Debauched (Undone Book 3)

by Jennifer Dawson

  She nods. “I’m not sure if this helps or hurts, but I invited you on Valentine’s Day because I wanted you to see. I’ve felt for a long time that your questions were…telling.”

  My brow furrows. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  She shrugs. “Sometimes the things we fear the most are the things we need the most. When I first met Michael I rejected and fought our attraction more than I ever fought anything in my whole life. I wanted nothing to do with him and told him that over and over again.”

  “I’d forgotten.” Because I had, I only see her as she is now, as they are now. I forgot about their tumultuous beginnings.

  “He didn’t believe me.” She smiles, her gaze far off and distant as though she’s remembering something fond. “And I don’t believe you.”

  I don’t know what to believe about myself anymore. I take a deep breath. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good. What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m going to go home to visit my family, just without Chad as I’d planned.”

  “We’ll miss you at the art show Saturday.”

  I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Make sure Chad goes, okay? So he can get out of the house.”

  “I’ll try. But tell me some of your worries. Maybe I can help.”

  I sigh. My worries seem long and fraught with peril, so I focus on the least daunting. “Don’t you ever feel stifled?”

  She tilts her head and her ponytail swings. It’s all shiny again, lush and healthy. Gone is that gaunt, haunted girl. She’s the woman she used to be and more. So much more. “No. I feel free.”

  Chad

  “Come on, let’s go.” Michael and Leo are standing at my door wearing their cop expressions.

  I’m in a shit mood and don’t want to go anywhere. It’s been twenty-four hours. I didn’t think she’d last this long and I’ve begun to doubt my hold on her. I rake a hand through my hair. “I guess you heard.”

  Michael and Leo glance at each other then both nod at me.

  Michael takes keys out of the pocket of his jeans. “Come on, we’re going to Brandon’s.”

  I cringe. The last thing I need is memories of the first night with Ruby that started us down this miserable fucking road. “I’m not in the mood for that place.” I wave my hand. “It’s too… Shiny.”

  Leo laughs. “Oh, we’re not going there. We’re going old school.”

  I roll my eyes. They want to go to Brandon’s underground club. It’s seedy and dark and filled with all sorts of depravity. “I’m not going to a sex club. In fact, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t need a girls’ night out.”

  “Whatever,” Leo says, then juts his chin over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  I open my mouth to protest but Michael says, “We’re getting drunk and we’re not taking no for an answer.”

  “What are you going to do, spank me?” The words are filled with sarcasm.

  Leo laughs. “If we have to.”

  “Like I’d let you.”

  Michael raises a brow. “Someone sounds like a bratty sub.”

  “Fuck you.” The urge to chuckle is sneaking through my misery.

  “We’re not taking no for an answer.” Leo crosses his arms over his chest.

  I sigh. What’s the harm? Do I really want to sit here all night wallowing? “Fine. But I’m not going to like it.”

  Michael and Leo stare at me, lips quirked.

  “Fair enough,” Michael says.

  I’m about to spout off something equally petulant, but at the last minute I lose steam and my shoulders slump. “Is she gone?”

  Michael nods. “She went home.”

  To the reunion. I’m supposed to be with her right now. Holding her hand. Making her laugh. Fucking her senseless. I’d planned all sorts of kinky shit that would feed right into her particular sense of perversity. But I’m not doing any of that. I swallow hard. “I don’t think she’s going to come around.”

  Stupid family and all that patriarchal bullshit she grew up with is fucking up my future. Her future.

  “I don’t know.” Michael’s keys jingle in his hands. “Layla has hope and she’d know.”

  “I’m not wrong about her.” My voice is stubborn and defiant.

  “Nobody thinks you’re wrong,” Leo says.

  “We’ll hash it out over liquor.” Michael points at the car. “Let’s go.”

  Hashing it out will solve nothing, but there’s really nothing I can do except get drunk and pass out.

  At least that way I can forget. For a while.

  Until I feel for her in my sleep and find her gone.

  Ruby

  It’s weird being home, staying in my childhood bedroom, under my parents’ roof. The reunion is underway and the backyard is filled with every relative in my family tree. I’m on the grass, on a blanket playing with my blonde three-year-old niece.

