Felicity Found (Rogue Series Book 6)

by Lara Ward Cosio

  “Well, this is a treat,” Conor says when I pull a bottle of wine and a couple plastic cups from my backpack. “What did I do to deserve this romancing you’re doing of me, honey?”

  “It’s working, is it?” I ask with a laugh.

  “The evening bike ride. This phenomenal location. The wine. All with my beautiful wife. Yeah, I’d say it’s working.”

  I smile and reward him with a kiss. When I pull away, he gently touches my face and I freeze, locking eyes with him.

  “Thank you, Fee,” he says softly. “You’re pretty good at making memories.”

  The last bit is something I’ve said to him before and we both know it. It takes me back to our early days when we were struggling to maintain the line between friendship and something more. But it also resonates with what he’s been dealing with lately: his father’s failing memory. The implication makes me tear up.

  “Sweetheart,” I say, “I will be the keeper of your memories. And you will be the keeper of mine. I promise you that.”

  I see a flash of emotion pass over his face before he can clear it. Before he can regain his legendary control. He looks out at the water. It’s shimmering in the moonlight, a breathtaking sight. But I know that’s not why he breathes in sharply at this moment. Without looking at me, he reaches for my hand and I give it to him.

  We sit without speaking for some time, content to listen to the water splashing against the shore. Finally, he releases my hand and takes the bottle of wine, uncorking it and pouring us each a cup.

  “What shall we toast to?” I ask.

  He thinks for a moment. “To finding our way through, together.”

  I kiss him before tapping my cup against his and taking a drink of the pinot noir. I feel it slide down my throat in a warm trickle. I’ve brought bread, soft cheese, and a mix of nuts and dried fruit. I make a picnic of it. It’s my dinner. I still haven’t regained my appetite, but the wine’s immediate effect made me realize I’d better eat something or risk getting quickly drunk.

  We spend a good hour drinking and snacking as we chat idly and point out the sights around us. It’s so nice to just be together, to be enjoying something that is just about us.

  Looking around, Conor smiles and then laughs. “This is incredible, honey. No one has ever done something like this for me.”

  “You deserve it.”

  “Do I? You really think so?”

  I wince, thinking of the night I told him he was never there for me, that I had no one. I realize I never apologized for that.

  “I do think so, Conor. I’m sorry about the things I’ve said. The way I’ve snapped and made accusations that had nothing to do with the truth. I . . . I’ve struggled. I’ve been struggling since I was pregnant, as you know,” I say, and he nods. “But I never admitted how much harder everything felt for me once Ella was born. In fact, I didn’t even allow myself to acknowledge the abject fear and self-recriminations I felt. I just forced myself to keep moving forward.”

  “Until you couldn’t that one night,” he says.

  The image of that night is burned into my brain. It brings such shame and self-loathing. All I can do is nod.

  “Why fear and self-recrimination?” he asks. “Where does that come from?”

  “Well,” I say with a lightness I do not feel, “Amelia pointed out that I have this ridiculous fear that I won’t be enough. Not enough for you, not enough for the babies.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  I shake my head and he says my name as a question, a gentle prod. “Because I wasn’t enough for my father. I wasn’t enough for Richard,” I whisper.

  “Oh, Fee.”

  He takes my hand and brings it to his warm lips, pressing a long kiss to my cool skin.

  “Don’t you know you’re my whole world?” he asks. “You’re more than I ever thought I could be lucky enough to have? And those babies, god you should see the way they react to you. Romeo’s a mama’s boy, no doubt about it. His eyes never leave you. And Ella, have you ever noticed the way she curls her finger around yours when you nurse? It’s like she just wants to be as close as she can to you.”

  The words are sweet and comforting, but still manage to fall short. Because my insecurities are deeply ingrained, and I’ve only just recently begun to confront them. I tell him this because I want to be honest. I don’t want to sit alone with those feelings any longer. I also tell him I will keep working on accepting not only the good things I have but that I have good things to give.

  “I’m proud of you,” he tells me. “You’ve come a long way. Thank you for sharing such difficult things with me.”

  It’s this bit of praise that convinces me I need to tell him about my father. I finally delve into it and watch his expression change along the way. First, it’s surprise when I say that I’d spoken to him the same day I had my bad episode. Then, it’s anger when he blames my father for my troubles. That anger is only stoked when I tell him about my father explicitly stating he has no interest in a relationship with Romeo. Finally, it’s confusion and dismay over the fact that I’m still undecided about what to do. I give him my arguments for and against the idea. Of course, he’s against any contact at all going forward. He isn’t moved when I remind him that my father is my only remaining parent.

  “Fuck him,” he snaps.

  “I know. I know how you feel, because that’s how I feel, too.”

  “So, what’s to decide, then?”

  “I just . . . I just want to consider things a little longer.”

  “You do this, and you’re dividing your children into ‘worthy’ and ‘less than.’ And it’s not okay.”

  “I knew you’d be upset,” I say. “In fact, Amelia said the whole reason I’ve kept this from you is because of this. Because you knowing means I either have to reject my only family or reject you in some way by going ahead and having a relationship with him.”

