by K. A. Tucker
He runs his hands back through his mane of wavy hair, the color of sand after a heavy rainfall. “That’s just money, Cath. That’s not who I am. Please tell me you don’t think I’m that shallow. It’s insulting.”
I’m taken aback, his plea sparking an unexpected wave of shame. Never had I looked at it that way, that acknowledging our different social classes would disparage anyone but me. “I don’t think you’re shallow. I just think you’re caught up and the feelings you have for me won’t last. And I’ll be the one hurt when you finally figure that out.” There. I’ve said it as plainly as I can.
I don’t know what I expected from Brett in response, but a broad smile of satisfaction isn’t it.
“You should go to California for the summer, like you planned,” I continue, trying to sound sure of myself.
He laughs bitterly. “That was never my plan. My mom is the one who made me promise to leave, the night of the interview. She saw the way I looked at you, and she knew right away what was going on. So she convinced me that I needed to distance myself and be a hundred percent sure my head was clear before I acted on it.”
Maybe that celebrity rag that reported Brett’s mom threatening to disown him wasn’t so far off after all.
It’s as if he can read my mind. “It’s not because she disapproves of you, Cath. She thinks the world of you. She just didn’t want either of us to get hurt because we weren’t thinking straight.”
“My mom basically said the same thing.” Though from her point of view, the only possible outcome was that I would get hurt. That would be her worst-case scenario, and the best way to avoid that scenario was to be practical and never risk it in the first place. As Jack said, she plays it safe and doesn’t take risks.
“Maybe they know something. Maybe we should listen to them.” As much as I hate to admit it.
“And what? Sit around for the summer, trying to convince myself that what I’m feeling for you is just gratitude?” His stunning eyes settle on me. “Life is too short to do what other people think you should do. That’s what I know.” His gaze dips to my mouth. “Then again, I’ve never let fear hold me back.”
Then you’ve never been crushed before. That’s where Brett and I differ. What he calls fear is what I call being smart, being responsible, and thinking about Brenna.
“You don’t believe me, do you? That this isn’t just gratitude.”
“No,” I answer bluntly.
His lips press together, as if he’s searching for a way to convince me. And all I can do is stare at that mouth, so soft and lush and appealing. Thoughts of it grazing mine that night send blood rushing through my body.
“What would make you trust me? What do you want to know? Ask me whatever you want, and I’ll tell you. I’m an open book.”
That’s quite the open invitation.
I want to know everything. Every trivial detail. His favorite music, his favorite color, his favorite TV show. Does he still talk to his childhood friends? How close are he and his sister? Does he sleep on his stomach or on his back? Does he cook, or does he have someone do that for him?
Has he ever had a broken heart?
“Why did you and Courtney break up?” What kind of friends are you? The kind that occasionally screw? Where did she sleep while she was visiting you in Toronto? I will the silent, painful questions to stop so I can actually listen to his answer.
“Because she lied to me.”
That’s not the answer I expected. “About what?”
“About something that she didn’t trust me to handle properly. I can’t tell you exact details, but the details aren’t important anyway. She didn’t trust me with the truth.”
“And you’re big on truth.” I remember his advice to me the day of the interview.
A soft, secretive smile touches his lips, as if he’s also remembering the moment in my bedroom.
I choose my next words carefully. “Was it . . . Did she have a choice about lying?”
“Everyone has a choice.”
“But I mean, was there a good reason for her to lie?”
“Is there ever? Especially when it’s to someone you say you love?”
“I guess not.” I hesitate. “Did you love her?”
His lips twist in thought. “I probably would have, given enough time.”
“But you’re still friends.” Perhaps friends who might reconcile for real?
Again, it’s like he can read my mind. “We wouldn’t have lasted as more, to be honest. It took the accident for me to figure it out.”
Unexpected relief fills me. “Why not?”
“We want different things in life. She loves the cameras and the attention, and being splashed on magazine covers everywhere. She wants fame. She’s the type of person you’d expect to see on a reality TV show.”
