Continuum (The South Beach Connection Trilogy Book 3)

by A. R. Hadley

  "Are you hungry, baby?"

  Fuck! As she let go of the elephant, it clanked against a larger one, causing Cal to laugh.

  "Shut up. You scared me."

  She straightened out the gray baby, tucking him back in place with his mother, then swept her gaze over the eyes of all the statues.

  "Michelle is making lunch," Cal said.

  "Can you get my camera?"

  As he walked up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her pelvis and breathed in her orange-blossom scent. "You want to photograph my mother's old relics? You do see beauty in everything."

  Cal traced a finger across the bindings of the books on the shelf below the elephants until it stopped, almost of its own accord. He tapped the spine.

  "How did I miss this?" he mumbled under his breath.

  "What?" Annie glanced at him. His face warmed with … with … nostalgia?

  He stepped aside and pulled the old book out. The corners of a photograph stuck out of the top of the dust jacket. He grinned.

  "These are all yours?" Annie asked.

  "Most of them. I read quite a few when I was here these last few months."

  "You're always reading, Prescott." People and books.

  "I've been wanting to tell you…"

  "What?"

  "I came across … well, something fell out of one of the books I chose a few weeks ago."

  "That one?" Annie tipped her head toward it.

  "No, not this one." Glancing at it, testing its weight in his palm, the feel of the edges and even its smell — all took him back to his twenties. "Apparently, sometime, a long time ago, I tucked a joint into that other book, and I—"

  Annie's laughter interrupted his sentence. "You”—she tripped over herself—"smoked it? You? Did it actually light?"

  He peered at her, unflinching, but then he cracked a boyish smile.

  "I had a hard enough time picturing you”—she scratched his chin—“with a beard and the uncut hair, but..." Annie clutched her stomach, unable to contain the laughter.

  "I'm glad you find me so amusing."

  "Oh, I always find you amusing."

  "The point is—"

  "There's a point." She was still giggling.

  "After I lit it—"

  She laughed again.

  His eyes grew in size as did his smile. "Michelle asked me that night if I remembered the last time—"

  "—you got high?"

  "Yes, and I said I didn’t, but I lied."

  Cal took the photo from the book sleeve and showed it to Annie. And what she saw caused her to turn to stone: a precious, serious stone.

  After alternating between staring at the picture and Cal, she finally settled her gaze on the young man in the photo again.

  His hair was lighter, his face thinner, his features somehow softer, his lips curving into a mischievous grin, his eyes haunting the way they'd always been. And the face next to him in the photograph was that of a woman, not a girl, perhaps in her late thirties, grinning wide and looking at Cal instead of into the lens.

  "She was..." Cal brushed his palm over his chin and fought tears. His throat couldn't be stopped, though. It ballooned to twice its size, choking him. He looked away, shaking his head. After all these years, it was ridiculous Jocelyn still had this fucking effect on him. "She was the first woman I ever loved."

  Annie could already see the love swimming in his eyes now — and in the photo. She put her hand on Cal's cheek. "I can see by her expression she loved you too."

  "Well," he said and inhaled, "that was a very long time ago."

  "I want to know, Cal. Tell me the story. I've never pressed you about your past. But now, we're getting married, and I want to know everything."

  "You've always wanted to know everything." He ran a knuckle along her cheek.

  She smiled. "And I've waited."

  "You've been more patient with me than anyone I've ever met. Come, sit down." He led her to the settee, and they both sat on the bold, red one.

  He glanced at the photograph, tucked it back into its place inside the book, and looked at Annie. "She was my teacher."

  By the look on Cal's face, Annie could tell her eyes must’ve involuntarily popped from their sockets. Fuck. He’d always had a way with women. But a teacher?

  "In high school?"

  "No." He laughed. "I was a senior in college." His eyes bounced around before settling again on Annie. "She was beautiful."

  "She is," Annie replied with sincerity, and maybe a hint of jealousy, while glancing at the edge of the book.

  "No, I mean beautiful … like you." He took her hand. "Inside and out." Pausing, he grinned. "I didn't know what the fuck I was doing."

