Sugar

by Seressia Glass

  “Charlie.” She touched his shoulder. “Judging by the expression on your face and the suit you’re wearing, we’re about to have a very serious conversation. Let’s not waste the time or money going to a restaurant staring at food that we’re probably not going to have the appetite to eat.”

  He made an effort to shake his mood, giving her a shadow of his usual smile. “It would be a shame not to show you off. You look beautiful.”

  She looked down at her vintage-cut navy sundress scattered with white polka dots. “Thank you. We’ll just have to show off some other time,” she said, hoping it was true. If her conversation with Charlie turned sour, there probably wouldn’t be any second chances, and she didn’t want any witnesses to their breakup.

  “If you want, we can order Chinese or Thai,” she suggested. “Or I could make a quick stir-fry with some of the veggies I brought in from my garden.”

  Charlie’s somber expression didn’t change, though he did loosen his tie. “I’ll order the Thai so you don’t have to go through any trouble,” he decided, pulling out his cell phone. “At the very least, it’ll make a good wine delivery system.”

  Siobhan paused, turning back to stare at him. Charlie rarely drank, even when they went out, and was known to nurse a bottle of beer for an entire night. “You want some wine?”

  He gave her a rueful smile. “I know, right? Me, needing liquid courage. In this instance, I think it will be good for both of us. It’ll also give me something to do with my hands.”

  “All right. I’ll go put the flowers in water, then get some wine.” She headed for the kitchen.

  She pulled a clear vase from beneath the kitchen sink and filled it partway with water while Charlie placed their order, remembering her favorite without asking. It was those little things that lured her, made her vulnerable when she couldn’t afford to be. Couldn’t let her imagination run wild with thoughts of what could be. Couldn’t allow that damned emotion called hope to gain a foothold.

  “They said the order will be here in less than thirty,” Charlie announced as he entered the kitchen. Though he still wore the loosened tie, he’d forgone the lightweight jacket. She was struck anew by how gorgeous he was, the golden-haired surfer god who could be wonderful, wicked, or both simultaneously. He made her feel wanted, appreciated, valued. He made her feel, period.

  As he did now, wrapping her in his arms and drawing her close. Being hugged by Charlie was like sitting on the beach after sunset, wrapped in a blanket staring into a fire with a circle of friends gathered around. As if nothing and no one could hurt her. All illusion, she knew, but she indulged the fantasy anyway, shutting out everything but Charlie.

  Murmuring her name, he kissed her forehead, her cheek, then claimed her lips in a move no less consuming for its softness. She opened for him, her body warming, her blood surging. Their tongues danced as their bodies pressed together, seeking comfort, needing release.

  Still kissing, she hiked up her skirt to remove her panties while he worked to open his pants, freeing his ready cock. No words, no foreplay beyond the intoxicating kisses, he palmed her behind, lifting her up before bracing her against the kitchen island. Clutching his shoulders, she wrapped her legs around his waist as he used one hand to fit his erection to her opening, then pushed inside.

  She moaned against his mouth as he filled her so sweetly, so completely, moving inside her with sure, strong strokes. Not a wild, frenzied coupling but no less world-shattering, this wasn’t solely about giving and receiving pleasure. This was about giving and receiving comfort, about emotion, about connection. This was exactly what she needed, and she knew he needed it too.

  Reaching between their rocking bodies, she began to massage her clit, knowing he wouldn’t come until she did. He moaned against her lips, his fingers tightened on her buttocks, his eyes closed as he lost himself to sensation. In that moment he was beautiful. Her breath caught, her heart thudded, then her channel clamped down on him as an orgasm swept her up and knocked her foundation away. Swiveling his hips, he rocked against her, then stiffened, groaning her name as he flooded her core.

  Torn apart and floundering, she buried her face into the crook of his neck as she tried to pull herself back from the emotional drop-off. His hand moved on her back in comforting circles. “Ah, sweetheart, what is this?”

