Mrs. February

by Karen Cimms

  She had to be fucking kidding me.

  “Give me a little credit, okay? Yes, he came to Blondie’s last night. Apparently he saw my post Thursday night. The one I made after my best friend refused to talk to me.”

  Her lips curved downward. “It was almost midnight. And you were drunk. And that post was pretty damn pathetic. I can’t believe you didn’t delete it, especially since you were clearly not in your right mind when you put it up.”

  Fuck! I thought I had deleted it! “Give me my phone.”

  “I don’t have it. I wasn’t thinking you needed your phone when I found you lying on the living room floor, bleeding to death.”

  “Exaggerate much?” I held out my hand, the one with the stupid IV jabbed into it. “Give me your phone.”

  Grumbling, she fished around in her oversized purse. “Fine, but you need to tell me what the hell happened.” She stopped her digging and looked up, her eyes wide as saucers. “Did he hit you? That son of a bitch.”

  I closed my eyes. My head hurt too much for an inquisition. “No. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Rain …”

  “Rain?”

  Damn it.

  Chase stood at the foot of the bed, his hands jammed into the pockets of his cargo shorts.

  “Are you okay? What happened?” He looked at Diane as if not expecting me to be able to answer.

  Add humiliation to my growing list of maladies. “I’m fine. I passed out and hit my head on the table. I’m sorry to have bothered you. I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have called. Now I’ve ruined your weekend.”

  Dark half-moons were stamped beneath his eyes, and I guessed he didn’t get much sleep on his trip. I didn’t want to know what—or who—had kept him awake. He folded his arms across his chest and tucked his hands under his armpits. “No, no, it’s okay. You didn’t ruin anything. We were actually planning to come back early.”

  I wondered if he was saying that to make me feel better or if the kids hated Callie so much he realized it was a huge mistake—or better yet, if he realized he hated Callie even more than they did. He didn’t elaborate. He just stared at me, a lot, especially for a man who had been hell-bent on avoiding me for months.

  Not satisfied with my explanation, he turned to Diane and asked her what happened. I shot her a warning look.

  “I don’t know,” she said, twisting and untwisting a strand of bright red hair around her finger. “After you called, I rushed over there and found her unconscious and bleeding from the head.”

  I flapped one hand at her ineffectually. “You’re making it sound much worse than it was.”

  “I’m making it sound exactly like it was.”

  Chase shifted and took a few steps back toward the door, and I recognized the protector—the father, the husband, the lover, the man whose job it was to take care of us. “Well, I want to know what caused this. Who’s the doctor? I want to speak with him and find out what happened.”

  Up went my hand again, a tiny surrender flag that none of the pirates in the room heeded. Well, this one would heed me now.

  “You can’t speak to my doctor, Chase,” I croaked. “No.”

  The pain of my own words hurt as much, if not more than the throbbing ache in my head. Had I spoken them out of anger or self-preservation? I had no idea.

  As if a curtain had dropped, the protector was gone. The lips I loved so much flattened.

  “You’re right. I didn’t mean to be so high-handed. If you’re up for it later, I’ll bring the kids by to visit, and I’ll keep them however long you need me to until you’re feeling better. Diane, thanks again.”

  He gave me a last cursory glance. “Feel better.”

  Then he turned and walked out.

  They released me the next day; I guess broken hearts don’t show up on X-rays. Chase kept the kids for a week and Callie—bless her selfish, conniving little heart—took the week off to take care of them and get to know them better.

  When that didn’t in itself cause me to have an aneurysm, the news two weeks later that they had gotten engaged almost did, but as devastating as that was, I couldn’t wallow in my pain. My primary concern remained the situation with Preston. For as much as Chase was hurting me by marrying Callie, I couldn’t bear for him to face that Zac might not be his son. Though I had to admit that it was possible, it sure as hell wouldn’t be fair.

