by Sydney Logan
“It’s okay, really. When you make a promise, you keep it. It’s one of the great things about you.”
She sighs with relief.
“You know,” she says, “I think you and Josh could be very good for each other. You just have to take things slow. Keep your hands—and everything else—to yourself for a while.”
That reminds me . . .
“Speaking of which, I started my period. So no worries there.”
“You don’t sound too happy about that.”
Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it. Logically, I know it’s for the best. The timing couldn’t be worse. Still, I can’t deny there’s a small part of me that’s a little disappointed. It’s hard to explain why.
“So tell me about this trip home,” Amy says.
“There’s not much to tell. I just need to talk to my mom. See how she’s doing. Find a way to forgive—”
My mouth snaps shut when I see Sloane and a man in a deep navy suit walk into the diner. They find a seat in a booth a few feet away from ours.
“Carrie, what—”
“Don’t turn around.”
“Why?” She glances over her shoulder just as Daphne shows up to take their orders. “Oh, do you know them?”
“Do you know them?”
“I know Blake. He’s a lunch regular. Works at the law office next door. Good tipper.”
“What about the woman?”
She stealthily twists her head to get a better look. “Never seen her before. Who is she?”
“That’s . . . Sloane Bennett.”
Amy’s eyes narrow. “You’re kidding.”
I shake my head.
“She looks different from the picture we found online.”
“Yeah, her hair’s shorter. I didn’t recognize her when she was in here last night, but then she started talking about her daughter and the accident. It was horrible, Amy.”
“You can’t possibly feel sorry for the woman.”
“I do. It was awful, hearing her recall what happened that day.”
“Then the bitch should have made sure her baby was buckled up!”
Every head turns in our direction—including Sloane’s. Our eyes lock, and her face turns ashen. She whispers something to Blake, and he turns toward us.
If looks could kill.
Blake mutters something to Daphne, and he and Sloane grab their coats and quickly make their way to the door.
Amy smiles triumphantly.
“That’s not fair, Amy. She’s suffering, too.”
“Not as much as that little girl suffered. I can’t believe you’re defending her.”
I want to tell her everything that Sloane told me, but I can’t. Not until I tell Josh.
“I’m not defending her. Anyway, your break’s nearly over. I need to pack, anyway. You’re sure you don’t mind checking on Oreo?”
“Don’t mind at all. Give me a call and let me know how it goes with your mom.”
I promise I will, and after thanking Daphne for covering my shifts, I head home.
Back at the apartment, I decide I better give Mom a call to let her know I’m coming. It’s been so long since we talked. Honestly, I don’t even know if she still has the same number, but I call it, anyway. I’m greeted by a generic answering machine voice. I wait for the beep.
“Hey, Mom. It’s me. Carrie. I umm . . . I guess you’re out. If I even have the right number.” I clear my throat and talk a little louder. “Anyway, just wanted to let you know I’m coming home this weekend. I think we need to talk. This is my cell. Give me a call if it’s a bad time or if you won’t be home or whatever. Otherwise, I’ll . . . uh . . . I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Shaking my head, I toss my cell onto the bed.
Most awkward phone call ever.
Needing something to keep me busy, I decide to pack. To say I’m nervous about this trip would be an understatement. It’s been years since I’ve been home and months since I even spoke to my mom.
I hate unknowns, and this trip is full of them.
What will I find when I get there? Will she be sober? Will the house be roach infested or condemned? Will she even be there? What if she’s moved? What if . . .
The what-ifs are going to drive you crazy.
I’ve just finished zipping my suitcase when I hear my cell. Hopeful it’s my mom, I quickly rush toward my bed and glance at the screen.
It’s not Mom, but the name makes me smile, anyway.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Josh says softly. “Enjoying your day off?”
I kick off my shoes and stretch out on the bed. “It’s been busy, actually. I needed to make some arrangements.”
Josh listens while I tell him about my trip home, and that our conversation had been the catalyst for it.
“But you’re nervous,” he says.
“I am. This could be a huge mistake, but I need to go. I have to try to make some peace with her and with myself.”
He grows quiet before finally asking, “Would you like some company?”
“Sure, you can come over. We’ll order take-out.”
“No, I mean on your trip. I could go with you.”
“Oh.”
I’m tempted to say yes. It would be nice to have moral support. But I’m not sure taking a guy home to meet my mother is a good idea, especially when I have no idea what I’ll find when I get there.
“I don’t know, Josh.”
“This is a lot to handle on your own. Besides, it’d give me the chance to help you for a change.” He sighs softly and lowers his voice. “And I’ll worry.”
My heart literally skips a beat. “You don’t have to worry about me, Josh.”
“We’re friends, right? Friends worry. Friends support. Let me be a friend.”
Friend. How can such a comforting word sound so . . . wrong?
“What about work?”
He snorts. “I’m one of the bosses, remember? They can live without me for a few days.”
“And what about Dr. Moore?”
“Dr. Moore didn’t say we can’t be friends.”
“And your sessions?”
