Every Time He Leaves (The Raeven Sisters Book 1)

by Karington, Anna

  I wish I could gauge that look. Is he bothered by my disinterest? Or is he just wondering why the girl who was head over heels for him isn't desperately scrambling for her phone?

  He gives her his number and then looks to me and folds his arms, giving me a look that I always interpreted to mean, “I know what you're doing.”

  “There's this great new restaurant over in Buckhead,” Kelsey says as she puts her phone in her Gucci purse and slides the strap up her shoulder. “Do you like sushi?”

  “Love it,” he says, but it's clear by the look he gives that he doesn't, and I figure that hasn't changed because he never liked sushi. I want to call him out on it, but I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing I've kept that memory all these years.

  “We must go,” Kelsey says.

  “That'd be great."

  “I guess I'll see you soon then.” She tosses him a seductive glance. I wish I couldn’t read her so well, but when she bats her eyes in the most transparent way imaginable, how could anyone not know what she's up to? Leave it to Kelsey to fall for a guy after he fell into a big wad of cash, but I suppose millions is more than just a wad of cash.

  “Make sure to say bye to Mom,” I say, giving Kelsey a glare she knows she deserves—the sort I used to give her when she would conveniently need to go to the bathroom after dinner, leaving Janet and me to tend to the dishes. Considering how busy this event has been, I'm already worried it'll just be me and Janet cleaning up. I would have thought Kelsey could make time during at least one of the few events she comes to, but I'm obviously mistaken—as I always am when it comes to Kelsey. “You might just want to see if she has something you can do before you go,” I add.

  “I would, but I really need to get home. I have an early brunch I have to get to tomorrow.” How silly of me. I guess those of us who don't have brunches scheduled are in charge of the dirty work. In Kelsey's narrow-minded vision of the world, my job isn't as important as her brunch. She turns to Jarek, as if to avoid the glare I continue to stare her down with. “So good to see you again. Now, don't disappoint me. I expect a call, because I'm going to be real sad if you head off without so much as hanging out with me.” Maybe they can have cocktails and talk about how much money they have.

  I admit I'm jealous. I'd love to have half as much money as either of them, but considering I'm not totally unfortunate, I don't really have anything to complain about.

  After she leaves, an awkward silence stretches between Jarek and me. What are we supposed to talk about? What could we possibly talk about?

  “Your mother told me you're a big wig at an event management company,” Jarek says, breaking the silence.

  “Mom's exaggerating, as usual. I'm with the company, but I'm pretty much still in training. I'm organizing a major fundraiser for one of our biggest clients, so that will determine my future there.”

  “That sounds promising.”

  “Far from a CEO. I guess all our little math sessions paid off after all.”

  His grin widens. “Clearly.”

  “You're welcome for scaring you off so you could become super-successful.” Dammit. I can tell by how quickly his grin falls that this wasn't the right thing to say.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” he asks, I guess trying to change the subject. I want to lie so I don't seem like a spinster who's been all alone and bitter without him, but I have no desire for word to get around so I’d have to answer to Mom, who will surely interrogate me: “Why haven’t I heard about this mystery man? Who is he? What does he do?”

  “I'm pretty focused on the job right now,” I explain. “I’d better go mingle. It's been nice talking again.” By nice, I mean super-stressful and let's not do it again.

  I abandon him yet again and work with Janet to return the mansion to its usual state.

  In the middle of the commotion, I speak with Nancy Frader, the woman who helped us organize the event. After relaying Janet's run-in with the glass statue, which I claim was my own run-in, she gives me a twisted expression and a few curt words before leading me into an office, where she digs out paperwork for me to fill out. Though she's upset, I can tell she's feigning a sort of cordial attitude. My mother is too active in town politics and social gossip circles for a woman like this to piss off one of her daughters. However, if Nancy knew how little Mom would care about her going off on me, I'm sure she'd eagerly share all her thoughts about property destruction in this ostentatious mansion.

