Jules was still asleep when I awoke a little before six. I slipped out of bed, checked on Darla, and left a note that I went to the gym. I snatched my gym bag from the trunk and was there as soon as they opened the doors.
Ignoring the blonde on my right, I beat the shit out of the elliptical. It was crazy . . . I’d slept only a handful of hours after having the best head ever and blowing my load twice, and yet I’d never felt younger.
It could have also been because I couldn’t wait to get back. The faster and harder I worked out, the sooner I’d be with my girls.
“Hey, Drew,” the girl at the desk called after me as I made my way to leave. “Where’ve you been?”
“With my daughter—and wife-to-be.”
She had zero response.
In my car on the way back, I decided to put an addition on my house. I needed a home gym. I didn’t like this bullshit of leaving in the morning anymore.
“Morning,” Jules said in a hushed voice when I walked back into the apartment.
“Dar still asleep?”
She shook her head. “Watching something on TV in my bed.”
“I knew you needed that new TV in there for something.”
“It wasn’t necessary.”
“Well, you could’ve let me put it in her room like I wanted . . .”
“King, you can’t just walk into her life and spoil her,” she whispered over the rim of her mug.
“Why? She’s my princess.”
“Gah,” Jules said, pretending to bang her forehead into the wall.
“Dar?” I called out when I was near the door.
“Drew, in here!”
“Get your bum out here. Your mom and I are taking you to Albert’s.”
“Woo-hoo!” Darla came stampeding out of the bedroom, wearing hot-pink pajama bottoms and a Rocky Brook T-shirt.
“Nice shirt. Let’s go play later, yeah? I want to work on your serve.”
“I don’t like the serve. It gets boring.”
“Gotta be able to serve, superstar, to beat the big boys.”
“’Kay.”
“Let’s go, Jules. Put on some yoga pants and slap on your big-girl panties. Time to come clean.”
She gave me the stink eye, and yeah, I knew I was being bossy.
Fuck it. I was too energized to care.
It took fifteen minutes for those two to reappear. Jules was freshly showered, her hair slicked back into a low ponytail, and wearing an oversized gray off-the-shoulder sweatshirt and leggings.
Darla, my wild child, was in floral leggings and an electric-purple T-shirt, her hair a holy mess all around her face.
“You look gorgeous, both of you. Let’s go. I’m starving.”
When we got outside, I lifted Darla on my shoulders.
“You’re all sticky, Drew.”
“I was too excited to change after the gym.”
“Excited for what?”
“You’ll know soon enough.”
This set her off, and she demanded the whole way to Albert’s, “Tell me!”
With a fresh coffee in front of her, Jules blew on Darla’s hot cocoa and cut her bagel with cream cheese into quarters. Neither was necessary, but I assumed Jules needed to keep herself busy.
I nodded at Jules and took a sip of my coffee.
“Dar, Drew and I have something to tell you.”
“I think I know!”
“Yeah?” I asked, setting my coffee down.
“You’re my dad.”
“Darla! What? What makes you say that? Who told you that?” Jules looked fifty shades of green. I almost felt bad for her, but I couldn’t because I was getting my daughter.
“He is, right? I knew it!” At this, Darla got out of her seat and started jumping in place.
I couldn’t have cared less where this all came from—to breathe in her excitement was better than oxygen—but Jules was glaring at me as if I were the one who had spilled the beans.
“Darla? Sit down and tell me where you learned this.” Jules was curt, more so than I would have been, but I’d only been a parent for two months.
“Ms. Green. Mommy, she begged me not to say anything. She was nice about it.”
“What do you mean? Begged?”
“She’s so nice, and I said that Drew babysat me when I was sick. And she said, ‘It’s not babysitting when it’s your dad.’ I told her he wasn’t my dad, and she said she was sorry. She explained that she thought we looked a lot alike, so she thought he was.”
Jules closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opening them again, she said, “You can’t keep secrets from me, Darla.”
“I know, but Ms. Green said it would hurt your feelings if I said anything.”