  He pulled back enough to look at her. Alarm darkened his eyes as he thumbed at the tears on her cheeks. “Why are you crying?”

  “I don’t know,” she managed to say. “It was just so, so—”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said, giving her a last kiss before stepping back from her, his gaze warm on her face as he tucked himself back in and straightened his clothing. “That’s how I know it’s going to be all right. As long as you’re with me, everything will fall into place. I refuse to accept any other outcome.”

  His conviction encouraged her. “Charlie, I—”

  The doorbell rang. “Perfect timing. At least we came before dinner did.” He gave her a wry grin as he quickly washed his hands. “I’ll get the door if you want to take a moment, okay?”

  His thoughtfulness almost set her off again, but she nodded, hopped off the counter, and headed for her bedroom, hope filling her. They would have their talk and they would work through it. If he believed it, she’d believe it too.

  * * *

  Hope, that fragile, fickle emotion, only hung around until the end of dinner.

  Siobhan pushed back from the dining table, her wineglass cradled in one hand. Dinner had been good, the company was even better, but as afterglow faded, their thoughts intruded. By the time Siobhan put her fork down, two glasses of wine and a knot of nerves battled it out in her stomach. “What is it that you need to tell me, Charlie?”

  He picked up his wineglass, stared at it a moment, then set it back down. His gaze settled on hers. “I have a family.”

  Shock punched her, followed swiftly by profound hurt then burgeoning anger. “You told me there was no one else. I asked you point-blank, and you said no. You said no, Charlie.”

  “I’m not seeing anyone else, Siobhan. Not married, not dating, not divorced.” He reached for her free hand, but she slid it into her lap. “Please hear me out.”

  “Fine.” She set her glass back down, folding her arms across her chest. “Go ahead. I’m all ears, ready to hear about this family of yours.”

  “I’m raising my sister, Lorelei, and my two brothers, Kyle and Finn.”

  She blinked, then blinked again. “You . . . you’re raising them on your own?”

  “Yes. Lorelei’s just starting college. Kyle’s in high school and Finn’s in middle school. It’s been just us for the last eight years.”

  Brothers and a sister, not a wife and children. Her shoulders relaxed as she breathed out, and Charlie imitated her movements, his features easing by slow degrees. “What happened to your parents?”

  “Bridge collapse.” He tried to shrug it off, but she could see that the loss still lingered with him. “I pretty much put my life on hold so I could take care of the others.”

  She mentally did the math. He was thirty now, which meant he’d been twenty-two when he became the head of his family. She’d been the mother of a four-year-old at twenty-two, but her ex-husband had taken a while to adjust to fatherhood. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for a fun-loving, gregarious guy like Charlie to suddenly have his social life impeded by having to step up to take care of his siblings. “That had to be difficult for you,” she said softly, her heart twisting for his younger self.

  He waved her compassion away. “I did what I had to do to keep us together. We’ve had good times and bad times, but we’re together, and that’s what matters. I’d do it again, no regrets.”

  “So the reason you don’t stay over is . . . ?”

  “Finn has occasional nightmares and Kyle has anxiety issues,” he explained. “When they were little, I promised them that I would always be home before they went to bed. Now that they’re older
and I’m running my own company, I promised that at the very least I’d be there when they wake up in the morning. I haven’t broken that promise yet.”

  Siobhan didn’t ask how he’d been able to keep that promise to his brothers. She knew, because she’d experienced it before. Early dates and dinner, then he’d leave. Either his partners had to accept it or they’d give him an ultimatum. She knew without a doubt he’d choose his family. He’d done that the day his parents had died.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Several reasons. I wanted to give us a chance. I wanted to get to know you and I wanted you to know me. You already had issues with my age, Siobhan. You probably would have thought I only wanted you because I thought you’d be a good replacement mother, instead of because you’re the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “You’re probably right.” She gave him a rueful smile, then cocked her head. “Did you think I’d break up with you because you’re taking care of your brothers and sister?”

