“I never promised you any of that.”
“You did! But I’m still in Washington. Not even the good part. Not Seattle or Bainbridge Island. No, we moved here because of the schools. To make everything better for Mason. Well, I’m done waiting for you to realize my life is passing just as quickly as yours. I need more than this. You need to do your job.”
“I have a job,” I said through gritted teeth. That was the button she knew to press.
“You have gigs. You sing to maybe a couple thousand fans, have sex, get high, and move on. That’s not enough anymore, hasn’t been since your twenties. I don’t want to share your attention, and I don’t want to worry about bills.”
“I sing. I put on a show. That crap—I haven’t done that in years. I married you. I meant my vows. We have enough in all our accounts to keep you from worrying about bills for years.”
Jessica scoffed. “I’ve watched the women plaster themselves on you, Asher.”
A wave of exhaustion slammed over me. “I can’t make them stop coming on to me. And they don’t want me. They want the front man of the Supernaturals. You know my parents’ split messed me up for years. I told you I wanted to be married forever.”
“Then you should have lived up to your promises.”
“You served me with papers while I was on the fucking road. I was touring to pay for whatever the hell it is you do here, and you kicked me out.”
“I had plans, too, Asher. Big plans that did not include staying hidden in Nowheresville, fifty miles from the shit-hole I grew up in.”
“What plans? Come on, Jessie. I want you to be happy. I’ll do what I can to help you. Just don’t take it out on Mason. That isn’t fair to him.”
“What would make me happy, Tristan, is for you to upgrade my situation.” Her teeth pulled back in a feral grin. “And now I have insurance to make sure you cough up what I want.”
My stomach pitched like it was at the top of a twenty-story roller coaster. The plummet, when it came, would be intense and horrifying.
“What do you mean by insurance?”
She blinked prettily around her wineglass. Did she get her eyelashes enhanced? Was that even possible?
“What does that mean, Jessica?”
“You’ll see,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll both enjoy the spotlight then.”
“Is this about Olivia?”
“Don’t say her name,” Jessica snapped.
“We never talked about her. Maybe we could have worked through our problems then.”
“Shut up!” she screamed. She threw the glass, missing my head by inches. Glass and wine exploded across the counter behind me. Her eyes were wide, her face pale.
Hopefully Mason hadn’t heard her screaming.
“Fine. We’ll ignore the actual problem that’s been there for years. What about Mason?”
Jessica shrugged, and anger burned through me, visceral and ugly. I stepped back and shoved my fisted hands into my pockets.
“Mason’s fine. Parents get divorced all the time. He’ll probably be more normal now that we’re splitting up. Soon as you give me what I want, I’m fine not seeing you again. You keep disappointing me. I didn’t think that was possible. But you do.”
“I meant about you going out and leaving him at night.” I wanted to ask if she’d ever cared about us at all, or if I was just a stepping-stone to something bigger. She was more than willing to trade in everything we’d built for money. Problem was, I’d never make enough for her. Fuck of a time to realize that.
“He’s always safe, always fed, and mommy usually even reads him a book at bedtime after he’s had his milk and cried for his daddy. Every. Night. You’re gone. You can’t pin this all on me.”
I ran my hands through my hair. I was tired. I’d been running on fumes since I received the separation papers. No, in truth, I’d been a mess since Olivia died. Jessica was right. This situation was my fault. I hadn’t been worried about emotional depth when I met Jessica, hadn’t realized how important it was because I’d wanted a bed partner, not a life partner.
“We both fucked up.”
She glared at me until I couldn’t stand the accusation anymore. She had every right to be pissed at me.
“I’m taking Mason to my place.” I turned my back on Jessica and went up the stairs.
11
Dahlia
Saturday morning, Abbi popped into my room early, as was her habit. She stopped short, surprised to see I was not only awake but also showered, dressed, and pulling my long hair into a high ponytail. I had on a pair of comfy jeans I’d stolen from her closet.
One of the side effects of Doug’s death was losing my curves. For the most part, I looked like I always had, just skinnier. My eyes were still gray, my hair the same dark reddish-brown. My skin was relatively smooth.
Not too old to love again. Not yet.
After another sleepless night, I knew I’d have to face Asher and my jumbled feelings for him if I was going to work through my writer’s block. Now downstairs in the kitchen, I smiled at Abbi, toasting her with my now-empty coffee cup. I didn’t tell her it was my third. “You ready for a full day of mom-makeover?”
Abbi’s face was serious, her hands on her hips. “I’ve been waiting for this for years.” She snatched the mug from my hand. “I’ll put this in dishwasher. Let’s hit the road.”
Abbi plugged in her charger to set a playlist from her phone, and we hummed along to a variety of current artists. Like most of her peers, Abbi stuck to the four-count rhythm and breezy lyrics so common in the pop genre. I tapped my finger along to the constant, easy beat, not really paying attention.
Then . . . the distinctive revving riff of a Supernaturals’s lead guitar. I caught Abbi’s smirk before she turned toward the window.
“Since when did you become a Supernaturals fan?”