  "You? You always know what you're doing."

  Cal rolled his eyes at her comment. Annie had been rubbing off on him.

  "I was twenty-one when it began. We were together … if you can call it that — our relationship had always been clandestine — but we were together. And it was for most of my senior year, and then I moved to New York after graduation."

  "You never saw her again?"

  "Once. About ... sixteen or seventeen years ago." Cal rubbed his fingers along Annie's hand, tracing the lines on her palm. "She taught me how to love, and then I guess I forgot, or I didn't think I needed it. I was afraid to receive it. Even from her."

  "Cal..."

  "She gave me this book." He tilted the cover toward Annie. "Have you ever read it?"

  "No."

  He smiled down at the novel, as if acknowledging a long-lost friend, then he exhaled a big, shaky breath.

  Annie took his other hand, the needling she’d felt from the green-eyed monster now absent from her disposition and tone. "We’ll have to thank her—"

  "Jocelyn," he interrupted, looking as though he could see parts of his first love in the eyes of his Annie.

  Cradling his face, she was ready to speak with her trademark tenderness. "We will have to thank ... Jocelyn. She apparently taught you things about life, about yourself. You didn't really forget. The love, the lessons, it's all in your heart — along with her ... and me." Annie smiled. "Your heart is bigger than you could’ve ever imagined."

  "You've made me remember." Cal kissed Annie, pressing his lips against hers and striking them with the delicate force of the wings of a butterfly.

  Her tears released, sliding down her cheeks, mixing with the moisture at the corners of their mouths.

  "I love you, Cal." Annie nibbled his upper lip and pushed her hands through his hair.

  After placing the book on the floor, he pushed her back against the cushion of the settee, his arms on either side of her, his face inches from hers. "I love you, baby."

  He slid pieces of hair from her eyes and resumed kissing her lips, stronger than the wings of a butterfly, much stronger, giving her his tongue with a different kind of force, a passion, claiming the comfort he’d tried for twenty years to forget, sucking it up in her tongue, licking it up in her soft whimpers, aching for her, knowing he would grow old first, wishing the comfort of Annie was forever, wanting to never have to leave her alone ever, wanting this love, their love, the comfort to circumvent even death.

  Death...

  That was why they were here … in this house.

  Fucking death.

  It would come for each and every one of them. Not Annie, though. Never Annie. She was forever. Her love was forever.

  Forever had been a word hard to come by. It was a word he never used.

  Nothing was supposed to be forever. Certainly, not this … this relationship. Forever hadn’t existed until he met her. The word had been meaningless. Now he wanted there to truly be a forever so he could live there with her, in the solace of it — where time didn’t exist.

  Forever to listen to her breathe, to watch her ways, to hear the gentle sound of her voice, to feel the vibrations of her skin. He needed forever, not just half a lifetime to love her and give her everything she deserved. He could only hope to live
another forty-five years to be alongside his Annie.

  Michelle made a noise, interrupting them, and then she tried to exit the room, quickly realizing she shouldn’t have entered it.

  Cal lifted his chest, took Annie's hand, and guided her up with him into a reasonable sitting position.

  Her hair remained mussed. And she couldn't help but giggle. "It's okay, Michelle. Come back."

  Michelle peeked around the corner. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes." Annie waved her hand.

  "I wanted to show you a couple of photo albums. I thought we could look at them before lunch."

  "Since when did Mom have photo albums?"

  "I put these together. I've been digging through her pictures, mine and yours these last few days … you know, for the service. Mandy helped me." Michelle laid the larger book on the table and opened it.

  Annie sat perched on the edge of the settee, eager to see what was inside. She was marrying a man she’d always felt she knew, yet she didn't even know what he looked like as a baby.

  The pages turned in Annie’s hands slowly.

  He was adorable. Blond-blond hair. Green eyes lit from within. Determination abundant in the shape of his chin and the squaring of his hips. She studied the photos and asked questions. Even Cal perked up and joined the conversation. He answered without hesitation.

