Running Into Love - The Complete Box Set

by Annalisa Nicole

  Sitting at this table there are not one, not two, but three pregnant women! Which is why now that dinner is over, I’m trying to help clear the table as much as I can to help out. After dinner, we’re all going to help decorate the family Christmas tree, then draw names among the adults for the gift exchange. They used to buy gifts for everyone, but the family has grown so much over the years that they pick names now.

  Samantha usually sets up an artificial pre-lit tree, but this year Asher surprised his mom and had a beautiful fifteen foot Grand Fir delivered from a famous Christmas tree farm here in Seattle. Between the Christmas tree in the family room and Samantha’s famous triple chocolate chip brownies cooling in the kitchen waiting to be eaten after we decorate and draw names, it smells absolutely heavenly in the house.

  After I’m done here, I really need to go home and study. I’ve been piling on the classes at the University of Washington School of Dentistry hoping that within the next year, I’ll be Quinn Landry, DDS. My goal is to specialize in pediatric dentistry and I haven’t decided yet, but I may want to continue my education and get my Ph.D. in oral biology. But, that’s an additional two years of school. We’ll see how I feel about that once I actually get my DDS.

  “Let’s get this tree decorated. Willow and I need to get the kids home and to bed soon,” Asher says, patting his full belly.

  “Kids? I need to get Chloe home and to bed before she falls asleep standing up,” Max says, eyeing his pregnant wife.

  “Bed? I just want brownies,” Adrian laughs.

  Levi

  As I stand in the Wellington home, leaning against a doorframe, watching their happy family, especially this time of year, makes me want to drown myself in a bottle of whiskey.

  I’d never do that, of course, but the thought is so prominent that I actually have to remind myself that’s not the road I want to head down again.

  Other than being a private investigator and working for Max at his PI firm, my life has no purpose or meaning. Especially this time of year. It’s been seven years since my late wife and I walked our second-grade daughter, Ivy Rose to school on the last day before Christmas break. We were all excited, because after school, we were getting on a plane and heading to Shannon’s parents house in Florida to spend Christmas with them. Ivy was so excited to go to Disney World for the first time. That morning Shannon packed Ivy’s pink and purple backpack with fun activities for her to do on the airplane to keep her busy.

  Shannon held her hand as the crossing guard began to walk into the street with her stop sign to stop traffic and allow everyone to cross. I saw a little dog out of the corner of my eye, but didn’t think anything of it. Ivy, a chip off her old man’s block, also saw the puppy. The puppy darted out into the street ahead of the crossing guard. Ivy ripped her hand out of my wife’s and in half of a second, she was in the street.

  A man traveling at twice the speed limit, late for a meeting, didn’t see either the crossing guard, the dog, or my daughter running into the street.

  I still hear my wife shrieking Ivy’s name in my sleep as the car ran down my daughter. The driver didn’t step on his brakes until after he had completely run over my beautiful little girl.

  My life ended in that moment.

  Shannon and I were married straight out of high school at eighteen, then we had Ivy at nineteen. We seemed to have the perfect all-American dream.

  Needless to say, the trip to Florida was canceled. I guess the only good thing that happened that day was when the doctor told us that our daughter hadn’t suffered. She was killed instantly. I was also comforted by the fact that I believe innocent children go straight to heaven.

  Instead of Disney World, we were going to a funeral to lay our beautiful seven-year-old baby girl to rest.

  Shannon and I were lost. The house seemed empty. Our all-American dream came crashing to a dead stop.

  When we got home from the hospital, Shannon unpacked the presents that were in a suitcase and laid them out under the Christmas tree. That damn Christmas tree. Shannon and I got into a fight when she insisted that, even though we weren’t going to be home for Christmas, that we still put up our tree and decorate the house for Ivy’s sake. I regret that fight. It was the last Christmas tree Ivy ever saw.

  I died a little more inside each day, for the next two weeks, every time I walked by that damn Christmas tree and saw Ivy’s pink and purple unwrapped gifts.

