It Matters To Me (The Wandering Hearts Book 2)

by Wendy Owens

  I stiffen, “I’m sorry, I just—”

  He busts out laughing.

  I toss my napkin at him. “Jerk.”

  He shakes his head and continues, “No, she was pretty much a vapid person who only took interest in how a situation could benefit her.”

  I smile. “So what you’re telling me is you have terrible taste in women.”

  “No worse than yours in men,” he says smiling back.

  I feel the need to defend Ben, but I remain silent. I should tell him that he isn’t a bad guy. He didn’t yell at me. He never would have thought of cheating on me. And in his way, he loves me. I say nothing.

  “Hi, my name’s Mercedes, and I’ll be your waitress tonight.” I pull my lips together as the young and slender blonde stares at the ceiling as she tries to remember the specials she memorized only hours before. It was clearly a challenge.

  She takes our drink orders while we think about our dinner choices. I keep my eyes focused on the menu until she scurries away to the bar. Exhaling wildly, I begin to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Aiden asks, but I can tell by the glint in his eyes he already knows why I’m laughing.

  “Maybe she’s friends with Kitten,” I suggest.

  He stiffens, a frown tickling the corners of his mouth.

  I nibble at my bottom lip. “Too soon?” I ask, fighting back the laughter.

  “That’s her best friend actually,” he says pointedly. “Well, they were friends, before Kitten decided she had deeper feelings for her.”

  “Oh—” I lift a hand to my chest, my chin falling open. “I—I’m …” What do you say to that?

  Aiden’s eyes shift down to the floor, his shoulders drooping.

  “I’m so sorry. Should we go somewhere else?” My words are interrupted when I hear a low snickering and his shoulders convulsing.

  “God you’re easy,” he chuckles.

  My eyes brighten when I see his smile. “And you’re an asshole,” I inform him.

  “I can’t help it. You really are gullible.”

  “Shut up and tell me what’s good here,” I demand.

  “Depends, are you one of those girls who watches her carbs or are you more of a calorie counter?”

  “Really? I thought you could read people,” I grin.

  He tilts his head, obviously excited by the conquest I just threw at him. “Honestly, I get the vibe that you’re neither.”

  “Go on.”

  “You like what you like.”

  “Seems like a fair analysis. So, what does a girl like me like on this menu?”

  “Poutine.”

  “Poo-whatie?” I laugh.

  “Poutine. It’s french fries with cheese curds and gravy. It’s amazing with the braised short ribs and an egg on top.” My mouth waters as he explains the dish.

  The waitress approaches with our drinks, and without hesitation I order the rich and delicious sounding option suggested by Aiden. This makes him smile. I don’t know why but it creates a warm feeling in my stomach. Or perhaps it’s the Moscow Mule I ordered burning the lining of my stomach.

  He orders. We talk. We talk more. And there’s a part of me that desperately hopes this night won’t end. The effortless words of our conversation pour over me like soft snowflakes, covering the dead ground of my life, blinding me temporarily to the pain that’s hidden just below the surface.

  I inhale. Then another breath.

  The bill arrives, but we order another drink, and it makes me think he’s having a good time escaping too. Two people, both navigating life after a breakup, enjoying a laugh and a few drinks. It feels easy. It feels natural. I wish we could—

  “I can’t believe we’ve talked about everything tonight except for the actual reason I invited you,” he interjects, breaking through my thoughts.

  “What? You didn’t just invite me to dinner to enjoy an evening of my witty humor?”

  “While it has been a delight being entertained by you, my reasons were much more deliberate and calculated.”

  “It sounds so sinister when you say it that way,” I remark, immediately regretting the flirtatious tone coloring my words thanks to the most recent Moscow Mule.

  He scans my face, and I can see that he senses it as well. Damn it. “I really am glad you invited me. The food was incredible.” I begin to ramble, a common technique I like to use to cover up my discomfort.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never been here,” he notes, with surprise.

