by Peak, Renna
The cute one moved closer to her friend and leaned around her to talk to me. “I’m not supposed to be drinking. And to be fair, Lori saw you first.”
I chuckled. “Doesn’t it matter who I saw first?”
Lori’s face turned red and her chest jutted out again. “Carly’s not on the market, anyway.”
A puzzled look came over the other girl’s face. “Who said that?”
I grinned and grabbed my drink again. I took a long, slow sip from the glass before setting it back on the bar. I let out a long breath. “Are you both legal?”
The slutty one’s eyes narrowed. “I’m twenty-one. You want to see my license, officer?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t give a shit if you’re old enough to drink or about your fake IDs. I just want to make sure I don’t get arrested for anything else we might do tonight.”
The cute one turned a bright shade of crimson and took a long drink from her straw. “We both are.”
“Good.” I drummed my fingers on the bar. “Where are you from?” I stared across at the cute one, my eyes lingering a little too long on the word “Stanford” emblazoned across her chest. Another few drinks of scotch and I knew it wouldn’t remind me of Jen’s “Hoyas” t-shirt anymore.
The slutty one replied. “You don’t think we’re from here?”
I turned my gaze to her. “No.” I looked back over at Stanford. “You. You’re from the Midwest. Nebraska. Maybe Iowa.”
She grinned and turned another shade of red before turning her gaze to her drink. “Ohio.”
“Close enough.” I turned to the slut. “You’re definitely California. Not NoCal, though. You’re all SoCal.”
Her face turned an almost identical shade of crimson. “Temecula.”
“Yep.” What could I say? I had always had a knack for figuring out where people were from and it turned girls on, at least girls who went to bars looking to be picked up. Jen had stumped me when I first met her, and it was part of the intrigue, I was sure. She had the beauty of the Midwest, the class of the east coast and the laid back attitude of the west coast. I never had been able to peg her, not until I found out who she was.
I needed to stop thinking about Jen now, though. I had two gorgeous co-eds, ready to let me take them both home. I glanced down to the end of the bar, curious to know what my delusion thought about that. Apparently, my brain didn’t need to project anything to get me to listen to it anymore, because the woman was gone. That had to be a sure sign I was doing the right thing.
“My place is just down the street. Would you two like to join me for dinner?”
They each looked at the other and nodded their agreement to the plan. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. This wasn’t what I wanted. It wasn’t how I had planned this evening. But it would have to do for now.
11
Dr. Stan Goldman was supposed to be one of the best psychiatrists in San Francisco. He was also one of the strangest. It wasn’t that he was icky, or someone that made me uncomfortable, but there was something about him that wasn’t quite right. Something I couldn’t put my finger on that made me squirm in my seat every time I sat down to talk to him.
I’d had to go wash my hands after Ben left the apartment. There was also something wrong with him that I couldn’t put my finger on. Unlike Dr. Goldman, though, I was pretty sure Ben was a creep. The guy made my skin crawl, and he never did tell me why he had come over that afternoon. I was pretty sure he was trying to convince me to take the job in the governor’s office, but he didn’t come right out and say it. He hinted around at other things—weird things, like who I was dating. Considering I already knew that Brandon knew him, it seemed like a strange thing for him to be asking me. I was almost certain that he was Brandon’s contact in Sacramento. So what he was doing there, trying to convince me of anything? I had no idea. But it made me feel gross, almost like I needed to take a shower after he left.
I came out to the living room after I finished washing away the grime of Ben’s visit and sat down on the leather couch across from my psychiatrist. The couch was uncomfortable, and while I always tended to squirm while I talked to Dr. Goldman, the couch didn’t help matters. I longed to have my old futon back—the beat up thing Mel and I had had forever, first in our dorm room, then in our apartment.
“How have you been sleeping?” The man gazed over at me. That seemed to always be the opening question these past several weeks. Everyone who knew me asked. Melissa, Krystal, my father… it seemed to be the concern of the month.
“Crappy.” It was true. I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since the whole Daniel thing. I sometimes wondered if my sleep issues were related to the fact that I still couldn’t remember a damned thing.
He nodded. “It’s been how long now? Four weeks since we started meeting?”
I returned the nod. “I still just wake up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep. Two a.m., every morning like clockwork.”
He pursed his lips and pulled out a prescription pad. “I’m going to give you a new prescription. This one is an off-label use for sleep disorders. I think if you just get some quality sleep, it will break the cycle and you’ll be as good as new. Then we can go down to weekly sessions.”
Praise God. It was almost like a miracle when he had said we could go down to twice-weekly sessions this week. The three-times-weekly sessions the weeks before had almost seemed too much. And quality sleep sounded like a fabulous plan. Any time after tonight… Tonight I was going to fix things with Brandon, but I wasn’t about to share that juicy detail with Dr. Goldman. I knew he had privacy laws to follow, but he was still on my father’s payroll. I still didn’t trust him completely, though he had helped me worked through quite a bit of the anger I had surrounding what had happened.
“Let’s talk about Brandon.”
