by Skye Warren
He grabbed my wrist and twisted. My whole body followed. The wall stopped me, but I wished it hadn’t. I wanted to melt into it, to just fade away. All my hard-fought words of power, obliterated with the grip of his fist.
Where was the boy who’d chased me on the pier or filched my books, only to return them just as stealthily? I wanted to ask him that and so much more, but the cold brick muzzled me. “I do hear you,” he said behind my ear. “And I…I want to listen to you.”
“But you won’t.” My shoulders slumped against the wall like a cold embrace.
“It was a mistake to walk away before,” he said. “And it was a mistake…what happened. I want to make it right with you. And now, with her. It’s a lot to take in, but I feel like I owe her something. And I already know I owe you.”
“Why don’t you start by letting me go?”
He released me. I rolled against the wall to face him but still leaned against it. It was so blessedly vertical.
“I don’t think I can walk away this time,” he said.
I was too tired to fight, and I already knew I’d lose. He’d proven that handily. “You wanted to leave, so you left. You want to stay, so you will.” You wanted to fuck me, so you did, but I didn’t say that. “What about what I want?”
“Tell me what you want. Tell me how I can help you.”
He didn’t get it. He could help me by leaving. But he wouldn’t go.
I shook my head. “Go away, Andrew. Go away, or I’ll call the cops and they’ll make you.” It was risky, to bring up the cops. Andrew wouldn’t want them involved, would think he might get in trouble if they were called. He didn’t know the cops didn’t care, but he didn’t call my bluff.
“I’ll go,” he said. “But I’m staying in town. I’m going to give you some time to cool down, think things through. Then we’ll talk again. We’re going to work this out, whether you believe that right now or not.”
Chapter Ten
Once his car was out of sight, I ran up the steps. Shelly took one look at my face, said, “Shit,” and pulled me inside. “What happened?”
I walked past her to Bailey, who saw me and held out her arms for me to pick her up. Squeezing her close to me, I buried my face in her downy hair. She gurgled a protest and squirmed.
“You’re scaring me,” Shelly said. “Tell me what happened. Is it Rick?”
“What? Why would it be Rick?”
“I thought maybe…I don’t know. You’re just not giving me much to go on. You come back late from work, and now you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m sorry I was late.” I set Bailey down, and she immediately went back to her toys.
I sat down on Shelly’s couch. My fingers stroked the soft leather. It was so out of place in this crappy apartment, but I knew why she was here. It was for me. For Bailey. Oh God, what would I do? She reached for my hands, and I jerked back without thinking.
“Jesus, Allie. Tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s Andrew.” I waved my hand. “He was here.”
“Where? In Chicago?”
“No, here. At our apartment. Just outside. I watched him drive away, but he said he’ll be back. He’s coming back.”
“Oh, shit.”
“And he saw Bailey’s car seat. He knows about her. I need to go. I need to take her and leave.”
“That’s crazy. Where will you go?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll track down my dad. Ride in his truck for a while.” It was mostly a joke. My dad may not have been a stellar example of fatherhood, but he’d help me if I were in trouble. Still, riding around in the cab of a semitruck with a baby wasn’t a realistic plan.
But what could I do other than run? The law wouldn’t be on my side. I’d found that out two years ago.
It would only take a DNA test to confirm what Andrew already suspected. He was the biological father of Bailey. And if he pursued it, he could be her father legally too. At one time I would’ve thought those were the only ways that counted, but not now.
I didn’t think of him as Bailey’s father. I couldn’t. She was mine.
If I stayed, he could compel me to let him near Bailey. Hell, to let him near me. The court system, the authorities, they would support him.
But if I ran, what kind of life would that be for Bailey? When would it end? I had trouble enough keeping her stocked in diapers and secondhand plastic toys even with a reasonably steady job at the bakery. On the run, even that would be in jeopardy, and who would watch Bailey when I worked? I wasn’t sure I could hold up without Shelly.
“Hey, there,” she said. “I know this is bad, but we’ll work it out. You’re not in this alone.”
“Ah, God.” I put my head in my hands. “I’m not trying to be a whiny bitch here, but sometimes it feels like the cards are stacked against us, you know?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I know. Do you think…?”
“You know the police won’t help. And I don’t have money for a lawyer, much less a good one.”
“I wasn’t going to say that.” At her pause I looked up to see Shelly tracing her fingernails in the woodlike grooves of the plastic coffee table. “What about that guy?”
I blinked. “Colin? What about him?”
“Don’t say you haven’t thought of it.”
I hadn’t thought of it, but I was now. To send Colin like he was some goon to shake Andrew up. To fuck him up. After all, Colin had already shown a willingness to protect me in the physical capacity. “You’re crazy.”
She pressed her lips together and refused to look me in the eye.
I shook my head. “No. Freaking. Way.”
“Okay, okay,” she conceded. “I wasn’t saying it was a great plan. Listen, do you want me to talk to him?” And the way she said the word “talk” made it clear what she really meant. Persuade him. Maybe even whore herself out for me.
