by Emerson Rose
No. He wouldn’t abandon us here without talking it through. Would he?
Twenty-One
Ridge
Not Again
Caroline here, I need you to get back to me a.s.a.p. about the Ridge Noble photos and interview…
Those are the words that popped up on Allison’s phone this morning when I was cooking breakfast. I couldn’t read the entire message because I don’t know the code to unlock her phone, but I saw enough to know I’ve been a fucking fool.
I thought she was different. I thought she was someone I could trust with my secrets and my dreams and my heart. I should have known better. City women only want one thing—well, maybe two—power and sex. Allison has been furthering her career by feeding her boss information about me. And photographs. Fucking hell, the pictures she’s taken of me... Those would surely skyrocket her into the boss’s good graces so that she gets the promotion she needs to get out of that ghetto neighborhood where they live.
And to think I was going to offer to help her financially. I was even going to ask her to marry me. I wanted to move her and David to Montana. No self-respecting city woman would want to live in the country with a cowboy no matter how luxurious the surroundings are. There are no spas or dance clubs, no hair or nail salons to frequent, no designer clothing stores to shop in, no movie stars to photograph, and no fashion industry to cover. That’s what those women want—power, expensive things, and a sexy trophy man at their side. Well, that’s not going to be me.
As soon as I read that text, I packed my bag and put it in the trunk of the rental. I didn’t want to fight with Allison in front of David, but I couldn’t stand the thought of spending the day with her. I made breakfast and gave them an excuse for why I was leaving. And now I am going home where I pray there are no reporters waiting to pounce on me at Ash’s gate.
How much information has she given to her boss? How many photographs? I fucking knew better. I should never have gotten involved with a city girl who worked for a magazine. It was a recipe for disaster that I just couldn’t help cooking up.
Now I get to go home and start damage control. I don’t know what they’re going to say about me, but good or bad, any information they use was obtained in private and private is how it should have stayed.
She is a liar, a betrayer, a con-artist. How could I have been so blind? Sitting in the plane looking out the window the clouds seem angry and dark mirroring my mood. My quiet life of living under the radar is now threatened. All I ever wanted after the trial was to be left alone. I thought once it was over, things would be better, calmer, but they weren’t.
The world wasn’t quite done with me yet. They felt the wrong person had won that case, and if the legal system wasn’t going to do something about it, the press and public were. All the time I was receiving death threats and being slaughtered by the media, the pop princess who lied about everything sat in her high-rise apartment in New York playing the victim.
She accused me of watching her change her clothes in hotel rooms, making unwanted advances when we were alone in the car and her jet. She said I offered her drugs. This one got me. I’ve never done drugs in my life, and she was a cokehead long before I ever took the job. But as ridiculous as that was, the worst accusation of all was being called a rapist.
At the time, I was thirty-three years old, and she was sixteen. That’s a seventeen-year age difference. I mean, come on. The girl was living a lifestyle no child her age should be living, and that’s how I looked at her, as a child. She was so out of it most of the time, the publicists had to work miracles to make her appear to be the sweet, innocent star they were representing. That wasn’t easy. She spent more time in clubs drinking and doing drugs than she did in the studio recording music. Nobody cared that she was five years away from the legal drinking age—she was a star, she could do anything.
At least once a week I had to carry her out the back door of a club and as discreetly as possible get her home alive. I was the only person in her life who would tell her that she was fucking up. I tried to get her help, rehab, talk to her parents, her manager, somebody who could point her in the right direction, but she wouldn’t have it. She tried to get me fired on more than one occasion, but nobody else wanted the job—she was a handful. Her accusations were her way of finally getting rid of me. And it worked like a charm. Too bad she obliterated my reputation in the process.
And now it’s happening again.
Twenty-Two
Allison
Gone
After a long day driving along the coast with my little brother and worrying about the situation with Ridge, I’m ready to talk things out and relax with him by the fire pit with a glass of wine. But Ridge’s car isn’t in the driveway, so I’ll have to wait.
“I’m going down to the beach to…”
“See if Jack is surfing?” I answer before David finishes his sentence. He likes Jack, and he’s more interested in surfing than I ever imagined he would be. It worries me—the surfing and the ocean and also the possibility that Jack might be into something I don’t want my David to be involved in.
“Yeah,” he says opening the glass doors to the deck.
“Why don’t you bring him over for dinner. We can grill something.”
David looks surprised and then suspicious. “Ally, we aren’t doing anything wrong, you know. You don’t have to have him over for dinner to scope him out.”
He’s onto me. “I like knowing your friends, that’s all.”
He smiles that smile that says, ‘yeah, whatever, sis’ and continues outside calling over his shoulder, “I’ll see what he says.”
“Okay, be safe,” I yell, and he shakes his head.
I drag my tired ass into the bedroom to shower and change my clothes before I start dinner. I strip down and toss my clothes on the bed before heading into the bathroom where I stop short. Ridge’s things are gone—no razor, no shaving cream, no cologne or shampoo—all of it—gone. My heart sinks, and nausea hits me like a Mack truck. He’s left me. I was right. Caroline must have spoken to him.
