I stop a few feet behind him, wrapping Maverick’s leash around my hand a few times to keep him from pulling me any further.
“Don’t think you should be drinking on the job, sir.”
The man spins around and blasts me with a scowl that sends a shiver down my spine. Under the brim of his hat, I spot a deep, disgruntled crease that lies between his dark brows. His prominent, unshaven jaw pops, clenching, as if he’s gritting through physical pain while he glares at me with piercing steel-blue eyes.
The hairs on my arms lift in a whoosh of awareness, and fear slices into me.
I shouldn’t have come back here alone.
Maverick’s tail thumps against my leg as he leans forward to get to the stranger, clearly unfazed by the potential danger I’ve put us in.
“I ... I’m sorry.” I pull Maverick back. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I live across the street.”
Great idea. Tell the nice murderer where you live.
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t introduce himself. He just keeps hitting me with that unwavering glacial stare. It’s too much, too powerful to withstand, so I lower my gaze and take in the rest of him.
Strong shoulders span wide, adding to his towering height. His shirt is taut around his upper-body. The muscles in his arms are well-defined striations, more than just swollen biceps and triceps. He’s carved from stone, detailed and unforgiving. A work of art that people travel from all over to stand in front of in admiration.
This man is beautiful.
Then again, that’s probably what every woman said about Ted Bundy right before he killed them.
I should leave. Flee back to the safety of my home.
But I’m frozen, sucked in by the enigmatic energy surging around him like a tornado of rage and agony.
And I’m standing right in his path.
I swallow, my throat thick with apprehension. “I, uh, we’re in need of a new landscaper. I saw you come back here and figured I’d come ask for your card.” I swallow again, my gaze flicking to the beer bottle glinting in the sunlight. “It’s a little early to be drinking, don’t you think? I mean, you shouldn’t be impaired while operating heavy machinery. Don’t want to lose a foot in the lawn mower.”
I choke out a laugh, desperate to make light of the situation, but it comes out strangled and strained.
The man doesn’t laugh with me. He doesn’t crack a smile. Not sure his facial muscles would know how if he tried to. One massive hand is curled at his side, as if he’s gripping the leash on his composure, his self-control ready to snap.
“You’ve got some nerve coming back here like this.” The man’s voice is gruff with a sharp edge, like he gargles with a throatful of razors every morning.
My eyebrows lift in a flash of irritation. “Me? I’m a potential customer. One who wants to pay you for your landscaping services. Or I did, before I caught you getting drunk on the job.”
Why am I arguing with the scary man?
He folds his arms over his chest, accentuating the corded muscles in his forearms. “And you assume I’m a landscaper because why?”
“Your truck, for one.” I wave my arm in front of him. “You’re too dirty to be pool maintenance. If you were a roofer, you’d have a ladder.” I shrug like it’s simple addition. “And this isn’t your backyard, so unless you’re here to rob the place ...” My fingers touch my lips. “Oh, God. You’re not here to rob them, are you?”
He edges closer, the look of disgust twisting his features—the look he’s directing at me.
I lift my chin and try not to flinch.
I’ve learned that flinching only makes it worse.
Maverick strains against his leash, his eager nose in the air, wide eyes begging the stranger to pet him. I have to use both hands to tug him back.
Some guard dog you are, Mav! This man is about to kill me, and you’re trying to sniff his crotch and make friends.
The man points his index finger at me, revulsion rolling off his tongue with each syllable. “You self-righteous, pretentious little princess.”
My mouth falls open, and my stomach bottoms out.
“You stand there in your designer clothes, your shoes that cost more than a month’s rent, scrutinizing everyone behind your ridiculous fucking sunglasses, and you’re gonna judge me?” He shakes his head. “My clothes are dirty because I work my ass off. My truck’s a piece of shit because I have more important things to pay for. And I’m a grown-ass man, so I’ll drink whenever the fuck I feel like drinking. All you rich motherfuckers act like you’re better than people like me, but I know the sickening truth. I can lay my head down at night with a clear conscience because I’m not living a lie. I’d rather look ugly on the outside than be ugly on the inside like you.”