Abbi shrugged. “Since my mom met this awesome guy who happens to be the lead singer of the band. He might be O-L-D, but he makes my mom’s cheeks glow whenever she thinks about him. I owe him pretty big for bringing her back from the brink, so I figured I’d show my gratitude by buying the entire library.”
“My credit card isn’t going to be thrilled with that decision.”
“Then take it out of my college account. I know it’s all funded, thanks to Dad’s life insurance. Are you ever going to answer Asher’s message? You do realize you are starting to seem like a b— I mean witch.”
I took a deep breath and tightened my grip on the steering wheel. “I don’t know what to say to him,” I murmured.
“Be you. He seemed to like that the last time. And before, when you knew him a lifetime ago.”
“Tell you what. Let’s get through the haircut and some new clothes, and then I’ll send him a message.”
Abbi glared at me. “You need to check your dating profile, too, but we’ll do that later. Asher comes first. Lunchtime. That’s your deadline. Or I’m hacking your account and telling him you’re a chicken.”
“Abigail, that isn’t funny.”
“It wasn’t meant to be. It’s called a threat.”
It was my turn to glare at my daughter, but I could tell by the thrust of her jaw and the gleam in her eye, she’d follow through on her warning. This was the downside of having a child so young. I didn’t have the same parental sway as many of my older counterparts. Abbi was so easygoing and fun, we’d spent more time as friends than in a traditional mother-daughter relationship.
“You will not touch my accounts. And you need to let me handle my life my way. Please.”
Her eyes filled with disappointment, her irises darkening and the sparkle fading. “Not if you’re going to hide for the rest of it. I need you to live again, Mom.”
I swallowed and looked away. “I’m trying.” We sat in silence for a moment. “So I figure cutting off all this weight has to be a good first step.”
Her eyes stayed serious, but her mouth lifted. “I’m sure we can find something that shows off your big eyes
and awesome cheekbones.”
I stared back at my reflection, shocked by the difference the multiple layers and a Brazilian blowout had made. Whoever said that confidence came from feeling beautiful was onto something.
Abbi and I spent way too much time and money in a massive shopping mall. By the time we walked out, bags pinching my fingers, my stomach growled, and my feet felt tight in my sensible flats.
“You holding up?” I asked.
“Totally. I love the marathon approach,” Abbi said, shooting me a happy smile. “I can’t believe you bought me that cashmere wrap. I may have to sleep in it for the rest of my life. It’s so soft.”
I’d bought one for myself, too, cringing at the price. But I had enough to cover the splurge even without the HBO project. Which wasn’t signed. My stomach fluttered.
For long-term security, I needed to make that deal happen. I had six days.
I frowned. Paul hadn’t mentioned whether Asher planned to put together the sound track when we’d talked earlier in the week. Asher had written that Jessica was causing problems. Was he waiting for me to respond to his message, to give him the okay to work together? If so, well, I’d procrastinated long enough.
Stowing our items in the back of my SUV, we headed toward one of the restaurants at the mall.
After being seated and served our drinks, I tapped Abbi’s glass of iced tea with my own. “To beginnings.”
“I’m in love with your new cut,” she said. She took a sip of her tea, scrunched her nose, and reached for the sugar. “Get out your phone and answer Asher Smith. Now.”
“I haven’t looked at the menu yet.”
Abbi finished dumping in sugar and set the dispenser on the table with a thump. “You’re afraid.”
The words sounded so much worse coming from my teenage daughter’s mouth. I chewed my lip while I decided that Abbi was old enough to deal with some of my life.
“I am. I used to have a crush on him. If I leave it at the time we’ve spent together, I’ll have the perfect little dream to pull back out and enjoy over the years.”
Abbi gripped the top of her menu and leaned forward. “He’s not Dad.”
Anxiety slashed through me, dragging the air from my lungs.
“He probably won’t die. Or leave.” She sat back, completely unaware of how close I was to falling apart. I ducked behind the menu, relieved she hadn’t found out. Some secrets were just too much to share.
“He mentioned he wants to be friends.” Abbi snorted as she shook her head.
“You read my messages?”
Abbi lifted her left eyebrow. “But of course, Mrs. Dorsey,” she said in a terrible British accent.
“That’s an invasion of privacy.” I was angry. Angry enough to burn away my burgeoning panic. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been inundated with this much emotion.
“How is it different than you reading my texts and messages?”
She had me there. “You’re prone to do something dumb. It’s instilled in your teenage DNA.”
“I love you too much to do something that’ll hurt myself, Mom. I’m not going to go to some lame high school party with hot beer just to get busted by Sheriff Lindon. I’m not going to put myself in danger to be date-raped, and I’m not going to come home pregnant. But you can keep checking up on me because I know you need to feel like you’re doing everything you can for me. And you’re less anxious when you feel in control.”
I dropped the menu to the table, barely missing my glass. “You know about my panic attacks?”
Abbi nodded. “Yeah, and the insomnia. Both seem better.” She cocked her head, her long, shiny hair spilling over her trim shoulder. “Since our trip to Seattle.”
