Barefoot Bay: Unconventional Love (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Scarred Hearts Book 1)

by Casey Hagen

  “Oh, sweetie, Jack was in a hurry. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.” She deserved a medal for how quickly the lies rolled off her tongue.

  If lying hadn’t been what got her into this mess in the first place, that is.

  Maureen hugged her next, whispering in her ear, “I’m sorry, Laura. I didn’t connect the dots.”

  Laura nodded into Maureen’s hair.

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  Laura nodded again.

  “Are you full of shit right now?

  Laura nodded, but let out a laugh thick with tears. “He hates me,” she whispered.

  “Listen to me. Give him a day or two. He reacted. It happens. He’s human.”

  Laura pulled away and nodded. “Okay.”

  “He mattered more than you thought he would, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  Maureen squinted. “You know what, give him three days. He’s a guy; they’re an imperfect species. It’s all that testosterone.”

  Laura smiled and wiped away the tears.

  “Mommy, if missing the park makes you that sad, we don’t have to go,” Bryce said with a worried frown as he looked back and forth between her and Maureen.

  “You know what, baby?” she said, hugging him tight and kissing his forehead. “The only thing that could make me sadder about missing the park is if you missed it because you were worried about me. I expect to hear every detail when I get home.”

  He smiled up at her, so big his eyes squinted nearly shut. She could live without Jack. She didn’t want to, but she could do it.

  This kid of hers was the best thing she’d ever done. He was the very best of two people who loved each other—who loved and wanted him. If Jack didn’t want him, didn’t want them, then he was an idiot.

  An idiot she suspected she’d fallen in love with.

  Which made her…also an idiot.

  She went through the day on autopilot. She smiled when she should smile, asked patients the right questions, marked down the right information in the right records, but didn’t remember a single detail of it. Between the night she couldn’t forget, the fight, and working the long day after, all she wanted was to go home and collapse in bed.

  If she didn’t have a son to take care of, she’d be drowning her sorrows in wine and chocolate. She’d be griping to her sister.

  Some days it was almost impossible to be a good mother.

  She pulled into her drive, took a deep cleansing breath, and plastered a smile on her face. Bryce had a story to tell and she planned to be all ears.

  “I’m home,” she called.

  Maureen came around the corner with a wicker picnic basket hanging on her arm. “Just in time for a picnic.”

  “It’s getting dark out.” Laura had no interest in going anywhere else. She just wanted her PJs, to hear this story from her son, and to bawl her eyes out. Immature of her to do, probably, but if she had to hold these feelings in much longer she would lose her shit in an ugly way.

  “Ah, but the picnic is here, right in the center of your queen-size bed.” Maureen flipped open the lid and held up a bottle of wine. “I even got your favorite.”

  That’s when Laura noticed she didn’t hear her son. “Wait, where’s Bryce?”

  “With Grandma and Grandpa for the night. Be prepared, though. I asked on the fly and, although they were all too happy to take him, Mom was skeptical. I told her we had a double date. So, while we’re drinking this, we need to come up with a story. She’s going to want every last detail.”

  “No more lies,” Laura whispered, and burst into tears.

  “Oh, honey… shit, you’ve been holding that in all day, haven’t you?” Maureen wrapped an arm around her and led her down the hall. “Here, you stay there and I’ll get you some comfortable clothes.”

  “Oh,” Maureen said, popping up from where she crouched over Laura’s drawer. “Check your voicemail. Bryce left you a message.”

  Laura dropped to her bedspread, brought up her voicemail, and grabbed a tissue. Sure enough, Bryce’s voice came up, promising her the story from the park, but Grandma suggested he make it a picture book so he had to go so he could draw and color it. “I love you, Mommy,” his little voice said.

  She went to hang up but froze as the sound of the recording came up, saying, “Next new voicemail.”

  Oh no.

  “Laura, you’re not going to believe it. I’m a match! A great match! They want to set something up in the next week. Still no word on whether Chris wants to meet me, but that’s okay. Call me.”