His words pack a physical punch, hitting way too close to home. A tremor rips through me, and before I can stop it, a tear escapes from under my sunglasses.
It’s time to go.
“I’m sorry.” I whip around and bolt out of the backyard, dragging Maverick behind me.
My legs carry me across the grass as fast as my wedges will allow. I bunch my dress in my fist, hiking it up over my knees so my strides are longer.
When I reach my house, I slam the door closed behind me and press my back against it. My chest heaves as I gasp for air, my heart racing. A sob gurgles in my throat, but I swallow it down.
Maverick.
California king bed.
Walk-in closet.
Dream kitchen.
Yard with a pool.
Mercedes.
Maverick whimpers, nudging me with his cold nose. I sink down to the floor and fling my arms around him, burying my face in the comfort of his soft fur.
“It’s okay, Mav. I’m okay.”
Everything’s okay.
I shouldn’t have confronted him like that.
It’s my fault for making him so angry.
My speeding pulse returns to normal after a few minutes of deep breathing, and I push off the floor. Maverick follows me into the kitchen as I swipe my purse and my car keys off the counter.
“Sorry, bud. You gotta stay here. I’m running to the store. Making a special dinner for your dad tonight.”
I kiss the top of his head, and then I’m back out the door, head down, without so much as a glance at the pickup truck out front.
“Mmm. So good, babe.”
My lips spread into a smile. “Figured I’d surprise you with your favorite dish tonight.”
Paul’s hand slides across the cherry wood table, and he entwines our fingers. “I love it. Thank you.”
“How was your day?”
He tugs on his tie, loosening it, before popping his collar and slipping the loop over his head. “Good. Meeting went well. I think Haarburger’s going to sign with us.”
“That’s great.”
He dabs the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “How was therapy?”
“It went well.”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “Did you, uh, tell her what we talked about last night?”
“I told her about our decision to stop trying to have kids. She thinks it’s good that we’re on the same page, that we’re able to move on together.”
“Not what I was referring to, Cal.”
“Oh.”
He’s asking if I told her about the bruises he left on my arm.
I look down at my spaghetti. “No, I didn’t mention it.”
“Good.” He sets his fork down beside his plate. “Because I meant what I said last night. It won’t happen again.”
I nod, unsure of what he wants me to say to that. It wasn’t the first time he put his hands on me, nor was it the first time he promised that it won’t happen again. I want to call him out on that. I want to ask him why he feels the need to hurt me in order to get his point across. I want to ask him why he can’t control his temper. I want to ask him what happened to the sweet man I met in college. I want to ask him to get some help.
&n
bsp; But sometimes, silence is easier than navigating around all the egg shells lying at my feet.
He picks his fork back up. “Did you call the vet?”
“I did. They said to watch him when he’s in the backyard so he doesn’t get the opportunity to eat his poop.” I lift my goblet to my lips and take a long sip.
“Did you ask why he’s doing this?”
My stomach coils. “The, uh, the doctor said it could be due to anxiety.”
“Anxiety. Like you.”
“Yeah. He asked if we’ve been stressed, because dogs can pick up on our feelings.”
Recognition flashes across Paul’s face, his light-brown eyes hardening. “So what did you tell him?”
“I told him everything’s fine, of course. He said we could put Maverick on a low dose of anxiety medication, but I said that won’t be necessary. We’ll just watch him better when he’s outside. Won’t happen again if we keep an eye on him.” I force a smile and clasp my hands together. “Ready for dessert?”
He shakes his head and pushes his chair back as he stands. “I’m going to change. Got some e-mails to send out.”
“Of course. I’ll get this all cleaned up.”
He’s gone before the sentence leaves my lips.
