When You Start to Miss Me: A Romantic Suspense (Wildflower Romance Book 3)

by Stacy Claflin

  My stomach drops to the floor. It is someone’s birthday—Kade’s. Not that he’ll be here to celebrate it. He hasn’t celebrated any in six years. I struggle to find my voice. “Yeah, of course I’ll be there.”

  I can’t believe I almost forgot. I mean, I try not to think about him in general because it’s all so painful, but I’ve never forgotten his birthday. Our family always goes out with his family to keep his memory alive.

  We ‘celebrate’ too many birthdays of people who can’t be here with us, people who won’t ever get older.

  A lump forms in my throat. It’s amazing how fast it can return and that it never seems to go away when I think about them.

  Mom looks up from her phone. “I’ve updated the reservation. I’m so glad you’ll be joining us. Anchor and Sutton will be so happy.”

  I try to smile but fail miserably. Tears blur my vision.

  “Oh, honey.” She wraps me in another hug. “It’s so hard, I know. And being here must bring back all those memories.”

  I just nod, unable to answer her question. After a minute, I clear my throat and find my voice. “I’m going to my room to crash. What time is the reservation?”

  “We’re going for lunch. One o’clock. You didn’t get my text?”

  I can’t remember. Probably saw it and pushed it aside, far from my thoughts. “It’s late. I’ll be ready to leave by noon.”

  “Perfect. Oh, did I tell you Rogan and Kenna were even able to work it into their schedule? Isn’t that sweet of them? Right in the middle of a tour.”

  I blink back more tears. “That’ll be great, Mom.”

  She starts to say something else, but I escape the room, grabbing my bags and racing up to my old bedroom before I have a chance to run into Dad. I can’t handle any more. Especially with this being Kade’s birthday weekend. Everyone wants to remember and celebrate his life, so we all get together on his birthday instead of the anniversary of his death.

  I close and lock the door, taking in the room. It looks exactly like I left it. Still has all my posters from high school, awards, and everything else. I walk over to my bulletin board and look at the pictures. Friends. My brother Anchor and his best friend Kade. Sitting with my niece at her birthday party—she won’t have anymore birthdays, either.

  It’s too much. I flop onto my bed and cover my head with a pillow, don’t bother to fight the tears. May as well get them out now so I don’t end up a mess at lunch tomorrow. They roll down my face, pooling at my ears.

  Kade had been my brother’s best friend, but he was just as much a big brother to me as Anchor. Kade was over at our house all the time growing up. He never put up a fuss when I tagged along with them, and I was four years younger. Sometimes I annoyed Anchor, but even he rarely told me to go away—unlike some of my friends’ older brothers who could be rather cruel to their younger siblings.

  I’ll never forget the night Kade died. The news crushed me completely. I’d thought the world was safe and that we were all untouchable. I was fourteen, that was how I was supposed to see everything. But then I discovered just how mean and unrelenting the world was. Or so I’d thought. Three years later, I found out just how cruel it really was when my niece also died.

  Memories of loved ones I’ll never again see pass through my mind as old heartaches are re-awoken. And life can go on, but some things never stop hurting. How can it when such beautiful people can be taken away when they don’t want to go? When the people around them don’t want them to leave?

  After much tossing and turning, and drying up my tear supply, I finally fall into a fitful sleep, plagued by dreams of people I’ll never see again—other than in my dreams.

  Knock, knock!

  I groan.

  “Lincoln, sweetie,” Mom calls from the other side. “It’s almost eleven. You should probably get in the shower.”

  I forgot to set my alarm. Good thing she still looks out for me. “Thanks, Mom!”

  “Rogan and Kenna are downstairs with Anchor and Sutton.”

  I sit up and realize what a nasty headache I have. “Tell them I’ll be down soon.”

  “Will do. Love you, sweetie.”