I shudder, and he laughs.
“Yeah, that has never been my thing either, and I think I would have gotten sick of it eventually. I want simpler things in life. I want . . .” His eyes drift to his casted leg, stretched out in front of him. “I want to play again, to have a family . . . I don’t know. A normal, quiet life, I guess. Or as normal and quiet as it will ever be, anyway. And I want someone in my life who wants those things, too.”
Someone like me, I will myself to hear.
“So . . . what now? With Courtney, I mean? She’s okay with pretending?” I don’t hide the doubt in my voice. How on earth would any woman who loved Brett and lost him be willing to pretend for the sake of another woman?
Brett’s face turns grim. “I wasn’t expecting her to be all over me at the game. I should have anticipated it, because that’s Courtney. She knew the cameras were on us and I wouldn’t be able to react. She backed off after I told her to stop, but I know what it looked like.” He adds softly, “I know what it must have looked like to you.”
My jealously flares as I imagine that blonde, beautiful woman pressing herself against him.
“She told Simone she was okay with it, but it seems she was hoping it would lead to something real. So I made her leave the next day and agree not to say a word about us, one way or another. Let people believe we’re together for a few more weeks, at least. But I won’t let anything like that ever happen again, I promise.” Brett frowns. “You still don’t believe me, though. I can tell.”
“The last time a guy told me that a relationship with his ex was just for show . . . he ended up marrying her.”
“The teacher?” Brett asks softly.
After a moment, I nod.
“I’m not him, Cath.”
“I know you aren’t. I just . . . I’m scared, and trying to be smart.”
Slowly, tentatively, he reaches over to take the key from my waiting palm, his fingertips skating over mine in a slow, intimate way.
My heart races inside my chest as I watch him turn the key over and over within his grasp. Finally he focuses on my face again, his eyes settling on my mouth. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to kiss you right now?”
I inhale sharply as my cheeks flush.
He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I won’t try, not in front of all these people. And not until you tell me it’s what you want.”
I let out a shaky breath.
The weight of the gold key settles back in my palm at the same time that Brett’s giant hand folds over mine, his fingers weaving through, the tips settling on my lap. “We can take it as slow as you want.”
There’s so much strength in his grasp, and I feel that overwhelming urge to let go of every worry, every fear, every inhibition. “I’m not sure that slow is possible.” I can’t even think straight when I’m near him, when he’s touching me. All I can do is feel.
And all I want to feel is him.
With Brett . . . I wouldn’t fall in love, I’d plummet.
A sheepish smile touches his lips, his fingers curling tight around mine, squeezing just enough but not so hard that the key between us will hurt my palm. “Yeah, I’m not sure it is either. But I’m o
kay with that. And I’m okay with waiting until you are, too. Just . . . please stop trying to push me away. I want to be in your life, and not because I feel obligated.”
An echo of what I said in that interview.
How is this happening to me?
These kinds of things don’t happen to me.
Suddenly I’m aware of our surroundings—as always, we’re out in the open. On display for everyone to watch. And I feel people stealing glances, out of simple curiosity, or hope, or even envy. I can’t think of the last time anyone envied me, and yet how couldn’t they now, as I sit here next to Brett, who, against all odds, is convinced that he wants me?
“Noooo!” Brenna’s wild giggles carry to us, pulling my attention away. She’s trying to outrun Jack and Keith as they both chase after her at a slow jog, her short legs moving impossibly fast as she tears around a tree. My parents, Emma, Lou, and Brett’s dad are standing together off to the side, laughing as she outmaneuvers the grown men, diving between Jack’s long legs and scrambling to her feet, to keep going, her pristine dress covered in grass stains that I doubt I’ll be able to get out.
Only half the crowd remains. I don’t doubt they’re lingering for a chance to speak to Brett.
“We should probably go over there, so you can greet your many fans.”