“Still, no secrets.” She bunched Darla’s hands in hers, then brought them to her mouth and kissed away. “I love you too much for there to be secrets, but I’ll forgive you this time because I kept a big one from you. Drew is your daddy.”
At this, Darla pulled away and leaped into my lap, nearly knocking over her hot cocoa. “I got my birthday wish,” she whispered to Jules, and kissed my cheek. “Plus, Danny at tennis said his mom said you look like my dad too.”
“When?” This time it was me grumbling. Stupid Danny’s mom had been trying to get in my pants for a year.
“When we were picking up the balls. I told him to shut it.”
“Atta girl,” I told my superstar.
Jules rolled her eyes and took a big gulp of her coffee.
She’d adjust to giving up some control.
Eventually.
Jules
Darla was a question-asking machine, wanting to know everything about before she was born. It was a headache-inducing task to make the story as innocent and benign as possible, but I owed her the closest version to the truth as I could create.
Drew worked near Hafton.
I’d been taking a class or two.
We both loved tennis.
We met, fell in love, created a baby.
Then came the hard part . . . explaining Drew’s absence.
“Blame me. Do what you need to, babe. This shouldn’t be on you,” he whispered in my ear as we headed up the walkway to his house. He had a surprise for Darla that couldn’t wait.
I shook my head. I couldn’t make Drew out to be the bad guy. He’d hurt me, but that didn’t mean Darla deserved to grow up without a dad.
“Dar, Drew and I had a fight one day, and we were both stubborn. You know how I always say we shouldn’t hold a grudge—you know what I mean, bad thoughts on someone? Well, I did. I held a grudge, and I did a stupid thing. I left Ohio with you in my belly, and I didn’t tell anyone but Grandma G.”
“Oh,” she said. “So, you would’ve been with me?” she asked Drew.
“Of course, but you know what? God does funny things, and he didn’t want me to meet you until you were this old, superstar.”
“Yeah?”
She blinked back tears until Drew said, “Yep, I know it. Maybe so I could see how smart and funny you were going to be. And an amazing tennis player.”
Once we were inside, Darla began running around Drew’s museum of a house.
“Wait here a sec,” he yelled from the kitchen, then walked toward what I thought was the laundry room.
Darla plopped down on the white leather sofa and bounced from one butt cheek to the other.
“Here you go, superstar.” Drew handed Darla a new tennis racquet, top of the line, complete with hot-pink grip and string.
A smart man, he knew I was going to protest, so he cut me off by giving me a quick shake of his head, mouthing no.
After that, it was all fun and games and plans. Darla said jump, and Drew said how high.
“Mommy, Drew said we’re moving here and I can pick a room . . . I mean, Daddy!”
I took a deep breath and let my new reality wash over me. Everything was about to change, and my daughter was taking it in stride way better than I was.
By the end of the day, I craved the
mundane task of working despite Drew’s private warning. “Not for much longer,” he whispered to me as I left his place to go get ready.
“Drew . . .” I sighed.
“You can do anything or nothing.”
“I can’t do nothing.”
“I know, babe. You’re in the serving box, I swear.”
But I knew he didn’t really mean it when I got to work and Bryce called me into the office. “Tell me, Claire—I mean, Jules. Do you not have any respect for me? As a friend? Coworker? Boss?” His eyes were narrowed, dripping with animosity.
“What are you talking about?” I leaned against the doorjamb in my white shirt, black slacks, comfortable clogs, and purple tie, staying as far away as possible.
“Like I told you before, I was here for you when no one else was,” he said smugly from behind his desk. “I told that cocksucker King the same. Where the hell’s he been all these years?”
“I know you were, Bryce, but I’m not sure what I’ve done to get this treatment. I missed that one weekend, but otherwise I’ve been working a full schedule and taking lunches. Please leave Drew out of this,” I said, trying to defuse the situation.
“I’m not talking about your schedule or work ethic,” he said, slurring the last word or two.
