LaClaire Touch

by Dori Lavelle

  I manage to decipher the message she’s trying to tell me with her frantic hand gestures. “Go,” she mouths.

  I stare at her, wanting her to read from my expression that I can’t leave Leon and make her stay home from work.

  I close the door just enough to hide my face from Derrick and turn to Allison. “I don’t want anything to do with him.”

  “You need closure. Go and get it.” Her whisper is so loud I wouldn’t be surprised if Derrick heard.

  I let out a breath, and open the door wide again. “Where do you want to meet me?”

  “Be at The LaClaire Restaurant in an hour.” He plants his hands on both sides of the door. “Brooke, I prefer your real hair. You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” I say reluctantly and close the door. I glare at Allison, who looks pleased with herself. “Why did you put me on the spot like that?”

  “Like I said, you need closure. You’ll never get past this if you don’t talk to him. Your anger toward him is eating you up inside.”

  “I’ve had this anger for years and I’m fine.”

  “Look,” she tightens the towel around her body. “You’re not doing this for him. If you ever choose to forgive him, you’re doing it for yourself. Forgiveness is a form of healing.”

  “I don’t know what I’ll say to him,” I say, my shoulders slumping forward.

  “You don’t have to hide your feelings. Be as honest as you can, pour out your anger. Let him deal with it.”

  “Fine.” I run a hand through my hair. “But I can’t promise I’ll tell him about Eric. He made the choice not to be a part of my son’s life.”

  “I guess seeing him is a good start.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be able to stay home today? Seriously, I really don’t have to go. You and Leon are my priority, not Derrick.”

  “No, it should be fine. I’ll get a substitute teacher to teach my geography class. You go and do what you have to do.”

  “Actually, there’s no reason why you should stay home the entire day. The LaClaire is not far from here. I should be back in about an hour. You could still go to work then, if you want.”

  “That would work. Thanks so much.” She chews on a fingernail as she always does when uncomfortable. “But Brooke, after today, I think you should return to your apartment.” She pauses. “Don’t get me wrong. We love having you here. It’s just that you shouldn’t let him stop you from living.”

  “You’re right,” I say. “You’re so right. I won’t let him chase me out of my own home.”

  18

  Brooke

  I walk into The LaClaire Restaurant to find it empty except for two waitresses. No customers are sitting around the damask-covered tables under the crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling.

  My heart lightens. Did Derrick decide not to come after all? He’s not here and I happen to be ten minutes late.

  I consider walking back out the door before he shows up. If he really wanted to talk, he would have been here. Avoiding eye contact with the waitresses, I turn to head back to the glass doors.

  A woman’s voice stops me in my tracks. I turn around to find a forty-something-year-old woman walking toward me with a warm smile.

  “Are you Miss Rayner?”

  “Yes, I am.” I shift, wanting to ignore her and walk away.

  “Mr. LaClaire is waiting for you on the terrace. You can go right ahead.”

  I curse inwardly but nod. “Thanks.” I hold my handbag closer to my body and follow her through the empty restaurant, nodding at the other waitresses as they greet me.

  The first thing I see, once we exit the interior dining area, is a buffet of everything one can imagine to have for breakfast, at the table where Derrick is sitting.

  “You’re late.” He gets to his feet. “But it’s fine. I have all the time in the world.”

  He pulls out a chair for me and I sink into it before my knees give way. “I don’t.”

  “I appreciate you coming to meet me.” He sits back in his chair. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt with blue white-washed jeans. He looks fresh and relaxed.

  Hot fury flushes through my body. He has lived his life so carefree, doing what he likes while I went through hell. “Please have something to eat while we talk. I thought maybe you might be hungry.”

  I place my handbag on my lap and hug it, needing something to comfort me, to shield me from my discomfort. “It’s okay, I’m not hungry.” I try not to look at all the food, try not to smell the bacon, the eggs.

  “You sure?”

  “I’ll just have a drink.” I reach for a glass of orange juice, the glass cold beneath my fingers as I lift it to my lips. It takes all my energy to keep it from sloshing as my hands shake. I take a sip and put it down again. “What do you want from me?”

  He leans back in his chair. “First, I want to tell you that I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what exactly, Derrick?”

  “I didn’t have the right to follow you and to show up at your friend’s place unannounced. I went too far.”

  “You’re right, you had no right.” I drink more juice, the coolness melting the heat of anger building in my belly. “I wish you would leave me alone.”

  “Look, I let you down. I was a kid and I was a jerk. But the fact that you’re working at The Mirage tells me that you’re having some kind of troubles and even though we’re not friends or anything, I do care about you.”

  “Care about me?” My eyes blaze in his direction. “Suddenly you care about me?”

  “Yes, I do.” He flings out a beige napkin and places it on his knee. He pours himself a coffee. Through the steam rising from the cup, I watch his face. There’s no remorse there. “Why is that so hard to believe?” he asks.

  “You’re such an asshole. You think I can close my eyes and pretend the past never happened?”

  He puts down the cup and reaches across the table for my hands but I snatch them away, almost knocking over the orange juice. “Don’t you dare touch me!”

