by BK Rivers
Chapter 28
Reggie
My lips are still tingling when I drive away from Jordan’s condo. He kissed me like he needed it to keep breathing. I don’t know what happened this weekend; how we went from seeing each other occasionally to saying “I love you.” I knew how I felt, but hearing Jordan offering me his heart nearly killed me. Yes, I want it. Yes, I love him. Yes, I’ll take it without question.
Except.
Except I lied to him. I didn’t tell him about Micah. How could I? I can just imagine how that conversation would go. Or rather how it wouldn’t go. He would walk away from us forever, and it would rip me to shreds. And there would be no one left to stitch together the fragments of me.
As I sit in my car outside my apartment, I prepare to put my mom in her place about coming into my home and cleaning it without me being there. I can be strong, I think. One breath in, one breath out. Okay, I can do this. I pull my small suitcase from the backseat, square my shoulders, and walk up the stairs to my place.
“Mommy!” Micah screeches as he runs to me, throwing his arms around my waist. My heart soars at his affection. I bend down, smell his apple-scented hair, and pull him in a tight hug. I’ve been gone a day and a half, and I missed my boy so much.
“Regina,” Mom says as she walks out of the kitchen drying her hands on a towel. Her eyes roam over me, making my cheeks flush. She totally knows Jordan and I had sex, crap! I mean, I guess it was kind of obvious we would with the whole “going out of town” part. I’m a big girl and can do what I want with whom I want, but the scowl on her lips ups the level of guilt I already feel for leaving Micah again so soon.
“Mom,” I say, still holding tightly to my little boy. Slowly I stand, releasing Micah and sending him off to play. I glance over to the couch where Dad is dozing with the news on in the background.
“Micah told me he really felt left out while you and Dad were here,” I say, exasperated. “And my house was already clean before you arrived. Why did you need to do more cleaning, Mom?”
Her shoulders tense. I’ve obviously struck a nerve. “You only surface cleaned, Regina. I just took care of the deep cleaning. It was pretty clear you hadn’t done any in quite some time.”
Is she serious? “So you figured cleaning my house was more important than spending one-on-one time with your grandson?” I fold my arms across my chest and lean against the front door to support myself.
Mom rolls her eyes while she lays the towel over her shoulder. “You’re the one who took off to spend time with the man who knocked you up in the first place. Serves you right he didn’t stick around. Thankfully you never told him about Micah. Coming here was a bad idea.” She huffs a breath from the back of her throat and returns to the kitchen.
“Mom.” The word gets stuck in my throat, escaping more like a choking gasp. Tears prick the corners of my eyes, and my body temperature spikes. My dad stirs on the couch; he’s either awake and ignoring the fight brewing between me and Mom, or he’s more of a sound sleeper than I realized.
Leaving my suitcase beside the door, I force myself to follow Mom into the kitchen. She’s scrubbing at something on the counter with the green dishrag. Her cheeks are red, and she keeps sniffing. She’s seriously crying? I’m barely keeping it together here, and it’s because of her.
“You know why I didn’t tell Jordan about Micah. How dare you use that against me.” I stand against the fridge, still needing something to hold me up, to stop my body from shaking in anger and hurt. Mom ignores me, focusing more intently on whatever it is she’s scrubbing. “You know I’m grateful that you and Dad stayed with Micah. I just don’t understand why you can’t ignore the fact that apparently my house isn’t clean enough for you. Micah loves you and Dad and was really looking forward to spending one-on-one time with you both.”
“Well, whose fault is that? You’re the one who chose not to bring Micah for a visit.” Mom finally turns around, revealing her watery, red eyes. She’s trying her best not to let the tears fall.
Incredible. I’m so upset I don’t even know what to say. Does she not realize she keeps pushing me away?
“You can’t live my life for me, Mom. I’m twenty-six years old and a mother—I think I’m capable of making my own decisions and living with the consequences.”
Mom sobs out a laugh that pierces me like an arrow. “You think your son deserves to have a mother who parades around with an addict who can’t keep it in his pants? What’s he going to think when he learns who his father is, what kind of man he is?”