  Once I finish the paperwork, I head back to the kitchen, where I assist some staff members with packing supplies and loading them into the catering van. When we finish, I take Mom's dishes, many of her own which she brought to the event because she didn't think those offered by the service were fancy enough. I wash them in the kitchen sink. As I'm working through trays, Jarek steps in. Is he lost?

  “Anything I can help you with?” he asks.

  “All good here.”

  “Really?” he asks. “Your mom said you could use some help.” Of course she did. She'd say anything so she could continue chatting with her hoity-toity buddies. While it bothers me she's avoiding the cleanup for her event, it's worse that she sent him back to see if I needed help. I never spoke to her about what happened, though I would have thought my own mother would have some idea that things weren't good between us. Perhaps it's a lot to ask, especially of a mother who never seemed to understand me, but I would have thought it reasonable to assume she would have known I felt something. I guess that's silly because had she realized that, surely she would have approached me back then and consoled me about my loss. However, she assumed it was just part of my grieving over Daddy.

  “She was mistaken,” I say.

  “Nonsense,” Janet says. She steps through the swing door, walking around him and setting a stack of plates on the counter beside me. “If she doesn't need the help, then I sure do.” My tension relaxes as I'm filled with hope that he'll be following Janet around, not me. They head out together and I continue my work with the dishes. As I reach the end of my task, I work nearly as hard scrubbing grime off my arm as I did to get it off the pans.

  Mom saunters through the doorway, her eyes red, as they usually are when she's had a few glasses of wine or a couple of strawberry daiquiris. She wears a designer dress— I'm not sure of the brand, but the top is brown and cuts off diagonally at the waist, giving way to the black lower half of the dress. A set of pearls draws some attention to a spot of inflamed flesh on her chest, just above her augmented breasts. Mom's skin has always been incredibly sensitive, so there's no telling where the inflamed spot came from. Perhaps it's a bit of perfume from one of the guests, or perhaps it's merely a dry patch, which Mom develops more and more frequently these days.

  She beams, which is nice considering that after events like these she usually has a foul expression on her face. It appears this one was a success. Although the fresh batch of Botox she received last week, which makes her forehead appear swollen, could be responsible for the stiff, seemingly-pleased expression she wears. Perhaps it’s frozen that way. However, she's not whining about anxiety attacks, so I believe I'm not misunderstanding her mood.

  “This has been wonderful, hasn't it?” she asks as she sets a tray of wine glasses on the counter beside me. “Although Charlene didn't make it, and you know how I need her to help with the anxiety. She's good at keeping everyone entertained so I don't have to be put on the spot, but even though tonight was just on me, I guess I did fine.” The gleam in her eyes assures me she's feeling fairly proud of how well she did.

  She's about to head back out when she turns back to me and says, “Jarek is sure looking handsome, isn't he?”

  Ah! This is why she's beaming. “And successful,” I say, stressing what she's actually noticing. Mom may be a fan of his today, but I remember how she used to treat him. In the beginning, I believed her contempt was understandable. He robbed us, after all. What mother would be excited about her daughters being around a criminal? She was just protective, or s
o I thought. But while she used that as her logic, it became clear once we saw how good-natured he was, when he went out of his way to volunteer with me every time I helped out with some food drive or fundraiser in impoverished areas, that her issue was exclusively with his lack of money. While Mom is well known around town for her work with charities and how willing she is to assist with causes that benefit the sick and poor, most of these events began with my father, who spent what little time he had on this earth trying to give away the money he'd managed to acquire through his knack with real estate investments.

