

  And I was sure glad she had.

  I slowed the car and brought it to a stop when we reached Everly’s house. The curtains were pulled closed, despite the late-morning hour, and I wondered if she was on holidays, or perhaps just working hard on articles for the blog. Maybe she was at college.

  Maybe she was out on a date.

  I shifted in my seat. Hopefully not.

  “Doesn’t hurt to drop flowers ’round, does it, Piper?” I took the keys and hopped out of the car, leaving the door open. I grabbed one bunch of flowers and ran them up to Everly’s front door, placing them on the mat.

  I hesitated. Should I knock, just in case she was inside?

  And say what? I know you’ve been avoiding me, so I decided to just show up unwanted and unannounced, and harass you with the happiest flowers you’ve ever seen?

  I turned and headed to the car. I didn’t know what I’d expected coming here. It was a stupid idea.

  But as the car pulled away from the curb, I swore I saw the curtains twitch.

  I swore it.

  Chapter 18

  No one ever knocked at my door.

  That was why, when the three heavy thuds sounded at just after ten the following morning, I jolted.

  After checking to make sure Piper still soundly slept, I walked to the door, pulling it open. “Surely with deliveries, you knock quie—”

  Everly.

  She was here.

  On my doorstep.

  Holding a bunch of kale.

  “Uh, hi.” I stepped outside to the patio, shutting the door behind me. “What are you … uh …” What was she doing here? Why had she brought me spinach? “Hi,” I said again, as it seemed easier, the most logical thing to say.

  “Hey.” She looked at her flip-flops, then back at my face. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and tired red lines carved through their whites. God, had something happened?

  “Are you okay?” I reached out as if to touch her shoulder, but stopped just short of making contact. Not until I knew where I stood. I didn’t want to freak her out.

  “Yes.”

  It wasn’t a convincing lie.

  “Yes,” she tried again, as if she’d read my mind. “Sorry. I just … I’ve just had a long week, you know?”

  I nodded. I got it—I needed her to know that. “I’m sorry I kissed you then unloaded all this … all this death.”

  “You don’t make me think of death.” She shook her head. “You make me think of life. You and that beautiful girl in there—you’re two of the most life-filled people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

  “Really?” I raised my eyebrows. “The strange thing is, I feel the same about you.” The way she spoke her mind. The way she laughed. The curves of her body moving gracefully in the afternoon sun …

  My words seemed to please her, because she smiled, slow and wide, then thrust the kale forward. “Here.”

  “You brought me a snack?” I took the bunch from her hands.

  “No.” She raised her chin. “I brought you gratitude kale, to say thanks for the bunch of flowers you gave me. I was going to get some for you, only, men don’t tend to appreciate flowers, so I was going to buy you chocolate, but I know your stance on that, so … kale. Gratitude kale.”

  “Thank you, Everly.” I turned the kale in my hands. Saying her name aloud—it just felt so right. Her name was beautiful. “This is the nicest bunch of gratitude kale I’ve ever received.”

  And there went that smile again.

  Her smile was beautiful.

  “I’m glad.” Everly pursed her lips, then looked at me with a mischievous expression on her face. “Cameron, do you trust me?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “An honest one,” she replied. “I thought honesty was important to you Lewises.”

  “Honest love.” She remembered Dad’s story.

  “So, do you?”

  I blanched. Once again, Everly threw me with her direct questions. Why was she even asking that?

  “Cameron?” She pressed, drawing me back to the present.

  “I do.” The answer came quickly, because this, I was ready to commit to. This I knew was a fact.

  “Is Piper asleep?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Pack a bag. When she wakes, we’re going out.”

  I sat next to the dad bag, jammed with a sandwich for Piper, a bottle, spare clothes, nappies, and all the other paraphernalia that accompanied her when we travelled.

  Everly was perched on the couch opposite, but her hands fidgeted at her sides, her feet tapped, and when she jumped up for the third time since I invited her in, I wondered if we were on some kind of deadline. Piper hadn’t yet woken, but Everly had insisted we didn’t need to leave until she did.

  She ran a delicate finger over the television, and when the light caught her hair as she turned to the door, a spider web of gold tendrils haloed around it. My chest tugged, and damn it, I sat on my hands to stop from reaching out to her. Why did she have such an effect on me?

  “What’s through here?” She stopped in front of the door on the right side of the room.

  “Just the garage.” I nodded as she hovered a hand over the doorknob. “Go ahead. It’s a rental, so the stuff in there isn’t mine.”

  She opened the door, and the familiar scent of shut-up room and sweat reached me. Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have said she could go in.

  She flipped the switch on the wall and lit up the room.

  I waited for her to go to the surfboards. Maybe even the fishing rods, or the paint cans, since she was so interested renovating.

  But, no.

  She walked straight to the punching bag and ran her hand down it reverentially.

  I stood, walked to the doorway to study her further. To see what she did next.

  She stepped back, her head tilted down as she focused on the bag in front of her.

  Then she drew back a fist and punched it.

  The crack of her knuckles hitting hard material echoed through the room.

  “Shit,” she swore, wringing her hand up and down.

  “Hey, hey.” I rushed to her side. Her wrist was silky soft as I gent
ly inspected her hand for any damage. Her skin was pale, with red patches blossoming around the point of impact, but she hadn’t drawn blood. “What was that for?”

  She shrugged, jerking her hand back, and when she looked up at me, pink coloured her cheeks. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

  “Nearly break your knuckles?”

  “No. Save the dad jokes for Piper.” She turned back to the bag. “I meant box. Hit a punching bag and all that.”

  “I could teach you.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I could teach her?

  “You could?” She was just as shocked as I was.

  “Yes. I used to train. When my mum left when I was a kid, I had a lot of rage. A lot of rage that I guess I deferred, only dealt with when I turned eighteen.”

  “And boxing helped?” She looked between the bag and me, as if trying to sense the connection between us.

  “Sure. Not at first, but after a while.” It’s helping me now. “I guess that’s the thing about grief. We all have our ways of coping—there’s no wrong or right way.”

  She nodded, taking it all in. “I like that.” She walked a circle around the bag, her eyes on mine the whole time. “So what would be your first piece of boxing advice?”

  “Wear some goddamn gloves,” I growled, my eyes on her hand, and she laughed. I picked up the pair from the top of the box pile by the door and threw them at her, one at a time. She caught each with a snap. “Those are mine. If you get a pair similar, the same brand—no, don’t put them on.”

  She grinned up at me, snapping the glove against her lily-white wrist. “What? You afraid of getting girl germs?”

  “I sweat in those. It’s like having you inside my gym shorts.”

  Oh, Christ.

  Why had I said that?

  Images flooded my mind, and I pictured her sliding those delicate hands, those long fingers inside my shorts. She’d touch me the way she did that bag—long and slow, almost reverently. Goosebumps pimpled my arms. My cock stirred to life inside my shorts, and if she missed the accidental innuendo in my speech before, there was no way she’d be deaf to it now.