I’m sure he saw my eyes roll. I didn’t need this. Not now. I had already made up my mind and my stomach was still churning in knots thinking that he would be there any time, interrupting my shrink session. I knew he’d be fine with me seeing a psychiatrist—probably even happy about it. It meant I was moving forward, that I was ready to start over. I almost hoped he was doing the same thing.
“I see by the eye roll it isn’t something you want to discuss today. Would you say that’s true?”
God, I hated the way psychiatrists talked to me. There was always something condescending about it, as though they already knew the answer and were trying to get me to see it their way. I’d been to enough shrinks in my life to know and understand that the point of therapy wasn’t for the shrink to impart their wisdom. It was supposed to be so that I could heal myself.
I forced a smile. “Brandon and I are going to talk tonight.”
He nodded. “I think that’s good. Are you planning to go see him after this?”
I shook my head. “He was supposed to come over. He probably got hung up with work or something.” Work. It probably was his job, and I pushed the thought away. As long as I could convince myself that he wasn’t still actively working to take down my father, we could work this out. It would all be okay.
He nodded again. “I believe he came by already. Before you sat down with me…”
My eyes widened to saucers. “He was here?”
The doctor shrugged. “I assume it was him. I asked if he was Brandon, and he asked me to tell you hello. He picked up the box that was lying by the door…” He motioned behind him, though I couldn’t see all the way to the front door from where I was sitting. “He dropped off some flowers and a bag of something. I assume you asked him to drop off your things, the same as you did for him. That was the homework, after all…”
Oh, Jesus Christ. If he saw another man here, someone he didn’t recognize, I knew he’d go bat shit crazy about it. It didn’t matter if it was a doctor—I knew how overprotective he could be. How jealous. And he would think I had led him on, that I had wanted him to see me with someone else. That I wanted him to think I had moved on. I had t
o go fix this, and quickly, before he did something stupid. He was probably already half-drunk, and I wasn’t sure whether to check the bar or his apartment first.
I looked back at the doctor. “I should go. If he was here…”
He interrupted. “If he was here, he needs to learn how to deal with the fact that you have a life outside of his influence. Outside of his sphere. Otherwise, you’re merely substituting his influence over your life for your father’s.”
Good lord. He was right about that—all of it. It was still something I needed to work on—learning how to stand on my own two feet and not worry about what the men in my life wanted me to do. Or what they expected me to do. Why couldn’t I have a man in my house? Even if it was someone he didn’t know? It wasn’t as though Dr. Goldman was anything but a doctor. Brandon should be able to understand that, and the explanations could wait.
After my session, I decided to take the bag of groceries with me to his place. The flowers he had brought to me, while beautiful and my favorite colors, were ruined. The stems were broken, probably from his anger at another man opening my door. If he would have just waited a few seconds longer, he would have known how innocent the entire thing was. I understood that he was angry. He had demons that he still battled, even if I didn’t fully understand what they were. I had so hoped we would be able to find an inner peace together, away from the craziness that had enveloped us. Maybe it was only just a naïve dream.
I decided to walk to his apartment, Cade following quietly behind me. His apartment wasn’t even a mile away from where I lived now, so it was close enough to walk and I figured the exercise would help to quiet my overactive brain, anyway. Thinking about his jealousy and possessiveness tended to get me a little too worked up. I loved that he needed me—wanted me. But he had to learn to trust me, too.
I made my way up the stairs to his apartment. Cade waited in the lobby, which I hoped he would have to do all night. If things worked out, I’d text him and let him know I was going to stay.
I felt the familiar rush of excitement surge through me as I ascended the staircase. I was almost shaking by the time I arrived at his doorway. I smoothed my hair and my dress and knocked on the door. I blew out a long breath while I waited for the door to open. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when it finally did.
12
I wasn’t sure what I felt when the woman opened the door, standing in front of me in nothing more than a Stanford t-shirt and her lace panties. Angry. Bewildered. I wondered for only a moment if this was what Brandon had felt when Dr. Goldman had opened the door for him at my apartment. I pushed it away when I realized that unlike this woman, my psychiatrist had been fully clothed.
My hands balled into fists, and I clutched the grocery bag so hard in my hand that I’m sure my knuckles turned white. My fingernails dug into my palms and I felt my face flush. I hadn’t so much as spoken a word when another woman came around the corner from the kitchen. She didn’t even have a t-shirt on, just her bra and underwear and her hair was soaking wet.
I looked up at the number over the entryway, sure I had knocked on the wrong door. It had to be the wrong apartment. Maybe he had moved and hadn’t told me. Maybe no one knew. It seemed like the type of thing he might do—up and move to a different place without letting anyone know.
I somehow managed to stammer out my words. “I’m sorry. I think I must have the wrong apartment.”
The Stanford t-shirt girl’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God, you’re Jenna Davis.”
The nearly naked girl looked at me, scanning me up and down. “Who’s Jenna Davis?”
T-shirt girl motioned at me with her hand. “Her. You know, Senator Davis? The one that had the affair? That’s her.”