Back in the bedroom, I open the closet, just to be sure and find his side empty. Why didn’t he talk to me about it? This is so stupid, all he had to do was ask, and I would have told him that I haven’t given them anything. But no, he packs up and leaves instead. Everybody in my life aside from my brother has left me in one way or another. Mom packed up and walked out, my dad died, and now Ridge is gone.
Why did I let myself get so caught up in him? Relationships are dangerous for the heart. I was doing fine working and raising David before Ridge came along. Now I’m going to suffer the consequences of taking a risk, and I don’t have time for a broken heart.
I slip on a green silk robe and sit down on the bed with my phone. I try to call him twice, but it goes straight to voicemail both times. So he’s not answering his calls, I can still text.
Me: Why did you leave?
I wait for a minute with no response, so I try again.
Me: Whatever Caroline said, it’s not true. Please call me so we can talk about it.
Still nothing so I try one more time.
Me: I love you, Ridge, don’t you ever forget that.
When he doesn’t respond to that, my nausea turns into an episode of full-fledged vomiting. I grab the wastebasket next to the bed and relieve my stomach of my lunch and bitter bile. When I’m finished, my stomach feels better, but my heart hurts, and this is only the beginning. Why? Why didn’t he just talk to me?
I fall to my side on the mattress and lay in the giant California king bed alone and watch the ocean waves. It’s not fun without Ridge. He took the magic of our vacation, along with my heart, home to Montana with him.
When I open my eyes, it’s dark out. I must have fallen asleep. I can hear the sound of the television in the distance and light glows around the edges of my door. I turn my head toward the clock on the bedside table. It’s ten-thirty.
Dinner. Shit. I forgot to make David and Jack din
ner. I push up off the bed and sit on the edge to get my bearings, and that’s when it all comes rushing back to me. Ridge is gone. He thinks I’ve betrayed him, and he won’t accept my calls. Reality is a big fat bitch today.
I sigh and crawl out of bed. On the landing outside my room, I peek over the railing at David who is on the couch watching America’s Got Talent. He’s alone with an empty plate of what looks to have been fish and rice sitting on his lap.
“David, I’m sorry I fell asleep. Did your friend come for dinner?” I clutch my robe shut in case Jack is still here in the house somewhere. He tips his head back and looks up at me.
“Nah, he was going out to eat with his family. I cooked some fish and rice. There’s some for you. You’ll have to warm it up, though.”
“Thanks, that sounds good. I’m going to put something on.”
“Hey, sis.”
“Yeah?”
“Ridge is gone, isn’t he?”
I take a long shuttering breath and let it out before answering. “Yes, he’s gone. We had a misunderstanding, and I’ve tried to call and text, but he hasn’t responded yet.”
“He left us here alone because of a misunderstanding? That must be one hell of a misunderstanding.”
“I think he might have spoken to my boss by accident. If he did, he thinks I agreed to do photos for an article on him, which I did not.”
“Your phone was moved this morning.”
“Yeah, that’s the only thing I can come up with.”
“So are we leaving? I mean if he’s gone, should we be here?”
“I’m sure it’s okay, and no, not yet. I want to talk to him, and see if I can get him to come back before we up and leave.”
“Okay, sorry, sis. I know how much you like him.” He has no idea how much I love Ridge.
“It’ll be okay. I’ll be down in a sec.” God, please let it be okay.
In the bedroom, I put on a pair of shorts and a tank top and try one more time to message Ridge. Still no response, but he can’t ignore me forever. If he doesn’t pick up the phone or text back, we will be making a pit stop in Montana on the way home. He will understand when I talk to him face to face.
He’s not getting off this easily.
Twenty-Three
Ridge
I Hate My Damn Heart
It’s seven o’clock in the evening, six o’clock for Allison, and she’s texting me wanting to talk. I do not want to talk. She’s worried that I called her boss, and she wants to back peddle—not happening. And her proclamation of love in her last text just pisses me off. She will not love me forever. She never loved me at all.
I’m in my office catching up when Stella knocks on the door. “Hey, friend. I’m glad to see you’re back but that was far from a two-week vacation. What happened?”
She’s holding little Lydia in her arms all bundled up in a pink blanket. The sight of them together always causes a flutter of pride in my chest. I’m so glad I was there to help her when she needed it.
It also makes me sad to know that I will never have a family like Ash and Stella’s with Allison. She is the first person I ever wanted to have a child with since my Chloe died with our daughter inside her. And now after judging her character so badly, I don’t think I’ll ever want to have a child again. I almost picked a deceptive con-woman to be the mother of my child. How can I ever trust my instincts again?
“I called to see if the reporters were gone and since they were, I figured we should come home. Allison wasn’t sure how long she could take off work anyway. How’s this little angel?” I say getting up from my desk to have a look at Lydia.
“She’s good, not much of a sleeper lately, at least when I want her to be anyway.” She doesn’t say this with irritation but weariness. She’s a great mother who pushes herself too hard.
“Let me take her for a while. Get some rest, and I’ll find you or Ash if I need help.”