As he stood from his desk and approached where I was standing in the doorway, I wondered if he was drunk. When he got close, breathing into my personal space, my suspicions were confirmed.
“Bryce, I think you should let me call you a cab to take you home. You’re not acting like yourself, and you’re going to regret it.”
“No way. I’m talking about your boy toy calling over here and making demands. I’m acting like myself, and I for damn sure don’t regret anything coming out of my mouth.”
I considered going to get another server as backup, but didn’t want to air my dirty laundry in front of the entire world. Today had been emotional enough.
“Your guy, he went on and on. Give you a small section, not to overwork you, blah, blah, more bullshit. And the icing on the cake? Keep an eye out for roving eyes when it comes to the mother of his child. Like I haven’t been doing that for years.”
“What are you going on about, Bryce? I’ve always taken care of myself.” I took a step back, because even though my blood was boiling over Drew’s little stunt, Bryce’s proximity was making me more than nervous.
“He did say that. And let me ask you this again. Who kept an eye out when he wasn’t around?”
I decided my pride would have to take a hit, and turned to run get help.
I didn’t get far. Bryce took hold of my face, and I wish I could have called it a caress, but it wasn’t.
“You’re hurting me, Bryce,” I forced out as his fingers squeezed my cheeks, drawing my mouth near his.
“Me. I kept an eye out,” he gritted out, and then kissed me.
His kiss was bruising in a bad way. Rough, forced, not one bit tender, and tasted like tobacco and booze.
I said, “Stop,” into his mouth, but he didn’t. Finally, I stomped on his foot as hard as I could and wrested myself away.
“Shit,” I muttered. My clog had done a number on his foot—Bryce was bent over in well-deserved pain—but my ankle had turned when I brought my foot down. Now I couldn’t put weight on it.
“Claire, I’m sorry. It’s just—”
“No just. I quit.” I turned and limped to the back room and fell onto the bench.
Shit, shit, shit. My right foot was swelling out of my shoe. With my head in my hands, I felt the tears come. Bryce and the Southern had been my rock. Now that was destroyed.
Why hadn’t I seen through Bryce’s real feelings for me?
Because I had always been too clouded with memories of Drew. That’s why.
Drew had no right, making demands of my boss, but neither did Bryce. I knew Drew’s BS came from a good place, but still he shouldn’t have done that . . . and now I couldn’t drive. Hell, I could barely stand.
Who the hell was I supposed to call? Drew?
No way. I was too pissed. And he would go ballistic.
So I decided to text Molly.
On my way out, Bryce tried to stop me. “Wait, Claire,” he hollered.
“It’s Jules,” I yelled back, limping to the back door.
“Wait! Please.”
“No, and if you’re smart, you won’t drag Drew into this. That’ll be a beat down and a lawsuit for you. Just send me my paycheck and stay out of my life. Go home and sober up, Bryce.”
With that, I went outside. The fall night air only slightly cooled my temper. I leaned against the brick wall until the sight of Molly’s headlights only lifted my spirits briefly.
Drew
Best Saturday night ever.
I might as well have been a teenage girl riding an emotional high after her senior prom. That’s how my chest continued to rise and fall—with pride, completion, devotion.
God, I was a sap.
No surprise, I’d let Darla stay up until ten. When Mom’s away, the kids will play.
Now as I sank into my couch, I chuckled over my Scotch.
We’d spent an hour going through the house, discovering a few secret hiding places and deciding the guest room in the back would be hers. It was the larger of the two, and had a small balcony facing the ocean. I hoped Jules wouldn’t argue it wasn’t safe; I planned to have safety locks installed on the balcony doors.
Right now, the room only had a small couch and a TV in there, but I promised Darla we would go the very next day and get everything she needed.
She wanted to paint it silver with hot-pink stripes.
Of course, I’d agreed to that combo of paint colors. I made a mental note to text my contractor the next day as I focused on the floor-to-ceiling glass, staring at the ocean.