“Weekends are therapy free, unless there’s an emergency. I have his cell if I need him.”
I close my eyes. So tempting.
“You’re out of excuses, Carrie. Just this once, let me take care of you.”
I’m too tired and too anxious to fight him.
“Just this once,” I reply softly.
“Nervous?”
I can’t imagine why he’d ask. Maybe because I’ve gnawed my nails since the minute we crossed the Inglewood county line.
Anxiety is a welcome distraction, because the drive home has been torture.
We’ve been so good. Josh hasn’t touched me once. Not even a brush of his hand against mine as he drives. But, on several occasions, I’ve caught him watching me, and when I’m sure he’s concentrating on the road, I sneak a glance in his direction.
This friends thing is going to be the death of me.
More than once, I’ve tried to tell him about meeting Sloane at the diner, but I always chicken out. I haven’t done anything wrong, but I still feel guilty. We’re trying to be honest with each other, after all. I promise myself I’ll tell him sometime this weekend.
“What would relax you, Carrie? Music?”
I shake my head.
“We could stop for lunch.”
“The mere thought of food makes me want to vomit in your nice, expensive car.”
“Sex?”
I shoot him a glare. “You know we can’t.”
Josh chuckles. “I know, but your fists are no longer clenched. Pretty good distraction technique if you ask me. But I’ll behave.”
I roll my eyes and try to concentrate on the scenery.
“Do you ever think about it?” he asks after a while.
“Think about what?”
“The night we met.”
“I thought you said you were going to b
ehave.”
“It was just a question, Carrie. Innocent curiosity.”
“There’s nothing innocent about you, Josh Bennett. And yes, I think about it. I think about it all the time.”
His voice grows soft. “Do you regret it?”
“No, but I regret the timing. It’s made this friendship thing very, very confusing.”
“Agreed. It doesn’t help that I want to touch you all the time.”
I laugh and offer him my hand.
Josh arches an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Friends can hold hands.”
He laces his fingers with mine. What he doesn’t realize is that I need his touch, especially right now, when we’re approaching my mom’s street.
“Take this road. Fourth house on the right.” I wait until he makes his turn before continuing. “Listen, Josh, I feel like I should prepare you.”
“Carrie, you don’t have—”
“I know. It’s just that you’re used to mansions and black-tie events, and this is . . . Inglewood. Our little white house has two bedrooms and one bath. It’s just a regular house. Nothing fancy. And when I moved out it was a complete shithole. God only knows—”
My mouth snaps shut when he pulls into the driveway. The house is no longer white. It’s sky blue with pristine white shutters and beautiful flowers lining the sidewalk. When I left, the porch had been littered with garbage bags and vodka bottles, but today, it’s clean and cozy and welcoming.
“It looks great,” Josh says. “Really pretty.”
Tears swim in my eyes. It looks so much like the house I grew up in. The house I loved before my dad died.
“It does, yeah.”
“Ready to go inside?”
I nod.
Josh grabs our overnight bags out of the trunk, and we walk hand-in-hand toward the porch. Before knocking, I turn to him.
“Thank you for coming with me.”
Josh lifts our joined hands and places a gentle kiss along my knuckles.
“Thank you for letting me.”
Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door. It only takes a second before it swings open, revealing a bright-eyed and beautiful Nancy Malone.
“You’re here!” She grabs me, pulling me in for a bone-crushing hug. “You look tired, Carrie. Beautiful, but tired. Are you getting enough sleep?”
“Hi . . . Mom.”
She’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a Nashville Predators sweatshirt.
Mom’s suddenly into sports?
That’s not the most surprising thing about her appearance. Her bright green eyes are clear. Her skin flawless. The frizzy head of reddish-gray hair that I remember now looks sleek and shiny. But it’s her smile—her blinding white and perfect smile—that shocks me most.
She’s healthy and happy.
“You didn’t tell me you were bringing a guest!” Mom’s voice rings with excitement as she offers her hand. “I’m Nancy.”
“I’m Josh. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. —”
“Oh, call me Nancy.”
Josh grins. “Nancy.”
“Come in! Are you hungry? How was the drive?”
Because I’m stunned speechless, Josh takes me by the hand and leads me inside. As she peppers him with questions, I gaze in amazement at the kitchen. Gone are the ancient appliances and the old wooden table. Everything’s stainless steel. Modern and beautiful.
What the hell is all this?
Their heads turn in my direction.
Oops. Must’ve said that out loud.
“What?” Mom asks. “Oh, the kitchen? We’ve been renovating. Do you like it?”
“We’ve?”
As if on cue, a man emerges from the living room, He too, is wearing a Predators pullover.
“You must be Carrie,” he says, offering me his hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
I want to return the pleasantries. I want to say I’ve heard all about him, too, but that would be a lie.
Suddenly, it all makes sense.
New kitchen.
New man.
New life.
And it pisses me off.
“Who is he, Mom?”
“This is Brian Gilbert.” Mom smiles so sweetly in his direction that it makes me want to puke on her brand new linoleum.
