Reaching For You: A New Adult Contemporary Romance (Anything For You Book 2)

by Hopkins, Faleena

  Brendan cuts a sideways look to his mother. “You’re freaking Annie out, Mom.”

  Mrs. Clark walks over to me with her arms out. “Come here.” I stand up and she wraps her arms around me. As she pats my back, she says, “You’re a good girl. I know.” Then she holds me at arm’s length and says, before she walks away, “You’re not a tramp. That’s obvious.”

  Brendan and I exchange looks as she goes to her purse, and I thank my luck for having dressed conservatively to go to the police station today.

  “Well, you two, I’m going to let you have more time to get to know each other. I have a movie date.”

  Brendan's eyebrows come together in that tortured way they do. “A date, Ma?”

  Pulling her purse strap onto her shoulder, she sighs and faces him, their energy shifting for the first time clearly to mother and son. “I think it’s time, don’t you?” Her tone is kind and soft. But it doesn't matter. His jaw is clenched firm and his eyes betray loyalty for the father he’s lost, the father who’s always been there… the only man who was ever supposed to love his mother.

  “Brendan.” She walks to him and touches his face with tenderness. “I loved your father. And if he were here I would be with him and only him. You know that. But he isn’t. And I'm lonely. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life alone. No one wants that.”

  She kisses his forehead and melts his frown away. My hand drifts to my mouth as I watch, realizing I have to tell my parents what happened to me. I miss my mom. I miss my dad. Why don’t I call them more often?

  Brendan’s chest relaxes and he says quietly, “Okay.”

  "I'm going to talk to the doctor before I go, and hear all about this." She points at his rib cage area and steps back to look at me, on the way to the door. “Nice meeting you, Annie.”

  “Have fun, Mrs. Clark.”

  “I love you,” Brendan calls to her.

  “I love you, too.”

  As soon as the door closes behind her, I whisper, “Your mother is very progressive.”

  “She’s become more so since Dad died. I think coming face to face with mortality makes people change. Things don't become as important.” He’s staring at the door, thinking about her out with a man he doesn’t know. Life is unfair for taking our loved ones away from us before we’re ready. Why can’t we all go at the same time?

  I walk over. “Hey.”

  He gives me a smile he would never give her. “Hey,” he says and takes my hand, looking down to watch our fingers naturally entwine. “I doubt I’ll get used to that.”

  “I’m sure she won’t have you meet anyone until it gets serious.” He closes his eyes. “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll deal with it when it comes. I wasn’t thinking about that.” He’s looking at our fingers still. “I was just thinking about us getting interrupted again. You know what I can’t wait to do?”

  “No, what?”

  His eyes slide up to meet mine. “I can't wait to take you back to my place where we can lock a fucking door."

  I laugh. “There would probably be an earthquake or something where the building would have to be evacuated.”

  “Right?” He laughs, too. “Every time. It’s like someone’s laughing at us up there.” His eyes travel heavenwards.

  I sit down beside him, looking at him, and wishing I could tell him, now. I could, couldn’t I? I could just say it and get it over with. But my mouth doesn't open and my tongue doesn't move. I just sit here, frozen and guilty.

  The door opens and a doctor walks in who I’ve not yet met, wearing glasses under thinning gray hair. He nods to me and looks at Brendan. “Well, how’s it going in here?”

  “Great. I’m feeling stronger today.”

  Nodding, he walks to the other side of the bed to look at Brendan’s wound. He lifts up the gown while Brendan holds the blanket over himself, throwing a hilarious look to me like the doctor wants his body. I try not to start laughing, and bite my smile back instead.

  “Well, this is healing well. You’ve got some stretching here. Did you pull at this?”

  Brendan throws me another quick look. “She ran around the room begging me to chase her, doc. Wouldn’t you have done the same?”

  The doctor smiles and walks to the end of the bed to look at Brendan’s chart. “I’ll refrain from answering that so I don’t get sued.” He writes a note and looks over to me. “If I sent him home tonight, you think you could watch over him?”