“Shelly,” I said; then I couldn’t get any more words past the lump in my throat. I couldn’t let her do that. But God, that she would even do something like that for me. For Bailey. She was my daughter. I should be able to protect her, but I couldn’t even protect myself.
“Come here, sweetie.” She folded me in her arms. Between the two of us, I was the mother. I was responsible for Bailey and myself. And I felt responsible for Shelly too. She was only a few months younger than I, and prettier and probably smarter than me as well. But somehow she’d always trailed after me through middle and high school. I’d always suspected she’d had a crush on Andrew. But when he’d fucked me over, both literally and otherwise, she’d been there to help me. She’d continued to help me all this time, even now offering her body in exchange for what? For friendship? For this pale imitation of a family?
I didn’t deserve her loyalty.
Straightening my back, I pulled away from her warmth. “Thanks, Shelly. Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything crazy. He said he’d give me some time, so I’ll think of something. Everything will be fine.”
Of course she didn’t believe it. I didn’t either, but she let me go.
I carried Bailey down to our apartment and put her in her high chair. I set down a jar of sweet peas and let Bailey go to town with a plastic spoon. It felt weird to do something as mundane as mealtime when my world was being ripped apart. But that’s the thing about kids—they make you practical.
A stronger mom, a better mom, would probably have chastised her for the mess. But it was easier to let her make a mess and then clean it up after. Green mush sprayed across the linoleum floor wiped clean in a single swipe.
If only all my problems could be cleared with such ease.
After Bailey ate, I peeled off her clothes and diaper and carried a pea-spattered baby to the tub. After washing her, I let her sit for a few minutes in the warm water while she splashed around with some foam alphabet letters. To say she was my everything wasn’t giving her enough credit. I didn’t know how I would have gotten through those dark months back then without her inside
me. Even now my composure had all the sturdiness of a house of cards. I’d just as soon lie down and let Andrew have his way with me than fight him again. And Colin. Well, Colin. But always there was Bailey to consider, and so I had to be strong.
Bailey was rough to put down to bed that night, probably feeding off my nervous energy. I sang her all the lullabies in my arsenal three times before her eyes drifted shut.
I took a shower and slipped on a ratty T-shirt. Then paced. I couldn’t go anywhere, for obvious reasons, and besides, there was nowhere to go. I considered watching TV, reading a book, but nothing could hold my focus.
My mind ran like a hamster on a wheel.
What a relief it must be for a rape victim to hate her rapist. But even if I hated Andrew, I also loved him. Not the way he’d wanted me to. I loved him as a friend, a brother. It may have been chaste, but it was real. Maybe the most I’d ever loved anyone, at least before Bailey.
And that old love was still inside me like a cancer.
Maybe if I could believe what I’d told myself all those nights at the club, that I didn’t really have the right to say no, that all guys were assholes, I could find some kind of peace. Then, at least, what Andrew had done would make sense.
I had thought I was over it. It wasn’t even rape, right? Sure I’d said no, but men didn’t listen. Now, though, with Colin waiting in the wings, tempting me and respecting my refusal, I had to wonder if I’d just been fooling myself.
And that begged the question—what would it take to truly get over it? Was it even possible? The thought of being broken forever was a scarier thought than anything Andrew could do to my body.
It wasn’t the first night I’d baked in lieu of sleep. The methodical measuring of ingredients and the steady rhythm of mixing never failed to soothe me. During the day I played with recipes, taking delight in creating something new. But night baking was about comfort. All I had to do was follow the formula, and everything would turn out okay. Better than okay, considering double chocolate brownies came out of the chasm.
Chapter Eleven
The drive only took twenty minutes, as loitering teens and half-empty strip malls gave way to artistic cafés and pocketed neighborhoods. My would-be Prince Charming’s castle turned out to be a white, bungalow-style house with a front porch. It was small compared to some of the others, but still much too big for a bachelor. Too domestic.
Colin had called this morning, asking me to come over and talk. I owed him that much. It was more of a meeting than a date. More of a breaking up than an opening.
I told myself that, again, fussing over my meeting-date outfit as I sat in the front seat of my car. But I didn’t really believe it. I wanted to make it right with Colin.
The heart wants what it wants, even if that means fucking over the people it loves. Because it really wasn’t fair to drag Colin into this. Bad enough I was so messed up, and that I was broke and had a kid and all the other things that were wrong with me. All the things that made me a poor candidate for a girlfriend, as if this were a job interview, an audition.
After the new troubles with Andrew, I should leave Colin well enough alone. It was impossible to say how it would affect him, impossible that it wouldn’t affect him, indirectly somehow.
Or maybe directly, by me running to him for help, like now.
I fidgeted in the car for ten minutes, parked a bit too far away from the curb as if those extra few inches could keep me from arriving. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and looked over to see Colin open the front door. I couldn’t see his expression, but I read the lines of his body as he leaned against the door frame. Just waiting. His stillness poured through my body like steamy coffee on a winter day. That’s why I was here: he was different.
It wasn’t that Colin was never pushy or controlling, because he excelled at both those skills. The difference was that, whatever he did, he wouldn’t harm me. Not ever. I couldn’t even make him do it. I should know—I had tried. It was as if I’d been searching for him without even knowing it, trying out random men at a bar in the world’s stupidest litmus test.
