Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (Eight Fun, Romantic Novels by Eight Bestselling Authors)
Page 74
âSometimes it can be good.â Emerson says quietly. âSometimes the only way to move on is to face your past.â
He looks at me a long moment, then gets up and moves to the bureau. He opens a drawer and takes out a slip of paper, coming to sit back down on the couch. Emerson looks at the paper for a long moment, then passes it to me.
I stare at the page.
James Ray. Thereâs an address too, scribbled under the name.
âDad?â I breathe, shock rushing through me.
Emerson nods. âRay Jay found him, a few months back. I didnât know if you wanted to let sleeping dogs lie. But now, I figureâ¦â He trails off, still looking at me like heâs not sure if Iâm going to break down again. If this is the final straw to send me over the edge.
I stare at the paper in my hand. âThe address, itâs close,â I realize. I look over at Emerson. âThis is less than an hour away.â
He looks sympathetic.
âHe was here,â I breathe. âAll this time. And he neverâ¦â
I stop.
He never came to see how I was; never even cared enough to call.
âItâs up to you what you do with it.â Emerson sighs. âI donât know what shape heâs in, or if heâll have any answers for you. And maybe you shouldnât even tryââ
âIâm going.â I leap to my feet.
âWhat, now? Brit, wait a minute,â Emerson tries to calm me, but for the first time since this mess with Hunter, I have a sense of clarityâsome calm cutting through the terrible ache in my chest.
âNo, I need to talk to him,â I insist, reaching for my purse. âYouâre right. I need answers. I need to face the past.â
âAt least think about it,â Emerson follows me across the room. âSleep on it, maybe when youâve had timeââ
âNo,â I stop him. âI have to do this now. Iâll be back before dinner,â I add. âI promise, Iâll be OK.â
Emerson doesnât look convinced, but he canât stop me, and he knows it. âBe careful,â he murmurs, âWe donât know what heâs into these days. He could have done time, been mixed up in all kinds of stuff.â
âI know,â I reassure him. âBelieve me, Iâm not expecting daddy dearest to come meet me with open arms. I just want to talk to him.â
Emerson nods. âCall me the minute you need, and Iâll be there, you know that, right?â
âI know.â I smile at him. âLove you.â
âLove you right back.â
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I DRIVE FAST, flirting with the speed limit as I head out to the address on that scribbled sheet of paper. I clench the steering wheel, my thoughts in a whirl, a million questions running around in my mind. Like why he left, what made him turn around and walk away from his family, his own flesh-and-blood? Did he think of me the way I thought about him when I was younger, watching other kids in school get picked up by their fathers, safe in a world of belonging I could only dream about?
One thingâs for sure, I need answers from him if Iâm ever going to be free. I want so desperately to break this damn cycle Iâm in, feeling so worthless that I canât believe anything good will ever last. I pushed Hunter, I know it, but I canât help myself. Iâm always waiting for the house of cards to tumble and fall, for every moment of happiness to crumble into ash. It was the first thing I ever learned, what if feels like to be left, and that knowledge has colored every day of my life since.
I canât do it anymore. I canât live like this, expecting love to leave me. I know Iâll never love anyone the way I love Hunter, but still, I have to have hope. That good things will come into my world, and theyâll stay there. That one day, someone will stay.
My nerves are on edge as the miles speed past, all my emotions focused laser-sharp on the task in front of me as I dream up a hundred ways this could go. I try to talk myself down from this state of wild expectation. Emerson was right: we donât know what James is into these days. He could be bad news, hell, he was bad news even back when we were kids. I remind myself to expect the worst. Drugs, violence, prison maybe.
But when I pull up across the street from the address, my jaw drops open. Nothing I imagined could have prepared me for this.
Itâs an ordinary house, on an ordinary street. Safe. Suburban. The cul-de-sac curves gently past his split-level ranch house, a two-car garage by the small front yard. The grass is trimmed, a tree casts shade over the house, and through the side gate, I can see the brightly-colored frame of a kidsâ bike.
I feel a chill, but I donât have time to process it before a minivan slows and turns onto the driveway, pulling up outside the house. The doors open, and two kids pile out. A boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, glued to the gaming console in his hand, and a little girl. Sheâs wearing a ballet outfit: a pink leotard and leg warmers, her hair pulled up in a bun.
âJamie, help your mom with the groceries!â
I hear the manâs call through my open windows, but the van is blocking him from view. I turn down the radio and lean out, watching across the street as a brunette woman in soccer-mom athletic wear circles round to the back of the van, pulling out bags of groceries. The boy makes a big show of helping her, clearly annoyed, while his sister turns pirouettes on the lawn.
Iâm holding my breath. It wonât be, I tell myself. It canât be. Ray Jay screwed up the address, or maybe heâs already long gone. I never got to know him, but the father I heard about was a deadbeat, a lazy, no-good piece of scum. I was better off without him, thatâs what Iâve told myself all these years. Iâm better off on my own.
The man finally steps out from behind the van.
My heart freezes.