  “You too, Mom.” I ignore the stinging guilt for being a bad son who almost never calls or visits, then I scramble out of bed and dig my clothes out of my bag. Only things for lounging around the house. Nothing is remotely acceptable for a restaurant, especially not on Kade’s birthday. Everyone likes to dress nice for the occasion. Track pants and a hoodie aren’t going to cut it. Not even close.

  Maybe I have something in my closet. I put on the famous Freshman fifteen, but everything should still mostly fit. I hope. Otherwise, I might have to raid Dad’s closet. Not that he’s out of style for his age, but he wears Dad clothes.

  Luckily, I find slacks and a nice shirt in my closet. Even my dressy shoes are shoved underneath some sneakers. Nobody will ever guess that I completely forgot about Kade’s birthday.

  I’d have never forgiven myself. Kade had been my hero. I’d thought he could do no wrong. That he was so strong, nothing could touch him.

  Nothing except a drunk driver.

  I clear my throat and head into the bathroom for a quick shower. I’m going to keep a level head and not get upset. Usually everyone stays upbeat for these. It’s all about remembering his life and that bright smile. How I miss that smile and the gleam he used to get in his eyes when he had a mischievous idea. The three of us would usually end up getting in trouble, but it was always worth it. Every time.

  I laugh as I rinse my shampoo. Those are the things I need to think about. Several memories pop into mind, and I hang onto those. I’ll tell them over the meal. And I can’t wait to hear what everyone shares.

  By the time I head downstairs, I’m actually looking forward to the memory fest. Conversation sounds in the living room, and it’s so nice to hear the bustling of activity. I’m sure Mom’s over the moon right now with everyone here. I really need to visit more often instead of being selfish and trying to avoid my heartache.

  Downstairs, my brother and sister-in-law are sitting with Rogan and Kenna. Sutton is teasing her brother about something to do with his band. The two babies are playing happily on the floor, one sprawled out and one chewing on the other’s foot.

  Everyone rises when I enter, and suddenly I’m enveloped in hugs. We all say how great it is to see each other.

  Anchor picks up my niece and wipes something off her face. “Rogan and Kenna were just telling us that they opened for Jumping Roses.”

  I turn to them. “Really? How’d you land that?”

  Rogan puts an arm around Kenna. “Her parents have influential friends.”

  “I’d say. Do you have pictures with the band?”

  He pulls out his phone and shows me pictures of the two bands together.

  “I can’t believe it! I mean, you guys are big, but to open for Jumping Roses? Dang.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “We’d better get going,” Mom says. “Everyone else is meeting us there. Kade’s parents and sisters are coming from the cemetery.”

  The thought of visiting the gravestones makes my stomach twist, so I hurry outside, not wanting to get upset again. I picture the time Kade pelted me with water balloons when I stepped onto the porch. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but we’d been about to leave for a wedding. My mom was so mad about my outfit. I chuckle thinking about it.

  I close the door behind me and take in a deep breath. The air out here is so much fresher than on campus. I don’t know if it’s because we’re close to the lake or just because of it being a bunch of college students living so close together. Probably a bit of both.

  “Lincoln?” says a familiar feminine voice behind me.

  I whip around. Malia is standing on the sidewalk with a yellow Lab. “Malia?”

  She looks as confused to see me as I am her. “Do you live here?”

  “This is my parents’ house. I grew up here. My apartment on campus is home.”


  “You really grew up here?” The dog tugs on the leash. “Sit, Blondie.”

  The dog sits.

  “Yeah. Do you live around here?”

  She nods and pulls some hair from her face. “On the other side of the lake. We moved here my senior year.”

  “I never saw you at school.”

  “You wouldn’t have. I drove forty minutes each way to school that year so I could graduate with my friends.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “Such a small world.” She looks the house over. “Looks like you have the same layout as us. Weird shaped bedroom on the end?”

  I laugh. “Yeah. It was my brother’s and my playroom before my dad turned it into a home office.”

  “Fun. My youngest brother—” Her eyes widen and her mouth gapes.

  “What?” I spin around. It’s just Rogan and Kenna on the porch.

  Malia turns to me. “Are they … they can’t be.” She shakes her head.