  My psychic gut told me that Chase was Zac’s father. I’d share our son with him on holidays and do all the other things divorced parents had to do, but not with Preston. Just thinking about it made the edges of my vision blur and my head ache.

  I needed a plan, but I couldn’t tell anyone about this, not even Diane, for fear it would get back to Chase. I needed money desperately. A good lawyer would be expensive. Preston’s family probably had a stable full of lawyers on retainer.

  For the next few weeks, every time I checked the mail or the phone rang or there was a knock at the door, I expected it to be Preston’s attorneys demanding access to Zac’s DNA. But there was nothing.

  Then I got a text from Preston.

  Sorry about that little trip to the ER. Figured I’d give you some time to reconsider. Think about what I said. We’ll talk soon.

  The very fact that he knew what had happened after he left was disturbing and creepy. But at least for now, his little waiting game gave me time to try and raise some money. To keep him dangling on his end, I gave him a vague response.

  Thanks. You’ve given me a lot to think about.

  I was going to ask for more time, but I was afraid that would tip him off, and he’d figure out I was only dragging this out with no intention of taking him up on his disgusting offer.

  But in the meantime, I needed money.

  The first thing I did was pick up an extra shift at Blondie’s. Then I considered crawling back to Antoine and asking for more work. Maybe he had another client who might be interested in booking me for a photo shoot. Chase would never speak to me again. But who’s to say he’d ever find out, and second, what difference would it make? Callie was wearing his ring. Come early December, they’d be married.

  Still, I wanted to protect Chase from the pain this would cause. He might not love me anymore, but the reverse wasn’t true.

  Hopefully I could scrape together enough money for a lawyer without taking my clothes off, but if not, I needed to prepare myself mentally in case I did.

  And despite everyone it could end up hurting, if I’d believed for one second that sleeping with Preston would keep him away from Zac and Chase, I’d have done it, but I was no more to Preston than the diversion I’d always been.

  What Preston really wanted was a son. My son.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  October

  The Eagles were off to a great start with a 4-1 record, and I was looking forward to them trouncing the Giants. I’d picked up a case of Heineken. Despite this being one of my favorite matchups of the year, it also brought with it the memory of Rain in a skintight Giants jersey, tiny white shorts, cheering for Eli Manning and shaking her red, white, and blue pompoms in my face every time the Giants scored. Knowing it would be difficult, I planned to watch the game at home, alone.

  I had been stretched out on the couch, watching the pregame show on the big screen TV, one of the few splurges in my sparse apartment, when Callie had shown up with homemade wings and hot dogs. God bless her, she was trying, but she couldn’t cook to save her life. The wings were greasy and undercooked, and the sauce had so much vinegar, I nearly choked from inhaling it. When I could finally breathe again, I polished off three quick hotdogs, hoping not to hurt her feelings.

  The game had just started when she decided she wanted to chat.

  “Do you remember my friend Elizabeth?” she asked, tickling my arm and trying to get my attention.

  I shook my head and missed the coin toss.

  “You know, the one with the reddish hair?”

  “I don’t remember your friend. So
rry.”

  “Sure you do. Remember the party at Doug and Susan’s? She was the one who told that funny story about the cat and the jar of peanut butter.”

  “Sweetheart.” I glanced at her and smiled, “I don’t remember Elizabeth and I don’t know anyone named Doug or Susan. I’m trying to watch the game.” Not to be a total jerk, I pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head, hoping she’d get the hint.

  No such luck. “You’re impossible,” she said, pulling back so she could face me. “Anyway, she’s a real estate agent. I made an appointment for us to meet with her tomorrow after you’re done with work to go look at a couple houses. Surprise!”

  The Heineken bottle froze about a fraction of an inch from my lips.

  “I can’t afford to buy another house.”

  “What do you mean, another house? Didn’t Rain buy you out of your old house?”

  “Where would she get that kind of money?” I turned back to the game, but I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get to watch it.

  “You still own the house?”

  “We both do.”

