Riders on the Storm (Waiting for the Sun #2)

by Robin Hill

  But I couldn’t pick just any wish; it had to be perfect. I squeezed my little eyes closed and scrunched up my nose.

  “Frankie, honey, don’t be so serious. What’s the one thing you want right now?”

  In the time it took me to think of that one thing, three more stars passed me by.

  A small smile tugs at my lips, and I close my eyes. Okay, Frankie…what’s the one thing you want right now?

  “Mind if I crash your party?” Darian’s voice sounds from behind me, and my eyes snap open.

  Damn. That was fast.

  “I finished early. I wanted to surprise you,” he says as he lies down beside me on the blanket.

  “I’m glad. I missed you.” I press my nose to the soft cotton of his T-shirt as his arms go around me. He smells faintly of curry. “Tikka Masala?”

  “Vindaloo.” Waiting for the Sun starts over from the beginning, and a deep chuckle vibrates against my cheek. “You have it on repeat?”

  “Yep.”

  “I love that you love The Doors.”

  I peer up at him. “I love that you love The Doors…or this whole thing,” I say, wagging a finger between us, “wouldn’t work.”

  His lips twist in a smirk. “I beg to differ.”

  “I don’t know. Pretty sure that’d be a deal breaker.”

  “So if I ever tire of The Doors, you’ll tire of me?”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  He lowers his head, his mouth hovering just above mine, his warm breath feathering my lips. “You sure about that?”

  And then he kisses me, and I’m sure of nothing but his delicious weight as he rolls on top of me and the slow sweep of his tongue against mine.

  “Well?” he whispers. “Would you?”

  “Mmm…would I what?”

  He lifts his head a gaping couple of inches, and I laugh.

  “I’ll never tire of you,” I say truthfully. “Not even if you start listening to Kenny G.”

  His eyes stretch as wide as his dimple baring grin. “Wow. You do love me.”

  Two blissful days precede the shrill alarm of Monday morning. I roll toward Darian’s side of the bed, only to find it empty. A nagging ache weighs in my stomach.

  Guess we’re back to business as usual.

  Before getting up, I scroll through the emails on my phone to see what the week has in store for me. Work has been mercifully quiet. Only a few consulting requests—one of which I declined for having an unrealistic event date—and a minor issue with one of my online retailers. Aside from a few missed texts from Jane, nothing new awaits me.

  I sit up against the headboard and dial her number.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as soon as she picks up. “We both turned off our phones this weekend.”

  “Don’t apologize. You guys should do that more often. How are things?”

  “Depends on the day.” I manage a smile she can’t see. “As long as I don’t ask about work, things are great.”

  “He still hasn’t told you what’s going on?”

  “I haven’t really pushed since Friday, but no, not yet. I know I’m overreacting, but it eats at me that he shares something with Amanda that he won’t share with me. I don’t like that they have their own thing.” The back of my head hits the wall with a thump. “I sound pathetic. Of course they have their own thing. They run a company together.”

  “That’s true,” she says, “but if you’ve asked him to talk to you, he should talk to you. Unless it’s confidential business-y contract stuff, then you’re SOL.”

  “Huh…” I kick off the covers and swing my legs around. “I hadn’t considered that.” Stifling a yawn, I stand and pad to the dresser. “I think I’m going to let it go until after his birthday.”

  “Did you guys decide what you’re going to do?”

  “He wants to go camping,” I say, leaning toward the mirror to clear the sleep from my eyes. “He flew you and Jacob in for my birthday, and for his, we’re going camping. I feel so lame.”

  Jane laughs. “Maybe you can make up for it with his gift. Have you thought of anything yet?”

  I smile again, but this time, it’s genuine. “Yeah, actually.” I reach for my little house-shaped jewelry box and open the lid. “Remember Dad’s pocket watch? I’m taking it to the mall later to get it cleaned and engraved.”