  “I can’t believe you think I could ever afford a place like this,” I tease.

  “I’m so sorry,” he nearly whispers. “I never thought about it.”

  I wave a hand, rolling my eyes. “Why are we here?”

  “Africa,” he says.

  I look at his face, my head tilting. He stares back at me as if he has just revealed the most amazing word ever uttered in the human language.

  “Switzerland,” I nearly shout.

  A stitch of confusion sets across his strong brow. “What?”

  “Oh, I thought that’s what we were doing,” I grin. “Shouting out random places.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “I’m so glad I met you Kenzie,” he laughs again, and I believe his statement. “No, I’m going to Africa.”

  “Congrats,” I state apprehensively, his declaration creating a twist in my stomach. I admit to myself, somewhere in the back of my mind I was hoping that we would be able to hang out again. He makes me laugh. Very little makes me laugh these days.

  “Well, I mean, we’re going to Africa,” he clarifies.

  I lean my head back, “I don’t understand, is Africa the name of some crazy new restaurant in town. Oh—wait, a club?”

  “I have a photography job there. It’s going to last a few weeks, if not longer, and I need someone I can trust to come and assist me.”

  “So you said hey, I know, I’ll ask this crazy chick that digs playing with dogs and has no clue what she’s doing with photography.” It takes me a moment to realize my tone is a bit harsher than I intend.

  He nods enthusiastically. “It’s you or Kitten,” he laughs.

  “Glad to know you wanted me over kitty-cat girl,” I huff, realizing the last drink had me cross the threshold from sweet, giggly and flirtatious, to downright bitchy drunk.

  “Wow, okay,” he hesitates, unsure how to react.

  “I’m sorry,” I attempt damage control. “It sounds like an unbelievable opportunity, but I’m not at all qualified. Don’t get me wrong, I wish I were.”

  Aiden exhales a pained breath of air. “Kenzie, I wouldn’t have offered you the job if I didn’t think you could do it. Honestly, I know I’m desperate because the flight leaves in a couple of days, but I really wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t think you could do it. I take a lot of pride in the work I do.”

  “O—Oh—I know …” I stammer. “I …”

  “Look, I get it if something is keeping you here… I’ll be fine,” he offers.

  Keeping me here. His words feel like they’re loaded. What is keeping me here? I told Ben we’re over. I don’t have a job. I wanted an adventure. What are you so scared of?

  He continues, “I can find someone local once I get there. It’s—”

  I shake my head, “That’s not it.”

  “Do you have your shots?” he asks, looking pointedly at me.

  “Umm…” I start. “Not really sure what you mean, but I am suddenly very worried one of the puppies had something I should be worried about.”

  He snickers. “Not those shots. Immunizations to travel.”

  I shake my head. “Like what?”

  “For where we’re going, you’ll need Hep A and Typhoid.”

  “First off, this is the weirdest conversation I’ve had in a while,” I start.

  “Noted.” He grins and nods.

  “Second, I helped in my mom’s bakery, and she’s a complete germ freak and made the family get the Hep A vaccine, but I’m quite certain I have never
had a need arise to get vaccinated for Typhoid,” I continue.

  “Okay, not a problem, I can get you into the guy I use for all mine,” Aiden offers.

  “You have a shot guy?” I ask, trying not to laugh.

  “Doesn’t everyone?” he jokes, seeing the insanity in what he’s saying.

  “Does he administer them in some dirty alley behind a dumpster?”

  “I’m sure he would if you asked him to,” Aiden replies quickly. “But normally he works out of the Southside Clinic. I did some work for them a few years back.”

  “I don’t know,” I say not masking my hesitation.

  “What don’t you know?” Aiden seems puzzled by my response. “You have a passport, right?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I just got back from England, but this is so fast.”

  “Look, don’t worry about it, I completely understand. We worked really well together today so I just thought—”

  “I’ll do it!” I exclaim, lifting my hands to cover my mouth immediately, in complete shock, unsure what in the hell just came over me.