  “Other women would. My girlfriend at the time bailed right after my parents’ funeral. My other attempts at dating women my age went the same. They were interested in a single, good-looking guy running his own business until they realized I wasn’t going to hang out in the club because my youngest brother has the flu.”

  Old hurt and anger tightened his shoulders. Maybe Charlie’s age was less than hers, but he had had more than enough life experience, experience that could have left him bitter. She reached for him then, wrapping a hand around his. “You’re an amazing man, Charlie O’Halloran.”

  He gave her a searching look. “So it doesn’t bother you that I’m the legal guardian for my siblings?”

  “Of course not. It says a lot about your character.”

  “Is it saying anything good?”

  “Definitely.”

  The smile he gave her, true and wide and relieved, made her want to do cartwheels. “I told them about you last night. I’d like for you to meet them.”

  Uncertainty bubbled up inside her. “Meet your family?”

  He nodded. “Would you be interested in coming over this coming Saturday for a cookout? Just a low-pressure get-together, though I have to warn you—Kyle will talk your ear off about food. He loves to cook.”

  “Speaking of family . . .” She hesitated. She hated this part. This was the point at which people began to look at her differently, as if she were a failure or otherwise beneath them for being so weak. She knew what she was, what she had been. She knew exactly what she’d overcome, what she’d moved beyond. Yet she also knew that sometimes people couldn’t see past the failure to the success she’d earned. “It’s my turn to make a confession.”

  He faced her, his expression open and neutral. “Do you have brothers and sisters secretly living in your spare bedroom?”

  “No, I’m an only child,” she answered, smiling at his attempt at a joke. “You know I have an ex-husband. What I didn’t tell you is that I also have a daughter.”

  His expression blanked. “You . . . have a daughter.”

  “Yes.” She ignored the twinge of pain whenever she thought of her child. “Her name is Colleen. She’s the same age as your sister. Eighteen, and she just graduated high school.”

  She could see the wheels turning in his mind, assessing what she’d told him. “So you were pregnant when you were a senior in high school?”

  She nodded, looking down at their still-entwined hands. “I had her just after graduation.”

  “She doesn’t live with you?”

  “No.” A breath of a word. “My ex-husband was awarded sole custody.”

  Surprise lifted his brows, and she could well imagine his thoughts. Mothers were the usual recipients of a grant of custody, even in California. Only in extreme circumstances would a father sue for sole custody and be successful at it. “Your ex got sole custody? Not joint?”

  “Not joint.” With her free hand she reached for her wine again, wishing it were something stronger.

  He tilted his head, those blue-green eyes studying her. “Did you try to contest the decision?”

  “I couldn’t.” She took a healthy swallow of her wine, set the glass back down, then picked up the bottle to refresh her glass. “I was in a court-appointed in-patient drug rehabilitation program when my husband filed for divorce and received an emergency grant of sole custody.”

  He sat back, pulling his hand free of hers. “Drug rehabilitation? You were an addict?”

  He probably didn’t realize that he’d put distance between them, but she did. The rejection, however unconscious, stung. “Prescription drugs,” she explained, like that made it any better. “A combination of pain meds and sleep aids.”

  “Wait.” He frowned, stunned, obviously struggling to understand. “You said it was court appointed. Why?”

  She looked down, startled to find herself digging her fingernails into her thigh. She smoothed a hand down her skirt, trying to smooth out her nerves. This was it. This was the moment that would change things. Even a great guy like Charlie, a guy who talked about raising his siblings alone like it was no big deal, wouldn’t be able to accept what she’d done. He’d get up, walk out, and she’d go back to her life while trying to console herself with the fact that at least it had been fun while it lasted.

  “Siobhan.” His tone was as flat as his expression. “Why was the court involved? Why did you lose custody of your daughter?”

  “Because I was going to be charged with child endangerment unless I agreed to go to in-patient treatment.”

  He sucked in a breath but she dropped her gaze, too cowardly to see the shock and probable horror that no doubt sheathed his features. She swallowed. She knew she should explain, but explaining didn’t make it better. Explaining didn’t change the past. Instead she waited for him to say something, anything to indicate what he thought of her story.