She waited, letting me digest that information. “I may be only sixteen, but I understand something about love.” She raised her eyebrows as she took a sip of her drink. “Maybe because my mom writes romances. I know it’s the trust part that’s a leap of faith. Right now, Asher is asking for you to trust in friendship. Did it ever occur to you that maybe he needs a friend just as badly as you do?”
Abbi sat back in her chair. The waitress ambled over and Abbi ordered us salads and a double order of onion rings. I nodded my approval, my mind whirring.
“When did you get so smart?” I pulled out my phone, and Abbi fist-pumped the air.
“I’ve always been this awesome. Just took you a while to figure it out. Type your message. I need to pee. Be back in a jiffy.”
Pulling up Asher’s message caused my face to heat up, and I was shocked I still blushed. I opened the app and reread the message I knew verbatim. I started typing. This was the time for truth, not my edited thoughts.
I’ve read your message every day, wondering if I should respond. I worried what to say. Nothing felt right because nothing can tell you how much I needed you last week. Thank you for holding me, for listening. Thank you for caring.
I’m sorry about your marriage. This may be presumptuous, but I want to be that real friend you said you miss. I’m ready to listen any time you need me.
I can’t write. I’m scared the HBO deal will fall through because I’m not strong enough to get beyond my emotional block, which means I won’t get to collaborate with you on the sound track . . . If you’ve worked it out on your end.
That’s part of why I haven’t responded.
-D
My finger shook, and I had to press Send twice before it actually went. Abbi slid into the booth across from me, her lips pursed.
“Done.” I said.
“You gonna let me read it?”
I bit my lip, considering my options. Then I slid my phone across the table. I watched her eyes slide across the screen. A little smile formed as she handed it back.
“He’s calling you.”
12
Asher
“Are you mad?” Mason asked, his voice small. We were in the field next to the small orchard that’d come with the house. My heart wasn’t into playing ball. I kept replaying Jessica’s comments from the other night. She wanted to nail my balls to the wall. I should’ve acted years ago to start this separation process, like my mom had gently suggested.
Mason climbed up in one of the apple trees. I sat beneath it, watching him. He and I had been hanging out every day for a week. This was the longest I’d been home since Olivia . . . I couldn’t quit thinking about her.
“I’m working on the fear thing. Bryan said he still has nightmares about monsters, but I don’t do that anymore,” Mason said proudly from his perch in the tree.
I flopped back onto the grass. “I’m not angry that you’re afraid of the dark. I was, too. I got scared again when my dad left.”
My dad told my mom that leaving me with her was for the best because she was the better parent. He was right; my dad was a selfish prick. I remembered spending a weekend with him when I was maybe thirteen. He’d gotten dressed up that Saturday night. When I asked him where he was going, he’d grabbed his keys off the counter and tucked his wallet into his expensive slacks. “I’m going to pick up a woman and screw her brains out. You’ll get the itch when you’re a little older.”
“But what about me?”
“What about you? Oh, here’s some money for some pizza.” He’d tossed a pile of bills on the table. “See you later. Might be tomorrow if she’s any good.”
My mom might’ve worked long hours and taken business trips she dreaded nearly as much as I did, but she made sure I had a qualified adult to watch me. She made huge piles of my favorite foods and stored them in the fridge and freezer with sticky notes on each container telling me to enjoy and how much she loved and missed me.
“Promise, Dad?” Mason’s voice brought me back to the present.
I blinked at my son. He’d climbed down from the tree and was sitting next to me in the grass. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder.
“What was that, bud?”
“You promise you won’t leave me alone at night?”
I swal
lowed hard. I couldn’t fulfill his need as long as Jessica had custody.
I looked down into his little face and held out my pinky, hooking it slightly. “Pinky swear.”
I poured Mason some lemonade, glad Jessica had decided to drive into Seattle for girl time with one of her giggly friends who I hated.
Mason wanted to hang here at the house. As long as Jessica was gone, I was good with that. Though, I’d learned that the guest-room mattress was lumpy and my back wasn’t as forgiving as it used to be.
It was just after noon. Good. I needed a beer.
Snagging it out of the fridge, I also pulled out the sandwich fixings Mrs. Knowles brought over that morning. If I was hungry, Mason had to be, too.
“You want a sandwich?”
“I’m really hungry.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Mom says it’s annoying to always be making another meal when I just finished the last one.”
I slammed the plates onto the counter with more force than necessary, breaking them both.
“Oops,” I said, hoping my voice sounded normal. “Get me the broom, will you? What about Mrs. Knowles?”
“She makes me whatever I want when she’s here. I love her quesadillas.”
After cleaning up the porcelain shards, I made Mason two sandwiches and loaded his plate up with apple slices and some chips. We carried our plates onto the porch and ate in companionable silence. Mason finished well before I did, my appetite ruined.
“Can I get something else?” he asked, his hazel eyes, the one feature we shared, hopeful.
“Course, buddy. After you get another snack, we’ll head down to the lake.”
“Awesome!” he squealed. He picked up his plate and carried it into the house. I waited until his feet pounded up the stairs before I pulled out my phone and called my lawyer, Pete Nelson. After laying out what Mason had told me earlier, I said, “Figure out how to get me custody.”
Seattle Sound Series, The Collection: Books One to Five Page 9