  After the funeral, Shannon stopped talking, eating, and bathing. She wore the same old ratty sweatpants and t-shirt every day. In the course of two weeks, she resorted to holding up her sweats with her hand. Otherwise, they’d fall off with the amount of weight she lost. I didn’t know how to reach her. She shut down and completely shut me out. I, too, was devastated and I was trying to figure out how to live my life now with a big, gaping hole in my heart. I couldn’t figure out how I lived seven years ago, before Ivy came into our lives.

  Early Christmas morning, I woke to the sound of my service revolver being discharged. I’ve never moved so fast out of a dead sleep. The second my feet hit the floor though, I stopped. I knew what Shannon had just done. She was so devastated by the death of our daughter that death was the only thing she could see.

  As I stood there, my arms and legs became so heavy I didn’t think I could move. But by the possibility that by some miracle she could still be alive, I raced downstairs.

  December, I not only buried my precious daughter, but I also buried my wife.

  Our home wasn’t just empty, it was dead. The only thing that still lived there was the puppy Ivy tried to save. Lucky is the only thing that keeps me company at night now.

  “Oh, mistletoe. You know what that means,” Quinn says, breaking me out of my thoughts.

  I look at Quinn as she points above our heads. Mistletoe hangs from the center of the doorframe above us. I feel the blood leaving my face at the thought of kissing another woman.

  “We don’t have to kiss,” she says, embarrassed, reading my mind. “We can just make a wish,” she finishes.

  “Wishes are for idiotic, adolescent fools. Don’t waste your breath,” I say and walk away.

  I haven’t decorated a Christmas tree since I begrudgingly did seven years ago, and I’m sure as hell not going to do it today.

  I walk into Samuel’s office and instantly a fraction of the suffocating weight is lifted off my shoulders. His office is lined with thick, dark, wooden bookshelves bursting with law books. It’s no wonder two of his kids became lawyers like he was. His oversized wooden desk is immaculately clean and the whole room smells like old leather and cigars.

  I close the door behind me and take a seat in one of his leather chairs. In front of me, on an antique round coffee table, is one of those old trays filled with heavy crystal decanter bottles you see in old movies. Inside is the brown liquid I craved not ten minutes ago. I remove the heavy crystal stopper, flip over a glass, and pour myself two fingers of whiskey.

  I sink back in the chair, lift my leg, rest my ankle on my other knee, hold the glass with my thumb and forefinger, and bring it to my lips. The amber liquid slides down the back of my throat as the familiar taste of loss and regret return.

  Tears sting my eyes, and I fight the urge to grab the bottle and down it just to forget the memories. Both the bad memories, because they remind me of what I lost, and the good memories, because they remind me of what I once had. Sometimes the good memories hurt more than the bad.

  The door opens and Quinn pokes her head inside. She sees me sitting there, walks into the room, and closes the door behind her.

  “Are you drinking to remember or to forget?” she asks.

  “What makes you ask that?” I ask, taking another drink.

  “Most people drink to either remember or forget something,” she replies.

  “A little of both, I guess,” I say, emptying the glass.

  Chapter 2

  Quinn

  Levi Sutton has always been this dark and mysterious person. He works fo
r Max, but he keeps to himself. He never gives out any information about himself and likes to be left alone. He’s more of the ‘no words, brooding type.’ He maybe shows up for dinner once a month. He never says more than ten words and he’s usually the first person to leave.

  Samantha seems to take to him, though. Whenever she passes him at the table carrying food, she’ll stop and give him an extra helping. They never exchange many words, but it seems they don’t have to. He never leaves before he finds her and kisses her on the cheek goodbye. She usually places her hand on his cheek, looks him in the eye, smiles at him, and says she’ll see him next week. Even though she clearly knows, he most likely won't be there. More times than not, she also sends him home with a container of leftovers.

  I don’t know why I said something so stupid to him about the mistletoe. It sort of slipped out. It’s obvious from his response that he didn’t make a wish. He may not have, but as I look around at the Wellington family, I find myself wishing to find love like theirs some day.