Could’ve gone worse, I suppose.
I release a sigh and begin stacking our plates.
While I rinse off the dishes in the sink, I gaze out the window into the darkened yard. The pool house at the far end elicits the memory of the bizarre encounter in Josie’s backyard this morning.
I’ve tried not to think about the rude stranger all day, but my mind keeps drifting back to him. Back to what he’d said.
He was right. I’d judged him by his appearance and made an assumption based on it. Shouldn’t have been that big of a deal, though. He could’ve laughed it off like a silly misunderstanding. He didn’t need to go off on me like he did. People judge books by their covers all the time.
Hell, he did the same thing with me, didn’t he? He lumped me in with the wealthy people in this neighborhood, pointing out my expensive clothes and accessories, calling me a fake without knowing anything about me. I could call him a jerk and chalk it up to him being mean.
But his words carry weight.
I am a fake.
I am living a lie.
Who was that man, and how did he read me so easily?
More importantly, does Josie know that someone was in her yard today?
I dry my hands on a dishtowel and dig through my purse to find my phone. Before I can tap out a text, I spot one already waiting in my inbox. When I click on it and read the words that pop up on the screen, my hand clamps over my mouth.
Josie: So I heard you met my brother this morning.
Two
Callie
No white truck.
My shoulders lower, and I expel a relieved breath as I lock my door behind me.
I’d almost said no when Josie asked me to come over. Between the idea of putting on a swimsuit and the encounter I’d had with her brother yesterday, it was a recipe for disaster.
But Josie is my best friend, and I can’t hide from her forever. It’s already been a few weeks since I’ve seen her, and I don’t doubt that she’d make good on her threat to knock down my door if I didn’t come by today.
When I step onto Josie’s monogrammed welcome mat, the door swings open before my finger makes it to the doorbell.
“Why aren’t you in your bathing suit?”
I glance down at my teal dress to avoid looking into Josie’s demanding gaze as I lie. “I don’t feel like swimming today.”
She plants her hand on her hip. “Why the hell not?”
I pop a nonchalant shoulder and step inside her foyer. “Just not in the mood.”
Her suspicious eyes narrow. “Well, the heathens are out back, so we’re sitting poolside until the twins wake up.” She waves her arm and leads the way to her kitchen.
The heathens she’s referring to are her children: Brandon, Miles, Lucas, and Serenity. Brandon is on the cusp of becoming a teenager, Miles not far behind him. The twins are two years old and living proof that birth control is only 99.7% effective.
Josie hadn’t been prepared for another child, let alone twins. But she took it in stride, like she does with everything. Josie is a force. Strong. Outspoken. Hardworking. A loving wife. And the best mother to those kids. She’s a fierce friend too.
Which is why I do my damndest to keep my truth from her when I have to.
“Grab that pitcher.” She gestures to the carafe filled with lemonade on the granite countertop as she lifts a large veggie platter. “Nothing but healthy snacks for these little fuckers today.”
I chuckle and slide open the glass door for her. “Let me know how that goes.”
“Oh, it’s gonna go.” Josie saunters to the large, teak patio table and sets the platter down. “The boys think they can live off of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos all summer, but they’ve got another thing coming.”
“Hey!” Brandon shouts. “Cheetos are orange, just like carrots. Totally healthy.”
Josie raises her eyebrow at me. “Do you see what I’m dealing with?”
I shake my head. “Brandon, you’re going to need a better argument than that.”
His shoulders slump. “I’ll work on it.”
“Your hair looks so good natural like this.” Josie twirls a lock of my hair around her finger. “You should wear it curly more often.”
“Thanks.” I tuck the strand behind my ear. “Paul likes it better straight.”
“Callie! Watch this!” Miles charges full-speed toward the inground pool, his dark curls bouncing in the wind. When he gets to the edge of the pool, he hurtles himself into the air, tucking his chin to his chest, and does a somersault into the water.