  While Mom threw lavish parties, Daddy read to children at hospitals and went around door-to-door delivering presents to families at Christmastime. Mom wouldn’t have done those sorts of things. Mingling with the poor has never been her forte. I recall a party where she said, “You don't want to be around them. They're so unpleasant and miserable, and the longer you're around them, the less you want to give them anything—let alone money. Donate from a distance because it's the only way you'll ever be able to keep doing it.” God forbid she set eyes on the actual horrors of those less fortunate than herself. I think she sees that as being like Lot's wife during Sodom and Gomorrah, as if she’d turn back and transform into salt. If the legend ended with her turning into diamonds, I doubt she would have had much of an issue, because I've developed a strong suspicion that Mom really believes you can take it with you.

  “I know, I know,” Mom says regarding Jarek's success, as if that's a perfectly valid reason to appreciate him now. “Did you ever notice a spark between him and Kelsey before? I saw her approach him and how she just lit up. Don't you think they would make a cute couple?”

  “What?” I ask so severely that Mom gives me an incredulous look. “I mean, I didn't notice anything. Do you think he's interested?”

  “Have you seen Kelsey? Of course he's interested.” Mom has never hid her praise of Kelsey's beauty, though I'm not sure she's at fault for that. Kelsey is objectively beautiful—legs long as broomsticks, plenty of breast, and silky blonde hair that waves to her waist. She's a goddess. It seems Mom's ovaries decided there was only room for one gorgeous daughter, because while Janet and I aren't lacking, we've always paled in comparison to Kelsey and have been treated appropriately so.

  Being around Kelsey has assured me that the world is a much better place when you're considered gorgeous. You're nice because you can afford to be nice. No one gets frustrated with you. Few challenge you, because surely whatever divine authority gave you beauty also provided brains—or if it didn't, surely there's no reason you should be forced to endure the pain of intellect. Brains and ingenuity were never Kelsey's specialty, but they never had to be. She just needed that smile and the gleam in her eyes that, for some unknowable reason, has always been present.

  “It's been long enough that she's surely ready to move on anyway,” Mom says, referring to Kelsey's divorce. But I'm hung up on her obsession with Jarek being great for my older sis. Why not me? Because I'm not interested. I've been hurt so much that I can't be interested again, but Mom doesn't know that. How can a mother not understand her daughter as much as mine doesn't understand me?

  “He's not going to be in town long,” I say, “so if she wants to make anything happen, she'd better get on it.”

  “I'm sure she will,” Mom says, a sly smirk on her face as she snatches some of the silverware I've stacked on a towel beside the sink and sets it in a plastic container on the table behind me—actual silver, because when the service offered aluminum, I recall her saying, “What will the girls say? I'll be a social pariah!”

  Jarek enters the kitchen and approaches Mom. “Anything else you need help with, Ms. Raeven?”

  “No, Jarek, but thank you so much.”

  “No problem.”

  “Have you seen Janet?” I ask Mom.

  “She left with Kirk about thirty minutes ago,” Jarek replies.

  “What? She said she'd drive me home.”

  “You can get a car,” Mom says.

  “That's like forty dollars from here.” Mom looks unfazed by my hesitation at spending that much on a ride back. If I'd been smart, I would have driven myself rather than accept the ride from Kelsey.

  “I can drive you,” Jarek offers. My arms tense. Why would he suggest that? Why doesn't he know how awkward this should be for him? Did my cool act leave him thinking we're buddies?

  “I can take public transit,” I say.

  “It's on my way back to the hotel.”

  “Don't be ridiculous, Lana,” Mom says. As I catch her expression, it's clear she isn't considering anything other than the get-out-of-jail card that is Jarek, because I'm sure she knows how pissed I am that I've been ditched and have to fend for myself.

  I'm trapped between a rock and a hard place. If I go back with him, I'll have to make conversation with the guy I despise for what he did to me. If I insist I won't, he'll know just how mad I am at him.

  I force a smile. “Perfect.”

  Chapter Two

  On the drive to my place, I glance around uneasily. My body is stiff as I keep still so he won't catch me fidgeting or see me doing anything that indicates how uneasy I am. I want to be in control—or at least appear that way—even as I'm working desperately to keep from reliving the most painful moments of my life over and over again.

