LaClaire Touch: An After Hours Novel

by Dori Lavelle

  “I remember. You thought you were imagining things.”

  “Turns out I wasn’t.” I let out a long breath and bury a hand into my hair.

  “So, did he say what he wanted from you?” The gurgling sound of something being poured makes it down the line. Allison must be getting herself a drink.

  I close my eyes and see his face behind my eyelids. “He knows, Allison. He knows who I really am.”

  “You mean he recognized you?”

  “Yes. He must have. He wanted to know why I’m working at The Mirage.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I have no idea how he found out. But a man with his kind of money can get any information with only a phone call.” I pull the quilt to my chin. “I told him it’s none of his business.”

  “Brooke, I know we discussed this many times, but I feel as though your history with him is not over. I mean, what are the chances that he shows up in your life out of the blue?” Allison pauses. “And what if he wants to be a part of your life again?”

  “He chose not to be a part of my life a long time ago. Now it’s too late. Too much has happened.”

  “People change, Brooke. What if you tell him the truth and he changes his mind and decides he wants more?”

  I snort with laughter. “I think that’s highly unlikely. It doesn’t matter how I felt then or how I feel about him now. There’s no space for him in my life.”

  “He doesn’t have to be a part of your life, but . . . maybe you could tell him about Eric. Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

  “He was the one who threw his rights out the window. He wanted nothing to do with my son.” I swallow the sob that rises in my throat. “I don’t need him . . . not anymore.” He can’t know that the few moments we’ve spent together made him a father. He doesn’t need to know that my life changed after that day while his remained the same.

  When I found out about the pregnancy, I tried talking to him, but he was always surrounded by girls or his friends and brothers. He pretended we didn’t even know each other.

  When my stepfather found out about my pregnancy, he threw me out of the house because I refused to have an abortion. But, secretly, I think he was glad I got pregnant. I presented him with the perfect opportunity to get rid of me. The way he looked at me after Mom died, the contempt in his eyes, the snide remarks, it was clear all I was to him was a burden. Two months after the funeral, he told me to stop calling him dad. That night, I decided as soon as I graduated from high school, I’d move out. I never thought I’d drop out of school, and be out on the streets with no plan and barely a cent to my name.

  Alone on the streets, it was just me and the baby growing inside my tummy. I promised I would protect and love him or her with everything I had. I knew the road would be rough. I had no idea exactly how rough. I had no choice but to reach out to Derrick. I sent him a letter.

  “What if he doesn’t stop following you around and demanding answers? He was determined enough to find out where you live.”

  “I don’t care what he does. I won’t talk to him. And if he continues to pester me, I’ll call the cops on him.” He wasn’t there when I needed him most. In the past I was only a piece of flesh. I owe him nothing. “Men like Derrick LaClaire don’t change.”

  “What if telling him actually frees you in some way?”

  “It won’t. It will hurt.” Telling him the truth would only rip open wounds I tried so hard to heal. I don’t want to waste more years of my life recovering from his rejection all over again.

  “Okay.” Allison sighs. “Honey, I think you should get some sleep. Tomorrow after work, come over. I’ll have a bowl of vanilla ice cream with your name on it.”

  “I’d like that. Thanks.”

  We hang up and I switch off the light, only to switch it back on again at 4:00 a.m. Giving up on sleep, I remove a shoebox from my wardrobe and read the letter Derrick sent me.

  Dear Brooke,

  I’m sorry to hear about your situation. We slept together one time and it was nice, but I’m just about to graduate from high school. I’m only seventeen. I want to go to college next year. I’m not ready to be a father at this point in my life. I’d appreciate it if you don’t contact me anymore.

  Please don’t think this is an easy decision for me. It is hard, but sometimes we have to make sacrifices. If you decide to keep the baby, that’s your choice and I can’t stop you. But you have to understand that I cannot be a part of your baby’s life. I’m sorry, but that’s how it has to be.

