I woke up at 4:00 a.m., stretched my arms over my head. Dark though it was, I wanted to get out into the city, go for a run. I loved running on the beach back in Sydney, where the warmth of the sand in summer traveled up through my feet, pumping into my muscles and making it easier to take the next step. Impossible here, so I settled for the popular running trail in the Olympic Sculpture Garden suggested by the sleepy-eyed desk clerk.
I ran down rain-drenched Elliott Ave., marveling at the lit skyline, so different from my dad’s hometown of Melbourne, which boasted a low-key city center. This place reminded me more of Sydney but with some extra eye-popping style. Home to some of the world’s most well-known brands, Seattle was primed for further success.
The smattering of people I passed moved out of my way as I ran, unaware and uncaring—to them, I was just another driven, success-oriented city dweller. They didn’t see that as I ran faster and harder, I slid closer to the demons I’d been fighting for years.
Namely my mum.
Rather, our relationship. My last memory of her was a blurred image of her being loaded into a police car.
My dad was a quiet, introspective man. Almost a caricature of an artist from an era long past. But he’d been dead-set serious about two things: always treat women with respect and never, ever have sex with a woman I didn’t plan to spend my life with. He’d learned the second lesson the hard way when he was forced to marry his pregnant college girlfriend.
She’d lost the child two weeks after the wedding, but divorce wasn’t common in the sixties, making the marriage much harder to dissolve. He spent nearly twenty unhappy years with a woman he not only didn’t love, but didn’t respect. Thankfully for my father, his ex-wife didn’t like the music-teacher salary and upgraded to a financial executive sometime in the eighties.
Several years later, Dad met my mother when he flew to Seattle for a guest lecture series. She’d been a promising concert pianist, and he one of her teachers. I’d never understood their relationship and not just because my dad was her father’s age at least. Neither had my mum, it turned out.
I’d missed her for the first couple of years after my dad and I moved to Melbourne, expecting her to show up laughing as she ran toward me for a hug. Her laugh—that’s what I remembered. A fairy’s laugh that made me believe in the magic she spoke of so often.
But she never came; she never even called.
So I stayed in Australia, through uni. Dad held on, through one illness after another, pleased with my growing knowledge of music theory and expanded musical capabilities.
I’d hit college hard because I had something to prove after my too-quiet youth spent with a kindly, puttering piano teacher who wore cardigans over his stooped shoulders in the heat of summer. Even Ets didn’t approve of my media-loving, bad-boy-off-the-rails actions during our first small Aussie tour. After one of our concerts, I met Asher Smith, one of my heroes and an all-around fabulous bloke. He’d pointed out I’d fallen for all the vices of fame without the trappings of success. To some degree, I owed Asher a debt.
I’d read in an online paper he’d reconnected with the woman he’d loved years before. The woman we talked about during our late-night philosophical ramblings. I couldn’t be happier for him.
I turned back toward the hotel, my sneakers pounding against the rain-slicked pavement. My stride was long, confident—the one thing I could control in this city of my childhood. A small flash of excitement bubbled through my melancholy as The Edgewater, my hotel—one that had hosted a long list of rocker guests—came into my field of vision. I loved the view, the illusion I could reach out and touch the crisp, navy waves so different from the ones in Wollongong, my favorite Sydney beach.
I slowed to a jog, then a walk, shocked by the crowds pushing through the narrow streets that led to Pike Place Market. I ducked into a coffee shop, asking for a latte as the crowd eddied and boiled with early-morning commuters stopping for breakfast and a paper.
As a young mother strapped her child onto her body in some sling contraption, a memory bubbled up, breaking past my normal defenses. I stared up into my mum’s face, her brown hair swinging forward, covering us both. She’d liked to play outside, no matter the weather. “I breathe out here, Hayden. Don’t take the connection with nature for granted. It grounds us.”
I’d loved our hours-long rambles, the swish of her skirts through the grass. Her sun-warmed hair when she picked me up and carried me, exhausted, back to the house.
But my mum ditched me. Not the other way ’round. I gripped my latte and trudged back to my hotel.
4
Briar
Going back to Seattle meant facing the reason I’d left in the first place, and the long drive left too much time for my mind to conjure the months-old memories that caused me to break off my relationship with Ken.
Jess had called me more than a month ago at work, something she never did. We’d met in the premed program. I’d ultimately switched to journalism and she chose pharmacy. Now, we were occasional-text friends, not as close these days compared with when we were on campus.
“Can you come in to pick up your script today?” she had asked.
I had glanced at my clock, then at the pile of papers sitting next to my keyboard. “I have a lot to do before I put this edition to bed for the weekend,” I’d said.
“Please, Briar. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need to talk to you,” Jess had said.
“Can’t you just tell me over the phone?”
“No. And don’t let your boyfriend pick up your script this time. Please come by. I’m here until nine.”
Walking up to the counter two hours later, I’d felt my stomach cramp when Jess had immediately waved me toward the consultation window, ignoring the five people ahead of me in line. But her words had still shocked me.