  “I had no idea I hurt you this bad.” He rubs the back of his neck. “For what it’s worth, I truly am sorry. I know it’s coming a little too late, but I really hoped you would still take my apology and allow me to make it up to you.”

  “I don’t know what you can do to make it up to me. Too much has happened.” I push back my chair and get to my feet. “I’m sorry, I can’t look at you. It hurts too much.”

  I blink away the moisture clouding my eyes. I refuse for him to see my pain. “I never want to see you again. If you dare follow me again, I will call the police.” I step away from the table and turn to leave.

  “I know you’re in financial trouble.” He pauses to allow his words to sink in. “You’re in debt.”

  I turn around slowly, fire burning in my chest. “You’re getting into my business now? You’re so full of shit.” My temperature rises as I imagine him making calls to find out private information about me.

  “You wouldn’t talk to me, so I had to find out what’s going on.” He leans back in his chair. “I want to help. Let me pay off everything you owe.”

  As much as I want to rush out of the restaurant, I can’t move. So I stand there, frozen, goosebumps scattering on my arms. “You . . . You want to pay—”

  “It’s the least I can do. Please, come and sit . . . talk to me.”

  I do as he says only because my legs won’t let me stand longer and I’m too shocked by his offer to even do something as simple as walking. “Who gave you the right to get into my business?” I should be glad, grateful that he wants to help, grateful that I no longer have to do things I’m not proud of to pay off my debts and save for college. But at the same time, he has invaded my privacy. He opened the door to my life and walked right in like he owns it.

  “You need help. I have the money, and I’d be glad to spend it on you.” His eyes soften as he reaches for my hand again. The heat of his hand seeps through my skin and I want to pull away but I can’t. I’m fro
zen. I’m not sure how I feel at this moment. I’m both furious and relieved. I lean forward and rest my head on the table, my eyes closed. He puts a hand at the back of my head and I lift my face, smothering a sob. “Why are you doing this? Why now?” I whisper.

  “It’s hard for me to imagine you selling your body for money. You must’ve gone through a lot.”

  “What do you know about my life? What do you know about what I went through?”

  “Not much, I have to admit. I’m sorry, Brooke.”

  I shake my head. “Why should I accept your money?”

  “Would you rather be drowning in debt than accept my help?” He reaches for his phone. “I know it was wrong to get in your business but—”

  “Damn right, it’s none of your business.” I clench my hands, my nails digging into my palms. “You know what? Fine. I’ll take your money, but I want to pay you back every penny.”

  “I don’t want you to pay me back. It’s a gift. I’m offering you my help, expecting nothing in return.” His phone rings. He glances at it but does not pick up. “I’m not asking anything from you. I can have the money wired to your account by tomorrow morning. After today, you don’t even have to see me again. But, promise me, to never go back to The Mirage. Start over. There are so many things you can still do with your life.”

  “There are many things I wanted to do with my life, but I didn’t get the chance because I had to focus on survival. If I choose to return to The Mirage, it’s my choice. And I will pay you back. I don’t care how long it takes. I refuse to be indebted to you. You never wanted to be a part of our lives and I don’t know why that should change now.” I swipe away the tears, furious at them for unveiling my weakness. “I needed you.” I choke on the words. “He needed you.”

  A crease appears between his eyebrows. “What are you saying? Who needed me?”

  “Eric, that’s who. He needed you and you were not there. You chose not to be there. So why are you here now? Is your guilt too heavy to bear?”

  “Who the fuck is Eric?” His phone rings again and he presses a button to silence it, eyes filled with questions. “What’s going on here?”

  I moisten my lips. Of course he doesn’t know Eric’s name because I never told him. “Eric . . . our son.” I purse my lips. “The name reminded me of—”

  “Derrick.” The phone falls from his hand and hits the table with a thud. When he speaks, his voice is damaged. “Our son?”

  19

  Derrick

  “I have a son?” A few little words and my head feels about to explode. “How could that be? We used a condom.” I search through my memories of the day we had sex, looking for a clue as to how she could have gotten pregnant, but I don’t recall the condom breaking. Could I have put it on wrong? A manufacturing error perhaps?

  She narrows her eyes, confusion clouding her features. “I don’t know the answer to that question. All I know is that I got pregnant and you were the—” she chews on her bottom lip. “You were the first guy I slept with.”

  Her revelation pushes me off the roller coaster that’s my emotions and I hit the ground hard. “I’m so sorry . . . I had no idea.” Now I feel like even more of a dick for fucking her and walking away.

  She leans forward in her chair, her eyes darkening. “What game are you playing, Derrick?”

  I push myself to my feet, plant my hands on the table. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that question?” Overcome with rage and confusion, I stumble back until my back hits the cool, metal railing of the terrace. My hands grip the railing so tight, the blood drains from my knuckles.

  Brooke’s eyes widen at the same time her cheeks fill with color. Beads of tears tremble on her eyelids. “I don’t understand.”

  “That makes two of us,” I shoot back.