  Please don’t contact me again. I’m sorry that I have to do this to you but I have no choice. I hope one day you will forgive me for the choices I make today.

  Take care.

  Derrick

  A familiar ache pulses inside my chest as I fold up the letter. It’s stiff with my dried tears. After what he did, I don’t owe him anything. He turned his back on his son, on me. Some choices have lifelong consequences. If he suddenly feels some kind of remorse, sudden guilt for leaving us hanging, I want him to live with it for the rest of his life. If he’s looking for forgiveness, he won’t be getting it from me.

  The ringing of my phone wakes me from a deep but troubled sleep. The call is from an unknown number. It could be him. If he managed to get my address, it wouldn’t be hard to get my phone number. Why the hell can’t he leave me alone?

  I jump out of bed, rubbing my aching eyes as I step to the window. The cars I see parked outside have no one inside them. An ice cream truck drives by, the tempting music making my mouth water as it did when I was a kid.

  The good thing about my job is that I don’t work during the day. If he’s lurking in some corner, waiting for me, he’ll have one long wait ahead of him. I intend on spending the entire afternoon locked inside my apartment and sneak out tonight. After work I’m going to Allison’s place anyway. I’ll call to ask if I can stay a couple of days, only until Derrick gives up.

  Ignoring thoughts of him, I pack the bag I’ll be taking with me to Allison’s, and settle into my desk chair, a bowl of cereal in front of me. While eating, I call Allison.

  “Of course you can stay with us for a couple of days. Leon would love it. You haven’t been over in a while.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I look forward to seeing him . . . and you.” I push past the pain in my chest. “Tell him he’s one of my favorite people in the world.”

  “I don’t need to tell him that,” Allison says. “He knows.”

  “He better not forget it.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible. He adores you.” Allison pauses. “I’m sorry, I have to get to work. I’ll see you later, sweets.”

  After the call I finish off my cereal and clean the apartment from top to bottom. By 10:00 a.m. I’m exhausted and tired of being inside. To distract myself, I call someone I haven’t talked to in years.

  After my stepfather threw me out, I stayed in a church homeless shelter for a week until a woman named Deena Neeson walked into the shelter and offered me a better place. Mother Care was another homeless shelter, but only for pregnant women. They offered accommodation only until the birth. All fifteen of us were well taken care off, fed and clothed and given medical attention. Verla, Deena’s sister, was a medical doctor who took care of our prenatal needs.

  At the time, I considered myself lucky to have found such a place, but late at night I still hoped and prayed that Derrick would change his mind about being a father and find me. That he would tell me he’d made a mistake and needed my forgiveness. He never showed up and he no longer responded to my letters. I never told anyone at Mother Care that I was carrying Derrick LaClaire’s baby, in case they decided I didn’t need their help after all, since the family of my baby’s father owned half the town.

  I haven’t talked to Deena or her sister, Verla, since I left six years ago. We didn’t part on good terms but I do owe her a thank you for giving me a home for a short while when I had nowhere else to go, for being the mother I never had. I need to a
pologize for the way I acted when we parted. I’ve thought of calling many times over the years, but I never got the courage. Until now.

  A woman introducing herself as Deena’s personal assistant answers the phone.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but Mrs. Neeson is busy at the moment.” The woman’s voice is so soft I have to press the phone as hard as I can to my ear.

  “Did you mention my name to her? I’m Brooke Rayner.”

  “I did, ma’am.” Annoyance taints the edge of her voice.

  “I understand.” My heart sinks. “What time do you think she’ll be free? I can call back later during the day.”

  “I’m afraid she’s tied up for most of the day.” Her voice is suddenly high pitched, grating my ears. “Miss Rayner, I have to go. I have another call coming in.”

  “Ummm . . . okay. Goodbye.”