  I watch him walk down the hallway, then go into Samuel’s office. I don’t know why, but I follow behind him. Standing outside the door, I have an argument with myself if I should go in or not. I feel bad and responsible for the look in his eyes after our exchange.

  I take a deep breath and open the door. He’s sitting in one of Samuel’s old cigar chairs, slouched, with a glass of liquor in his hand. The ‘leave me the hell alone’ vibe is radiating from his posture, along with a distraught look on his face.

  Call me all kinds of crazy, but I take it as a challenge, rather than a…you should tuck tail and leave. I close the door behind me and take another breath.

  “Are you drinking to remember or to forget?” I ask nervously.

  “What makes you ask that?” he barks and takes another drink.

  “Most people drink to either remember or to forget something,” I reply, getting some confidence.

  “A little of both, I guess,” he answers, finishing the glass.

  My brother, Jax, was injured in the line of duty. While he waited to be transported back to the states, his wife, Scarlett, appendix burst and she died. I don’t know why, but I see a similarity in Levi’s demeanor, that I saw in Jax. He never really got to properly mourn the loss of his wife, because he needed to be strong for his daughters. I get the feeling Levi doesn’t need to be strong for anyone.

  He eyes the decanter, then me. He’s definitely drowning something. He picks up the top of the bottle and places it back on top, then pounds it in with his fist.

  “What is it you want to remember?” I ask, hoping it’s something positive.

  He lifts up the sleeve of his black t-shirt, revealing a tattoo. It’s a twist of green foliage in the shape of a cross. Tucked in sporadically throughout the cross are pink and purple roses. It’s not the type of tattoo I expected tall, dark, and brooding to have. Underneath the tattoo are some words. I take a few steps closer so I can read them. It says, ‘Ivy Rose’ then some dates.

  “Who’s Ivy Rose?” I ask, before I can think.

  “My daughter,” he says, stands, and leaves the room.

  My heart sinks to my feet, knowing full well the dates were a birth and a death date. I had no idea Levi had a child. I follow behind him out into the family room where everyone is decorating the tree. He grabs his leather coat from the back of a chair and heads toward the front door.

  “Levi,” Samantha says softly.

  Levi stops and sighs. He turns around, walks back to Mrs. W, and places a kiss on her cheek. He again turns to walk toward the front door.

  “Levi,” she calls again.

  He stops again, but doesn’t turn around. Samantha reaches inside the plastic container that has all the adult names folded into squares, removes one, walks to Levi, and places it in his hand.

  “I’ll see you next Sunday, Levi,” she says.

  He crumples the little piece of paper in his fist, then leaves.

  I follow him out of the house and down the walkway, as he gets on his motorcycle parked on the street. He puts the key in the ignition and starts it up with a rumbling roar, then puts on his helmet.

  “Levi,” I call loudly, over the rumble.

  He looks up at me, closes the visor on his helmet, and then takes off down the street.

  “What was that all about?” Ava asks, standing next to my side.

  “I’m not sure,” I answer.

  “Come back inside you two,” Jax calls from the doorway. “We’re almost ready to put the tree topper on,” he finishes.

  Inside, everyone is laughing and having a great time. Samantha comes out of the kitchen carrying plated brownies with vanilla ice cream melting over the top of them.

  “Dessert time,” she says, placing the tray on the coffee table.

  Everyone takes their plate while I stare at the closed front door.

  “Give it time,” Samantha says, placing her hand on my shoulder.

  “Give what time?” I ask.

  She smiles that warm smile she’s known for, that always says a million words without her having to open her mouth. Except this time, I’m not sure what she means.

  We exchange names, and of course, I get Levi. What gift do I get for tall, dark, and brooding?

  Levi

  Every day is hard knowing that when I get home the only thing there for me is my dog, Lucky. But I think if it weren’t for her, most nights, I wouldn’t even bother coming home. This time of year is especially hard. They’re the worst two weeks of the year. Christmas will never be the same and I’ll never celebrate the holiday. There’s never a day that goes by that I don’t think about Ivy and Shannon.