After our house tour, we’d gone to the club, hit two baskets of balls, and eaten dinner on the terrace. Grilled cheese for her and a cheeseburger for me; french fries, smoothies, and apple pie for us both. Like I said, it was the best Saturday night I’d had in a long time.
Maybe ever.
At home, we’d watched several episodes of an Animal Planet TV show I was sure Jules would kill me for letting her watch, but it was educational. I couldn’t help that it included a baby whale being born.
This somehow led to one of Darla’s favorite subjects. Turtles. We planned to get one the of those next day too.
When I tucked her in, kissing her forehead and both her cheeks, she said, “’Night, Daddy.”
I nearly collapsed in the swell of emotions. It was a lot—even for a ballbuster like me.
“Love you, superstar,” I’d answered.
At eleven, I took my second Scotch upstairs and checked on her. She was fast asleep. I stood in the doorway admiring her for several beats until I heard a car door open and close outside.
Good. That Bryce prick listened to me and sent Jules home early.
Which was why I wasn’t at all prepared for what I saw outside the front door. Molly was helping Jules up the stairs, who had a boot on her foot and crutches in one hand. Her free hand held on to Molly, her right foot lifted in the air.
“What the ever-loving fuck?” I ran down the stairs. “Jules, stop.”
“Drew, not now.”
“Here.” I shoved my Scotch at Molly and lifted Jules into my arms. “Take these too,” I said, nodding at the crutches.
“It’s not her fault, Drew,” Jules argued as I carried her up the stairs.
“What the hell happened? What the fuck is Molly doing here?” The questions vomited out of me as anger seeped out from my pores.
“I got hurt. I called her. Period.”
“No shit. Why the fuck didn’t you call me?” I asked, shoving the door open with my hip.
“Put me down. This isn’t good for your knee.”
“Shut up, Jules.” I laid her down on the sofa. “Molly? Want to enlighten me?”
“Hey.” She put her hands up in mock su
rrender. “I didn’t do it.”
“Molly, thanks,” Jules said from the couch, her arm flung over her face. “Go home. I owe you big-time. I’ll call you in the morning.”
Then I saw something red on her face, a fingerprint, and I fucking lost it.
“What the hell is that?” I dropped to the floor and moved Jules’s hand.
“I’m going to explain, but you need to promise to remain calm. Remember, Darla is here.”
At the mention of my daughter’s name, my anger faded a little. I took a deep breath and nodded. “Please, Jules. I’m dying here. What happened? You have a mark on your face and a broken foot.”
She proceeded to tell me about an argument with Bryce over my call, explaining that he then got handsy with her, forcing his lips on her.
“Take a drink,” she insisted at the mention of his mouth touching hers. “He was drunk and out of line, but you shouldn’t have called him. Still, he was out of control, and I . . .”
My head swam with rage and thoughts of revenge. I think she said something about smashing his foot, but she’d broken hers in the process. And twisted her ankle.
“Why the hell didn’t you call me?” I ran my hand up her boot.
“Because I was mad. I am mad. You can’t bulldoze my affairs, butt in where you don’t belong. I don’t need your protection. Lucky for you, I’m disgusted with Bryce right now, and yes, I quit my job. But I’m going to get another, and you can’t bully every one of my bosses. I’ve been independent for a long time.”
“Did you see a doctor? A real doctor? Not an intern or resident?” I couldn’t listen to that other crap right now. Later, I would promise to stay out of her shit. Not now.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, but tell me about your foot. I can’t discuss you working right now. You’re injured.” I stood up and paced the room like a caged animal. “Did you press charges? He touched you . . . I’m going to beat the fuck out of him. You know that?”
“No, you’re not. You’re going to leave him alone. And no, I’m not pressing charges because I just want to be done with him and that place, okay? Listen, we’re making a new life. We have to be on the same page.”
“I know, but . . . no, it’s not okay. I am going to deal with that prick, but we can finish this discussion in the morning. Let’s get you out of those clothes and into bed.”
Break Point Page 17