  I know it won’t replace the family heirloom Darian lost, but maybe it will make up for it in some small way, and for me, it’ll be nice to see my dad’s most treasured item treasured again.

  “Oh my God, Frankie.” Jane’s voice trembles. “I know how much that means to you.”

  “I hope it means as much to him.”

  “Of course it will. Why would you think otherwise?”

  “I don’t. Not really. He’s just been a little unpredictable lately.” I take out the watch and close the box. “FYI, Darian is the only man on the planet not turned on by wild office sex. Thanks for your part in that embarrassing display.”

  Jane laugh-gasps. “What happened?”

  “I dressed to the nines, stripped down to my underwear, and got rejected.”

  “Wait…what underwear?”

  “Matching black lace bra and panties. I even wore a garter belt and silk stockings.”

  A small chuckle hits my ear. “Women still wear those things?”

  “How the hell would I know?” I let out a groan. “Oh God. Maybe I frightened him. Reminded him of his mother or something.”

  “Okay, now you’re creeping me out. I was getting more of an escort vibe than a mom vibe.”

  I scrunch my face at that. “You’re not helping.”

  “Try again. But this time—”

  “No fucking way.”

  “Try again at home,” she says. “Meet him at the door wearing actual lingerie.”

  “Define actual lingerie.”

  “Something different. Something he hasn’t seen you in before.” She clucks her tongue. “Something that says you were thinking of him when you bought it.”

  “Like a teddy?”

  “A teddy? Who even says that?”

  “Jane!”

  “Look, when you’re at the mall later, find a Victoria’s Secret and see what’s on display.” She pauses. “Just stay away from the clearance rack or God knows what you’ll end up with.”

  I blow out a quick breath as the door swings open. I nixed the garter belt and stockings for silky smooth legs, and I’m dressed in my brand new, expensive as fuck red baby doll nightie, which garnered not one, but two thumbs up from Jane. So the fact that Darian doesn’t even notice me when he comes in stings. In his defense, he’s preoccupied with his phone, and I suppose one doesn’t notice a scantily clad bright red stop sign if one isn’t looking.

  “Motherfucker,” he mutters to himself as he passes me.

  “Everything okay?”

  My voice comes from behind him, catching him off guard. His head shoots up and he spins around. “What’s all this?” he asks, jutting his chin at me. His gaze travels from my fire engine lips to my matching red toes as he slides out of his sport coat. A slight frown pulls at his mouth, and instead of the heat I felt last week, I sense something cool and aloof.

  My whole body blushes, but not for the reason I intended, and if I could melt into the floor right now, I would.

  He drops his jacket and bag on the sofa and slips his phone in his pocket. “Something smells good,” he says, continuing on to the kitchen.

  I swallow past the painful tightness in my throat. “What’s wrong?” When he doesn’t answer, I follow him. “Darian?”

  “I guess I don’t get why you look like that,” he says, grabbing a beer from the fridge and popping it open. He takes a long pull.

  “Why I…what?” I fold my arms across my chest. “I thought you liked it. You liked it Thursday—”

  “That was Thursday.” He pokes his head in the oven. “Today’s Monday and it fucking sucked. Are
you eating?”

  “I’m not hungry.” Anymore.

  The oven door shuts loudly and we both flinch.

  “I just expected to come home to my fiancée,” he says, “have a quiet evening, and regroup for tomorrow. This was unexpected.”

  Yeah, that was the idea.

  I grit my teeth and count to ten. “I was trying to do something nice for you. Something to take your mind off whatever the fuck’s been going on.”

  He takes a long swig of his beer. “You can’t fix it.”

  “Darian, fix what? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Something’s obviously bothering him, and me losing my shit isn’t going to help, so I force a smile and opt for nice. “I’m sorry you had a bad day, but—”

  “But you thought you’d make it better by dressing like a—like that.”

  The anger swelling inside of me reaches its peak. To hell with nice. “How about, I’m sorry you had a bad day, but fuck you? Is that better?”