I clap when his head emerges. “Woo! That was awesome, Miles!”
“What score do you give me?”
I tap my index finger against my chin. “Hmm. Dismount was solid. A little shaky on the flip toward the end, though. I give it a nine.”
He gives me a solemn nod, taking my feedback as seriously as if he were in a competition. I suppose with his big brother watching, he is.
“Keep your knees tight to your chest next time, and it’ll be flawless.”
A grin brightens his face as he hoists himself out of the pool. “I’m gonna practice.”
My heart swells. I love Josie’s kids as if they were my own.
My own.
Something I’ll never have.
I shake off the pang of jealousy and set myself straight. There’s no room for that here. Only love.
“Now, if I’d told him that?” Josie says, lowering herself into a lounge chair. “He would’ve told me to fuck off.”
“He would not! You’re the only one with a potty mouth in this house.”
“Dan’s waiting for the day one of them repeats me.” She waggles her eyebrows. “I am too. He promised he’d spank me instead of them.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “You’re sick.”
The synchronized wail of toddlers awakening from their naps crackles through the baby monitor.
“God damnit! I just sat down.”
I hold my palm up and rocket out of my chair. “I’ll get them.”
Josie collapses back against the red cushion. “Thank you. You’re the real MVP, Callie.”
“Mom,” Brandon drags out in a whine. “I told you, nobody says that anymore.”
I smirk as I pad into the house.
Lucas and Serenity’s cries get louder as I jog up the winding stairs. Once they hear the crack of their bedroom door opening, they fall silent, peering through the slats in their cribs.
“I thought Mommy was going to get you guys outta these baby cribs.”
“Lucas not a baby!” Lucas shouts.
I smile as I reach into his crib and hoist him out. “No, you are a big boy, aren’t you?”
“Lucas big boy!” His chunky, bare leg
s wrap around my hip as I bounce him.
Serenity watches me from her crib, big brown eyes taking it all in. She and Lucas are like night and day. Lucas is a ball of energy. Loud, headstrong, demanding all of your attention. He gets that from his mother. But Serenity hangs back. Timid. The observer.
Lifting Lucas above my shoulders, I press my nose to his diaper-clad bottom.
He giggles. “Poopy.”
“Yep.” My nose scrunches. “Definitely poopy.”
I lay him on the changing table and breathe through my mouth while I clean him up.
“Did you sleep good, Lucas?”
“No sleep! No tired!”
I laugh, snapping his onesie back together and plunking him down in front of his oak toy chest.
His sister raises her arms, reaching out for me, knowing her time has come.
“And how about you, sweet Serenity?” I wrap my arms around her, inhaling her perfect toddler scent. “Did you sleep good?”
She nods, sticking her thumb into her mouth.
When I lay her on the pad, I wiggle my fingertips on her belly, and she squirms, grinning around her thumb.
I don’t mind changing diapers. I know it’d feel different if I had my own kids. Kids are exhausting, and it’s common to take mundane tasks for granted when you have to do them every day. When they come easy.
But after what I’ve been through? I’d savor every smelly poopy diaper.
I always thought I’d have a family of my own by now. Always pictured a different life for myself and Paul. But the things we dream about aren’t always in the cards for us. They become nightmares, haunting us, reminding us of what we’ll never have, no matter how hard we try.
“All clean.” I scoop Serenity back into my arms and hug her close, just for a minute longer.
Her tiny fingers curl around a lock of my hair as she rests her head against my shoulder. “Pretty hair.”
I twirl one of her dark ringlets. “You have pretty hair too.”
Lucas stands, banging his palm against the door. “Hungry! Go eat!”
“Okay, tiny tyrant. Let’s go eat.”
I balance Serenity on one hip while I clutch Lucas against the other. Lucas starts bellowing, “Go eat! Go eat!” and by the time we get down to the pool, all three of us are chanting.
What's Left of Me Page 2