“Tampered with them how?” I had asked. Much as I’d wanted to think I’d heard Jess wrong, she wouldn’t lie to me. Anyway, who would joke about something as serious as altering prescriptions?
“That’s why I called you,” she had said, leaning out the little consulting counter. “I needed to tell you this in person. Ken wanted me to drop a placebo pack in instead. One he’d had made to fit the usual package. Wouldn’t be hard—I mean, he has access to that kind of stuff through his medical practice, and you’re on a generic script.”
“He picked up my prescription for me last month,” I had said. Blood rushed to my head, and I’d swayed.
Jess had gripped my upper arms as her mouth thinned in grim acknowledgment. “I know.”
“I was covering a big story.” I’d cleared my throat.
“This is the first time he approached me. I can’t ask my colleagues about his actions, Briar. This is so fraudulent . . . ” Jess had shuddered. “You need to take a pregnancy test.”
“Why would he do that?” This was the part I couldn’t wrap my head around.
Jess had rolled her eyes. “Like he was going to tell me.”
“Can I dig into this further?”
“If you do, there will be an investigation and that’s enough to put me on probation. I didn’t report him for two reasons.” My stomach had dropped as she said the words. “My word versus his, and I wanted to tell you—as a friend. And because tampering with birth control is wrong. But please don’t drag me into this anymore. Please.”
I had nodded my understanding. Much as I’d hated letting it go, I wasn’t willing to hurt Jess. I’d held up the small white bag. “These?”
“Are good. New Rx shipment came in an hour ago. I filled your script myself. To make sure.”
“Thanks, Jess. I—I don’t even know what to say.”
She’d pulled me in for a hug. “Good luck.”
I had hugged her back, hard. Then I’d walked dazed toward the pregnancy-test shelf.
I’d picked up two tests, paid for my purchases, and had walked to a coffee shop on the corner. After ordering a light latte, my comfort drink, I had gone to the bathroom. I’d read and
followed the instructions—they were the same for both brands. Then I’d waited.
I had picked up both sticks, and I’d taken a deep breath. Not pregnant.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I’d leaned forward, closed my eyes, and wondered how I’d managed to end up in a coffee shop bathroom thanking some greater entity that my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend hadn’t tied me to him forever through a child. I’d turned on the tap and let cool water pour over my wrists, reviving me enough to come to an important conclusion.
I’d been with Ken three years too long.
Tossing the tests into the trash, I’d collected my coffee and walked back toward my car.
Lia called Ken The Asshole. I’d ignored her dislike of him because Ken was wealthy, powerful in his field.
He had been the kind of man I should want. But he’d proven to be underhanded, manipulative. I had a choice: I could go home, confront him. Or I could go to visit my family and consider what I knew, dig a little deeper into Ken’s motives.
Either way, our relationship was over.
I had turned left, heading toward Simon and Ella’s house, where Lia had been staying that weekend. While they hadn’t been expecting me, I hadn’t thought dropping by would be a problem. Lia and I might not hang out or even talk as much as some sisters did, but we had long shared a fierce bond—one forged over the tough years between the time our mother left us to start her new family, our dad’s death, and the forced move to Seattle, when we were inserted into our mom’s new life.
Ken’s number had popped up on my screen, cutting off the song I hadn’t been paying attention to. I’d pressed Ignore, dismissing him from my life.
I blinked the memories back and focused on the rest of the drive to our once-shared condo. After more than a month of silence, I was finally ready to talk to him about his underhanded method to get me pregnant.
For a man who didn’t like PDA, Ken had gone out of his way to woo me back via clichéd gifts—why would he think I needed a third Kindle? Or a card that said “You complete me”?—for the past few weeks. When those didn’t work, he’d started with the biweekly call. I miss you. I don’t understand why you left. We were so good together. I have an event and want you there. As his arm candy. I was smart enough to hold a conversation but not ambitious enough to screw up his desire to be the oncologist in Seattle.
While I wondered if I’d misjudged his feelings for me, I was sure my feelings for him were deader than roadkill.
None of me remained in the condo. Not my Kindle on the coffee table, which always annoyed him. Not the crisp, apple-green teapot and cups next to the ostentatious six-burner cooktop. My trench coat no longer sat on the hook near the door.
He, like the luxurious space, was neat; not a single one of his short, dark hairs out of place. Clean-shaven. Large hands folded over the chest of his expensive wool-blend suit coat. Blue dress shirt and tie done up tight—even at home. I used to undo that tie, muss his professional persona. I closed my eyes, willing away the memory.
“I’ve missed you,” he said.
“I couldn’t tell. Nothing I own is still here.”
“Because you asked me to pack up your items. Which I did.”
“Thank you.”
“If this is about your being fired from that paper, you can use the time to get more involved in charities, plan our wedding.” He touched my cheek. “I don’t think less of you for losing your job, Briar.”
I stiffened. “I was fired because I wouldn’t rat out my sister. And that’s not why I left you.”
Ken waved his hand, dismissing the situation he deemed immaterial. My career gone with a flick of his hand.
“You left so suddenly. More than a week went by with no explanation. We could’ve talked about what you think happened, Briar.”