  Constance came alive too. Beautiful, thick, dark hair. Blue eyes. A jaw set in stone. Like Cal’s.

  His entire childhood seemed like a dream sequence. Plenty of photos of his grandpa E.W. and other relatives too. Michelle had tagged them all in an old-fashioned way with actual handwriting — script no less, close to calligraphy.

  The second book contained photos from what seemed to be the last twenty years or so. Cal graduating college, his friends, an antique car. A woman was in several of the pictures — not his mother. An athletic woman with wavy brown hair and stunning dark eyes.

  Annie took note of Cal's expression. He’d stopped talking and sharing, but his eyes, as usual, displayed whatever emotion he held back.

  Disappointment? Regret?

  Before Annie had a chance to brave asking him more, his phone rang. He answered the call and stepped outside.

  "It's a lot to take in," Michelle said, closing the album. "Family. A funeral." She sighed and eyeballed the door. "He's a lot to take in."

  "Has he always been such a mystery?" Annie grinned, also glancing at the door where the enigmatic man probably stood just on the other side.

  Squinting and smiling, Michelle brought her thumb and forefinger together, leaving not much space between them. "A little bit." Then she lifted Annie's hand and glanced at the ring. "He must’ve shocked the hell out of you with his proposal." She touched the band. A smile curled the corners of her lips. A sad one with a pinch of optimism. "He told his mother he wanted to marry you the night she died. I've never seen him like this." Michelle’s brows quirked up. "Do you have some kind of special powers?" She eyed Annie with mock suspicion, and then they both burst into laughter.

  "Are you ready to eat?" Michelle asked as Annie stood and arched her back.

  "I'm always ready to eat." Annie made her way to the mantle, where she began to rub her fingers over a petal belonging to a beautiful arrangement of flowers. "We should wait for Cal."

  "He could be forever." Michelle looked out the window. "And the baby won't wait."

  Annie ignored Michelle and stared at the card sticking out from the bouquet, remembering what she’d heard the two of them discussing earlier.

  "Samantha sent flowers," Michelle had said. Annie had remained on the staircase, listening.

  "How does Sam even know?" Cal replied.

  "I told her."

  "Why would you do that?"

  "She cared a great deal for your mother. I've had to contact people. You need to make some phone calls too."

  It was all they had said about a woman named Samantha before moving on to the topic of Rosa.

  Now Annie's fingers had a mind of their own. They massaged the little white card, rubbing the corners, the same way she’d stroked the tulips. A second later — oops — she flipped open the card and read it.

  My deepest sympathy to you both, Cal and Michelle, and your family. Constance was a force to be reckoned with, and I imagine God has his hands full in heaven.

  Love always,

  Sam and family

  Sam. Samantha. Mad love number two. The pretty woman in the photo album.

  "You read the card, honey?”

  Michelle's question broke into Annie's thoughts, and a chill ran through her body.

  "That was Sam in the album. You know, when Mr. Mysterious got all quiet." Michelle rolled her eyes.

  "I heard you mention the flowers … before. I was coming down the stairs. I didn't think … well, it didn't seem like the time to interrupt."

  "To interrupt what?" Cal asked, stepping foot inside the room.

  "Annie was asking about those flowers." Michelle cocked her head to the side.

  Cal stared his cousin down with one of his premiere austere glares, but it didn't do any good. His power didn't seem to have any effect on her.

  "Let's open the book again," he grumbled as he strode toward Annie, took her hand, and led her to the fancy, antique sofa.

  Annie chewed on her thumbnail. "Let's just go eat."

  "No. You know I've loved two women. I should’ve explained earlier," he grumbled again, and as he looked at Michelle, his face twisted.

  "Cal, you never told her about Sam? No wonder you think he's a mystery, honey. The truth is, he’s just a big scaredy-cat." Michelle laughed.

  Cal had barely found the page he wanted when Michelle took a seat near them and interrupted. "She has two kids, you know."

  "Who?" Cal said.

  "Samantha. Don't be a dick."

  Annie stifled a laugh.