  “I seem to be to blame for a lot of this—according to Amelia, that is.”

  “No, that’s not true. It’s just part of the big picture, part of the things I have to consider—”

  “This so-called father walked out on you and your Ma. He rarely made time for you. He started a whole other family. But now that he’s calling ‘round, you’re anxious to have him in your life?”

  “You’re right. You’re right about it all,” I say. “But Amelia says that family is a draw that’s hard to deny.”

  “Jesus,” he says with disgust. “He’s not your family. Hasn’t he made this clear over the years?”

  “It’s just that Amelia says that with me starting my own family, it’s no wonder that I’m especially longing for that connection, and—”

  “Fuck’s sake,” he groans, “I wish I’d never arranged for her to keep treating you.”

  My cheeks grow hot and the wine in my stomach burns. “What did you say?”

  He stands and moves a few feet away.

  “Conor, what did you mean?”

  “Nothing. I just meant I wish I’d never set you up with her to begin with. Because I don’t like her advice with this family thing, to be honest.”

  He’s looking away from me. Because he’s never been able to lie to me. He always said he was honest with me, whether that made him look like an arsehole or not.

  “Look at me,” I tell him.

  There’s a long moment before he finally turns to face me. He’s trying to keep his face a neutral mask, but I can see the guilt in his eyes.

  “You arranged for her to keep treating me. You’re saying this friendship I thought I had is a lie? I’ve just been a client to her the whole time?”

  He shakes his head slightly. But it’s not a denial. It’s resignation. He’s been caught and doesn’t know what to say.

  I’m shocked. And saddened. And manipulated, by both the man I love, and the woman I had come to count on as a friend. I stare, glassy-eyed, at the small pools of moonlit water sitting in the concave tops of the stone steps all around us. I wish I
hadn’t helped finish that bottle of wine because I don’t have the clarity I need for this moment. All I feel is devastation.

  34

  Conor

  I want to rewind time. I want to be back in the moment not long ago when I was holding Felicity in my arms as we marveled at our luck of a cloudless, full moon night. When we took comfort in the heat of each other’s bodies and simple company.

  “Listen,” I say, “I need to explain.”

  She stands, and I brace for some vitriol, some well-earned burst of anger. But instead, her shoulders slump in defeat.

  “I want to go home,” she says softly.

  “That can wait. We need to talk. I need to tell you—”

  “You’ve said plenty. You’ve admitted you’ve orchestrated something with her in order to deceive me. That’s all I need to know.”

  “Fee, please. It wasn’t even my idea at the start.”

  She doesn’t hear me. She’s turned away and is packing her bag. “I want to go home,” she says again.

  “I did go to her the day of your second appointment. I went to her because you said you didn’t need her services. You said you were all better. And I . . . I couldn’t not know what she thought of that. I had to know if I should worry about you.”

  Turning back to me, she says, “Why does it always have to be about you controlling things?”

  Jesus, I wasn’t trying to control—”

  “That’s exactly what you were doing. You should have let me sort it out. I’m an adult, not some child you need to mind.”

  “Honey, you have to understand how scared I was for you. I wanted to be sure you were going to be all right. That you’d be able to handle things after what happened that night. I couldn’t risk you falling down again.”

  “You could have taken me at my word.”

  We lock eyes for a long moment. I struggle to hold back, but can’t stop from saying, “Not when the babies could be at risk.”

  “I didn’t hurt them!” she wails, suddenly wracked with sobs that are painful to watch.

  “You didn’t. And I know you wouldn’t,” I say as soothingly as I can. “But they weren’t being cared for that night, Fee.”

  She covers her face with her hands and shakes her head. “It was just a moment. A bad moment.” Her words are muffled by her hands. “But you’re using it to define me.”

  “No. I told you that I think you’re an amazing mother and I honestly believe that. I just wanted to take every precaution. For you. For the babies.”

  Dropping her hands from her face, she looks at me, pained. “Why didn’t you talk to me, then?”

  “You were so adamant that you were fine. You didn’t want to examine it all. Not with me. You know that’s the truth. You couldn’t speak with me about what led up to that. I’m only just now finding out about your father.”

  “I won’t be blamed for your manipulations. Your lies. What you did was inexcusable.”

  “I’m sorry, Fee. I didn’t set out to deceive you. I went to Amelia with the simple request that she confirm what you told me—that you didn’t need therapy. That you were well on your way to handling things. Then she said she wanted to use your coffee dates as a way to be sure you were okay. She suggested this arrangement because she said she liked you. She said as your friend she could also impart some therapy if she thought it would be helpful.”

  “Really?” she scoffs. “She’s the one who just came up with this plan?

  “Is it really so hard to believe? I mean, just look at her and Danny Boy. Look at how she’s stepped out of line with him. She obviously has a very fluid sense of what’s professionally appropriate.”

  She opens her mouth to speak but stops short. I can see her absorbing my argument. But then she shakes her head. “You’re both to blame, then,” she says. “I am not some plaything for you to toy with, Conor. You’ve broken my trust.”