He sighs, then grabs his crutches and climbs to his feet. “Hey, isn’t that . . .” He frowns, off into the distance.
I know exactly who he’s looking at. I spotted Gord Mayberry’s oafish lumbering gait an hour ago, as we were escorted to the gazebo with the newspaper reporters. It was clear he was heading our way before Lou and Keith steered him away. “Yup. They invited the county’s business owners and Mayberry’s is a big dealership.” It hasn’t gone unnoticed that Scott Philips’s mother, a prominent Realtor, isn’t here. Whether she wasn’t invited or she chose not to come, I’m sure I’ll hear about it later.
Brett smirks. “So how did he take the breakup?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Right, the breakup. I don’t think he’s quite figured it out yet.”
“Didn’t he watch the interview?”
“Yeah, he did.” We walk toward the patio slowly, Brett picking his way carefully on the stone path. “He assumed that when I said ‘unsuccessful blind date’ I meant something else.” Somehow, Gord seems to think that there’s still hope for us. He’s shown up at Diamonds twice since. I shake my head. “Lou keeps apologizing for setting us up.” I’ll never understand why she did in the first place.
“Funny. Here I am thinking I should thank her for it,” Brett says with a laugh.
Because if it weren’t for that date, I wouldn’t have been driving along Old Cannery Road that night.
The realization suddenly makes me look at that idiot in a different light. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth. “So should I, I guess.”
Chapter 21
“He actually said that? He used those exact words?”
I knew I shouldn’t have been so honest with her. I guess I need to talk it out with someone, though, and Misty’s the only one I can do that with. “More or less.”
Misty growls her frustration. “I swear to God, Cath, I love you, but you’re going to drive me insane! Why are you not with him right now?”
“We need more time to talk. People wanted to meet him, and then Brenna was starving because of course she wouldn’t eat the food there, and then he had to get back to Philly . . .” Saying our goodbyes with family lingering close by hindered what I really wanted to say to him—that I want more than anything to be carefree like Misty and throw my heart into the ring.
I just . . . it’s not so easy for me to let go of control like that. Because that is what I’d be doing—letting go of control. Putting my heart is harm’s way.
But I did promise to answer the phone the next time he called.
“Yeah, meeting him would have been nice.” Misty scratches at a ketchup stain on the hem of her uniform, still bitter that Leroy dragged her back to Diamonds immediately after the ceremony ended. She drove straight here after her shift to interrogate me, not bothering to text or call in advance. I think, maybe, she was hoping he’d be here.
“I’ll introduce you next time.”
“Which is when, exactly?” I feel her eyes boring into my back as I take my time dunking a glass into sudsy water.
“I don’t know yet.”
I catch her rolling her eyes in the window’s reflection. “You know that no relationship is ever guaranteed.”
“I know.”
“Nothing good in life will ever come to you if you don’t take some risks.”
“I know.”
“The best things in life always come from taking risks.”
“Have you been reading those inspirational messages again?”
“It’s a great calendar: 365 quotes for 365 days.” She winks. “I’ll get you one for Christmas.”
“Listen, don’t tell anyone about this. It’s all up in the air.”
Misty releases a dreamy sigh, the rare, more serious side of her evaporating with her giggles. “Do you know how incredibly jealous I am of you right now? God, just think! What I would give to be able to kiss that man.” She pauses. “I’ve never been with a guy with a broken leg. Do you think you’ll have to wait to—”
“How are you doing in there, Brenna?” I holler extra loud, my cheeks flushing just thinking about what the first time with Brett would be like.
A splash sounds in the bathroom. “Yup! Almost done.”
“’Kay. Two more minutes.” Brenna would turn blue from cold if I let her, just so she could practice holding her breath underwater all night.
“Oh, I almost forgot. You’ll never guess who sent me a friend request on Facebook.”