  I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with this piece of paper Samantha put in my hand either. I’m not buying Quinn a Christmas gift.

  Tonight, I ride. Sitting on my bike, riding at speeds I know I shouldn’t, frees my mind. Sometimes it’s just a matter of picking a direction. East or West. If it’s a terrible day and I can’t free my mind easily, I pick East and ride until either my mind clears or I can’t stand myself any longer and need a shower. West, I ride until there’s no more road to ride.

  I’m on an important case, so I keep it short and ride west. Work keeps me going one day to the next. I first met Max that following January, after that dreadful Christmas, at a biker bar. It wasn’t in the bar, rather outside the bar. I was sitting on my bike debating if it was a good idea to put my kickstand down and go inside. I knew if I went in there it wouldn’t end well. I pulled my helmet off and screamed at the top of my lungs, while I smashed it repeatedly on the gas tank in front of me. The thought of my little girl being disappointed in me, up in heaven, demanded that I don’t go in. I wanted nothing more than to go in there and get shit faced until I was numb. Max was just passing through. He saw me sitting in the parking lot, pulled in next to me, turned off his engine, and waited until I was done.

  I looked at him with a pissed off ‘get the fuck out of my business’ look. If I wasn’t going inside the bar, pummeling someone in the face until my hands were numb seemed like the next best thing. He looked back at me dead square in the eyes.

  “Yo, I’m hiring. You want the job, show up tomorrow, sober,” he said, reached into his jacket, pulled out a business card, and handed it to me.

  He flipped down his visor and took off. I read the card, then ripped it into two pieces and threw it into the air. I took a leave of absence from the police department and I had no interest in getting into private investigation. I put my helmet back on and took off down the road. I got about a mile away when Ivy slipped back into my mind. I screeched to a halt, burned rubber, and flipped a u-ey.

  Half of his business card was sitting where my bike sat and I spent the next hour searching in the dark for the second half in the parking lot of the bar. I got it stuck in my head that this may be exactly what I need in my life. I searched high and low, on my knees at times on the gravel, looking under cars, until I found it.

  I taped it back
together and stuck it in my wallet behind the picture of Ivy. I showed up the next day and I’ve worked for him ever since. Max lets me make my own hours and take the cases I want. When I need to get out of town, the only thing he asks is to tell him I’m leaving. He never asks when I’m coming back. But, I always come back.

  When the road runs out, I put down the kickstand and shut off the bike. I pull off my helmet, set it on my lap, and look out into the murky darkness of the Pacific Ocean. Defeated, alone, and empty, I hang my head. I don’t blame Shannon for what she did. I hate what she did, but I don’t blame her. I hate her because she left me. She left this Earth when I needed her the most. I didn’t know how to begin to grieve for our daughter when she made me have to grieve for her, too. She left me here alone, surrounded by memories of our daughter that I didn’t know how to deal with. Not back then and not now either.

  A parent should never outlive their child, not at any age. It’s inconceivable to even see a casket so small, lowered into the earth. Then two weeks later to stand next to her fresh grave and bury her mother. No one on Earth is strong enough to handle that. It’s funny, Ivy and Shannon are buried in the same cemetery that Samuel, Asher’s first wife, Olivia, and Scarlett, Jax’s first wife are buried. I visit Ivy and Shannon often. It’s strange that I feel more connected to them here, standing on the shore, than at their gravesite. Our lives together, and their deaths, are too painful to remember. Part of me wishes their memories could ignite into flames and become ashes in my memory.

  I put my helmet on and ride the hour and a half home. I feed Lucky, pass Ivy’s closed bedroom door, then climb into bed.

  Chapter 3

  Quinn

  Monday morning I cram a burnt piece of dry toast into my mouth, while I shove my books into my bag. If it weren’t for my brother’s mad chef skills or Samantha’s home cooking, I wouldn’t eat a single decent thing. Most of the food I eat comes prepackaged from a campus vending machines, or from a rotisserating wheel of glistening hot dogs from the convenience store by my house. It’s risky business being a college student. I’ve had food poisoning more times than I care to count.