  Brendan’s eyebrows fly up. “Really? I can go home?”

  Quickly, I agree, “Of course!”

  The doctor keeps the folder in his hands as he heads to the door. “I think you’ll heal faster with a good night’s rest, don’t you?”

  Brendan nods, incredibly relieved. “That’s what I was saying! Yes. Definitely.”

  “Okay, well, first I’m going to give you another M.R.I. and make sure that lung is healing. If so, you can go home.”

  “How long does the M.R.I. take?” Brendan asks, wishing we didn’t have to wait.

  “About forty minutes.” The doctor nods to both of us and leaves.

  “Holy crap. Did I say you were magic, or what?” He grins as I go to open up the curtains.

  "I can't believe it. It's like our luck is finally changing. Look at the world you're about to go out in again. Oh, what a nice view of the parking lot.”

  “It’s good, isn’t it? That's why I had them closed."

  “Gorgeous. All that cement and steel. And light posts. A couple bushes. Wow. It’s like we’re in Cabo.” I turn and see him smiling. At me.... Brendan Clark. Maybe it’s the distance, but looking at him from here hits me in a way that it didn’t when I was close to him, or when his mother was here. Or even when we were making love. Maybe it's knowing we're about to leave together. That he wants me to be the one to take him home. It's mind-bending and once again the desire to confess consumes me. What good would that do us? He's happy. If I'm living in guilt, then that's on me, isn't it?

  “You okay?” he asks, frowning.

  I bite my lip and look down at the clean tile. “I’m just glad it’s all ending well.”

  “Yeah. We’re going to get burgers and eat them in my penthouse. Sound good?" On my nod, he adds, "You can’t wear clothes to this party, by the way.”

  Laughter bubbles up and I grin at him, still struck.

  He closes his eyes and says on a stretch, “Yep. That’s the way it’s gonna be. Burgers, a naked Freckles, and eighteen hundred thread count sheets. Can’t wait.” The gorgeous muscles of his arms and neck tighten, reaching out. He relaxes and looks at me like, doesn’t that sound great?

  “It sounds perfect,” I say on a big smile just as the nurse comes in to take him to the M. R.I. “Have fun.” I wave my fingertips.

  His smirk lets me know that he’s not talking about the M.R.I. “Oh, I will.”

  Alone, I walk to the window and look out into darkness. I have a moment to sit and be still, let the quiet settle into me. The reflection of myself in the window as the light from Room 323 catches it against the black night sky, shows a woman I’ve worked hard to become. Comfortable in my own skin, mostly. Able to accept friendship, albeit awkwardly. Optimistic about the future, very.

  The only definite is one thing: I never expect anything. They say expectations are the road to unhappiness and disappointment. For me, I can’t have them because when you’ve changed as much as I have, trusted when you normally wouldn’t, loved when you were afraid to, reached out when all you wanted to do was hide – the world opens up and becomes completely unpredictable. Expecting anything is impossible when you know that anything can happen if you let it.

  I bring my finger up and trace the shape of a heart on the glass. I’m going home with Brendan tonight. I’m going to be there by his side while he heals. It’s exactly what I hoped for when I came here the day after the shooting, before Rebecca verbally slapped that hope out of me.

  It’s come full circle. See? Unpredictable, I think to
myself.

  Smiling, I step away from the window and walk to my ringing phone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rebecca

  Hands: tight on the wheel. Eyes: narrow slits locked on the third floor window. Mind: invidious machinations swirling ‘round.

  People don’t know that at night when the lights are on inside, it’s like they’re on a T.V. screen for the whole outside world to see. And I watched. I watched as she opened the curtains. I watched as she talked to him over her shoulder, laughing. I stared up at her face as she drew a fucking heart on the glass and nearly made me scream and run into the hospital to drag her out by her hair.

  What can I do to end this bullshit? What can I do? This can’t be happening. There must be a way to get rid of her. To make things go back to how they were.