  As I hang up, grief and disappointment tear at my heart. I was hoping to talk to someone who understands what I’d been through. Who better than Deena Neeson? She and her sister had been so kind and caring during my pregnancy, but after the birth, I became a burden. I begged for them to let me stay even after the birth, to help out. But in the fragile state I was in, Deena insisted I wouldn’t be able to care for anyone. My body tenses just thinking about my outbursts when I was asked to leave, pushed out of another place I called home.

  Pushing the phone under my pillow, I decide I might pay them a visit sometime, to apologize face-to-face.

  16

  Derrick

  My breath is hot inside the helmet as I push the Aston Martin Vulcan’s engine to its limit. Obeying my commands, it jerks forward, cutting through the morning air like a silver razor blade.

  When I come to a curve, I swerve hard—too hard—as the car threatens to tip onto its side. The sound of the engine drowns those inside my head, dilutes the confusion inside my heart. My focus is on the racetrack rather than on the images of Brooke which had been tormenting me since the last time I saw her, three days ago. For me to focus on racing, the world has to melt away.

  The thought of waiting like an idiot outside her apartment still humiliates and infuriates me. A normal person would walk away, but not me. There’s something she’s hiding and I will find out what it is. A weekend in New York had been a welcome distraction, a chance for me to gather my thoughts before striking again.

  The race comes to an end with a screech of tires. My adrenaline still pumping, I rise out of the car and lift the helmet off my head. The fresh air brushes through my hair and cools my face as I shake hands with the guys who came to practice with me, and walk away, pulling my phone from my pocket.

  There’s a missed call from Mitch. I call him back.

  “Is she back at her apartment?” I wipe sweat off my forehead with a handkerchief. I’d asked Mitch to keep an eye on Brooke for me. Last night, he mentioned that she had not been at her apartment for a few days and a part of me can’t help but be worried. She’s a prostitute, for God’s sake. Who knows what kinds of men pay for her services? Some could be downright dangerous. It’s normal for anyone to be worried.

  “Your girl is determined to stay away from you.” Mitch chuckles. “So, no, she hasn’t shown up. But I know she’s staying with a woman named Allison Winters.”

  “Quit calling her my girl, and send me a text message with the address.” As I say the words, I’m already hurrying out of Leo Bartolini Racing, heading for my car.

  “You’re going to her, aren’t you? You do know that that makes you officially a stalker, right?”

  “And what does following her around make you?” I can’t help a smile forming on my face.

  “In case you’re forgetting, I have a license to do this sort of thing. What that makes me is a damn good detective.”

  “Goodbye, Mitch. I’ll call you when I get back to Boston.”

  Bruce is in the car, reading the New York Times. No matter how many times I tell him he can get out to stretch his legs, he refuses, claiming he wants to be ready to go at all times. The only time he steps away is to have a quick bathroom break.

  “Hey, boss. Did you have fun?” He folds up the paper and leans back in his seat, hands on the wheel.

  “Cut the boss crap and drive.”

  He shakes with laughter. “Where do we go from here?”

  “To the hotel to get our stuff. After that, we’re returning to Boston.” I fasten my seatbelt.

  Bruce glances into the rearview mirror. “I thought you wanted to remain in New York for two more days.”

  “That’s what I thought too.” I glance out at the busy street. “Plans have a way of changing.”

  “Is everything all right? Did something happen back home?”

  “Everything is fine. I just need to get to Boston as soon as possible. I have business to take care of.” I lean back in my seat and feel the sweat on my back. “I might need to take a quick shower first, though.”

  “Why do I get the feeling this has something to do with the prostitute?”

  “No offense, my friend, but I’d rather not talk about it.” I’m not in the mood to have yet another person telling me I’m falling in love with Brooke, when I’m only looking out for her.

  I’ve come to the conclusion that after the pain I’d caused her in the past, this is the only way I know how to make it up to her.

  On the way to the hotel, I call her number again for perhaps the hundredth time since I last saw her. She still doesn’t pick up and I don’t blame her. But this time, I call again immediately after it goes to voicemail. I jerk with surprise when she picks up.