  I reach out to her and try to pull her into my arms. I want to soothe her, to convince her with my embrace that all I ever wanted was to offer her the support I thought she needed. But she jerks away from me.

  “I want to go home,” she says one more time.

  This time, I listen and give her what she wants. We go silently to the motorbike. Instead of wrapping her arms around my waist, she holds onto the chrome grip bars at her sides. It’s the longest ride I’ve ever taken.

  * * *

  Once home, she drops her helmet listlessly to the ground and goes straight inside. I trail after her, waking Lizzy on the couch to tell her we’re home, and seeing her to her car. She’s sleepy but ready to be in her own bed and leaves quickly.

  Going upstairs, I expect to find Felicity in our bedroom but she’s not there. She’s not in the en suite, either.

  I go to Romeo and Ella’s room and find her curled up on the love seat, her eyes closed. The babies are sleeping.

  I don’t know where we go from here. I don’t know if Felicity will ever forgive me or if I’ve done the one thing she can use to justifiably push me away. All I know is that I’m not going to make it easy for her. I sit down on the floor, leaning up against the sofa where she’s huddled.

  35

  Felicity

  When I wake, my neck is stiff from the awkward angle I was curled into and Conor has his arm wrapped around my waist, his face pressed against the sofa. It’s oddly quiet. The babies are still sleeping soundly.

  Carefully, I ease Conor’s arm away from me and crawl off of the sofa. I need to pump and throw out the alcohol-tainted milk. And I need to think.

  The rhythmic noise of the machine doing its work to extract my milk lulls me into a near hypnotic state. It makes me incapable of truly thinking through what happened tonight. I’m left with the resounding feeling of betrayal, but I can’t pick apart the pieces of it.

  Once done, I climb into the shower and hope the hot water will help. It’s three in the morning. I should be trying to sleep, but I don’t want to disappear into that kind of relief. I want to examine what has happened and figure out what I’ll do.

  The water has done its trick and I feel revived as I pull my wet hair into a low knot at the nape of my neck and wrap myself into a thick terry cloth robe.

  Conor is sitting on the side of the bed when I emerge from the bathroom, steam following me out.

  “No,” I tell him. “You need to give me some space.”

  “Can I just say something?”

  “I don’t—”

  “I love you, Felicity. I love you with everything I’ve got. You may not believe that right now. But I hope you’ll remember it soon.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “I fucked up by trying to be the one to fix you. It wasn’t my place. I should have just been here. I should have been here.” He pounds his chest with his fist for emphasis and I can almost feel his desperation in my own chest. “You’re right, I like to be in control. And I’ve had none of that lately. Not with what happened to Christian, not with how you are faring, not with my father’s condition, not with anything. I guess that affected my judgment. I second-guessed the whole thing a million times, but I didn’t stop it. I saw how you reacted every time you visited with her. She seemed to be the key to your happiness, honey. I couldn’t help, but she could. And that outweighed everything else. Because I just wanted you to be happy. I so wanted you to feel confident in your own skin again. I hope I haven’t destroyed your progress. I hope I haven’t destroyed us.”

  I see the tears in his eyes before he hangs his head. I’ve never seen him cry. Not when we got married, not when Christian committed suicide, not at the news of Romeo being placed with us, or at Ella’s birth. Seeing him this way now, I realize how beaten down he’s been. I hate to see him this way.

  Going to him, I touch his face. Instead of looking up at me, he wraps his arms around my waist and buries himself into my robe, holding me tightly.

  Though I stroke his hair, I say, “You can’t expect it to be this easy. You can’t expect that everything is okay now.”

/>   “I don’t,” he mumbles into me. “Just tell me we’re not over.”

  The plea in his voice is heartbreaking. I drop to my knees, so he’s forced to look at me. I smile weakly. “Dear boy,” I whisper, “don’t you know that I can be furious at you and still love you?”

  Of course, he doesn’t know that, I admonish myself. He’s never had a long-term relationship before this.

  “I’m sorry, Fee. I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says.

  I nod. I know his motives were never malicious. I can’t deny that, in his own clumsy way, he was trying to help. But I won’t disregard the bigger picture of what his actions did. Of how shaken I feel.

  “Give me time,” I say and his face falls. He’s ready to take this as me rejecting him. “Just, know that I love you. But that I need some space.”

  He sits up, pulling as far away from me as he can without getting up and leaving. I suppose it’s his own self-protection move. He’s bared his heart, pleaded his case. And now that I’m not ready to forgive and forget, he’ll close up and decide it’s better to rely on his usual cool and control. But that’s all right with me. I’ve given him enough hand-holding through his mistake. Time for him to accept responsibility and live with the fact that he hurt me.

  “Okay,” he says and clears his throat. “I’ll get up when the babies wake. You get some rest.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  His voice is detached. He doesn’t meet my eyes.

  “Thanks for that.”

  Standing, he looks around the bedroom as if seeing it for the first time. Or maybe the last time. “I’m going to go downstairs,” he says absently and walks out without another word.

  A few minutes later, I hear him playing an acoustic guitar. That’s where he will find some kind of peace.

  I’m not sure where I’ll find mine.

  36