“He’s clean, Mom. Has been for almost two years.”
“And you think that makes everything forgivable? You think because he’s clean now, something won’t set him off in the future and return him to his natural tendencies?” Mom moves away from the spot she was scrubbing and sits down at the table. She leans against the edge and echoes my posture—arms folded tightly across her chest. “One wrong thing is likely to push him over the edge. You must know this.”
My mouth gapes as she sits there telling me to expect the worst from the man I love. What kind of person does that make her when she’s only willing to see the negative in someone? Does she not have the capacity to have compassion for others?
“Jordan deserves to be given the benefit of the doubt, Mom. He’s doing really well and has a great support system in his band and his addiction counselor.” I clench my teeth and prepare to say more, but Mom cuts me off.
“You mean the same support system that got him addicted to drugs in the first place? Those are some real great friends he has.”
“Lay off her, Abigail,” Dad quips from the kitchen doorway. Mom glances up, her eyes scanning from me to him.
“I just don’t know why she’s wasting her time seeing that man, Daniel. He’s not good for her. And he’s definitely not good for our grandson.” Mom throws her hands in the air and quickly stands from her chair. She breezes past me and pushes her way through Dad, heading to my bedroom.
Dad pats my shoulder, pulls a glass from the cupboard near the fridge, and fills it with water.
“What am I doing so wrong that makes her hate me, Dad?” I ask, unable to keep tears from slipping down my cheeks.
He sighs, places the glass on the counter, and pulls me in for a gentle, fatherly hug. “Your mother doesn’t hate you, Reggie. She loves you very much.”
What can I do but laugh? “She has a funny way of showing it.”
Dad pushes away and stares down at me through his murky brown eyes. His black hair is graying around the temples, but his oval face still holds a youthful quality.
“She’s never been really good at showing her love. At least not in a way you’ve ever responded well to. She’s not a hugger—she’s a doer. She serves others to show her love, but you’ve always needed affection, a reassuring hug or a pat on the back. The two of you are very different, but I promise she loves you.”
“Then why does she never say it? Why is she always trying to make decisions for me? I’m happy here. Micah and I are doing well, can’t she see that?”
Dad’s arms encircle me again, and I realize he’s right. Mom and I are very different. I search my memories and remember numerous times as a child I went to hug my mom around her middle only to have her gasp and almost take a step back. She’d be stiff as a board and never reciprocate, so eventually I stopped hugging her at all. I think that’s where our relationship started to go wrong.
“Your mom just wants to be close to you and Micah. She doesn’t get to see you as much as she’d like, and she hoped that by setting up something new, you’d jump on it. I know you’re happy here, even she knows it. But she still hopes one day you’ll live closer.”
I think I could stay wrapped in my dad’s warm arms forever; he makes everything better. I wonder if that’s a gift reserved only for fathers.
“Flagstaff is only three hours from here. She could come visit every day if she really wanted to,” I say with a laugh, and move away from Dad. He reaches
for his glass of water and gulps it down.
“You haven’t exactly made it easy for her,” he says point blank, and I’m a little taken aback by his statement. “You always make it sound like it’s an inconvenience for her to stay with you.”
Do I make it harder than it should be? I always offer my bed to my parents, and I take the couch. I think back over the last year and realize this is the first time Mom and Dad have stayed over in almost two years. I always tell them I’m working or I’m busy. But it’s true. I work all of the time. Except lately. Lately I’ve been working less and less at Eggceptional so I can spend time with Jordan. As the words tumble around in my head, it occurs to me that not only am I not spending time with my parents, but I’ve been spending way too much time away from Micah.
For so long there’s never been any reason for me not to be with him—unless I was working. There’s never been a man to take time away from my little boy, but now there’s Jordan, distracting me. And it’s a good distraction, one I’ve needed—one I’ve craved. I know I love him; I’ve loved him for eleven years, but is that enough?