And now that I’d found him, the trick was how not to lose him. I got out of the car and strode up the sidewalk. He stepped aside and, with a nod of his head, invited me in. As I passed, I could feel the tension vibrating within him—curiosity, frustration, maybe lust—carefully caged within thick walls of patience.
He took my coat. I followed the trail of savory aromas to the kitchen and set the dessert I’d brought on the counter.
“Drink?” he asked.
“Sure. That would be… Thanks.”
“Wine? Beer?”
“Oh.” I didn’t usually drink alcohol except for my club nights. The numbing effects would be welcomed now, except I needed to keep it together tonight. Didn’t want to go spilling secrets, after all. “Maybe just water.”
He handed me a glass. “We’ve got a few minutes before the pot roast is done.”
“Mmm, pot roast.” It had been forever since I’d had real meat, not the rubbery stuff that came in canned soup. Since my last date with Colin, actually. “It smells amazing.”
“It’s from the restaurant.” He quirked his lips. “With scalloped potatoes.”
I grinned. “So you’re a meat and potatoes kind of guy.”
He shrugged. “I’m pretty simple.”
I snorted. Simple as a Rubik’s Cube. But all I said was, “Maybe.”
The white cabinets, Formica countertops, and tiled backsplash matched the quaintness of the house but looked new. The stainless-steel appliances and fixtures completed the picture of a modern kitchen. But I’d expect nothing less from the owner of a restaurant. I might have been envious if I had ever imagined such things for myself.
I peered back the way we’d come, through the dining room.
“Did you want me to show you around?” he asked.
“Yes.” I smiled. I noted his hesitation and his stiffness, but I did want to see his house. Every little detail, from the green splash of color from the tea towel to the prickly aloe plant that sat on the counter, was a piece of Colin. I would hoard that knowledge like a miser collects coins and later strums through them with his fingers just for the pleasure of it.
Despite the coziness of the house, there was a definite sparseness to its furnishing. So male. So Colin. Plush seating and dark wood furniture stood so perfectly in place, without clutter, that I half expected to see price tags hanging on them.
Colin was quiet, even for him. And watchful. He walked ahead of me, leading me to the different rooms—the living room, the dining room, a study. And outside, the back porch overlooking a small but lush lawn. I oohed and ahhed. It came naturally, this admiration, because his house was beautiful and stark, like him. The place was large enough to be roomy, but small enough to be cozy. It was, as Goldilocks would say in Bailey’s book, just right. But I felt like he was waiting for something specific in my responses.
I leaned my elbows on the wood rail of the back patio as if I belonged. “It’s a great house.”
“Do you think so?” he asked. It didn’t sound like the idle question it should have been.
“Absolutely. It’s perfect. Why? You aren’t thinking of selling it, are you?”
“If I did, would you buy it?”
I laughed. “There’s no way I could afford this house. How much does something like this run? One hundred thousand?”
A faint blush tinted his cheeks, and I knew it had cost more. Not that I could even afford a fraction of that. It might as well have been a castle for all that it was accessible to me.
“The food’s probably ready,” he said, and we went back inside the house.
I found the dishes while he transferred the food from metal pots to ceramic platters. We met at the dining table amid clanking utensils. I set a place for him at the head of the table and sat next to him. That left five empty chairs and a wide expanse of cherry wood table.
“Do you have company often?” I as
ked.
His eyes flicked over the table, all those empty chairs. “No.”
I took a bite of the pot roast. The juices exploded in my mouth, and I released a soft moan. “God, this is good.”
A quick smile. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I bet you get that all the time.”
He shrugged. “It’s nice to eat a meal here, for once. And to have company.” My face heated. “How’s Bailey?”
I blinked. “She’s fine. And your brother?”
“Also fine.”
Have you talked to him lately? I wanted to ask. Done anything illegal? Dangerous? But his eyes warned me away. I wouldn’t like the answer.
We moved on to safer topics. My work at the bakery and his at his restaurant. We both worked with food—something so elemental, providing sustenance, health. In my case, not so much health, but there’s a special intimacy that comes from preparing food for someone, as he had cooked this dinner and I had baked that pie.
We ate and were merry, as merry as Colin ever was. It was a last meal, of sorts. When we’d both eaten too much, Colin took me to the living room.
His hand caught mine, tender, and his eyes captured mine, intent. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said in a falsetto.
“Tell me,” he said.
I sighed. The man was a walking lie detector. Either that or I was transparent as fuck. “Something happened,” I said. “Bailey…well, her father has come back.”
His face showed no reaction.
I averted my eyes before continuing. An omission was still a lie. “He was a friend of mine. From school. And we…hooked up. And then he left town. Now he’s back, and he wants to see Bailey. At least that’s what he said, but I don’t trust him. He doesn’t care about her. He’s just using her to get to me.”
Those dark brown eyes revealed nothing. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t really know what I can do. I guess visitation is something that would have to be figured out in court. But I would… strongly prefer… that he not get to see us at all.”
