Come Home to Me

by Brenda Novak

  “I’m aware that there’s no commitment between Riley and me. But I’m sure he’s not expecting this. And I’d rather be the type of person a guy like Riley can admire, okay? I’d rather be the type of person I can admire.”

  He shoved a hand through his hair. “A guy like Riley? Is he somehow different from other guys? From me?”

  “You know what I mean. You told me yourself he’s the best Whiskey Creek has to offer. He has his shit together.”

  “He’s not that great,” he said. “I was being sarcastic. And just because you had sex with a partner you’ve slept with a hundred times before—after two years of celibacy—doesn’t make you a...” He didn’t want to say whore; he didn’t even want to introduce that word into the conversation. “Lowlife,” he finished.

  “Having a one-night stand with someone who’s already made it clear that he doesn’t want me for anything beyond physical pleasure doesn’t exactly make me a pillar of the community.”

  He didn’t attempt to defend his position. His feelings were too complicated for that. He couldn’t definitely say what they encompassed. She wasn’t merely a friend; he wanted to sleep with her too badly for that. And she wasn’t his girlfriend; he wasn’t in love with her. She was somewhere in between. But despite a few instances where he’d fallen a little short, he’d always tried to be kind to her. “A pillar of the community? That’s what you’re shooting for?”

  “Why not?”

  “I think a ‘pillar’ would be too boring for you. For both of us.”

  “At least I wouldn’t lose my self-respect. This isn’t something I want Riley to know. I finally have a chance at the kind of life my sister has, and...look at me.” She covered her face as if she was too ashamed to show it. “I’ve already fucked up.”

  Aaron hadn’t seen this coming. Grabbing his boxers, he jammed his legs into them. “Quit beating yourself up. Riley’s not your type, anyway.”

  She whirled toward him. “Why not? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He struggled to come up with a reason they wouldn’t be compatible but couldn’t immediately land on one.

  “You think he’s too good for me?” she asked.

  “Of course not! It’s just that...you can do what you want when it comes to men. Riley has no claim on you. Maybe he’s with another woman right now.”

  “We both know he’s not. He’s not like that.”

  “He could be.” He buttoned his pants. “So what? Now you’re hoping for a ring from Riley Stinson?”

  “He’s a good man.”

  “And I’m not?” Aaron gaped at her. In the old days, she’d never made him feel like anything less than the moon and stars. What was going on?

  “Stop twisting my words,” she said. “I just... I need you to go so I can think straight.”

  “Come here...” He reached for her. But then her son started to cry in the other room, and the second that happened, whatever chance he’d had to reconcile with her was over. She scooped his shirt and shoes off the floor and thrust them at his chest while propelling him toward the door.

  “I–I’m sorry I let this get out of hand,” she said, suddenly polite—too polite. “Please forgive me if I’ve said or done anything to offend you. But...I need to take care of my baby now.”

  “This is crazy, Pres. Can’t I wait until you’ve done whatever you need to do with your kid so we can say goodbye? Does it have to end this way?”

  “How else can it end?” she asked, and the next thing he knew, he was standing on her porch half-dressed.

  * * *

  Aaron sat in his truck for probably fifteen minutes before driving away. He hadn’t even bothered to put on his shirt and shoes before he got behind the wheel; he’d tossed them in the passenger seat. He wanted to go back into Presley’s house. Somehow he’d upset her, but he hadn’t meant to. He’d come here hoping to reestablish their friendship. Like he’d told her, he honestly hadn’t come to get laid—not consciously. He’d been hoping to relieve a certain...sense of loss.

  He shouldn’t have suggested the massage, but she’d been acting so remote. He hadn’t known how to break through that icy reserve. And then, once she touched him, the memories came tumbling back and...he’d never felt such lust. She seemed to feel the same thing.

  So why would she be sorry afterward? She didn’t know about the broken rubber. And he’d made sure she had an orgasm. As excited as they were, it hadn’t even taken much work. Climax had come quickly for both of them. The whole encounter was exceptional—except for the part where he realized they hadn’t had the protection they’d assumed. And the part where she shoved him out the door. Why had she done that? She used to curl up beside him and spend the rest of the night. Sometimes she would stay far longer than he wanted her to....

  If he didn’t know her better, he’d think she was trying to punish him. But she wasn’t a conniving person, and her reaction had been so heartfelt. She’d exhibited genuine remorse. Maybe that was why her reaction upset him even more than the broken condom—although that was a serious concern.

  “Shit,” he muttered, and smacked the steering wheel. He’d come here to make things better; instead, he’d made them worse.

  * * *

  As she rocked Wyatt back to sleep, Presley couldn’t seem to stop crying. She wasn’t sobbing, but she was so disappointed in herself that the tears kept falling.

  What was wrong with her? She’d gone back on everything she’d told herself she was, everything she’d told herself she’d do and be.

  Aaron was too big a temptation for her.

  So now what?

  She put her baby in his crib and went to get her phone. She wasn’t worthy of someone like Riley. She’d tried to tell him that from the start.

  After wiping her cheeks, she sent him a text.