  “You don’t want to know what it pays first?” He laughs. I think to tell him that it doesn’t matter what it pays because anything would be a pay increase from nothing.

  Instead, I gleefully say, “Yes, please! How much does it pay?”

  We discuss the details of the trip, the job, and the pay. I do my best not to reveal how excited I am that it pays more than the minimum wage jobs I’m used to. In all honesty, though, none of that matters. I wanted a change. I wanted an adventure. And here it is. I’m going to Africa. I smile, resisting the urge to scream and wrap my arms around Aiden’s neck and squeeze him close to me. Doubt and fear will certainly come crashing in on me soon enough, but for now, at this moment, I’m so excited that it takes all of my energy to stop me from vibrating.

  “I JUST THINK YOU COULD have handled things better with Kitten,” the man doesn’t surprise me often, but he has succeeded in doing so when I hear the words leave my father’s mouth. He was a villain to my mother, so lecturing me on relationships was laughable, to say the least. “You know I’m the one that has to see her father at the club.”

  “Ahh,” I breathe into the phone. “And there it is.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Father asks defensively.

  “For a second, I thought Walter William Calloway might be concerned about his son’s well-being. Leave it to you to always prove that the only person you will ever give a damn about is yourself. Thank goodness you quickly put that thought to rest,” I quip.

  “That’s not fair.”

  “No!” I exclaim. “What’s not fair is that you think you get a say in my life.” I hear a growl of frustration on the other end of the phone, and I can’t stop myself from smiling.

  “I know it …” he begins before trailing off in silence. This man is not one to bite his tongue. Kitten’s father must really have something he wants. Usually, with him, that would be money. I’m not sure how that could be since my father has more money than anyone else I have ever met. That being said, he’s always been interested in having more of it.

  “Look, I have a lot of things to get ready before my trip. Did you need something else?” I say, my patience growing thin.

  I hear him take a deep breath in an attempt to cool his nerves. My father is normally a cool and calculating man. I am blessed with the talent of pushing his buttons, a trait I inherited from my mother. “I just wanted to see if you would reconsider taking Kitten with you. I’m not asking you to get back together with her, just let her work this last job with you. It would go a long way with her father if—”

  I laugh.

  “Did I say something funny?” I hear the familiar sharpness in his voice from my childhood when I was being scolded.

  “Hilarious, actually. Kitten never completed an honest day of work in her life. Do you even know why we broke up?”

  “Does it matter?” he says, and I can tell over the phone he’s gritting his teeth.

  “Probably not to you, but I had to fire her. She was more interested in talking on the phone with her friends and shopping online than actually assisting me. I’m not even sure why I am telling you this; it’s not as if it’s any of your business.”

  “You’re my business,” he interjects. This infuriates me. I haven’t been his business for a very long time. The moment the police found me and I was returned to my father, he hired a nanny to watch over me. That was until he could ship me off to boarding school.

  “Screw you,” I snarl.

  “Fine, if that’s how it’s going to be between us then maybe I should give my lawyer a call.” A long time ago my father lost his bargaining power with me when I started making my own money. Recently, he stumbled across a new tactic.

  “And now we’re resorting to threats, not much changes with you does it?”

  “It’s not an empty threat, son.”

  “There’s nothing you can take from me. I don’t need your money,” I remind him, but we both know it’s not the money he’s referring to.

  “No, I’m not talking about you.” My breath catches in my throat as his threat fills my ears. I remain silent, but he knows what my lack of words means. He always knows exactly how to hurt people and my silence tells him he knows how to hurt me. Just like he hurt my mother. And I hate him for it.

  “Honestly,” he continues. “It’s overdue. I’ve been considering it for some time now. After all, if I let people take what’s mine and do nothing about it, how long until the next guy off the street thinks he could do the same. My inaction would be an invitation.”

  “I’m not a possession.”