  Then it hits me. They’re huge rock stars, but to me they’re just Rogan and Kenna. “Yeah, Rogan and Kenna Scott.”

  She covers her mouth for a moment and turns to me, her eyes growing even wider. “The lead singers of Numb Knuckles are in your house?” Each word she says gets louder than the last.

  “My brother-in-law and sister-in-law.”

  She puts her hands on my arms. “You’re related to them?”

  “Yeah.”

  Malia stumbles over her words. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  I shrug. “It didn’t come up.”

  “How does that not come up in everyday conversation?”

  “Because they’re just family, you know.”

  She shakes her head. “No, I don’t know. I can’t believe this!”

  “Want me to introduce you? I’m sure they’d take a selfie with you.”

  Her face pales. “Are you kidding?”

  “No.”

  She glances over and then pinches herself. “Ow! I’m not dreaming.”

  Mom and Dad come outside. Mom waves me over. “We need to get going, Linc!”

  “Okay!” I turn back to Malia. “Do you want to meet them? They’re in the middle of a tour, so they’re going to fly out soon.”

  “Let’s do this.” She doesn’t budge.

  “Come on.” I take the dog leash from her. Our hands brush and gazes lock. My heart races and I find myself staring at her luscious lips. I clear my throat then wave her toward the driveway where Kenna is getting their baby situated into the car seat. Once she’s done, I tap her shoulder. “Kenna, I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Malia.”

  Kenna shakes Malia’s hand, and Malia squeals. “Sorry! I just can’t believe I’m actually meeting you.”

  My sister-in-law gives her a big smile and motions for her husband to come over. “Rogan, this is Malia, Linc’s friend.”

  He gives Malia a big hug.

  Malia meets my gaze. “Rogan Scott is hugging me!”

  I pull out my phone and snap a picture. “And now you have photo evidence.”

  “Want a selfie with us?” he asks her.

  Malia glances at me, and I give her an I-told-you look. She pulls out her phone, then Rogan takes it and aims it above them.

  “Smile,” he says.

  Malia beams, looking happier and more beautiful than I’ve seen her. “Thanks so much!”

  “Nice to meet you,” Rogan waves at her before climbing into the SUV.

  Kenna gives Malia a hug before joining Rogan.

  Malia gives me a dazed look. “I can’t believe that just happened. If I’d known, I’d have worn something nicer.”

  “Come on, Linc,” Mom calls.

  “I’d better let you go. See you Monday?”

  I hand her back the leash, this time purposefully brushing her hand. It’s so soft and smooth, but I have to move my hand away even though I don't want to. “Definitely.”

  She waves as she leaves, then I get into the SUV, having to sit in the far back.

  Mom glances back at me. “Who’s she?”

  “A friend from school.”

  “Just a friend?”

  “Yes.”

  Mom doesn’t look like she believes me. She’s been bugging me about getting a girlfriend for some time now. “You sure?”

  “Yes. Nothing more.”

  Although the more time I spend with Malia, the less opposed I find myself to the idea of opening my heart to someone.

  Chapter Eight

  Malia

  I hang my apron on the hook and lean against the wall, exhausted. There has to be a less draining job than waitressing. Obviously, there is. My parents could promote me to manager or head of the wait staff, or they could even let me do some of the cooking. I’ve taken enough food safety courses in my lifetime that anyone else would hire me in a heartbeat. I can make just about anything on the menu here.

  But no. They won’t let me do anything other than wait tables. It’s humiliating. The other wait staff think I’m a joke. They think my brother and I both are, but Holden so rarely shows up to do any actual work, I’m the only one who deals with the sneers and comments. Not that I blame them for thinking something must be wrong with me—owners’ daughters at other restaurants never hold such low positions.

  Giggling sounds, and I hurry out of the back room not wanting to face the others. I just want to get home and fawn over my pictures with Rogan and Kenna Scott. It still feels unreal.