  It was great to see you today. Thanks for everything. But I’m afraid I can’t make it Friday night.

  * * *

  Presley heard her cell phone ring early the next morning and was so afraid it would wake Wyatt that she sprang out of bed and grabbed it. She didn’t want him up this early, not when that extra thirty minutes of sleep made such a difference.

  “Hello?” she said, her voice raspy but purposely low.

  “Don’t tell me I woke you.”

  Cheyenne. “What time is it?” She combed her fingers through her short bangs. After tossing and turning for most of the night, her hair was going every which way. She didn’t even want to see the damage crying had done to her eyes.

  “Eight-thirty. Don’t tell me Wyatt’s not up.”

  “It’s unusual for him to sleep so late, but he had a rough night.” She could only guess he’d sensed her turmoil.

  “I’m sorry I disturbed you, then.”

  “No problem.” Cheyenne was probably calling to talk about her artificial insemination plans; it was Monday and Dylan was out of the house. “Have you heard from Aaron yet?”

  Chances were slim that Aaron had contacted Cheyenne since they were together last night, but Presley was trying to give her sister the lead-in she assumed Chey was looking for.

  “Not yet, although it would’ve been great to wake up to a text from him this morning.”

  Presley could’ve volunteered that he was seriously considering it—that she’d talked to him—but she wasn’t going anywhere close to that. Just the mention of his name brought back every physically exquisite but bitterly regretted detail of what she’d done. Things better kept to herself. “Did he say when he’d have an answer for you?”

  “Not specifically, but I told him we don’t have much time, so...I’m hoping he’ll decide fast.”

  She slipped under the covers again, craving a few more minutes of comfort and relaxation. “Will you be too disappointed if the answer is no?”

  “I
want to say I won’t, but...you know I will be.”

  Presley heard someone in the background and realized that Cheyenne was at work. “Is that Eve?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tell her I said hi.”

  There was a slight pause while Cheyenne spoke to her best friend and employer. “She said you should come over for lunch,” Cheyenne said when she came back on the line.

  “At the B and B?”

  “Why not? We have a wonderful chef. We’ll be able to make a small feast with the leftovers from breakfast—and this morning we’re having crab and cream cheese omelets.”

  Presley thought of everything she had to do at the studio. Now that her reception area had been built and the place had been painted, she could finish cleaning up the debris, take her massage table over and start looking for a few chairs for the reception area. She couldn’t afford much, but she had a knack for finding quality secondhand items. She didn’t need a lot of furniture, especially for the yoga side. Until she could afford to add a few bells and whistles, she was planning to ask everyone to bring their own mats, towels and drinks; she had the music, the experience and the room.

  But she’d been so focused on taking care of Wyatt and getting her business launched that she hadn’t seen Eve or any of Cheyenne’s other friends, except those she’d bumped into at the book signing. For that matter, she hadn’t seen any of her old friends from the casino where she used to work. But she couldn’t see her friends, couldn’t risk being tempted back into her old lifestyle. That was part of the reason she was supposed to stay clear of Aaron.

  “I could carve out an hour or so. What time?”

  “Mama!”

  Wyatt was awake. She could hear him calling to her from the other room.

  “Ma-ma!”

  With a yawn, she went to get him. “There’s my boy.”

  A toothy grin bunched his fat cheeks, and he wiggled in excitement as she approached.

  “I wish just waking up in the morning made me as happy as it does you,” she told him, and held the phone to her ear with her shoulder so she could change his diaper.

  “Eleven okay?” Cheyenne asked.

  “Eleven works for me.”

  “See you then.”

  “Bye,” she said, but Cheyenne interrupted her before she could hang up.

  “How’d it go with Riley yesterday?”

  Presley thought of her text to him late last night. Cheyenne wouldn’t be pleased to learn she’d canceled. She hoped Riley wouldn’t mention it, that the fact he’d asked her out in the first place would simply fade into the past. “Great. He finished the build-out.”

  “And you like it?”

  “Love it.” The work Aaron had done was equally good, but Cheyenne wouldn’t want to hear that. And Presley didn’t really want to say it. It just seemed unfair to focus so much on what Riley had done.

  “It was nice of him to help.”

  This was her chance to say that she’d decided not to go out with him. She couldn’t let him pay for her dinner after the way she’d behaved with Aaron last night. But she wasn’t going to volunteer a word of that, either. Suddenly, she felt as if she was holding back a lot, which felt deceptive, but she wanted to move ahead with her business, look after her baby and avoid all the emotional turmoil.

  So that was what she decided she’d do.

  “He’s a nice guy,” she said, carrying her son into the kitchen.

  “I can’t wait to see what he’s done. We’ll walk over after lunch and make a list of decorating ideas.”

  Presley put Wyatt in his high chair and got out the oatmeal. “A yoga studio doesn’t need much decoration. I was thinking of putting up some posters with motivational quotes but that’s about it.” Twenty or thirty bucks was all her pocketbook could withstand.

  “But you’ve got to have one of those relaxing water-falling-over-rocks things that most day spas have.”

  She took a frying pan off the shelves that served as her cupboards. “I do?”