  “Jesus, Francesca—”

  “You said something smelled good when you walked in. Does it smell familiar? Because it’s your mother’s turkey tetrazzini that I’ve been slaving over for the past four hours. The poke cake she used to make for you is warming in the bottom oven, but unless you finish it off with sweetened condensed milk, I guess it’s just regular cake and at that point, who cares? The salad’s in the fridge and”—I nod toward the bottle of wine on the island—“I had a sommelier suggest a Bordeaux if you’re interested.”

  I watch the color drain from Darian’s face, and for a fraction of a second, my resolve weakens and I wish I could retract my outburst. But instead of saying something—anything—to me, he gets himself a second beer, pops it open, and tips it back, strengthening my resolve all the more.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m obviously not dressed for dinner in my hooker costume, so I’ll leave you to it.”

  He whispers my name as I brush past him, then follows it with a loud “fuck!” as I reach the stairs. I manage to make it to our room with my chin up and my tears intact, but the second the door closes, I fall apart.

  In the past few weeks, I’ve watched Darian slowly unravel, but tonight, he snapped. I’ve never seen someone so…all over the place. I know it isn’t personal. I know it isn’t me he’s angry with; I just happen to be in the line of fire.

  And I’m not sure I’m strong enough to take the shots.

  I scrub the mess of eye makeup from my face and change into my fuzzy “guys suck” monkey print pajama pants and my favorite vintage Doors T-shirt, which is oddly comforting considering who it belongs to.

  Equally wide awake and exhausted, I lie curled up on the bed and stare at a nick in my nightstand. A while later, the door creeps open and I hear Darian come in. Then the mattress shifts beneath me as he sits at my feet.

  “I had a really long day,” he says.

  “So I gathered.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are.”

  He looks at me over his shoulder, and a small frown pulls at his lips as his gaze snags on my pants. “You know I think you’re beautiful—”

  “This isn’t about me,” I say, meeting his eyes, “so let’s not make it about me.”

  “You’re right.” He’s quiet for a long time after that, and I go back to staring at my marred nightstand. The bed shifts again when he gets up, and then he leaves the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

  If I’m right, tell me what the fuck is wrong! I scream the words in my mind but keep them locked behind my teeth. I don’t have it in me to go another round, and at this very moment, I don’t have it in me to care.

  Darian doesn’t return to our bedroom until the following morning when it’s time for him to take a shower and get ready for work. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I pretend to be asleep. I know I’m not fooling anyone, but the thought of having another argument right now worries me. I don’t trust myself to be civil. I’m not sure I trust Darian to be civil either.

  I go through my day with minimal effort. I reply to a single urgent email, placate Jane with a couple of vague texts, and put away the dishes Darian loaded in the dishwasher last night. I don’t cook. I don’t wash our overflowing basket of laundry. By the time Darian comes to bed, I’m already asleep—for real this time. And the only reason I know this is because of the nightmare he has that wakes us both. Despite the chip on my shoulder, I have to fight the urge to reach for him. I win that round, but when I find him gone the next morning, it feels like I’ve lost.

  By Thursday, I miss him so much that I just want to forget the whole thing and start fresh. I’m ready to be civil, and I’m hopeful he is too. I leave dinner for him in the oven and a note on the counter asking him to please come back to me. And when his arms go around me in bed that night, I can tell he’s trying to.

  “What are you doing home?” I call out from the bathroom when I hear Darian shuffling around in the closet.

  It’s barely six o’clock on Friday, and he hasn’t been home before seven all week.

  “I’m just here to change,” he says. “Are you finished in the bathroom?”

  I come out wearing my robe and a large white towel wrapped in a turban around my head. “Change? For what?”

  “Amanda wants me to check out some band called Rapid something in Coconut Grove.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed practically ogling him as he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on the chair. “Tonight? I thought you were working late.”

