by Karen Cimms
Eyes glued to my handiwork, I thumped the back of my head against the wall over and over again. Either I’d come up with a way to fix this or knock some sense into myself.
My phone pinged, and I jabbed my hand in my pocket. Relief washed over me when Rain’s beautiful face popped up on the screen.
Staying at my mother’s tonight. I think it’s for the best. See you tomorrow.
“Well isn’t that just fucking swell?”
I slammed my head against the wall, harder this time.
I needed to fix a hell of a lot more than one stupid cabinet door.
Chapter Eighteen
From where I lay in my old bed, I watched the sky fade from black to gray. I’d spent most of the night staring at the window, wishing for morning. It had been a mistake not to go home. I was angry and hurt, but the longer I stayed away, the worse I felt. Chase’s response to my text hadn’t helped either.
Do what you want
Did he mean that in regard to spending the night at Mom’s? Or was he talking about things in general? About our life together? Somehow we’d veered way off course, and I didn’t like it.
My supposed psychic abilities were fluid at best, and I knew better than to rely solely on a feeling. I’d let them guide me before, but I didn’t have the talent my father had, and I rarely knew for certain that something would happen. But now? There was a darkness surrounding us that unsettled me. The longer I was away from Chase, the darker it grew.
I gently shifted away from Zac, curled up alongside me, and felt along the nightstand for my phone. It was almost five. Too early for Chase to be awake, but I had to hear his voice. I stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me, and ducked into the kitchen.
His phone rang several times before he answered.
“Hey, babe.” His voice was deep and sexy, and I wanted more than anything to be lying beside him, waking him in person.
I didn’t know where to start, so I went with the first thing that popped out of my mouth. “I’m sorry.”
He cleared his throat and uttered a tiny groan. “For what?”
“Everything. For not coming home, mostly. I hate fighting with you. I don’t like what’s happening with us. It scares me.”
He murmured something I couldn’t hear, and I pictured him shirtless, rolling onto his back. “Me too. I love you. More than anything.”
“I love you too. As soon as the kids wake up, I’ll be home. It’s Sunday. They’ll be expecting chocolate chip pancakes.”
He mumbled what sounded like a curse under his breath, and when he spoke up, he sounded more alert. “How about we go out to breakfast? I can meet you at the diner.” The bed creaked in the background.
“The kids don’t want diner pancakes. They want Daddy’s pancakes. It’s tradition.” The rain came down in a steady drizzle on the deck outside the sliding glass doors. I missed my husband. I missed lying beside him in bed, listening to the sound the rain made on our roof.
“I don’t think we have any pancake mix. I meant to pick some up the other day. How about I just meet you at the diner around ten? Okay?”
“I can run to the store on my way home.”
“How about this? Afterward, we’ll go fishing. I’ll get everything together. We’ll spend the whole day out.”
“It’s rain—”
“A movie, then. Meet me at the diner at ten. We’ll have breakfast, and then we’ll go to the movies.”
Normally, I’d think he was acting odd. But considering the way he’d been acting lately, it was hard to tell. Whatever was going on with him, I didn’t want to fight anymore. If he wanted diner pancakes and to take the kids to the movies, then that’s what we’d do.
We hung up, and I slipped back into the bedroom for my clothes and dressed quietly. I left a note for the kids and Mom on the kitchen table, telling them we’d pick them up later.
I didn’t want to wait until ten. I’d rather go home and surprise him now.
“Oh my god! What did you do?”
Chase stood in the kitchen in nothing but his underwear, a bandage on his foot, and purplish-gray paint in his hair and on his chest. It matched the splotches on my floor and my counters, not to mention all of my kitchen cabinets. Half the doors had been removed, and he was currently unscrewing the cabinet door nearest the window.
“What are you doing here?” The screwdriver dangled from his hand, forgotten.
I blinked at him, almost speechless. Almost.
“What am I doing here? What the hell are you doing?”
He set the screwdriver down and rubbed his neck nervously. “I wanted to surprise you.”
His voice lifted at the end of the sentence, like a question.
“Well I’m surprised, all right. How did you ever come up with this color?” I couldn’t think of a word to accurately describe it other than “hideous.”
“I didn’t think I would have enough paint to cover the all of the cabinets, so I mixed together what we had in the garage.”
It was hard to tell if this surprise was supposed to be a good one or a bad one. If he’d been trying to make up for what had happened at Diane’s by painting the cabinets, which we’d never discussed once, he couldn’t have possibly imagined this color would be one I’d have chosen.
“I’m not sure what to say.”
He rubbed at his eyes and dragged his hand through his hair, stopping when he got to a glob of paint. It seemed he was still half asleep. If the empty whiskey bottle on the floor was any indication of how his night had gone, he was probably as surprised as I was to see our kitchen this morning.
“Is this why you didn’t want me come home this morning?”
He laughed, but it was more of a nervous titter. “What do you think?”
I walked through the kitchen, which wasn’t easy given the mess all over the floor, and picked up the spent bottle of Jack. “I’m thinking this may have influenced your decorating skills.”