“Are you ready to leave, Daniel?” Mom asks from outside the kitchen. Her eyes are puffy, giving away the real reason she rushed away. Behind her are their two suitcases, and Mom’s purse is hanging off her shoulder.
I step toward her but she flinches, so I stop. “Mom, please don’t leave like this. I don’t want you to be upset.”
“I’m fine, Regina. Ready, Daniel?”
“Abigail,” Dad warns, and again Mom flinches. “You need to apologize to your daughter for disrespecting her in her home.”
“But—” Mom starts, but Dad cuts her off. I’ve never seen my dad speak to her like this; she’s the one always calling the shots. As a matter of fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever heard my dad talk this much.
“Apologize, hug, and then we can be on our way.” Dad folds his arm across his broad chest and juts his chin out. Go, Dad!
Mom takes a hesitant step forward, and I decide to meet her in the middle. A hug is not something Mom wants, but if we’re going to move past this block between us, a hug is what she’s going to get. She chances a glance at me, clasps her hands in front of her waist, and then her shoulders sag in defeat. Her eyes well up again as her chin trembles.
“I’m sorry, Reggie,” she says quietly. My heart bursts in my chest—she never calls me Reggie. “I just miss you and want you to be happy.”
“I know, Mom,” I say, pulling her in for a hug. She’s ramrod straight, but I continue to hold on until she begins to soften, and finally—finally!—her arms wrap around me. We both burst into tears, gushing over each other until Dad clears his throat, clearly ready to leave. We say our goodbyes and, even though I wasn’t sure how today was going to end, everything feels like it’s going to be okay.
Chapter 29
Jordan
I’ve had a lot of time to pick apart the conversation between Reggie and whomever she was on the phone with up in Sedona. Something about it is nagging me, like a thorn buried in the fleshy part of my palm. It’s annoying and hurts a little, but I’m choosing to trust her. My heart and soul are fragile, and I need to come out of this on top instead of stuck to the bottom of Reggie’s shoe like discarded gum.
Tonight we’re going out for a date, and I’m picking her up at her place. To some, it might not be a significant thing, but for me it means I’ve finally broken through whatever barrier she kept in place to keep me from her apartment. It’s been a long four days and nights since we last kissed and I had to send her on her way. I should’ve taken her upstairs to the condo and showed her how much I love her. But a cold shower and a series of text messages over the next few days was what I got instead.
I pull into her complex and am sorely disappointed when she’s waiting for me in the parking lot. What the hell? She’s wearing a black and red patterned skirt that meets her ankles and a skinny tank top, revealing her bronzed shoulders. Her hair is pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head, making my fingers twitch to pull it out, letting her hair spill down her back.
Parking the car beside her, I climb out, step around the front, and say, “You ever heard of letting your man hold doors open for you and walk with you like a gentleman?” My tone is playful, but inside I’m a little irritated she didn’t let me come up to her unit.
“You want to be a gentleman now?” she teases as she leans forward and presses her bright red lips to my cheek. She smells amazing, spicy with a hint of vanilla, and my earlier irritations are quickly fading.
I open the car door, place my hand on the small of her back, and help her into the seat. I lean down, guide the seatbelt across her lap, and touch my lips to hers in a gentle caress as the buckle clicks into place. She smiles, cheeks flushing a beautiful rose color I wish would stay on her face forever.
I’ve had a lot of time to evaluate the feelings I developed for Jemma almost two years ago, and though true love wasn’t one of them, I believe she paved the way for me to make room in my heart for Reggie. Without Jemma’s influence, I wouldn’t be sitting here with my girl, driving our way through town to a cozy little European café in Gilbert. It’s a bit of a drive, but the food is worth every mile.
“That’s the fourth time you’ve yawned since you sat down,” I say while I lace my fingers through hers across the center console. “You sure you’re up for dinner tonight?”
Her lids lower before she glances back to me, smiling. “I’m good, just tired. It’s been a busy four days and some very late nights. I really hope someday I don’t have to work two jobs anymore. It’s kicking my ass.”