My back snapped to full attention, but I borrowed Lia’s method of coping and met his gaze with mine. Steady and calm, I waited for him to try to make our breakup my fault. “You mean how you tried to bribe my pharmacist to get me off the pill without my consent? That’s not something we talk about after the fact.”
“I made a mistake.” His eyes were contrite. He stepped forward, tried to wrap me in his arms.
“Yes, you did.” I stepped back, putting the low chrome-and-glass coffee table between us.
“You weren’t listening. I’ve been ready to settle into family life.”
I tucked my hands into my pockets. He didn’t need to see how badly they were shaking.
“You weren’t excited about my proposal, and I felt rejected.”
“I was thinking about it,” I bit out.
“Rosie told me she counseled you to reconsider, and I worried you would. I mean, my own aunt was telling you I wasn’t the right man for you. That’s more than a blow to the ego.”
“She never said that. She asked if I’d be happy as Mrs. Dr. Ken. And I’m not sure I could have been.”
He moved forward again, but I stepped to the other side of the table. “You read people, open doors,” he said. “Together, we can own this city.”
I rocked back on my heels, eyes fixed on the small mole on his left cheek. Ken’s narrow frame was inches taller than mine but no broader. He stepped closer, his pale eyes fixed on mine. Gray, but so different from Lia’s. Colder, like steel.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked.
“There’s really not much left to say.” I spun around. Coming here wasn’t a mistake, per se, but Ken was delusional if he expected me to forgive and forget.
“That’s it? We were together for years, Briar. I asked you to marry me.”
“The answer’s no, in case you were still wondering.” I opened the door.
“We were good together, both in bed and in our careers.”
My neck heated with the anger I’d been trying to suppress since Jess had called me. “You tried to manipulate my body, Ken. My future.”
Ken’s mouth flattened. “You want financial security. I offer you more money than you can spend. And entry to the top of the medical community. You can write those health articles that are so popular.”
“I also want my partner to respect me. If you could take the choice of whether or not to have a child from me, I’ve never been your equal. You see my work as—” I waved my hand, but the thought was no longer there.
“I respect your mind. You just aren’t always reasonable. You’re approaching thirty-five. There’s a reason you shouldn’t have children after that point. Fewer pregnancies go to term and fewer babies are healthy. You’re running out of time, Briar.”
“This is my time to choose to do with as I will. And I don’t want a child now.”
“Because you’re too busy?” I tried hard not to flinch but Ken smiled. Like a shark, he circled closer. “Or, no, you expected to find true love. Like in your sister’s books. That’s antiquated. As long as the sex is good and the conversation mutually satisfying, who gives a shit about something as ridiculous as love?”
I turned back and gave him a thorough once-over. “Me.” Admitting that out loud was unexpectedly cathartic. I’d spent years being dishonest with myself, pretending I was fine with my current circumstances. I strode down the hall. “Bye, Ken. I’ll let you know if anything’s missing from the boxes.”
“Rosie called.”
Dammit. She was the one person we shared, the woman I’d almost married him for.
“She’s looking for you. Said she hasn’t seen you in weeks. What kind of ‘daughter of the heart’ does that, Briar?”
He used Rosie’s term for me mockingly. I shouldn’t have come here. I’d expected . . . more than I got from him. Less coldness, more actual emotion. But I should have known better: I’d met his parents. My family might not be close, but Ken’s was the epitome of dysfunctional. They sure as hell didn’t laugh or hug or do anything that makes someone human.
“She’s being moved into hospice tomorrow.”
My world tilted, and I grabbed the back of t
he chair to stay upright. She’d said she wasn’t feeling well when we went to lunch weeks ago. Told me not to worry. I hadn’t, too caught up in my own drama, then Lia’s. But I hadn’t known the cancer was back, much less the severity of Rosie’s prognosis.
“Where?”
“Come back, sit down,” Ken smiled. “We can discuss her treatment. I’ll do it, pro bono.”
His mother’s sister, and he used her as he used everyone. We both knew he’d continue to manipulate me, seeing me as a possession more than a person. One he’d tire of eventually. Rosie told me, more than a year ago, that Ken’s childhood was emotionally stunted. He’d been sent off to various boarding schools, camps, anything to keep him from spending time with his parents. Now he wanted me to create a child he could do that to. I shuddered, wrapping my arms around my waist. I’d let my need for financial security, for material success, supersede everything I cared about.
“Where, Ken?”
“Let’s discuss this—”
I walked toward the elevator. My breath hitched as I realized how much time I’d missed with Rosie. Hospice. She wouldn’t have many good days left. My apartment search could wait. Rosie was more important.
“Where?” I snapped back over my shoulder.
“Bevins-Kline.”
The elevator opened and I walked in, pulling out my phone.
“We should discuss her treatment,” Ken called. “I’m her best option.”
She was already on her way to hospice. She hadn’t called to talk to Ken herself, something she would have done if she’d wanted to. My knuckles tightened as the metal handrail dug into the skin on my palm.
“Neither Rosie nor I want you there,” I whispered as the door slid closed.
Seattle Sound Series, The Collection: Books One to Five Page 28