He hung his head, and my heart cracked a little.
“That, and this.” He pointed to his bandaged foot. “I kinda put my foot through the cabinet door yesterday after you left. I tried to fix it with a piece of plywood, but it looked like shit.”
“So you decided to make the rest of the kitchen look like shit so it would match?” That probably wasn’t his intention, but it was what he accomplished.
He heaved out a slow, weighted breath. “Just add this to my ever-growing list of fuck-ups.”
I set the bottle down and wrapped my arms around his waist. The defeat in his eyes was killing me.
“Chase. Stop. You’re not a fuck-up. And I love you more than anything. I’m trying to be what you want—”
His hand covered my mouth. “Stop. You are what I want. I’ve never wanted anyone or anything more than I want you.”
“Then why don’t you trust me?”
He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to mine. “I do.”
“You don’t. Not really.”
“It’s hard. When I see another guy looking at you, I can’t help but wonder if he was someone you’d been with before. I know we both have histories. It’s just hard having to come face to face with yours every day.”
It felt as if fingers were wrapping around my throat and pressing the life out of me. Was this what he really thought of me?
“I’ll try harder, though,” he continued. “I mean it. I don’t want to push you away or lose you. Jealousy isn’t something that was ever an issue for me, but with you, it consumes me.”
I choked out a few words. “Then maybe you need to talk to someone.”
His eyes met mine. “What? Like a shrink or something? You think I’m crazy now?”
I shook my head. “Not crazy. But maybe a therapist of some kind. Someone to share your feelings with and help you channel that jealousy.”
He pulled away. “Jesus. I feel like I’m going crazy some days, but I didn’t know you thought so too.”
“That’s not what I think. After
my dad died and everything that happened with Jeff and getting pregnant with Izzy, my mom took me to a counselor. It helped me come to terms with everything. It was a good thing.”
He leaned against the counter and stared out the window into the back yard. I’d hurt him—not that I’d meant to. Of course I didn’t think he was crazy. But he had no idea how badly he’d just hurt me.
I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my mouth against the skin of his back, trailing kisses over the tight muscles, feeling them quiver beneath my lips. Love shouldn’t be this hard. It shouldn’t hurt like this.
I just wished I knew how to fix us.
Chapter Nineteen
Four months later
I’d spent most of the day cooking for a catering job, which included frying forty pounds of chicken. By the time I’d finished, I reeked of oil and fried chicken. All I wanted was a shower and a nap. I hadn’t been sleeping well, and if I could at least lie down until I had to get Zac from day care, I’d be happy.
As I walked to my car, a man and a woman were arguing at the far end of the luncheonette parking lot. The way they were going at it made what Chase and I had been through recently seem like a few minor tiffs. These two seemed ready to strike blows.
“Fuck you, Aaron,” the woman screamed as I unlocked my door, trying to keep my head down even though my curiosity was getting the better of me. She stormed toward a black Audi and climbed inside.
“Elise!” The man got out of his car and followed her.
As she roared out of the parking lot, she tossed a bouquet of roses out of her window. Petals floated through the air like red rain. Aaron jumped into his BMW and floored it, heading out onto Schoolhouse Road in the same direction she’d gone.
I tossed my purse into the car and walked back across the parking lot. The bouquet was enormous. There had to be at least three dozen roses. Several had been damaged by her throw, but the iridescent green silk that surrounded them and the wide red ribbon had protected the bulk of them. I scooped up the bouquet and buried my nose in the roses. They smelled much better than I did at the moment. Chase rarely bought me roses—and only deep pink ones when he did. Red roses gave me the heebie jeebies. It was silly, but they always preceded something bad. Of course the only time I’d ever gotten red roses was when Preston sent them.
So yeah, bad news.
I climbed into my car and set the roses carefully on the seat next to me. Elise’s loss—and Aaron’s too, I guessed—would be Izzy’s gain. Unlike me, Izzy adored roses.
Chapter Twenty
I rapped on the open door to Dylan’s office. Work orders were spread out on his desk and I tossed two more on top along with two sets of keys.
“I finished up the red CX-3 and pulled it around back, and I checked out the Camry. It’s most likely the starter and that’s probably covered under one of the last few recalls. I’d check it out before we replace it. Especially if they can get it replaced for free.”
Dylan nodded. “You heading out already? It’s not even one o’clock.”
“Yeah. I’ve got a killer headache. I need some ibuprophen, my bed, and a dark room.”
“All right. Feel better.”
I was almost out the back door when he called out, “You better be here tomorrow. We’re booked solid.”
Not bothering to answer, I climbed up into the truck and headed for home, grateful to be on the road before school let out. I wasn’t kidding about my headache. The last thing I needed was to get stuck behind a school bus, sucking on fumes and stopping every twenty feet.
I signaled to turn into my street as a metallic green Corvette pulled up to the stop sign. It waited a fraction of a second and then peeled out, crossing in front of me and heading in the direction I’d just come from, driving just like the dickhead who’d been cruising around the neighborhood in the yellow Aston Martin. It happened fast, but the car was familiar and so was the driver.