  “Maybe you should tell me everything.”

  The usual humor and warmth that lined his voice had vanished as if it never existed. She fought the minute urge to slump down in her chair and the greater urge to upend the wine bottle and retreat to her bedroom. Running away was counterproductive to her ongoing recovery. She had to face her past and Charlie’s scorn head-on, no matter how painful it was.

  “I already told you that I was pregnant with my daughter when I graduated,” she said into the tense silence. “I married my high school boyfriend right after, then watched my new husband go off and join the army, leaving me with his parents and mine, none of whom were thrilled with the idea of being grandparents so soon.”

  Understatement of the year. Her straitlaced father had declared that she’d brought shame to the Malloy name and had all but stopped talking to her. After she’d become a drug addict, he wouldn’t even allow her to come to the house.

  “I moved in with my grandmother Mary Katherine,” she continued. “The last trimester of my pregnancy was difficult and the labor was even worse. I was in constant pain, so much so that I could barely function. On top of that, I suffered postpartum depression, though everyone seemed to think it was all in my head, or that I was lonely without Mike, or I was just a hormonal eighteen-year-old overwhelmed with being a new mother. The bottom line is that I was misdiagnosed, given a prescription for pain and more prescriptions to help me sleep and to combat my fatigue. It got to the point where I needed the cocktail of pills, more and more pills just to keep up with parenting, keep up the appearances of having my crap together.

  “My grandmother realized my problem, God rest her soul. When Mike came home for good I was able to get some help. With their support, I completed a treatment program and got clean.”

  “I thought you said he filed for divorce.”

  She glanced up. Charlie stared at her, his blue eyes remote. The judge who’d sent her to rehab had shown more warmth. “That was later,” she explained, adding to the evidence against her. “We had seven good years. We were a happy family. My husband and my daughter loved me and I lo
ved them. Then my grandmother died and while I was trying to come to grips with that I got sideswiped coming home from the grocery store.”

  She fiddled with her wineglass but didn’t drink again. “I was so glad Colleen wasn’t in the car with me. I wasn’t seriously injured but got wrenched around a bit. I tried . . . I tried not to turn to the pills but the pain was too much. When I took them, I could function. I could be a wife to Mike. I could be a mother to Colleen. I could pretend that I was normal, that I was fine, that I wasn’t crumbling on the inside. Mike and Colleen deserved the best me, and I thought the best me was found in Percocet and OxyContin.”

  She sighed. “You get to a breaking point though. Mine came two years later. My tolerance had increased so I needed more pills. One day I misjudged what I’d already had in my system and had another cocktail of pills with a vodka chaser while preparing dinner. I started a grease fire. Colleen managed to run to a neighbor’s for help. When the paramedics realized I was a walking medicine cabinet, I was taken into custody.”

  Shame swamped her. “Apparently I wasn’t as good an actress as I’d thought. Colleen, my sweet girl, told Mike all manner of things I wasn’t even aware of. Everything came out in the open then, and it proved to be the final straw for everyone. Mike filed for divorce and full custody. The judge ordered me into a ninety-day in-patient treatment program and only upon successful completion could I have supervised visits with Colleen. Unfortunately, by the time I finished treatment neither my daughter nor my parents would speak to me. Mike would only communicate through his lawyer. The only reason I wasn’t completely alone was because I met Nadia in rehab and we bonded.”

  “Nadia? Your partner, Nadia?”

  “Yes. She and her family took me in and I will be forever grateful to them for giving me a support network. We keep each other grounded and honest and clean. She was a celebrity chef, and cooking was the one thing I was good at doing. We both needed a fresh start, needed away from LA, and decided Crimson Bay was as good a place as any. Nadia had money that her fathers had invested for her and I had a small inheritance from my grandmother that no one else could touch. We came up with the idea to open a café, got our therapist to sign off on the idea, and moved here. Four years later, here we are.”