  “No self-respecting massage therapist would be without one,” she teased. “So I’m going to get you one.”

  Presley laughed. “Are you sure?”

  “What else makes such soothing sounds for under a hundred bucks?”

  “Nothing I know of,” she said as she fastened Wyatt’s bib. “I’ll see you at eleven.”

  She fed her son hot cereal for breakfast, cleaned the kitchen and put him down to play while she straightened the rest of the house. But as she was vacuuming the living room, she nearly ran over something that had previously blended in with the color of the carpet—a brown leather wallet.

  She didn’t have to look inside to know it belonged to Aaron. Riley and Jacob wouldn’t have had any reason to take out their wallets at her house. But Aaron had gotten a condom from his and then thrown the wallet aside.

  “Oh, God.”

  “Mama?” Wyatt, who loved the vacuum, grabbed hold of it now that she’d turned it off and tried to push it himself.

  “Mommy made a big mistake, Wyatt,” she said, and checked inside the wallet to confirm that she’d guessed the correct owner.

  Sure enough, it belonged to Aaron—which meant he’d be looking for it.

  10

  It was three o’clock Monday afternoon. Although Presley had been nervous that Aaron might call while she was at lunch with Cheyenne—or afterward, when Cheyenne and Eve had come over to see the studio—she hadn’t heard from him. He was probably wondering if he’d left his wallet someplace else. Or he was caught up at work and wouldn’t think about it until he returned home and wanted to go out for the evening.

  Curiosity had consumed her all day, but she hadn’t let herself act on it. She refused to look at what he carried inside. They weren’t going to be part of each other’s lives. But once she put Wyatt down for his nap in the playpen at the studio and relaxed for a minute herself, that curiosity grew even stronger. If they weren’t going to be part of each other’s lives, it didn’t matter if she knew what he kept in his wallet. She flipped it open.

  He had over five hundred dollars in cash, which was half her monthly rent. She was envious but not remotely tempted to steal. Thankfully, theft was one vice she’d never found difficult to resist; she felt too much empathy for the victims. And his financial situation played no part in how she felt about him. She knew she’d love him just as much if he were jobless and penniless.

  “There’s no hope for me.” She sighed. Invading his privacy had turned out to be a waste of time. What she’d found didn’t tell her much. He kept his credit cards and driver’s license in there, of course, but no pictures, no notes, no phone numbers. These days most people kept all of that on a smartphone, so it didn’t come as any surprise.

  She was about to close his wallet so she could slip it inside her purse when she noticed a compartment she hadn’t checked. It was flat, so she assumed it would be empty, but it wasn’t. He carried a picture, after all—a photograph of his mother. Presley recognized Wynona because she’d seen a different picture of her on his dresser.

  Mrs. Amos was such a pretty woman, and her two oldest sons looked a lot like her. Presley wondered how different Aaron would be had he not lost her when he was so young. If she hadn’t taken her own life, maybe their father wouldn’t have fallen into depression and turned to alcohol. And if J.T. hadn’t turned to alcohol, maybe he wouldn’t have stabbed a man in a bar and gone to prison. And if he hadn’t gone to prison, Dylan wouldn’t have had to take over as head of the family when he was barely eighteen....

  Not many kids had a less conventional upbringing than the Amos boys. They understood, as few could, what loss felt like, but at least they’d had Dylan. She and Cheyenne hadn’t had a savior; they’d had to muddle through on their own.

  Her cell phone vibrated. She’d
turned off the ringer when she’d managed to get Wyatt to sleep, but the interruption reminded her that what she was doing was wrong.

  She slid the picture into place before digging her phone out of her pocket. She feared it might be Aaron calling to get the wallet she’d just snooped through, but it was Riley. He hadn’t responded to her text. Apparently, he wanted to talk about it.

  “Hello?” She went outside so she could speak in a normal tone of voice without disturbing Wyatt. Because he hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night, he’d been cranky and tired, but he hadn’t been able to nap as soon as she would’ve liked. She’d hate to have anything wake him. This was her chance to make some real progress on cleaning up the studio.

  “Presley?”

  She sat on a wooden bench a few feet from her storefront. “Hi, Riley. How are you?”

  “A little disappointed, if you want the truth. I thought we had a date.”

  She gazed down the street in the direction of Amos Auto Body, where Aaron would be working—if he wasn’t looking at real estate in Reno. She couldn’t see his business. It was located off Sutter Street, not Main, but she’d been there often enough when they were hanging out that she could easily picture the whole place. They’d even had sex in the office once, after hours, when they were both high.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said.

  There was a slight hesitation. “Did something come up?”

  “No, I just... I don’t feel I’m the right type of woman for you.”

  “You didn’t like it when Jacob and I came to visit yesterday?”

  “Of course I liked it. This has nothing to do with that.”

  “Then...what is it? You got cold feet? A date is too much of a commitment—not casual enough for you to feel comfortable? What if we had Cheyenne and Dylan join us?”

  No way. Then she’d have her sister evaluating her behavior all evening and telling her she needed to be less aloof and more warm and friendly. She was who she was, would never be like Chey. Some things couldn’t be changed.