  “Brooke, are you there?”

  She doesn’t respond. The only thing that gets through the line is the sound of her breathing.

  “Brooke, please, say something. Talk to me.” I grip the phone tight, transferring the sweat from my hand to the cell phone.

  “I have nothing to say to you, Derrick. Please, stop contacting me.”

  I hate to admit it, but her rejection cuts deep.

  17

  Brooke

  “Allison, go to work. I really don’t mind taking care of him.” I fold my arms and lean against the wall, watching Allison perched on the edge of Leon’s pirate ship bed.

  I’d planned on returning to my place two days ago, but when Leon got sick, I offered to look after him during the day while Allison is at work.

  “Are you sure it’s not too much? I don’t want to take advantage.” She brushes the hair from Leon’s face and gives him a kiss on the forehead, her blonde, wavy hair covering both of them like a curtain. “You’ve done so much for us already.”

  “That’s a joke, right?” I shake my head. “You do a lot for me all the time. Seriously, I’d be a mess without you in my life.”

  “I doubt it. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  Allison rises from the bed, stretching to her full 5’11″ height. She doesn’t only have the height of a model, she has the body to match. And the most beautiful heart.

  “Give yourself more credit.” Allison pulls the Superman bedsheet up to Leon’s neck and gives him another kiss.

  “Mommy, my head hurts.” Leon’s voice is barely a croak. As soon as the words come out, he starts to cough uncontrollably. I feel sorry for the little man. Bronchitis is a pain. I had it several times as a child.

  “I’m sorry, baby. You’ll feel better soon.” Allison places a hand on his forehead. “Is he still burning up?”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take him to the doctor again?”

  “I don’t know. He said to come back in three days, if he doesn’t improve.” Allison folds her arms in front of her chest. “If he doesn’t feel better by tomorrow, I’ll take him.”

  I close the colorful blinds of Leon’s window to keep out the harsh morning sunlight, and turn back to Allison. “Go get ready for work. I’ve got this.”

  “You’re a rock star.” She plants a kiss on my cheek and leaves me stand
ing in Leon’s room.

  The weight of grief lowers me onto the edge of Leon’s bed, I place a hand on his small, curled up body. “Mommy will be back before you know it. We’re going to have a lot of fun together, like we did yesterday.”

  “Can we play Memory?” he asks.

  In the space between his question and my response, the sound of the shower being turned on rushes across the hall. “Of course. Now, rest a little bit. When you wake up we’ll play anything you like.” I smooth his hair with the palm of my hand.

  A smile curls his lips. “But don’t let me win because I’m sick.”

  “I never let you win.” I hide a smile. “You’re so much better than me. Now get some sleep.”

  The doorbell rings the moment the rush of water in the bathroom stops. I go to answer the door, expecting it to be one of Allison’s packages. Like me, she does most of her shopping online. I prefer to shop on the internet especially when I purchase sexy lingerie for work.

  No mailman. No package. The man standing in front of me is Derrick, the person I never wanted to see again.

  “What are you doing here?” I fold my arms across my chest, feeling suddenly cold.

  “I came to see you.”

  “Please leave and don’t come back. And stop following me around.” I attempt to close the door, but he shoves his foot in the crack between the door and the frame. “I need to talk to you, Brooke. I know you’re pissed at me. But please hear me out.” He glances over my shoulder into the apartment. “Can I come in?”

  “It’s not my place. I’m only a guest here.”

  He steps back. “Then meet me for breakfast in an hour.”

  “I can’t. I have responsibilities.” I glare at him. “Unfortunately, you wouldn’t know much about responsibilities.”

  “Brooke,” Allison’s voice comes from behind me and I turn, my hand still on the door handle. I glance over my shoulder to find her behind me, looking like an angel in a white towel. Since the door is open only a fraction, Derrick can’t see her.