  “You’re my son. That makes you mine.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Well, fortunately for you, I love you.” His words feel like a storm, catching me up in them, throwing me around like a ship lost at sea, ricocheting my soul off the rocks when I reach the shore. Beating me until all that is left is my body, black and blue. I’ve never met anyone who can wield the word love like such a weapon.

  “So what, I bring Kitten to Africa, and you leave the Andersons alone?” I push.

  “I’d certainly think about it.” And with those words, I know the truth. He’d never keep his word. He would let me take Kitten to Africa and then he’d still go after them. I know if I don’t agree he will most certainly go after the Andersons immediately.

  I swallow a lump in my throat that feels like it’s going to suffocate me. Focusing on my words, making certain my voice does not quiver I say, “Don’t call me again.” A severe knot forms in my stomach and that familiar disgust returns. The one where I’m reminded that I share DNA with the man I just hung up on.

  It was a high profile case. People go missing every day, but not the wife and son of a billionaire. Father played the media like a finely tuned instrument. He knew exactly what to say to make himself look like the perfect victim. People were in a frenzy. If this could happen to a family like ours, what would keep it from happening to theirs?

  Even after Mom killed herself, he somehow managed to spin it that what the kidnappers did drove her to it. I knew the truth, though. He knew I knew the truth too, and that’s why he always hated me. Mom despised him so much that death was the only way she could escape him. Had she known he would find me, she would have never left me. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  It was me who picked Dale Anderson up from prison after he was released. Father assumed I did it to piss him off, but he’d never understand. Dale was the father that my mother wanted me to have. His wife Janet, she was supposed to become my mother. The woman who brought me into this world knew I had a better shot at a happy life with them. She placed me with them, not carelessly, but with great thought and care.

  They were all naive. They thought they could change my name and raise me as their own. I would have a chance to live a normal life. But I was a Calloway. A truth I would never escape and neither would the Andersons.

  I exhale
, lurching forward and collapsing onto my bed. I close my eyes, welcoming the sweet, sweet silence of sleep.

  I FLIP THE PHONE REPEATEDLY around in my fingertips. I’ve imagined the conversation over and over again in my mind. What words I should use to not sound like an absolute nutcase. I’ve planned out my arguments, a rebuttal for anything she might have to say.

  Anna has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. She’s been the person who has lifted me up out of the darkest times, as well as the one person I can trust to always tell it like it is. If she thinks I’m impetuous, she won’t hesitate to share this with me.

  Shaking my head, I slide my finger across the front of my phone and dial her international number. She’s certain to find out sooner or later that I’m heading to Africa with a man I barely know to do a job I know I’m probably unqualified for.

  The house is eerily quiet as I wait for her to answer the phone. It’s like I’m waiting for judgment. There’s an excited squeal on the other end of the line.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh my God Kenz, I’m so excited it’s you,” I hear my friend’s voice say. Anna is usually calm, not often losing herself to emotional outbursts. This was nothing like her.

  “Anna?” I confirm.

  She laughs.

  “Yeah, sorry, I’ve been wanting to talk to you all day and then bam, you called. Crazy isn’t it?”

  “Umm… maybe you should think about switching to decaf,” I tease.

  “Okay, I am a bit pumped, I know. I must sound like a crazy woman, but I have news!” she exclaims, and I can tell over the phone she’s about to burst.

  I lift the cup of tea to my lips and take a sip. I don’t even know what possessed me to make tea in the first place. I mean seriously, it’s like drinking a hot cup of dirty water. Then I remember because we’re out of sweet and glorious coffee, and if I don’t get my caffeine fix soon, someone might die. “So, is this news you want to share, or do you plan on making me guess?”

  “Oh!” She nearly shouts. “I never even thought of that. That’s fun. Yeah, you should guess.”

  “Seriously?” I scoff. “I was kidding.”

  “Oh come one,” she begs. “Where’s my fun loving Kenz?” Playing along might soften the blow of the news I need to give her. Perhaps telling her about Africa while she’s in this mood won’t be so bad after all.