  Once I make it to my car, I lock the doors and pull out my phone. First I pull up the picture Linc sent me of Rogan hugging me. I can still smell his sandalwood cologne—it was just like I’d imagine a famous singer would wear. Then I flip over to the selfie of the three of us. It’s still surreal.

  And the crazier part is Lincoln is related to them. He didn’t even seem to care that they’re the lead singers for Numb Knuckles.

  I open one of my social media apps and check for new comments and likes. As soon as I’d gotten home, I changed all my profile pictures to the selfie. The reactions had started flooding in immediately, and they’re still going.

  Smiling, I respond to the comments and enjoy the attention. At least people outside my family care. My mom turned her nose up at the pictures because she hates rock music. She’s all about whatever they play at those health retreats she goes to every month or more. Everything else is beneath her.

  I’m never going to be like my parents. If I ever have kids, and that’s a big if considering my relationship with my parents, I’ll do my level best to encourage them and let them know how amazing they are. I’ll do everything I can to be the exact opposite of my mom and dad.

  But that means getting out from under their thumbs first. If I can at least get through college, then I have a chance at starting out on my own. If I keep doing well in my psych courses, I might have a chance at doing some counseling or something. I’d love to do something useful with my life. But that also means more schooling because I’d need at least a master’s degree, maybe even a doctorate. And that’s a lot more years to spend having to deal with Mom and Dad while they pay for my education. I could always take more business classes and start my own restaurant. I’ve learned enough from all my years with them, and bet I could grow one just as big as theirs.

  Conversation sounds outside, reminding me I’m still in the parking lot. If Mom looks at the footage, she’ll text me soon to find out what I’m doing. Might even demand I come inside to do more work.

  Not happening.

  I start my car and peel out of the spot. My mind wanders back to meeting Rogan and Kenna, and the drive home goes quickly. When I get there, Dad’s convertible is idling in the driveway. That’s odd because he only ever drives that on special occasions. And there isn't anything special about today, other than my meeting rock stars. Nothing going on for Dad. Just another busy Saturday at the restaurant. And it was so normal, he took off early.

  Curious about what my dad is doing, I turn off my lights and inch toward the house.
I park across the street and strain to see inside the little foreign car.

  Two people are inside.

  My heart skips a beat and then hammers.

  He isn’t. Not again. He can’t be. He promised Mom those days were over.

  I’m going to kill him. I’m not Mom’s biggest fan, but she doesn’t deserve this.

  I pull out my phone and use the camera’s zoom for a better look.

  The two people are sitting close. I recognize my dad’s dorky haircut anywhere. For as much as he pays for his haircuts, he looks like an ambulance chaser rather than a top chef. And the other person is clearly a woman with long wavy hair. I can even see her curled lashes with the zoom.

  My hands are shaking. I snap some pictures then drop the phone to my lap. My heart is beating so fast, it could seriously give out. I’m having a hard time breathing. I want to run over there, throw open the door, and scream at my dad. Pull him out and pummel him.

  But I can’t do that. I need to think clearly. Confront him alone, not when his mistress is there to defend him. Though I should pummel her too. They both deserve it. How dare they do that to my mom? Dad knows better. Why would he do this again?

  My dad leans closer to the woman and they kiss. Not just a peck, either. I should look away—it’s just gross. But I can’t turn my head. My fists ball so tightly that my nails dig into my skin. Warm blood wells up in my palms.

  I shout for him to stop—not that he can hear me—and call him names that would make a sailor blush. It takes every ounce of my self-control to stay in the car.

  Why won’t they stop? Is he looking to start a new family? That’s where this is headed if the jerk doesn’t pull away soon.

  Maybe I’m going to have to march over there after all. No way I’m going to let this go any further.

  I count to three. Five. Then twenty.

  Those selfish pigs are still going at it. Right in our driveway! Any neighbor could see them. Is that what he wants? Is he looking to divorce her? Ruin our lives? Crush poor Belen?

  They’ve given me no choice.

  I cut the engine, get out, slam the door, and stomp across the street, all my fatigue laid to the side.