“Un-fucking-believable.” What was that son of a bitch doing in our neighborhood?
I neared the end of our street and was surprised to see Rain’s car in the driveway. She rarely left the luncheonette before two.
Soft jazz greeted me when I unlocked the front door.
“Babe?” I shrugged off my jacket and draped if over the hook on the inside of the closet near the front door. “Rain?” I called as I carried my lunch box into the kitchen. On the counter was a wine glass with the dregs of red wine in the bottom. Odd for so early in the day, but what twisted my guts were the flowers taunting me from the kitchen table.
Roses.
Red. Fucking. Roses.
At least two dozen. Maybe more. Crammed into the lavender vase I’d given her for her birthday. The one that had held the deep pink roses she’d told me were her favorites.
Guess I was wrong.
The pounding in my head grew stronger.
“Rain!”
I tugged the elastic out of my hair, trying to relieve some of the pressure on a scalp that suddenly felt as if it had been stretched too tightly over my skull, and stalked toward the bedroom. The shower was on. From the hallway I could see the bed, the covers thrown back, and next to the nightstand, another wine glass. This one holding at least two inches of red wine.
Like a sucker punch I never saw coming, my knees buckled, and if I hadn’t grabbed the door jamb, I would’ve hit the floor. The gnawing ache in my chest outweighed the throbbing in my head.
The water turned off in the bathroom, and I guided myself back to the kitchen, the edges of my vision fuzzy and my hand pressed along the wall the entire length of the hallway. Without the support, I wouldn’t be able to move.
I lowered myself into a chair and dropped my head into my hands. The cloying scent of roses seeped into my brain, squeezing it tightly, causing the pressure behind my eyes to strengthen. There had to be some explanation. After three years, why would he just show up out of the blue?
Or … was this just the first time I caught him?
Them.
The chair scraped hard across the linoleum, nearly toppling over as I stood. I stalked to the cabinet beneath the sink where we kept the trash can. Jammed down beside eggs shells, coffee grounds, and soggy cereal from the morning’s breakfast was a balled-up wad of green silk and a green ribbon. Attached to the tissue was a note. I tore it off, scattering coffee grounds onto the kitchen floor, and ripped open the envelope.
Give me another chance, baby, and I’ll never let you go. You know I’ll always love you.
And then I died.
Chapter Twenty-One
I nearly screamed when I stepped into the kitchen. Chase was slumped in a chair at the kitchen table. He didn’t even lift his head when I walked into the room. He just kept staring at his feet as if he hadn’t heard me.
I let out a loud puff of air. “Geez. You scared me. What are you doing home already?”
He raised his head and looked right through me with red eyes. His jaw was tight.
“Are you sick?” I moved toward him.
He held up a hand. “Don’t.”
Of course I didn’t listen. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“You tell me.”
The eyes that met mine were cold and hard.
Helpless to understand what I might have done this time, I shook my head and shrugged,
“Is there something you want to tell me?” he growled.
I struggled to think of anything that could have gotten him this upset, but I came up empty. There was nothing.
“No?” My voice was so low and meek it sounded like a question.
“Then let me ask you something.” I didn’t like the way he looked at me, as if he didn’t even like me, let alone love me.
“What are you doing home?”
“I left a little earlier today,” I stammered, feeling defensive, although why, I had no idea. “I had a big catering order, and when I was done, I felt all icky from frying all morning, so Mom told me to leave. I came home, took a shower, a
nd I was going to lie down for a while.”
“That’s all?” He lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug I could tell was anything but.
“Pretty much.”
“So on the way home, you stopped off and picked yourself up three dozen red roses, put on some soft music, poured yourself two glasses of wine, and then jumped in the shower.”
I understood his dislike for red roses. That had been Preston’s signature move. But seriously? He had to be kidding.
My tongue was coated in sarcasm. “No, Chase. I didn’t buy myself three dozen roses. The only roses I like are pink ones. I found these, more or less.” The look on his face told me he wasn’t interested in the long version, so I tried to speed it up, tripping over my words. I’d begun to feel as if I were standing before my old algebra teacher after cutting class for the third time in a week. “Some guy and his girlfriend were fighting in the parking lot at work, and she threw them out the window of her car. I picked them up and brought them home. So what?”
“And the card just happens to read ‘I’ll always love you’?”
“The card?” I hadn’t opened the card. “How do you know what the card said?”
“Because I pulled it out of the trash,” he bellowed. “How stupid do you think I am?”
“I’m thinking pretty damn stupid. I didn’t even open the card. I don’t know what it said. I just threw it away. It wasn’t any of my business.”
“And the wine?”
“I had a glass of wine. So what?”
He lurched from the chair and grabbed a wine glass off the counter near the sink. “Here.” He shoved it toward me. “Here’s one glass. The other is on the nightstand next to the unmade bed.”
“That one has a chip in it. See?” I pointed to the tiny imperfection along the rim. “The one in the bedroom is mine. Like I said, I had a rough day. I’m tired. I thought a half-glass of wine might help me relax. You have at least one or two beers every night when you get home. I can’t have some wine?”