I force a smile. “Nice to meet you. Who are you?”
“Carrie,” Mom says gently. “This is my husband. Your stepfather.”
Husband.
Stepfather.
The room starts to spin. Josh wraps his arm around my waist as I began to sway.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Carrie, I wanted to tell—”
Shaking my head, I turn and run out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind me. Once I’m outside, I angrily wipe away my tears and try to catch my breath. I’d been so worried about what I’d find here. I thought I was prepared for anything.
I was wrong.
“It’s peaceful up here,” Josh says softly.
I nod and snuggle in his arms. At least my old tree house remains intact.
Dad built it for my eighth birthday, and growing up, I’d spend my summer days—and some nights—barricaded in my little house in the giant sycamore in the backyard. Obviously, it’s been neglected for years, so it’s rundown and dirty, but that doesn’t matter. For years, it was my refuge from silly childhood drama—the mean girls, the bad boyfriends, the occasional bad grade. It was my fortress. My happy place.
Today, it still protects me.
As does Josh, whose arms are wrapped tightly around me.
I don’t know how he found me up here, but he did. Once he was inside, he didn’t say a word. He simply opened his arms to me, and I’d gone willingly, and without question. I’ve cried, cursed, and cried some more.
I think I’m all cried out now.
Josh nuzzles my hair. “What are you thinking?”
I’m thinking friends don’t hold each other like this.
But I’m selfish.
He’s selfish, too.
“I’m thinking we really suck at this friends thing.”
He chuckles. “That’s what you’re thinking?”
“It doesn’t hurt as much as thinking about everything else.”
“So it was a good cry?”
I nod. “I think so. I’ve needed to cry like that for a while. It just came in a tidal wave today. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. But I can’t lie. It was very hard, watching you cry like that.”
With a tired sigh, I lean my head against his shoulder.
“How could she?” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I’ve been busting my ass working at the diner and trying to finish school. If it weren’t for tips, I’d have trouble paying my rent. But I manage. I do it. And I’m proud of myself for doing it. But I did it by myself because I thought I had to, you know? When I left, she was a drunk, with the house in shambles. But I had to go. I had to get out and try to make something of myself.”
“And you have, Carrie. You are.”
“I know I should’ve been a better daughter. I should have called. I should have checked on her. I just . . . needed a new start. A new life. And obviously, she needed that, too. She needed it without me.”
“Carrie, I don’t know if that’s true.”
“It is true. She’s happier without me. She’s healthier without me. She’s started a new family . . . without me.”
We grow quiet again. I probably sound like a child, but don’t I have the right to be upset? Shouldn’t this hurt?
Because it does. It hurts so much.
“I’m not defending her,” Josh says hesitantly, “but, like you said, she seems happy and healthy. Those are good things, Carrie. Maybe Brian gave her something to live for.”
“Why couldn’t she live for me?”
“Maybe she didn’t know how.”
His voice shakes with emotion. Looking up, I find his eyes full of tears.
“I didn’t know how to live with
out Audrey. I still don’t. If your mom’s grief was anything like mine . . . you saw me, Carrie. I was ready to jump off a bridge. Maybe Brian saved your mom, just like you saved me.”
Turning around, I place my hand against his cheek.
“Why was it hard to see me cry?”
“Are we changing the subject?”
“For now.”
Josh smiles softly. “Isn’t it obvious why?”
I bow my head, but he refuses to let me hide. Instead, he places his finger beneath my chin and gently lifts my face toward his, tenderly kissing my tear-stained cheek.
“Don’t, Josh.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t love me.”
He closes his eyes. When they open again, they burn with emotion.
“Too late.”
A soft whimper escapes my throat when he brushes his lips against mine. I cling to him, my fists digging into his hair as I try to pull him closer. It’s impossible. Every inch of me touches every part of him, and I melt in the warmth of his arms.
Josh shudders and groans my name before burying his face against my neck. We hold each other, trembling and breathless, whispering softly and kissing tenderly, until I finally rest my head against his chest.
“Your heart’s beating so fast.”
“It tends to do that whenever you’re around.”
I smile up at him. “Friends don’t kiss like that. Your therapist is going to be so mad at us.”
“My therapist will have to get over it. Dr. Moore’s right, though. I’ve been so wrapped up in you that I haven’t been dealing with my grief. But that’s my fault, not yours. We’ll still take it slow, but I want to touch you. And kiss you. A lot. But I can’t be just your friend. I won’t pretend that I’m not falling in love with you. I can’t do that anymore.”
Tears trickle down my cheeks. Josh gently trails his fingertips across my skin, wiping them away.
“So, Miss Malone, how many guys did you bring up to the tree house?”
“Oh, you’re the first. Dad was . . . very protective.”
Josh smiles softly. “I wish I could’ve met him.”
“Me, too.”
He looks back toward the house. “We’ve been gone for quite a while. What do you want to do?”
I sigh deeply. “I guess I should talk to her, right?”
“I think you should, yeah. And I promise, I’ll be right by your side.”