  “You knew about Eric.” She shakes her head. “Why the hell are you pretending not to know?” The hurt and confusion in her eyes and words gives me pause but I charge forward in my anger, seeing only red. I move forward again, grab the edge of the table. “How would I know? You never said a word. You went away, remember? You disappeared from Magnolia High without saying a word. So tell me, how exactly should I know about the pregnancy?”

  She gets to her feet but sinks back into her chair, moving her hands up and down her upper arms, rubbing away the goosebumps. “I told you.” Her whisper is broken. “I told you, Derrick.” Maybe she thinks if she repeats it enough times, I’ll believe it. The only thing it does, is infuriate me even more.

  I pull out my chair hard and crash into it. I grab a cup, fill it with coffee and drain it while it’s still a bit too hot. If only the caffeine could drive off the headache erupting inside my head. “Repeat that. Repeat what you just said.” I lean forward, barely seeing her through the sudden blur in my vision.

  “I said I told you and you didn’t want to be involved. You said you had other plans for your life, that you were not ready to be a father.” She grabs a napkin and blows her nose then crumples it in her hand, clenching it tight.

  I swipe a hand across my mouth. “That’s ridiculous. How could I have said those words to you when we didn’t talk since—”

  “You said it in a letter.” She jams a hand into her bag and pulls out a clear bag with torn papers inside. A knot at the top keeps everything contained.

  She dumps the plastic bag on the table and points at it with a trembling finger. “There, those are your words.”

  My phone rings as I reach for the bag. Cursing under my breath, I pick up. “What?”

  “Hey, Derrick, it’s me, Bryant. Why the fuck won’t you pick up your calls? I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.” Bryant’s voice sounds strained on the other end.

  “This is not a good time.” I grit my teeth. “I have a life, too, in case you didn’t notice.”

  “Put it on pause. Lance needs you. He needs us.”

  I rise again and walk over to the railings. My eyes focus on the spray fountain below. “What’s up with him?”

  “He’s in the hospital. He overdosed on his pain medication.”

  My hand clutches the railing as the blood drains from my face. “Is he okay?” My voice is a rumble inside my throat.

  “He’s stable but he’s being kept in the hospital for the next few days for observation. I think we should all change our plans and get to Cabo sooner than planned.”

  “You think it was intentional?”

  “He says no, but who the hell knows? But it happened. Now we have to get through it as a family.”

  “I agree.” I glance at Brooke for a moment before turning away again. “I’ll be on my way. Where are you?”

  “We’re in Hawaii. But we’ll be leaving immediately.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You think he’ll be fine until we get there?”

  “Jia is watching him like a hawk. I also had a chat with the doctors. He’s in great hands.

  “That’s good. I’ll be on my way soon.”

  As soon as we hang up, I call the LaClaire jet pilot. “Get the plane ready. We’re flying to Mexico. We should be in the air within an hour.”

  After the call, I return my attention to Brooke. I’m still reeling from her news.

  “My brother, Lance, is in the hospital in Mexico. I have to go and see him.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” The dagger of steel has disappeared from her voice. “Go and be with your brother. There’s nothing more for us to talk about, anyway.”

  “Wrong.” I pour myself another coffee and down it. “My driver will take you to your place. Pack a bag, get my son, and we’ll continue this conversation on the plane.”

  “That’s not possible. I have—”

  “I don’t care what you have to do. Make it happen. You owe me that much. If it’s work you’re worried about, I’ll pay you for your time.”

  “Don’t you get it? I cannot go to Mexico with you.” She pushes back her shoulders. “I won’t put my life on hold because Derrick LaClaire demands it.” />
  “I’m paying off your debts. You no longer need that job.”

  “I’ll be the one to decide that.” She runs a hand through her hair. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

  “Fine.” Annoyance scorches the back of my throat. “Get on the plane with me—you and my son—and once we reach Mexico, you can either decide to stay in Cabo or the pilot will bring you back here. If that’s what you want.” I set my jaw so tight it aches. “This conversation is going to happen, whether you want it or not. Make sure you bring my kid.” Before I speak again, I run my tongue around my mouth to combat the dryness. “I also need your account details.”

  To my surprise, she nods and pushes her chair back.

  “One of my drivers is waiting for you outside the restaurant. I’ll see you at the jet in half an hour.”

  Brooke doesn’t speak as she walks away without looking back. Watching her disappear into the restaurant, I call Bruce to give him the instructions.

  My eyes fall onto the plastic bag with the torn papers. As though in slow motion, I lift it from the table, raising it to the level of my eyes, studying its contents without opening it.

  Having no time to deal with this right now, I stuff it into my pocket and rush out of the restaurant and into the underground garage, where I’d parked my Mercedes E-class, three months ago.

  As I drive through town, Brooke’s words ring over and over in my ears. Eric. Eric. Eric. I have a son and his name is Eric and I’m only finding out now?

  One day of passion made me a father and I was none the wiser. I feel insulted and betrayed, but at the same time, the core of my heart is heating up with something I’ve never experienced before. Something warm, comforting.

  I’d never planned on having children, not for a while at least. I’m only twenty-four, for God’s sake. But weirdly enough, I’m not reacting the way I thought I would in this kind of situation. Fear is the last thing on my mind.

  20

  Brooke