  She picks up a plastic teacup and saucer and hands it to me. “We’re going to have a tea party.”

  I smile and take the offered cup. “How lovely. And what kind of tea will you be serving today.”

  She giggles, picks up her teapot, and tips it into my cup to pour her imaginary beverage. “It’s purple.”

  “Well, of course it is, darling.” My voice is exaggerated posh. I take a sip. “This is divine.”

  Lydia mimics my expression, holds out her pinky, and says in a miniature adult voice, “So lovely.”

  “She loves you.” My sister, Alissa, sits down next me. She looks pretty in a yellow sundress, her face barely touched with makeup, her hair a light shade of brown.

  “Crisscross applesauce, Momma,” Lydia says, pointing to her mom’s legs.

  I laugh, glancing at her skirt. “Good luck with that.”

  I turn my face up to the sun. With my skin tone I have to wear SPF 5000 to avoid getting burned because I don’t tan at all, but I love the warmth of it on my skin. Even though I look like a vampire.

  I miss Chad. I wish he were here with me. Wish he sat here watching me, that fond, amused expression on his face. I’d never really thought a man would look at me like that. I’d always assumed I lacked the gene that inspired devotion. I was wrong. Am I willing to give that up because of some promise I’d made to myself?

  “Aunt Ruby.” Lydia’s voice rips me from my thoughts and my eyes flip open. She hands me a plate. “Have some cake. I made it myself.”

  There’s a small half-inch blob on my plate. I look questioning at my sister.

  She winks. “Easy-Bake Oven.”

  “Ahhh…” I put the crumbly morsel with a hint of chocolate in my mouth and say in my best English accent, “Delicious, dear girl. Where can I find the recipe?”

  Lydia giggles and jumps up, pointing. “Daddy’s getting ready for the treasure hunt.”

  Then she takes off running, leaving me along with Alissa. I turn to her. “How’s things?”

  “Good,” she says, tilting her head. “I’m glad you came. Mom would have been disappointed if you didn’t.”

  I’m the black sheep in my family, but they still love me. I don’t begrudge them their different life. And I don’t think they begrudge me mine. It’s not even their fault I warped it in my head. I look at my older sister, so different from me, and I realize I don’t really know her. And, I think I want to change that. “What have you been doing with yourself?”

  “Oh, you know, the kids take up a lot of time. I’m head of the PTA, and volunteer coordinator at the church. I keep busy.” She smiles, and I see it falter at the edges, waiting for me to judge her. “I’m sure it sounds pretty boring to you.”

  I don’t want to be that person anymore. I’ve always had an adversarial relationship with religion—feeling judged and found lacking—but really, was I any different? Dismissing others because they didn’t want the same things as me. I shake my head. “No it doesn’t. You’re happy doing what you love best and that’s something to be envied.”

  Because it is. Most of us aren’t doing anyt
hing we love. I sure as hell hadn’t been.

  Alissa’s face lights up. “Thank you.”

  “I mean it.” I put my hand on her knee and squeeze. “You’re a good sister and I’m lucky to have you.”

  She laughs. “All right, what’s gotten into you?”

  A million things. Chad. That adult that’s been living inside me, waiting to get out, while I’d been busy resisting. I shrug. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately and I want to be a better sister and daughter.”

  “I’d like that. Not that you haven’t been a good sister, just that I hardly know anything about your life, and as I get older, family becomes more important to me.”

  I pick up a blade of grass and twist it around my finger, remembering growing up and making them into reeds as we marched around the yard. I glance at my sister. “I met someone.”

  Her eyes turn wary, but she works hard to keep her expression impassive. “Really?”

  I laugh. “You’d like him. He’s not my normal type at all.”

  “Hmmm…” She gives me a sly once over. “What’s his name?”

  “Chad. He’s got a job and everything.” I lean over and say in a conspiratorial whisper, “Don’t tell Mom, but he’s an IT manager and he owns property.” I lower my voice even more. “He wears khakis.” I don’t mention he looks like sin in them.

  My sister howls with laughter and slaps my knee. “Your dirty little secret is safe with me.”