  Did Brendan mean what he said? Did he tell Tommy not to see me tonight? I would think he would have called. I pick up my phone and check it, but there are only calls I’m still avoiding from back home; Bree and Deanna asking about the banquet we’re planning, Louise wondering why I’ve not responded and what should she do next with the community garden project proposal, and the cat sitter wondering where I am.

  With every cell in my being, I want to see Tommy for more reasons than to just piss Brendan off. I need his hands on me to let me know I’m not too old to be wanted. That I’m not a castaway left behind for the next generation of women. And I need to do something with this anger because it is eating me alive. I need to fuck it out. I need to fuck someone and I need to fuck someone, hard. And not just any someone. I need to fuck the one person Brendan wouldn’t want me to.

  I don’t give a flying shit if it’s a bad idea. Or if Tommy’s too young for me, too. Or if Brendan will be furious. Those are all perfect reasons to fly into the hands of the devil, for all I care.

  Putting my car into gear, I throw one more look up to the window, before pulling out and heading back to The Inn.

  If Tommy doesn’t show up, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Annie

  Christiano: staring at me with a spatula in his hand. My heart: filled with guilt and self-loathing.

  I stare until it goes to voicemail. I have to tell him it’s really over. It's not fair to let him continue to hope I might be coming home to him, when there's no way I will now.

  I love Brendan.

  Christiano needs to know.

  Staring at the screen, I go to click on his name, but the phone rings in my hand, a picture of my mom's laughing face staring back at me. “Mom. Hi. Wow. Are you psychic?”

  “Oh, were you thinking of me?” Her voice is cheerful and as familiar as the skin on my hand.

  “Kind of. I was thinking of my life, and you created that, so…”

  She laughs. “I just kept thinking about you today and I thought, I should call Annie. Maybe she needs me.”

  “I do need you, Mom. And I love you, just so you know.”

  She pauses at my tone. “I love you, too. Everything okay?”

  “Is that Annie?” my dad’s voice calls, from far away.

  “Yes! Did you want to talk to her? Hold on. He wants to talk to you, too. I’m putting you on speaker.” I hear the shuffling.

  “Hi lovebug!”

  “Hi Dad.”

  “You okay? You sound sad, kid.”

  “I have to tell you guys something…”

  For the next half hour, I tell them what happened, with tears unexpectedly rising to fall down my cheeks as they ask questions, horrified. “Are you okay?” “Is your bar in a bad neighborhood?” “Why didn’t you lock the door?” “I knew I was right to teach you self defense!” “When did this happen? Why didn’t you call us sooner?” and finally, “Who’s Brendan?”

  I tell them the G rated version and take the opportunity to unburden myself of the truth, after a furtive glance to the door to make sure I'm still alone. In a quieter voice, I tell them, “He’s someone I knew back in college. We weren’t ready for each other then, but... I think we are now.”

  “Well, I guess I can’t convince you to come home, can I?” my mom says, worried and helpless from being so far away from her child.

  “No, Mom. But thank you for the offer. Part of me would love that, though.”

  My dad mutters, “Well, you should get a gun.”

  “I’m not getting a gun, dad. I am installing security cameras as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll direct deposit some money into your account. You need to get those installed right away. Before you open those doors again. You hear me?”

  “Yes. Okay. But I have insurance money coming….”

  “Annie! Let me help!”

  “Okay… sorry, Dad.”

  My mother sighs, big and long. “I guess this means you won’t be with Christiano anymore. I was hoping to get out to Italy again.”

  Smiling at her selfishness, I shake my head and walk to the window again, “You can still go to Italy, mom.”

  “He's such a good cook!”

  My father overlaps her, arguing, “He was too old for her!”

  Staring out into the night, I say, “He wasn’t too old for me, Dad. You liked him when you met him.”

  “Because he was my age.”

  My mother and I both make sounds we often make at something Dad says. As if they were right in front of me, I know exactly the expressions that are on their faces. Mom rolling her eyes as she argues, “Oh, he was not that old.”