A laugh bubbles from my chest. If I have my way, that someday will be sooner than she realizes. I’m not talking marriage or a proposal, but there’s no reason she should have to work two jobs when I have the means to help her financially. Then again, I’m curious why she works so hard, especially since she and Stacey share the apartment and theoretically she should only be responsible for half the rent.
Jokingly I ask, “Why do you work so much? Do you have an expensive habit I should be aware of?” Apparently that’s the exact wrong thing to say to her, because her eyes widen and she purses her lips tightly. Shit. “I mean, do you? I kind of need to know before we go much farther. If it’s drugs, then we can get through this, but you need to tell me.”
She blinks. At least a dozen times. And I don’t breathe, not even once.
Reggie clears her throat, and mine tightens, almost suffocating me. “You think I spend my money on drugs?”
And I exhale. A long, refreshing sigh of relief.
I shake my head and reach for her hand again. “No, Bug. It was supposed to be a joke, but your reaction scared me. I couldn’t stop my mouth from running away with the thoughts floating through my head.”
“Drugs?” She turns in her seat, her eyes drilling into mine. Thankfully we’re stopped at a red light, because I’m squirming in my seat under her scrutiny. Her eyes narrow, and she folds her arms across her chest. “You of all people think I’m on drugs. That’s…” Her cheeks puff out as she releases a breath. “I don’t know what to say.”
Apparently that sign should be back in place, you know, the one warning everyone what an asshole I can be. The light turns green, but instead of proceeding towards the restaurant, I turn right into a grocery store parking lot. There’s no way I’m going to dinner with Reggie upset. I shift into park, remove my seatbelt, and open the door.
“Jordan, what are you doing?” Reggie asks before I exit the car, her voice clipped. My hands ball into fists and then release as I open her door. “Just get back in the car, Jordan,” she says as she rolls her eyes.
I kneel down in the black asphalt, brace my hands on the doorframe, and stare into her eyes, memorizing the gold flecks interspersed with the dark chocolate brown.
“I do not now, or ever, believe you’re using, Reggie. I’m an insecure asshole who was stupidly curious why you work two jobs when you have a roommate. I know yo
u’re better than drugs, better than me, and I hope you’ll forgive me for making you feel less than you are.” My hand moves on its own to her cheek, and her eyes flutter closed as she inhales sharply. “I’m sorry, Reggie-bug. Please forgive me.”
She sighs and nods, making my heart feel as though it’s been jump-started. She leans into my palm and then moves forward but is jerked back in her seat. Her eyes widen and then a high-pitched laugh tumbles from her mouth. I drop my hand and stand up, feeling more confused than ever.
Reggie unclicks the seatbelt and leaps to her feet in front of me. “I’m sorry.” She giggles. “The seatbelt locked up.” Her grin goes from playful to demure as she tucks her chin to her chest. Groaning, I pull her into me and wrap my arms around her. She fits there, as though she was made just for me. It feels warm and safe and good. Damn good.
“You’re not better than me,” she whispers as she glances up at me, lashes fluttering against her olive skin. “And of course I forgive you. I’m sorry I overreacted. I’m just so tired and on edge.”
I hold her tighter, press my lips to her forehead, and inhale her spicy vanilla scent. I realize it’s something that reminds me of comfort, of being home in the arms of the one you love.
“Anything I can do to help take the edge off?”
Reggie’s shoulders begin to shake as she giggles against my chest. “Kiss me,” she says as her hands climb over my chest, stopping at the back of my neck. Her tongue darts out and slowly licks her red lips, and it’s like I’m a mirror, reflecting her actions—my tongue copies hers. She stands on the tips of her toes, and I lower my head to meet her open, waiting lips. It’s not a kiss filled with heat or passion, but long and slow that builds and builds until I’m no longer hungry for dinner. We break away, breathless, and I force myself to move three steps back. Reggie’s cheeks are flushed and, as she returns to the car, I turn to adjust myself before walking to the driver’s side.