  Given the way her mouth dropped open, this conversation was far from over. I went on the offensive, since I no longer had even the vaguest idea whether the Eagles or the Giants had the ball at this point.

  “My children live there. It’s their home.”

  “So your ex-wife just lives there off you scot-free?”

  “Not exactly.” My head was beginning to hurt.

  “What about our family?” I didn’t have to look at her to know she was pouting.

  “We don’t have a family. And I’m not sure I want any more kids. I told you that. I have two already, and they’re great kids. I want to make sure they have all the opportunities I did, including going to college. I can’t afford another kid, and I’m certain I can’t afford another house right now.”

  She pushed away from me. “Wait a minute. You’re putting money away for Izzy to go to college?”

  Any time Callie begrudged anything I did for my kids was like a damn beacon telling me this relationship would never work. I tried to speak evenly, despite the anger just beginning to simmer.

  “Because I’m her father, and I do the same for her as I do for Zac.”

  She shook her head and snorted. “No, you’re not. And if anyone should be putting money away for her to go to college, it should be Jeff. It’s about time he shows some responsibility—but why should he, knowing you’re ready do his job? Besides, if Izzy is anything like him or her mother, I doubt she’ll be going to college.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Who’s Jeff?” I’d momentarily forgotten the deadbeat’s name in the face of her attack on Izzy, who was an honor student.

  “What do you mean, ‘who’s Jeff’? Izzy’s real father. Rain never told you who Izzy’s father is?”

  Her tone was really beginning to irritate me.

  “It’s not something we discussed more than once. I looked at Izzy as my daughter and my responsibility from the beginning, so his name never came up. How would you know any of this?”

  She looked at me as if I were an idiot. “Um, everybody knows. Jeff was my high school boyfriend until Rain came along. We were together for three years, but I refused to sleep with him. But then Rain did—surprise, surprise—so he dumped me right before our senior prom. Then he had the nerve to take her instead. I didn’t even go to my own prom because of her.”

  Jesus. That was almost fifteen years ago. Talk about holding a grudge.

  “Wasn’t that around the time Rain’s father was killed? That was a rough time for her. I know she said she got a little wild after that.”

  She snorted. “Ha! Rain was always wild. Probably still is. C’mon, babe,” she added, her voice softening, maybe realizing she had somehow ventured onto thin ice, “you of all people should know her reputation. I’m surprised you never saw the notches on her bedpost.”

  I put my beer down and pulled on my boots. If I spoke, I wouldn’t be able to control what came out of my mouth.

  She gasped. “What are you doing? Are you seriously mad at me?”

  “I have some errands to run. Lock up when you leave.”

  “Chase!”

  I kept walking, slamming the door behind me.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  October

  It had been an unusually slow night, even for a Monday. With any luck, Irena would decide to close early, and I could go home, do a load of laundry, and maybe get to bed before midnight. I hadn’t even cleared fifty bucks in tips, but I was ready to cut my losses and go.

  Stifling a yawn, I grabbed the broom and started sweeping the far end of the bar. Irena normally cleaned after we closed, or in the morning before she opened, but I was afraid if I just stood there leaning against the bar, I might fall asleep standing up. Or even worse, keel over. Besides, it was better for me to stay busy. Although sweeping wasn’t exactly enough to keep my mind occupied.

  The door opened and a gust of wind scattered the dirt I’d just gathered up in several directions. So much for helping out. I leaned the broom against the wall near the silent jukebox and ducked behind the bar.

  When I saw who had sat down on the stool, I was sorry I hadn’t carried the broom with me. The words that hovered at the tip of my tongue wouldn’t serve me well, so I bit them back, nearly gagging as I swallowed them whole. The problem was, I couldn’t find anything to replace them, so I said nothing.

  Preston placed his elbows on the bar and leaned forward. “Don’t I get a ‘hello’?”

  “Hello, Preston. What can I get you?”

  The bastard laughed. “Such a loaded question, right?”