  Later that evening I’m alone with my mom in the kitchen and the house is quiet. We’re drinking coffee and I’ve eaten about twenty-five chocolate chip cookies.

  I glance at my mom. My whole life people told me I looked like her, and even though her hair is salt-and-pepper now, her skin is still pale and beautiful. She has this otherworldly quality to her I’ve always felt I lacked. Maybe it’s her peace—such a contrast to my restlessness—that makes it so.

  I think about the conversation I had with Chad when he’d asked if I’d ever talked to her about the past. I’d said no then, but I intend to rectify that now. I decide to be honest. “I met someone.”

  “Of course you did, dear.”

  My brows rise. “You know?”

  “A mother always knows.” She folds her napkin in a neat little square. “And where is your young man?”

  I bite my lip. “I needed to think.”

  She waves a hand. “You and your thinking. That was always your problem. Too much thinking.”

  “I love him, Mom.”

  “I’d hope so.” She smiles at me. “That’s always the best place to start.”

  “I’m afraid.” I might as well admit it. One of the many things Chad has taught me is the value of not keeping everything so bottled up all the time, turning me into a pressure cooker.

  “Of what?” She narrows his eyes. “Is he bad to you?”

  “God no, he treats me like…I’m some sort of precious object.” I frown. He does. Like I’m rare. Special. Like I belong. To him.

  “Then what are you afraid of?” My mom’s expression is curious, thoughtful.

  “We’re very different.” Are we? Or is that what I keep telling myself to remain at a distance? To avoid getting too close? “There are things he wants I’m not sure I can give.”

  “Then you don’t love him enough.”

  The statement is a direct hit to the solar plexus. Defensiveness is like a thorn in my side. “I do.”

  “No you don’t. If it’s important, you make it happen.” How can she state this so simply? So easily? Like it’s black-and-white instead of shades of gray.

  I lay my palm on my heart. “Why do I have to be the one giving up though?”

  Calm as can be, she takes a sip of coffee. “You don’t, all I’m suggesting is that if you don’t want to make the sacrifice, then he’s probably not the man for you.”

  This stumps me. Scares me. And I realize the truth, right here, right now. More than anything I want Chad to be the one for me. I clear my throat and ask the questions I’ve always assumed I had the answers to. “Do you regret giving up your career to marry Dad?”

  Her expression is blank, as though she didn’t know what I was talking about. “What makes you think I gave it up?”

  “Didn’t you?” Under the table, I stretch out my legs. I’m in shorts and a tank top my dad deemed immodest, but he laughed when he said it so I didn’t take him too seriously.

  “You know the story of how we met.”

  “Yes, you were a talented violinist, and you gave it up when you met Dad.”

  “Where do you get these ideas, child?” She raises her eyes to the heavens. “God always gives you a challenge.”

  I’d be offended but she actually says that to all of us kids—just for different reasons.

  I grin. “Well, if he didn’t, think how bored you’d be.”

  She chuckles. “True. But to answer your question, I didn’t give anything up.” She gets a sly look on her face. “In fact, he was willing to give it up for me.”

  Now this is brand-new information. “Really?”

  “Really.” She winks at me. “When we met, I was a bit wild and rebellious, full of colorful ideas. As most young people believe about their time in history, it was the start of a revolution, and we were all ready to set the world on fire.”

  Fascinated I lean forward.

  “Truth be told, with your father being a minister and all we created a more—” She clears her throat. “Watered-down version of how we met for polite company. The true story isn’t the kind of thing you tell your kids, so that’s the version we told you too. You’re not as prissy as the rest of them, so if you’d like to hear the truth, I’ll tell you.”

  I’m floored and I say in an impassioned voice, “I would love to hear the true story.”

  She points a finger at me. “You have to promise me that you will never ever tell your father I told you. You also can’t tell your brother and sister.”

  “I promise.” I will die if I don’t hear this story. I zip my lips and throw away the key.

  She, glances at my dad watching the History channel in the family room, before leaning in to whisper, “Well, I was quite a looker in those days, and so was your father. Yes, I was playing in a very respectable venue at the time, but that’s not really where we met. We met in this scandalous club. I was playing a mean violin to ‘Devil went Down to Georgia’ when I saw him, staring right at me. We had some sort of mad, instant, crazy chemistry, and I played four more songs just for him. Did you ever stop to wonder why we grew up in my hometown instead of his?”