Itâs him. Heâs older, sure, but the face and dark hair are just the same as the old photos I saved. My father. Standing fifty feet away from me, reaching to sweep the little girl up in his arms. He tosses her in the air, and she lets out a shriek of delight, laughing happily as he carries her into the house.
The mom and other kid follow, and then the door closes behind them all, and the house is quiet. A happy family, the picture of suburban bliss.
I sit back in my seat, reeling. He has a family â a whole new life? Iâve always known it might be a possibility, but somehow, I never really imagined it. After all, he couldnât care less about raising us, so I figured he didnât want a family full stop, that he left us to go his own way, whatever that had been.
I was wrong.
I hear a strange tapping noise and look down to find my hand shaking against the dashboard. My whole body is trembling, overcome with the realization that all these years, heâs been right here: waking up in a house with his other children; fixing them breakfast, driving them to school. Heâs been showing up to dance recitals and football games, fixing burgers on the grill on Friday nights, and falling asleep in front of the TV with them tucked safely under his arms.
He chose this. He chose to walk away from us, and never look back. He chose to be there for somebody else, instead of me. He chose this, all over again, every single day.
He chose to stay gone.
I feel something break apart inside of me, cleaved clean in two. Emerson was right, this has nothing to do with me. I couldnât change it if I tried. Whatever his reasons for leaving me this way, none of them can make a difference to the pain heâs caused, the hurt and rejection Iâve carried with me all these yearsâtainting every relationship, conditioning me to expect the worst. Accept the worst. No words will ever take back the nights I spent lying in bed, wondering why he didnât love me enough to stay. No apologies will ever erase my anger, and confusion, and all the tears Iâve cried.
Itâs done.
I re
alize it with a mix of sadness and relief, sweet and true. Itâs been over for years now, I just couldnât let it go. But I have to move on now. Iâm the only one who can make a change.
Iâm the only one who can decide I deserve to be loved.
I reach for the ignition. I came here looking for answers from him, but it turns out Iâve had them inside me all along. I feel the weight slip from my shoulders, the deep, knotted tangle of my heart finally unbind. I take a deep breath, the evening air cool and crisp in my lungs, the scenery brighter outside my window. Itâs like I just broke free through the surface, after spending years caught adrift in the murky undertow.
Iâm enough. I was always good enough. Itâs not my fault they couldnât stay.
Movement comes from across the street. My father exits the house, heading for the minivan to fetch a forgotten bag. He pauses on his way back to the house, looking across the street at me.
Our eyes meet for a moment, two strangers staring across the street. A world apart, sharing more than heâll ever know.
I turn the key in the ignition. The truck rumbles to life.
This time, Iâm the one leaving him behind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I CALL EMERSON and leave my apologiesâthe dinner will have to wait for some other visit.
âThereâs something I need to do,â I explain. âI donât know if Iâve got the time, but I have to try.â
âAtta girl,â I can hear the smile in his voice. âBut just so you know, thatâs a standing offer to smash his face in. Any time you need me, Iâm there. You know that, right? Iâll always be there.â
âI know,â I smile, âI can always count on you.â
âDonât be a stranger,â Julietâs voice comes down the line. âYouâre welcome here any time. And I want to talk about wedding dress designs!â
Emerson groans. âI thought we were keeping it simple. A Christmas wedding in Beachwood Bay, no fuss.â
âSmall doesnât mean un-stylish,â Juliet argues with him. âAnyway, Brit has things to do and boys to win. Weâll talk soon. Good luck!â
I hang up, and get back on the road, heading for Beachwood as fast as Garrettâs old truck will take me. And with every mile, my brotherâs words echo in my mind, driving me on.
Thatâs life. Thatâs love. You have to figure out what you want and then fight like hell. Because itâs never easy, not when your heartâs on the line.
Iâve never fought for a man, Iâve never cared enough to try. But for Hunter, Iâd wage war against a thousand armies, cross the world, travel to hell and back. Heâs the only man Iâve ever loved, and the only one I ever want to.
For all that, I can surely face down his mother.
WHEN I GET HOME and pull in the driveway, I find Garrett waiting on the porch.
âNo time to explain!â I cry, flying up the steps and into the house. âI have serious work to do!â
âWhat kind of work?â Garrett follows me.
I reach the living room and look around, breathless. âThe big anniversary party is tomorrow night, which means I have exactly twenty-four hours to turn this,â I hold up the lengths of purple silk, âInto this.â I show him my sketches of the dream ball-gown, the one Iâve spent months designing.
The dress Iâm going to wear to knock Hunter off his feet.
Garrettâs eyes widen, but he doesnât protest. âOK then,â he rubs his hands together, âWhat do you need?â
âIâve got the tools, the fabric, everything, except⦠Coffee. Lots of it,â I tell him, kicking off my boots.
âIâm on it,â he grins, âHow about some burgers too?â
I shake my head, already reaching for the patterns I cut, and the lengths of cotton mock-up fabric. âIâm not hungry.â I couldnât eat, not with exhilaration thundering in my veins like this, every cell in my body vibrating with purpose. Iâm on a mission, and Iâm running out of time.