Jesus Christ, how did I always find myself in these situations? I took a deep breath, just wanting to get the hell out of there. “I’m sorry, I…”
I heard his voice boom from somewhere down the hall. “Stanford, are you coming in? It’s time for your shower…”
I’m not sure if it was how hard I was gripping the paper handles on the bag or if I snapped my arm in just the right way, but the grocery bag tore at that moment. My arm was suddenly light and I lifted my hand to see the handles still clutched tightly in my fist. I heard the shattering of glass and knew that the bottle of wine that had been in the bag was now broken inside of it.
His voice tore down the hallway again. “Damn it girls, I told you the only rule tonight was that you not trash my place.”
I turned on my heel and walked away, down the stairs and out of the building before the realization of what was happening really dawned on me. He had shown me, alright. He thought I was trying to make him jealous, and damn it, he couldn’t let me win at that game.
My breath was coming way too fast and I ducked into the bar that was just a few steps from his building. The one where he had taken me the first night we met. I looked back and made sure Cade was still there. He was, even though I hadn’t really had a thought about looking for him and I watched him take a booth by the door. I probably should have joined him, but I needed some space.
I sat down on one of the bar stools and ordered a Long Island. Alcohol would at least take the edge off, let me breathe. I had to push it all out of my mind for now. I couldn’t let myself be hurt or angry or any of the other thousand things I was sure I needed to feel. I just wanted to forget what I had seen. Forget everything. If the bartender had offered me a drink to forget the past five months, I think I would have paid any amount of money to take him up on the offer.
I took a long sip of the bitter drink and let the warmth of the alcohol wash over me. Two of these, then I would have Cade call us a cab to go to the drug store. I would fill my prescription and hopefully not wake up until sometime tomorrow afternoon.
I finished the first cocktail and had just ordered my second when a woman came to sit down next to me. She was tall and attractive. She looked quite a bit older than me, probably in her late fifties, maybe early sixties, but it only showed around her eyes.
She looked over at me and smiled. I noticed her blue eyes—the same color blue as Brandon’s. As Krystal’s. I might not have noticed them at all except for the way she stared at me before she spoke.
“You’re Jenna Davis.”
I nodded and pulled another long sip from my cocktail. I didn’t need any more of these “you’re Jenna Davis” moments that night. No photos, no press, no obsessive people who wanted to know every detail of my personal life.
She smiled and took a sip from her glass of wine. “I’ve been wanting to meet with you for some time.”
“Oh.” I took another drink and looked over at Cade, who was now sitting up straight, looking directly at me. Something about his posture told me he wasn’t sure about the situation—it wasn’t his same carefree attitude that he had when I was with my friends or with Brandon. Something about the way he looked at me, the way he sat poised for action. I could feel there was something unsafe about this woman. Something I needed to get away from as quickly as possible.
She extended her hand to me. “Jenna, I’m Joan. Joan Richardson.” Her smile widened. “I’m Brandon’s mother.”
Broken #3
The MISTAKEN Series - Part Nine
1
I took another long drink from my Long Island. Either what was in this drink was working way faster than it should have or I was stuck in an episode of The Twilight Zone. I looked up and down at the woman sitting next to me. She didn’t look anything like Brandon, apart from her eyes. Those were unmistakable, the same brilliant ocean blue as both his and his sister’s. She might have been related, but his mother? Krystal’s mother? It seemed unlikely at best.
I forced my world-famous Hennessey smile to my lips and met her gaze. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t really a Hennessey—I’d had elite training in mastering this particular expression. The one that said, “I’m a lady, and you will never see what I’m actually thinking.” We sat there, almost staring at
each other for a long moment before I spoke. “Nice to meet you.”
She laughed. The way she tilted her head did remind me of Krystal, but not enough to believe that she had given birth to the woman over forty years ago. Besides, this woman didn’t look old enough to have been Krystal’s mother, not when I knew Krystal was thirteen years older than Brandon. This woman would have to be pushing seventy to be old enough to be their mother, and there was no way she could have been older than sixty at the absolute most. Either that, or she had aged exceptionally well. Even plastic surgery couldn’t have accomplished this woman’s perfect skin. I just couldn’t believe that there was any way she could be Brandon’s mother. No way.
Cade took the bar stool on my opposite side. Something in his posture told me I should be on guard myself, but the woman’s laughter was making it difficult to do anything but keep the forced smile on my face, even though my heart was about to beat out of my chest. He leaned into my shoulder and whispered into my ear, “It’s time to go, kiddo.”
I eyed the woman again, who was still chuckling to herself while taking another long drink from her wine glass. I took another long sip from my own drink and stood up, never taking my eyes from the woman sitting next to me. There was something so off about her—I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was, but she was definitely making me feel more than a little shaky.
I had only taken one step toward the door before she spoke. “It was nice to meet you, Jenna.” She stood up from her own seat and took a few steps toward me. I felt Cade edge closer to me on my opposite side.
I couldn’t remember having been in many situations where I felt like I was actually in danger. Cade had been next to me for months and I hadn’t ever seen him like this—so on edge that he might jump this woman without a real reason. It sent a cold chill through me just thinking about it—made my heart race more quickly than before. I knew that what I had gone through so many weeks before with Daniel had been dangerous—I just couldn’t remember any of it. And Cade hadn’t been there…