  It was hard not to react. There was no way I could fake a smile. And if I told him what I thought of him and his demands, it would make things worse. I schooled my face as best I could and just blinked my response.

  The bar was quiet, with just two customers in the corner and the Redskins and Cowboys silently battling it out on the TV in the corner. Irena had turned the sound off, and no one seemed to mind. Even the plink of the billiard balls crashing together seemed muted.

  Preston leaned across the bar as far as he could without actually getting off the stool, bringing himself close enough for me to see the want in his eyes and feel the desire radiating off him. “You know what I want, Rain. I want my son. And I wouldn’t mind having you back either.”

  Don’t talk! Don’t talk! I gnawed on my tongue, biting back the words I wanted to say and grasping for the ones that would buy me more time, but I had nothing. Instead, I went with pure emotion.

  “Please don’t do this. Zac’s not your son. He’s not.” The last thing I wanted Preston to see was weakness on my part, but tell that to my shaky voice.

  Wearing a cocky smile, he settled back. “That’s why we have lawyers, right? I’m surprised I haven’t heard from yours yet. Of course you won’t need one if you just agree to the paternity test. Think of all the money you’d save. And I’m very serious about my offer. If you want to stay in that little bungalow of yours, I’ll buy it. I’ll even sign the deed over to you. All you have to do is let me see my son. What could be easier?”

  “Did you want a drink, or did you just come in to harass me?”

  He looked at me with mock surprise. He was toying with me; he knew he had the upper hand, and he was determined to play it. “Harass you? C’mon, Rain. I don’t need to harass you. That’s what the lawyers are for. I came here for a drink with my favorite bartender, Miss February.” He dug out his wallet and threw a fifty on the bar. “A shot of tequila and one for the bartender.”

  “Not interested.”

  He followed with another fifty and tapped it with a neatly manicured finger. “Oh, you’re interested.”

  I willed my hands to stop shaking but they ignored me. Several drops of tequila splashed over the edge of the glass and onto the bar. I set a salt shaker in front of him and a wedge of lime on top of the glass.

  “Where’s yours?”


  “I told you. I’m not interested in drinking with you.”

  After a quick glance around the room, he grabbed my hand and pulled it across the bar. I tried to yank it away, but he had a solid grip on me. I could’ve yelled for Irena, or either of the men at the other end of the bar, but I couldn’t take the chance that Preston might explain why he was there. Instead, I let him run his tongue along the inside of my wrist and up my arm, cursing the goosebumps and salt that followed in its wake. He licked me again, did his shot, bit his lime, and then he dropped a kiss on the inside of my wrist. When he released me, I rushed to the bar sink and scrubbed my arm under the hottest water I could stand, listening to his laughter from behind me.

  When my skin was about ready to peel off, I looked up to see him standing at the door. “Be a good girl, Rain. You don’t want to make me angry.” Before he left, he gave me one more parting shot. “I’ll tell Barclay to give you a little more time, but then that’s it. I’m going all in.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  November

  Living in a constant state of fear had one unexpected side effect that worked in my favor: adrenaline. Working the equivalent of two full-time jobs was getting to me, but those fight or flight hormones kept me going. And I was leaning heavily toward fight, because flight wasn’t an option. Besides, where would we go? I’d never even been on a plane before.

  Over the past six weeks I’d been able to squirrel away over two thousand dollars. I cut corners wherever I could, including bringing leftovers from the restaurant home for dinner and doing my own hair and nails, until I eventually just gave up on the nails completely. My flirting rose to the shameless level, and my tips went up as well.

  If a boob shot earned me a twenty-dollar tip, then you could be damn sure I’d do it. I’d smile and fawn over the perv with the fat wallet. I’d become quite the little actress, even though the job I used to love was slowly torturing me. My stomach turned each time I pulled into the parking lot at Blondie’s. A part of me wished that Irena would ban body shots altogether, but then where would I be? What little self-esteem I had left high-tailed it out of there as soon as I began prostituting myself for tips.