  “I thought I was too, but I finished early.” He wanders into the bathroom and turns on the faucet. I wait patiently through the brushing and gargling. He spits. “And you have plans with Evelyn.”

  “I don’t have to have plans with Evelyn. If I’d known you were going to be here…”

  “I’m not going to be here. I’m leaving,” he says as he passes me for the dresser. “If you want to come…”

  I pull the towel from my hair and hug it to my chest. “Is Amanda going?”

  “Of course she’s going.” His eyes catch mine in the mirror and he smirks. “Are you jealous?”

  “No, just curious.” I lie back on the bed, raking my fingers through my damp hair. “I want to spend time with you, but you’re obviously working if Amanda’s going, and…”

  And I technically have plans.

  “Don’t cancel,” he says, his voice fading as he disappears into the closet. “I mean, if you want to come, you’re welcome, but I don’t really think it’d be your thing. Unless you’re suddenly into teen pop.” He comes out wearing jeans that hang a little too low on his hips for my comfort and a black fitted oxford.

  I shoot upright. “You look…” Like you’re going on a date.

  My heart beats faster when he bends to kiss my cheek, but when he sprays himself with the Versace sitting on the dresser, it thuds to a stop.

  “This thing will probably run late,” he says, sliding his wallet in his back pocket. “Don’t wait up.”

  “Yeah,” I say, “you either.” But he’s already gone.

  I meet Evelyn in Little Havana at a Cuban restaurant known for their lethal caipirinhas. By the time I get there, she’s already half a drink in and munching on the appetizer plate she ordered for us. Her face is glowing, and I can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or the bright orange shirt she’s wearing.

  Or maybe she’s just happy because she doesn’t have a fiancé who’s on a date with his COO.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say, pulling out the chair opposite her and taking a seat. I was delayed.”

  “You look lovely, so I’d say it was worth it.”

  I peer down at my simple pink maxi dress and frown. I didn’t have much time once Darian left, so I let my hair dry in natural waves and rushed my makeup. “Thanks.”

  Evelyn takes a sip of her drink and sits back in her chair, studying me. “Everything okay at home? You seem a little…off.”
<
br />   The waiter picks that exact moment to visit our table and I’m grateful for the interruption. I order a caipirinha and then busy myself with the menu. “Things are good.”

  “Huh.”

  My eyes meet her shrewd gaze. “What?”

  “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  I continue perusing the menu.

  “Frankie, you can talk to me, you know. You aren’t betraying Darian by confiding in a friend.”

  “You’re not just any friend,” I tell her without looking up.

  “True, but if something’s bothering you, it’s probably in his best interest if I help you sort it out, don’t you think?”

  The waiter returns with my drink. I take a slow sip and scrunch my face as I set down my glass.

  Damn, these things are strong.

  “It’s been a rough week,” I say. “We had a crazy fight on Monday and we’re just now speaking again.”

  “What was the fight about?”

  Oh, nothing. I just met him at the door in my hooker costume and he rejected me. Typical Monday night at our house

  “He was in a mood. Work is really getting to him right now.”

  “He told me he was having nightmares,” Evelyn says, cutting into the piece of fried yuca on her plate. “Is he still?”

  “Yes, but I don’t think they’re bothering him like they were.” I take another sip of my drink. “I mean, he’s tired all the time, and grumpy, but no. It’s something to do with work.”

  “That may be, but if he’s still having nightmares, they’re bothering him. I know, sweetheart, because I have them too.” She takes a bite of her food, then dabs her mouth with her napkin. “It’s none of my business, and I don’t want to put you on the spot, but is it okay if I speak and you just listen?”

  I nod and she gives me a warm smile.

  “After the accident, Drew set me up with a wonderful grief counselor, and I cannot tell you how much that helped me. But Darian? He’s inherently private—and stubborn.” She shakes her head and her voice drops to a whisper. “Losing everyone like that? It’s an unimaginable pain. It can destroy the strongest of people, especially if they don’t get help. And as far as I know, Darian never has.”