  And Dad with an Irish twinkle in his eyes. “Thanks a lot.”

  I walk away from the window and ask what they’ve been up to, since I have some time and seeing Mrs. Clark and Brendan talk about his father made me homesick and aware I won’t always have this chance. I listen to them tell me about a cabin they rented in Lake Michigan, how they had a ‘very nice time’ fishing, how Dad caught ‘a windfall’ and they cooked what they could eat, and froze the rest.

  After he tells me in detail about the fish, he gets quiet. "You really need to get a gun."

  "Dad, you don't have to worry.”

  “Of course I worry.”

  I sigh. “Come on, Dad. It's not like it's going to happen twice."

  Impatient, he mutters, “Come on, nothin’! Fathers always worry about their little girls.”

  I smile, my heart melting. “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you, too, kid.”

  We say goodbye, and I promise to call again as soon as the cameras are installed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tommy

  Door To The Den: quietly inching open. Dad & Mom: in the way of a good, hard fuck.

  I listen to the sounds of the television in the living room, and pans moving in the kitchen. Devising my escape was easy; I’ll leave through the window behind me, but I need keys. I’m assuming my car is still in the garage and opening the garage door will be a cacophonous alert of grinding belts and chains. Plus, it moves too slowly. Even if it rose up high enough for me to speed out underneath it before my dad made it to the driver’s door to yank it open and drag me out, he’d just run out, jump in his own car and chase me down. I want them to never know I left. I’ll be back before they wake up tomorrow.

  As I tiptoe toward the stairs, I realize that Dad heard me come in, in the dead of night, and already had his shotgun pointed at me, so what the fuck am I doing? Sneaking is the wrong way to go about this. With all of my weight, I change tactics and walk into the living room like nothing is amiss.

  “Well, look who’s up. Bathroom’s that way.” My dad says with a quick glance my way before he looks back to the T.V.

  “What are you watching?”

  “What does it look like I’m watching?” He doesn’t look back to me. So I watch the screen for a couple minutes as my mom comes in and puts a beer in front of him and reaches to take away the empty one. “Thank you,” he mumbles. She smiles and I shake my head at the complexity of their relationship. I’ll never understand them.

  “You’re watc
hing Orange Is The New Black?” I ask, glancing over to his jacket on the table behind us. Next to it are his keys.

  Dad picks up his beer and takes a swig. “Great fucking show,” he says, reaching to the remote to tune me out with louder volume.

  This gives me an idea. “Hey, Dad, I was thinking…”

  He turns up the volume louder. I glance over to the kitchen and see my mom’s back as she cleans the stove with a sponge and big bottle of yellow liquid. Probably something organic, knowing her. Taking a couple steps closer to the keys, I continue, “What if I moved back in here with you guys?”

  He snorts, eyes glued to the screen.

  There is no way in hell I would EVER move back in here. I’m thirty years old for Christ’s sake. “Why not, Dad? I’m tired of living in the city.”

  “I’M TRYING TO WATCH MY DAMN SHOW!” he bellows, throwing up his arm in disgust and looking to the side. He grabs up the clicker and hits the volume yet again and just as he does, one of the girls starts a fight in the onscreen bathroom. Their catfight masks the sound of my dad’s keys being quietly lifted from the table.

  Walking to the den, I clutch the keys to my chest like I’m holding my wounded shoulder, grumbling loudly, “Alright! Alright! It was just an idea! I’m going back to sleep.”

  In the den, I close the door and dash to the window, pulling it up and biting down my yelp of pain as I climb out. My feet fall with a crunch onto the plants outside. I look toward the kitchen window, waiting to see if Mom heard. I don’t see her pop her head out, so I rush to the fence and out to the street to climb into my dad’s Ford pickup and drive back over the Golden Gate Bridge.

  My phone I left in the den. If they do check in, without the GPS that’s lodged in it telling them where I am, there’s no way they’ll find me. Not until I want them to. The pain in my shoulder is pounding. Even though I was careful, I irritated it to no end just now.