  I shake my head. “I just assumed it was because grandma and grandpa died before we were born.”

  “That’s part of it. But your father was a bit of a troublemaker in his youth before he got the call.” She glances toward the door where my dad sits and continues softly. “The story is that mothers locked their doors when he walked down the street.”

  “Daddy?” I can’t keep the shock out of my voice. Yes, my father is a handsome man, but he’s like a lamb. Docile and sweet. Harmless.

  “Yep.” She laughs.

  My father instantly perks up, turning to call out, “What are you laughing about in there, woman?”

  For the first time, I really listen, move past my judgments, and hear the affection in his tone. I’d always thought when he called my mom woman he’d used it as a way to put her in her place, but now I hear it for what it is—an endearment.

  “Nothing, dear,” she says, a sassy smile on her face.

  He turns back to the television and my mom continues. “He’d already reformed his wild ways by then, and it’s true he was already studying theology, and had plans to be a minister. But our proper courtship is a bit exaggerated.” She snickers and her cheeks turn a pretty pink. “Unless you include sex in the storage room thirty minutes after we met proper.”

  In shock, my mouth drops open. “Mother!”

  She gives me a pure, angelic innocent smile. “I love how each generation bel
ieves they alone discovered the one-night stand.”

  “I can’t believe you.” My tone is as flabbergasted as I feel. How is this even possible?

  “I’m afraid to admit I’m including the time I played in that thirty minutes.” She giggles again.

  Again my father turns to face her. “What are you up to?”

  I hope I’m not gaping at him like a fish out of water. I don’t think one can appreciate the shock of finding out your parents were not who you thought they were. That you did not spring onto this planet through immaculate conception.

  “I told you, nothing.” She calmly takes a sip of her coffee.

  “It’s something,” he says.

  “Go back to your program and let me talk to my daughter.”

  He looks back and forth between us and I do my very best to look innocent, until he finally turns back to the television.

  My mom straightens, all proper in her chair, cup in hand. “I’ll spare you the gory details, but I’d never been with a man who knew where the clitoris was. That wasn’t talked about then.”

  “God! Yuck!” My cheeks flame red and I cover my ears. “We don’t talk about it with our moms now!”

  “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, dear.” She harrumphs. “All I’m trying to say is it was quite good.”

  Deliver me from this sharing. I both equally love and hate everything about this story. “I get the picture.”

  “Well, we agreed we had no future, I was off to Europe and he needed to go back to his studies. But we couldn’t stay away so we spent the week in bed, trying desperately to get sick of each other.”

  My mother and my father. The two most pure, devout people on the planet had spent an entire week trying to essentially screw each other out of their systems. How has this happened? How can I ever look my dad in the eye again?

  A shadow crosses over her face. “The day came and we were forced to say goodbye. His studies were over and I was set to go to London. It was the worst day of my life. In between all our…” She smiles. “Craziness, we talked for hours and hours. He’d gone from a stranger to the person who knew me better than anyone in the world. Thinking I’d never see him again was the most miserable time in my life. He stayed away for two whole weeks and showed up two nights before I was to leave for Europe. He said he couldn’t live without me. That’d he’d follow me anywhere. That he loved me. I said yes and that night we planned for him to come with me. I was going to let him do it, give it all up for me. But the next day I went with him to church where he was a guest speaker and once I saw him, I couldn’t let him do it. His calling to God was too important to sacrifice for me. I’d always loved music, but I never planned on doing it forever. I’d always dreamed of a family. I was talented, but I’d already gone as far as I was going to go. In the end, I loved him more, and he made me happier than playing violin in the orchestra. So we struck a bargain. I’d make an honest man of him, but I wanted to live in my hometown. I promised to be a good minister’s wife, and upstanding pillar of the community, as long as he stayed wild where it counted. We’ve kept our promises and I have never regretted a single second with that man. I truly believe if we’d parted, I’d be out there, alone and unhappy, longing for my missing half.”