  "She didn't waste any time I see," Cal replied.

  Michelle took out her phone and slipped on the eyeglasses hanging from a string around her neck. "Her children are adorable."

  "How do you know?"

  "I looked her up on Facebook."

  "You friended her?"

  "Yes. Why not?"

  "Did you tell her I'm going to be a father?"

  Michelle looked down her nose through her readers. "Damn these phones sometimes. Where is she? Come on..." She tapped at the screen.

  "Did you hear me, Mishy?"

  "What? Ah, here they are."

  "Did you tell Samantha I'm going to be a father?"

  "Why don't you want her to know?" Annie asked, confused as hell but still amused.

  "It's complicated," Cal replied.

  "No, it's not," Michelle said. "She's happy for you."

  "Right."

  Michelle patted Annie's knee and whispered, "He wants everything complicated. He's not a mystery — just a goddamn complication."

  Cal scoffed while Michelle displayed a satisfied smile.

  "This is Kyle, and this is Alyssa. They’re two and one."

  "Aww. They're cute," Annie said.

  "Did you friend request the babies too?" Cal asked, and Annie laughed.

  "Seriously, look." Michelle wiggled the phone. "Soon you guys will have one of these. You have no idea what you're in for." She laughed and closed the app. "Come on. I want to eat."

  "We’ll be along shortly," Cal said.

  "And that's my cue." Michelle spun around.

  "Don't leave me alone with him," Annie cried.

  "You're already pregnant, honey. I don't know how much more harm he can do."

  "True." Annie tucked her arm through Cal's and smiled.

  He laced his fingers through Annie's and placed his other hand on her belly as Michelle departed. They sat in silence for a moment, the album open to a beautiful photo of Cal and Samantha. The sun on their faces. Marathon shirts on their backs, tagged with numbers.

  "You don't have to talk about it today, baby. I—"

  "I lived with Sammie for sev
en years." He leaned forward, fingers now stuck in his hair. "I loved her. I probably still do." He flicked his eyes to the photo. "She met someone, left me, married him, and apparently had two kids. The kids I didn't want to have. The ones I refused." He stopped abruptly, then blew out a breath. "I was the bastard who wouldn't get her pregnant."

  Annie touched his back. She waited a moment, but he said nothing.

  "How much longer will you beat yourself up over stuff like this? You’re a good man."

  He stood, dragged a palm across his chin, then pinched his neck. "Don't you want to ask how someone can spend seven fucking years of their life with someone they know isn't right for them?" He shifted his eyes.

  Don't give him the pity face. She wasn't sorry for him anyway. Give him love. The love he’d missed or refused. The love he’d said was forgotten. The stubborn fucking mule.

  "That's what she did? She pressured you?" Annie stood.

  As he looked at her, his entire expression changed, softened, relaxed. The Annie Effect.

  "She never let you forget it either? Oh, Cal..."

  His head dropped, looking weighted, like he had an anchor tied about his neck. But when he looked up again, there was a sparkle in his green eyes. Dimples set in his cheeks. "How do you do that?"

  Annie shrugged, and he stepped into her space. "Are you real?" He poked her hip bone a few times until she giggled, and then he yanked her toward his body, suffocated her inside his arms, and put his lips to her ear.

  "You’re the most real person I've ever met. The most patient, understanding." He continued to tickle her.

  "Stop it." Annie buckled and bent under the duress.

  She giggled and giggled while trying to pinch him in the spot where his thigh met his pelvis. That spot. Once she had him at her mercy, she pushed him down onto the settee and straddled him, taking hold of his face so he couldn’t hood his eyes.

  "A bastard would walk away from his child." His jaw remained encased by her palms. "A bastard wouldn't know how to love someone the way you love me." She kissed the tip of his nose, then his upper lip. "You deserve this life. You deserve to be a father to this baby. Our baby."

  A smile spread across his face like a gentle wave rolling toward the shore. "I love you.”

  She smirked. "I can tell.” She wiggled over the dick she could feel beginning to gain momentum inside his trousers.