“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that. It’s late, and you’ve been traveling all day. I’m sure you want to go to bed.” Her eyes are full of Stella kindness and concern.
“I’m done here, and I’m not tired at all. Go on now, rest… that’s an order,” I say with false authority. Her brow wrinkles and then it smoothes out.
“Okay, but she needs to eat in an hour. Could you come and wake me up?”
“Of course.” She hands me the baby, and her body wilts with relief. “Off you go,” I encourage her.
“One hour,” she says pointing her finger at me.
“One hour, promise.”
She rolls up onto her tiptoes and places a kiss Lydia’s cheek. “Goodbye, sweet girl. Ash is in the pool with Cannon if you need anything.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you, Ridge.” She turns to leave but stops at the door. She doesn’t turn around to face me when she speaks. “And when you’re ready to talk about what happened on your vacation with Allison, I’m here.” How does she do that? With all she has going on in her life and being exhausted on top of it, she is still intuitive enough to know I’m not telling her the truth.
I think Ash found the last of the wonderfully decent women on earth when he found Stella.
I carry Lydia to my desk and sit down with her eyeing me or so it seems. I have no idea how far an infant her age can see. I don’t know the first thing about babies, but I delivered this one, and I have always felt comfortable with her. It’s as if we have a special bond, and I guess we do. I was the first human to put hands on her in the world. After all, that’s got to count for something.
I’m back to living my life vicariously through Ash. I’m forever looking in from the outside at all of the good things other people have, but never seem to have for myself. At least I have a family, even if it is adopted.
“What should we do, little angel?” I ask and immediately flinch when I use the nickname I gave to Allison. Calling her angel was never a conscious decision, it just happened one day as all good nicknames do.
Lydia screws up her face like something is causing her pain, but then relaxes just as quickly. Probably gas, babies have a lot of gas, don’t they? Someone told me that once. I change position holding her closer against my chest and pat her on the butt while I stare into her shockingly blue eyes. She’s a beautiful baby for sure—more beautiful than any I’ve ever seen although my experience is limited.
As if she’s reading my mind, Lydia smiles up at me, probably more gas, but I’m inclined to take it as approval that she likes me. “We have a whole hour to hang out, pretty girl. How about a walk around your mommy and daddy’s mansion? What girl doesn’t love a mansion?”
My phone dings on my desk, and I glance over without thinking. It’s a text with an angel emoji next to the name. Allison put it there a few weeks after we met. I need to remember to delete her phone number from my contact list and block her. I don’t bother reading the message as I have nothing to say.
I stand up and begin a long tour of the Silversage mansion describing things and chatting about the trouble her brother, Cannon, has gotten into in every room. After thirty minutes, she’s fast asleep, and I decide to relax in a recliner in the family room with the television on. Lydia sleeps in the crook of my arm while I watch HBO. Ash and Cannon should be out of the pool soon, and according to Stella, Lydia will be wailing to eat in another half hour, so it’s just the two of us bonding over Game of Thrones.
I explain to her peaceful, sleeping face that she is only allowed to be in the room while Game of Thrones is on because she’s an infant, and she won’t remember any of the sex or violence. She coos and screws up her face with another gas pain at the sound of my voice, but soon her breathing is slow and even, and she is content.
I think I would have loved being a dad. Being with Lydia brings me peace, peace that Allison tried to take away from me with her thirst for success. Being blindsided is a bitch. It seems whenever my life is going well, the universe smacks me up side the head with another roadblock to happiness. My wife’s cancer, ha
ving my reputation smeared by a pop star, and now a woman trying to further her career by dragging my heart through the mud.
I give up. I’ve been single for the past ten years, and I’m still alive. Living without love isn’t the worst thing that could happen—my mother might think so, though. She has wanted a grandbaby forever, but she doesn’t press the issue since Chloe died. She understands it’s a sensitive subject, and she would never blatantly pester me about it. I know the desire to love and spoil a grandchild is there every time we see a couple with an infant. Her eyes get all glossy, and she clasps her hands together to pray that someday it will be me hauling around baby gear and doting on a sweet little thing like Lydia.
“Ridge, whatcha doin in here with my Lydia?” Cannon says entering the room taking in the scene. I don’t often have his Lydia alone, and he looks concerned.
“Stella was tired, so I’m watching her while she naps. Did you have a good swim?”
“Yeah, the water’s not even cold anymore, and Daddy made the hugest cannonball ever!” he yells and throws up his hands when he says hugest. Lydia stirs in my arms, but she’s used to her big brother’s outbursts and snuggles back in right away.
“That’s great, are you going up to get ready for bed?”
“Uh huh. Daddy’s makin’ me a bath. Why do I have to take a bath when I just got outta the pool?”
We have had this discussion before. He knows the answer to his question, but he still thinks it’s stupid. “The chlorine in the water sticks to your skin, and you have to wash it off.” He holds out his arms to look at his skin.
“I don’t see nothing.”
“I don’t see anything,” I correct him.
“Me either.” He isn’t getting it, but that’s okay. “I gotta go. When you bringin’ my Lydia upstairs?”