  She clicked off the phone and let it slip from her fingers to the bed.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I forgot that Jack left me a message.”

  Maureen glared. “Before or after he acted like a boob?”

  “Before. He sounded so happy. Less than twelve hours ago, everything was okay.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. Unable to hold it all in any longer, she let them flow. Maybe then she’d get some relief.

  “Well, that’s not necessarily true. You were holding onto a secret. Not that I blame you. I would have done the same thing.” Maureen cringed. “Actually, that may not be a ringing endorsement.”

  “I was greedy and this is what I get.” Laura peeled off her work clothes, more than ready to shed the lingering scent of antiseptic. She took the soft cotton pajama bottoms and tank top from her sister and slipped them on. “I can’t win no matter what I do. I gave Ken everything he wanted and he’s dead. I put myself first with Jack and it’s over.”

  Maureen shot her a disbelieving look from her position on the bed, where she worked on emptying the picnic basket. “Sit your stubborn ass over here,” Maureen said, patting the bed next to her.

  “Now take this glass of wine and zip your lip, because I have something I want to say.”

  “I—”

  “Zip it! I’m your older sister. You have to respect your elders.”

  Laura smiled through her lingering tears. “I can’t believe I’m letting you order me around. I’m a mother, for Christ’s sake.”

  Maureen turned to her on the bed. “All the more reason you need to listen to me. You’ve been carrying that guilt about Ken for too goddamned long now.” Maureen handed Laura the box of tissues from the bedside table. “The thing is, sometimes I can see it on you. And that boy of yours is smart as a whip; it’s only a matter of time before he sees it on you, too.”

  Laura stiffened. “He hasn’t said anything, has he?”

  “No, but he’s starting to notice stuff. He didn’t necessarily buy your line about being sad about the park. I had to do some serious redirecting today. Look, you’ve tormented yourself for two years and it’s enough now. Ken is responsible for his decisions. He was a grown man and he worked hard for his money. He deserved to have fun. He deserved his bike. He deserved to ride free. He didn’t deserve to have some jackass pull out in front of him carelessly.”

  Laura gulped down half of her wine. “I miss him. I miss him so much.”

  “I know you do, honey.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

  “It never is.”

  “How did you get past it? Twice even.”

  “You’ll always carry a part of it. It’s part of you now, part of who you are as a woman. I imagine it’s easier for me because I don’t have a constant reminder running around.” Maureen took hold of Laura’s chin and made her look her in the eye. “You need to leave this where it lies…for Bryce. If he sees you blaming everything bad in life on yourself, he’ll learn to do the same. Do you want him to put himself through the kind of suffering you have?”

  Laura had never seen it that way. Never thought in a million years that Bryce would pick up on her guilt. He’d suspected she wasn’t honest with him today. If he knew she had lied to him, he’d be devastated.

  She would never lie to him again.

  Never.

  “Maureen,” she rasped. “Do you think Ken forgives m
e?”

  “What?” Maureen put her glass down and wrapped her arms around her sister. “You gave Ken his dreams. Yes, he had a short life, but in the time he lived he had everything he wanted. You did that.”

  “I did, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, I wasn’t nearly as nice to my husbands.”

  “I owe Jack an apology. Even if nothing comes of it, I need to say I’m sorry.” Laura blew her nose.

  “Let him cool off and you can do just that. You never know. He may be rethinking the way he treated you.”

  “Right,” Laura said. “There was no room for argument with him. I never expected after everything that he could be so unyielding.”

  “You hurt him.”

  “I did,” she said, leaning her cheek against her sister’s.

  “Hurt heals. I think when he calms down he’ll at least be open to listening. You’re new to this. This is the first man since Ken and it’s not like there’s a manual for this.”

  “Can I use that line?”

  “Of course. It’s a great line.”

  Unfortunately, the man she stood off with this morning didn’t look much like a man who’d care.

  12

  Six days.