  “Your family seems to be doing really well,” Jarek says.

  “We're fine,” I say. “I think Kelsey's happier now that she's divorced than I ever saw her when she was married. And Janet's actually talking to me, so that's a treat.” Why did I say that? That's something I would have confided to him back in the day, but not now. He doesn't have a right to know the details of my life, so why do I feel compelled to share with him? It's hard not to, because there's something disarming about him, something about his manner right now that makes it hard not to be swept away by him all over again.

  “Why doesn't she talk to you?” he asks.

  “It’s nothing. We've just been distant these past few years. Ever since she got married.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “I'm sure,” I lie. I hope she is, but I can never tell. Every time I see her, it's like she's crying out for help. There's something in her demeanor that makes me feel like I need to come in and rescue her, but I can never tell from what...I'm not sure if even she really knows. It may just be the mere discontent with where she is in her life.

  Jarek pulls up alongside my apartment building, hidden in darkness. “Do you live in Mug-Central?” he asks.

  “It's the streetlight across the street,” I say, indignant at the suggestion that I live in a bad neighborhood. “The city hasn't come out to fix it.”

  He smirks, as if he's pleased to have gotten to me with his tease. I grab my purse and push the door open. “It was nice to see you again,” he says.

  “Nice to see you again, too,” I say as I scoot out. I start to shut the door behind me, but stop.

  This isn't good enough.

  I don't want to shut this door and send him away. Something deep inside me wants him, and I chastise the urges, but they beckon me, give me an idea. If I can, why shouldn't I get to enjoy another moment?

  It's a terrible idea—to bring him back in and feel those same twisted emotions that I felt when he went away before, but maybe it will be therapeutic. Maybe by inviting him in again, I'll have control this time, because I'll know what he's going to do—how he's going to leave me again.

  Don't do it!

  As bad an idea as I know it is, I can't stop myself from reopening the door, ducking to look at him, and saying, “You wanna come up for a drink?”

  His eyes light up. Is he glad I've offered him another chance? Does he see it as an opportunity to redeem himself? He shouldn't. That's not what this is. It's not his chance to get back in. It's my chance to be in control—to take charge of the experience I had no control over. Because that's what I deserve—a moment to turn him away, a moment to show him how much I don't need him.
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br />   It won't be that easy. A part of me will feel those same sensations I felt so long ago and be overpowered by them, but he won't catch my act. He doesn't know me as well as he did back then, and he won't know I'm faking when I convince him I'm so over him that I can have a fleeting night of passion and dismiss him without giving him so much as a second thought. That's how powerful I am, and there's nothing he can do to take that power from me.

  As he steps across the threshold, into my apartment, I wonder how I let it get to this.

  In all the years after he left, I never thought we'd end up here. Countless times, I imagined standing up to him, hating him up close, but being with him now, I feel hope well within me. It frightens me because I know nothing can really come of this.

  You always seem to win, Jarek. You always did.

  I loathe myself for this desire to feel those same exciting emotions he once evoked in me. Don't do this, I plead with myself, because as much as I've assured myself it's vengeance, I know better. I wish I could delude myself into thinking that's all it's about, but I can't.

  I flip two switches on the wall beside the door, turning on the orange bulb before the entry and the white kitchen fluorescent lights. I make my way to the kitchen, which connects to the living room. I take note of the Captain Crunch box I left out this morning, and I know there's a bowl of cereal and a spoon in the sink that I need to clean. My heels click on the white tile of the kitchen floor as I approach an island in the center of the kitchen. The black onyx top glistens beneath the white light. I can tell by my movements that I'm at least subconsciously working to draw attention to my swaying hips. I turn my head to Jarek ever so slightly, a clear seduction that I hate myself for. How can I be doing this? Why would I even entertain this after all he's done?

  But I deserve it. I deserve another night...and yet, I worry it'll just leave me wanting more, as it did so long ago.