âTrust me, youâre going to want to eat,â Garrett corrects me, grabbing his keys back from the table. âThis is going to be a long night.â
Garrett is right in the end; I do eat the burger, and drink down at least three pots of coffee. I work through the night, cutting and pinning until the pattern is perfect. Then, only then, do I cut into my precious silk, carefully slicing the panels that will fit together into the finished design as dawn breaks outside the window, and golden morning light replaces the glare of the bulb overhead.
âWhat time is it?â Garrett yawns, sitting up from where he fell asleep on the couch.
âI donât know.â I donât lift my eyes for a moment. One wrong slice of the scissors, and the whole panel will be ruined. I donât have enough fabric to replace any of the pieces, and besides, I donât have the time to start again.
âItâs after ten, you should really get some sleep.â
âNo time for sleep. I still have to sew the panels, and finish the hem, and stitch the bodiceâ¦â I feel a tremor of apprehension at the mammoth task still ahead of me, but I push it down. Iâll finish. I have to finish. Thereâs no two ways about it.
I feel Garrett approach to stand over me. âWow, you did all this while I was sleeping?â
âYou snore.â
âDo not!â He protests.
âMmmhmm,â I make a dubious murmur as I carefully cut the last piece of the pattern.
âYou think someone wouldnât have told me by now if I did snore?â Garrett challenges me, laughing.
I finally look up. âPlease, like any of those girls would tell you the truth. They wouldnât know a solid opinion if it knocked them over the head.â
Garrett looks hurt. âI told you, Iâm taking a break from all of that.â
I pause, seeing the genuine expression on his face. âThen I guess weâre both trying something new.â
âIâm not being a manwhore, and youâre not being a destructive bitch,â Garrett agrees with a grin. âLook at us and our emotional maturity.â
I laugh, feeling the ache in my shoulders, in every muscle in my body. âGold stars all around.â I yawn, then clap a hand over my mouth. âNo!â I yelp. âI canât be tired. The party is tonight, I canât show up in a half-finished dress!â
âI bet Hunter wouldnât mind.â Garrett remarks. âYou could show up in jeans, and heâd still fall at your feet.â
I shake my head furiously. âYou didnât see our fight. It was awful. The worst. He might not take me back at all. And besides, this isnât just about him,â I add, âItâs about all of them. I have to show him, I donât care about his family and all that society stuff. Iâll play along, Iâll make them like me. Iâll do whatever it takes to be with him.â
I thought that it was a choice, between them and me, but I was wrong. Hunter needs to work through issues with his familyâand Iâm going to be right by his side while he does it.
âIf you wonât take a nap, then weâre going to need some more coffee.â
âCoffee, yes! And donuts,â I add, remembering Hunterâs surprise gift with a nostalgic smile. âAnd maybe pancakes.â
âIâll do a breakfast run to Mrs. Olsonâs,â Garrett offers, heading for the door.
âIâll be here, losing my mind!â I call after him, but heâs already picked up his phone and is talking to someone, probably figuring out someone to cover our shifts at the bar while I spend the day sewing on my foolâs errand.
No, I correct myself, before the whispers of doubt can take hold. Itâs not foolish to believe our love is real. For once in my
life, I have someone worth fighting for, and Iâm not letting him get away, not this time.
âGet ready, Hunter Covington,â I mutter to myself, setting the dial on my sewing machine to its finest thread. âYou arenât going to know whatâs hit you.â
By evening, Iâm dead on my feet. My fingers are raw, Iâve pricked myself with pins a dozen times over, and Iâm so tired I can barely see straight. But the dress is finished.
Itâs a dream of a dress. Everything I ever imagined, and so much more.
âAnd⦠done.â I say, pulling the final thread through the bodice. I check with seams, running my fingers over the sweeping hem before slumping back in my chair, exhaustion hitting me like a ton of bricks. âDid I make it in time?â
Garrett checks his watch. âYouâve got just enough time to shower and get ready if weâre going to make it into the city by eight.â
I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror and let out a wail. âLook at me!â I cry. My hair is sticking out in all directions, and there are shadows under my eyes for days. âI look like a zombie!â
âThen we got here just in time.â There are voices from the doorway, and I turn to find Emerson and Julietâand Lacey, Julietâs best friend in tow.
âWhat are you guys doing here?â I blink.
âA little birdy said you had a party to get ready for,â Juliet beams, coming to sweep me into a hug.
âGarrett!â I cry. He gives me a bashful look.
âI can help with coffee, but Iâm no good with all of that.â He waves from my messy hair to my bare feet.
âAnd I am,â Lacey interrupts, beaming.
âYou guysâ¦â I feel tears well up, overwhelmed by the long day and all the friendly faces around me.
âOh no!â Lacey cuts me off. She grabs my arm and propels me into the hallway and towards the stairsâsurprisingly strong for such a petite pixie of a girl. âNo crying. Your eyes will get all red and puffy, and believe me, weâve got enough problems to be fixing. You got the supplies?â she calls back to Emerson.