  It had been six days.

  Jack had been without Laura that long before, but he knew he would eventually run into her. Now, Wednesday night, his body, his mind, his heart told him to go to the Toasted Pelican.

  His pride mocked him for being a pussy.

  It took three days for Roseanne to pry the events from the morning at The Donut Hole out of him, and when she did she glared, called him a shithead wanker, and then she went on to list the multitude of ways he was being a shithead wanker.

  She was probably right, but damn it, it’s not like Laura lied about her real hair color, income level, or debt. She’d neglected to mention a whole human being. A human being she’d created and had to parent for years to come. A little boy he missed just as much as he missed her.

  She’d done this to him. If he knew from day one, he would have put the brakes on, walked away, and protected his heart.

  Which is exactly what she said would have happened.

  Shit.

  He couldn’t stay home. Not tonight. If he did, he’d drink and be three sheets by 9PM. He’d go to the Fourway Diner. He’d use it as a last hurrah before he checked in to the hospital on Friday for the procedure to take his bone marrow for Sophie.

  Not that he had a whole hell of a lot of restriction. Like any surgery, he just couldn’t eat or drink after midnight the night before. All in all, he’d be out for an hour, two at most while they took the marrow, and then he’d rest for the weekend.

  So, he’d indulge in an artery-clogging burger and mile-high diner pie. With no shared memories of his time with Laura to interfere. When he arrived home, drinking. Lots of drinking. Enough drinking that he’d fall into bed with no thoughts at all.

  He pushed through the door, the bell ringing overhead grating on his frayed nerves. Agitation and dissatisfaction kept close company, like a second skin. Sitting at the counter he kept his head down, hopefully inviting no conversation.

  The scent of fries hung in the air and old fifties tunes cranked through the jukebox speakers. On her way to top off someone’s coffee, the waitress slid a menu under his nose. On her way back through, he ordered the first burger listed and her biggest piece of banana cream pie.

  “Coming right up,” she said.

  Jack closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, the misery of the past week beginning a slow pound in his head.

  “Jack, my boy! Looks like we’ll get that meal together sooner than I thought,” Ray said, sliding onto the stool next to him and patting him on the back.

  Christ. “Hey, Ray. How’re you doing?” Jack reached out a hand.

  Ray took it while staring at him with eyes that saw too much. “I’m doing just fine; you, on the other hand, resemble an angry young man I used to know. Not sure what to make of that.”

  “Rough week.”

  “Is that all you got?”

  “Well, hi there, Ray! You hiding out from Josie while you get your fix?” the waitress said as she loaded a piece of chocolate cream pie onto a plate before sliding it to Ray.

  “Don’t you know it, and I appreciate you keeping my chocolate cream pie addiction a secret.”

  She flipped a mug upright in front of him and filled it. “And your caffeine addiction.” She smiled. “A little indulgence never hurt anyone. I’ll overlook a once-a-week-sin.” She winked and moved off to grab Jack’s plate out of the window.

  “Here you go, handsome. Maybe a good burger can take the sting out of whatever has you wound up.”

  Waitress or witch? Jack wondered. She had a keen instinct for people that bordered on spooky.

  “I guess it’s that obvious that even complete strangers see it,” Jack muttered.

  “Son, you wear your anger the way most men wear suits. Only, your suit is ill-fitting, torn in places, and covered in pig shit.”

  Ouch. Leave it to Ray to call it as he saw it.

  “That means one thing. Woman trouble. What’d you do, son?” Ray said before taking a big bite of his pie.

  “What makes you think it was me?”

  Ray snorted. “It’s always us.”

  “Not this time.”

  “Really? Try me,” Ray said.

  Jack gave him the whole sordid story between bites of a burger he barely tasted. He glazed over the graphic parts.

  Ray nodded in understanding the whole time, in between bites of his pie and sips of his coffee.

  “So, that’s about all of it. And now it’s over,” Jack said, finishing up the last of his burger.