“You’re right, I won’t.” I barely remember Facebook. I had an account in high school. But once the hateful messages started coming through, telling me what a skank and slut and liar I was, and how I deserved to die for trying to ruin Scott’s life, I deleted it. I haven’t so much as opened it since.
“DJ Harvey.”
The plate slips from my grasp and tumbles into the sink. “Isn’t he in jail?”
“No, he got out six months ago. He cut a deal so his sentence wasn’t as bad.” She says it so casually, as if she’s forgotten that he’s a scumbag, that not only was he dealing drugs while they were together, but also, after she dumped him, she found out he had been screwing around on her for most of the five months that they were together.
A bubble of discomfort rises inside me. Good ol’ social media. No one’s ever truly out of reach, anymore. “So . . . are you actually talking to him again?”
“No. I mean, I accepted his request because I was curious. He apologized to me.” She says it with surprise, and shrugs. “That was kind of nice to hear.”
“I guess.” Just like it was nice to have Krystal’s apology. As horrible as she was, that was years ago. Maybe everyone deserves a second chance. But what Krystal did and what DJ did aren’t exactly on the same level. “What does he want?”
“Nothing. He saw the news and remembered that you and I lived together. It made him start thinking about me.”
My eyes dart to the bathroom. “Don’t bring up that night with him. Or Brenna.”
“Relax! He doesn’t even talk to Matt anymore. Matt tried to pin everything on him. DJ hates his guts now.”
“Still . . . if you keep talking to DJ, don’t mention her or that night.”
“Please. If that night ever comes up, it’ll be me asking him who he screwed while I wasn’t looking, besides Jacqueline Forester,” she mutters, studying her nails.
While I’m helping Brenna dry off and dress from her bath, I hear the door creak open and Keith’s low murmur of greeting. Thankfully, the running sink drowns out the sound of Misty and him casually flirting back and forth.
“Do you ever stop jumping around?” Keith says as Brenna skips out of the bathroom in a fresh pair of pajamas. He
’s dressed in uniform for his shift tonight.
“Nope! Why are you here? We’ve already seen you, like, all day long.”
“Just thought I’d check in before I go to work. Is that okay?
“I guess.”
He watches her do laps around him. “Did you have fun today?”
“Yup.”
“Do you like Brett, Brenna?” Misty asks casually, feigning innocence.
“Yeah. He’s nice.”
Misty throws a mischievous grin my way. “Your mom thinks so, too.”
“Yeah. She smiled a lot today. Her eyes weren’t sad.”
Again with the sad eyes. She says it so innocently, and yet I can’t help but flinch. Is that how my child will remember me? I check my watch. “Why don’t you pick out a book to read with Uncle Jack. He said he’d come by and say good night.” We are conveniently on his jog home from the gym. Though, to be honest, I think he’d detour if we weren’t.
Her eyes light up. “Can Uncle Jack sleep here? Please?”
It’s endearing, how much she loves him. “I’m not sure you two would fit in your bed.”
“Well . . .” Her face twists with thought. “We could sleep in your bed, and you could take my bed.”
Always the problem solver. I can already tell that I’m going to have a harder time with her as she gets older. “Uncle Jack has to get up early for work and he needs his sleep. He isn’t used to having little girls in his bed with him.” Both Misty and Keith snort, earning my warning glare. “Okay. Go on, now.” I send her off with a playful pat against her bum.
“So? All good around here?” Keith helps himself to a glass of milk, frowning at the single beer in my fridge. Jack left him one, at least.
“Yup, we were just talking about how Brett Madden basically professed his undying love to Cath today.” My warning glare doesn’t shut Misty up. “So how does a guy do it when he’s wearing a cast, anyway? I mean, it’d be hard to be on top, wouldn’t it? I guess he’d have to just be on the bottom, and be careful not to bang his leg on anything, right?”
I dare a glance at Keith to find him taking his time with his milk, his glass tipping slowly back. Questions like that are par for the course with Misty, but when it’s pretty clear she’s talking about Brett and me having sex . . .