  “Just as I suspected, it was you,” Ray said on a rough laugh.

  “How can you say that?”

  “She did what a mother is supposed to do: she protected her son first. And you condemned her for it. Seems to me, with your history, you, more than anyone, should understand what she did.”

  “She knew how I felt and should have told me from the beginning,” Jack growled.

  Ray leaned in, giving him a hard look. “Careful there, son. You’re starting to resemble that little prick I met thirty years ago. Just like then, I won’t take your shit.”

  In his twilight years, Ray Endicott had no problem going toe to toe; something about his demeanor and hardness still told Jack that Ray would be all too happy to kick his ass if he didn’t knock off this shit.

  “Fine, let’s assume she’s right. What the hell was I supposed to do with all of it? Was I just supposed to move on as if she hadn’t betrayed me?”

  Ray leaned back on his stool and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Yes, son, you were. You were supposed to put on your big boy britches and work it out. You’re just pissed off that you didn’t call the shots on this one. I suspect that’s also why you have this ridiculous no-kid policy. You want to control everything. After all, if you do, nothing can ever hurt, right? How’s that working for you? It’s three decades later and, although you’ve figured out how to be successful, you’re still hurt. It’s not Laura’s fault that you’re holding on to old shit.”

  Ray tossed a fifty onto the counter. “I’ve got this covered,” he said with a nod at the waitress.

  “I know you’re not going to take my word for it just yet. You’re going to go home and rail against my advice. When you sober up tomorrow, think about it. She wanted you, and her only shot was to leave her son out of it at first. Even you can’t deny that. You hate it, but you can’t deny it.”

  Jack nodded, but said nothing. Couldn’t say anything. He watched Ray go and couldn’t help but remember when they had done this so many years ago… and Ray had been right then.

  “I’ll take that pie to go, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” he said.

  “No trouble at all. You’d do good to listen to Ray. He’s a smart man. Fair.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Jack nodded.

  J
ack took his pie and headed home. He’d think about what Ray said… tomorrow. Maybe after the procedure Friday. Or, it would plague his mind now. Fuck. He battled the urge to turn his truck around and…what? Six days.

  It’s not like he knew where she lived.

  The gnawing in his gut ramped up a bit. If he changed his mind…he’d have to call her, and he’d given her no reason to be nice to him after the way he had treated her.

  You know, if he planned to call her.

  Which he didn’t.

  He pulled into his drive and up to the garage, surprised to see an unfamiliar car there. With the illumination of the flood lights he saw it was a blue Lexus. Hmmm.

  A man climbed out and came to a reluctant stop when his eyes met Jack’s.

  His aquamarine eyes.

  “Are you Jack Stephenson?” he said, his voice deep, familiar.

  Maybe because it sounded a bit like his own.

  “I’m Jack.” He didn’t dare move.

  The guy took a few steps toward him and reached out a hand. “I’m Chris. I guess—um, well, I’m your son.”

  Unable to speak, his throat thick, he nodded, shook his son’s hand, and pulled him into a hard hug. The paper bag holding the banana cream pie crunched against Chris’s back.

  His son. For the first time in thirty-one years he was finally holding his son again. He pulled away and searched him over as well as he could in the faint light. “God, you’re just perfect.” He hugged him again, making Chris laugh.

  His son laughed.

  His first laugh.

  Well, not really his first laugh. His first laugh for Jack.

  Christ, if he had a baby book for him he’d write it down. He’d start one. Nothing weird about that at all.

  Someone in the history of the world must have thought of it by now. Hell, that woman, the one who’d spent those years in jail, what’s her name, Mary, Margaret, no—Martha! Yes, Martha Stewart, hell she probably had a whole baby book line for when biological parents met the kids they gave up. A sharp woman, she would have thought of that.

  Jack let Chris go, finally. “Did you want to come in, have a drink maybe?”

  “Yeah, that’d be good.”

  “Okay, good, good.” Stop saying “good”, you blithering idiot.