“She was really pretty.” Why stop now? I snooped.
“You saw her?” The shock in his voice isn’t hard to miss.
“I may have crept on Facebook a little.”
His lips quirk up, finding great pleasure that I cared enough to snoop.
“I deleted my account after I graduated.”
“I know. Me too.”
“You tried to find me?” The hope in his eyes breaks my heart, because even if I had found his page, I doubt I would have made contact.
“I saw some pictures of you with your fiancée.”
“Ex-fiancée,” he clarifies, but that fact does nothing to ease my anxiety.
“Why?” I ask, ignoring him.
“I don’t know. I still wasn’t in the best place with Bayli. We started dating, and before I could get a handle on what was happening, she was talking marriage. I thought if I pushed a new life hard enough, I’d forget.” He twists the water bottle in his hands, his fingers fiddling with the label.
“Forget what?” My fork moves around the mashed potatoes, I’m suddenly not very hungry.
“You, Taylor. Forget you.”
My eyes sting as they fill with tears. I can’t compose my emotions fast enough. My fork drops with a ping on the table and I lean back in the chair. Brad takes the opportunity to capture my hand and wrapping it securely between his.
“I was afraid to come back and apologize. I was afraid I’d hurt you again, so I stayed away and tried to force you out of my mind. But I promise you this and your heart can trust it: You are the only woman I’ve ever loved.” I swallow the golf-ball-size lump in my throat at his confession.
My hand drops and I close my eyes, trying to bury the exhilaration pumping through me. Failing, I abruptly stand from the table and grab a hold of the counter. The edge digs into the flesh of my palm and I concentrate on that pain instead of the one ripping at my heart.
“It hurt so much, Brad.” One tear leaks out and I continue staring at his truck in my driveway through the small window above the sink. “You hurt me.”
I hear the sliding of his chair against my linoleum floor and his hesitant footsteps padding toward me. My heart pounds a little harder in my chest, waiting for him to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. He rests his hands on my shoulders, his chin on top of my head. More tears fall from my eyes, dropping into the sink. He doesn’t verbally promise me anything; however, his silence says enough, that maybe it hurt him the same way it hurt me.
“How do we overcome our past?” I whisper.
“Together.” His fingertips clutch my shoulder a little tighter and his lips kiss the top of my head. “Together.”
Brad
IT’S BEEN FOUR DAYS, AND Taylor’s worked every one of them. She’s allowed me to pick up Emerson from daycare. Lucky for me, the only late day I have lessons is the one with Emerson on my schedule. All others are during the day. Taylor and I haven’t grown much closer since she’s usually exhausted by the time she returns home. She eats and drifts off to sleep on the couch. Last night, I carried her to bed, wishing like hell I could climb in right next to her. But I can’t. She’s not mine. Yet. Truly, I need a night out with just her if we’re going to move on from our past.
The most recent terror in this whole ‘I have a daughter and want a family’ is that I don’t have a job which enables me to provide for them. So, that’s why I’m here, outside the building where my dreams shattered. The same place my darkest demons continue to hide.
Trying not to let the feelings of inadequacy I struggle with surface, I hurriedly swing the doors open. There’s Coach, screaming with his hands clasped to the top of his head. I lay low, watching him coach by insult. It’s his tactic, and I can’t deny it worked. He can claim he coached an Olympian now. That’s a killer on a resume. But then again, he coached a cheater too.
Coach’s eyes find me leaning against the wall and a smug smirk crosses his lips. He knew one day I’d come groveling back. The whistle moves to his lips and he blows it long and hard to grab the guys’ attention. All swimming stops and the waves slow to ripples.
“Well, boys, looks like we have a visitor,” he announces and turns his body my way like I’m today’s entertainment. The heads twist and recollection flares on a few of their faces, while others are blank. I’m sure my reputation isn’t dead. In the ‘don’t do this shit’ category.
I kick off the wall and break toward them, careful not to slip on the wet concrete. At least I took off my shoes before coming in. If not, Coach would have had my head for sure.
By the time I make it across the pool, the guys are whispering to one another. The ones who know me tell the ones who don’t about my past. Coach looks me up and down.
“You put on some weight, Ashby?”
I glance down at my well-trimmed body and laugh. I don’t bother arguing his point. He’s a life line for me right now.
“Maybe a little.”
“I can assure you it’s more than a little.”
I eye the stomach straining over his blue athletic shorts, but I don’t comment on his weight gain over the past two years.
“Give me fifteen minutes and we’ll talk.” He blows the whistle and I tilt my head, covering my ear. Shit, I know he did that on purpose.
Still popping my jaw to retrieve my hearing, I slide back and squat down against the wall. I cannot watch these guys swim their laps and not remember when I thought my dreams were an arm’s reach away. In the early years, Tanner and I would go from swimming practice to the bar, all the girls fawned over us and treated us like college royalty. Hell, they practically begged to come over to our place. Then came that frat party when Taylor spilled her drink all over my shirt.
At first, she was just another sorority girl that I’d flashed my eyes at, shown my muscles to, and flirted my way into her bed. Truthfully, I did. I promised her later, I’d never tell anyone how she slept with me that night. It didn’t take much to persuade her, but afterwards, when we were laying in my bed, her vulnerability about how scared she was of what others would think of her stuck with me. In the past, all the girls I slept with practically texted their friends before they got dressed, but her, she didn’t want a soul to know that she’d allowed me to take her home.
That night, I kissed her good-bye, and assumed I’d never see her again. My life was too busy and my dreams too big to be tied down to one girl. In a campus of tens of thousands, how would our paths ever cross again? They hadn’t before that night, at least from what I knew. How foolish that thinking was though, because the next day, when I turned around after buying my coffee in the student center, there she was, biting her lip as her eyes glowed with seduction like she was remembering the highlights of the night before. I asked her to sit with me and she accepted. By the time our coffees were cold, I’d asked her to dinner. Like everything else up to that point, she’d accepted my invitation without hesitation. She’d never played hard to get, and I loved how she’d wanted to spend time with me as much as I did with her. Quickly, we were inseparable. She’s all I thought of, all I wanted, and I even nestled her into my future plans. Then, I fucked it up.
Hands clap in front of me. “Ashby!” Coach screams, pulling me from the memory of Taylor and me.
“Shit. Sorry.” I shake my head to surface back to the here and now. The swim team is shuffling to the locker rooms, some glancing back at me and whispering to others. I feel like I should raise my hand and just announce myself like I’m in an AA meeting.
“Let’s go back to my office.” He swings his clipboard down, and doesn’t offer me a hand up. I expected as much.
I follow him past the pool, through the locker room doors, and straight to his office. The whole time, memories are coming back to me, and I miss Tanner more than a guy should. Half our college years were spent here razzing each other.
The slap of the clipboard on his desk startles me. His office chair squeaks when he sits down, propping his feet up on the edge of the desk, his eyes peerin
g over at me.
I slide into a chair in front of him after I close the door. The air in the small room tenses. I rub my sweaty palms down my jeans and attempt to hold his pissed-off gaze. The worst part is it’s not as much pissed off as it is disappointed.
“What are you looking for?”
“An opportunity.” I’m honest.
“Why should I give you one?”
“Please, Coach. Do you know anyone who might be looking for an assistant? I miss the water,” I beg for any opportunity, inching forward in my seat.
“I can make some phone calls, but your reputation proceeds you.” He reminds me of the nightmare of a life I made for myself two years ago. “But I’ll see.”
He’s being a hell of a lot nicer than I thought he would be.
“Thanks, Coach. I truly appreciate it.”
He nods and then puts on his reading glasses and studies the paper lying on his desk. He tosses a piece of paper and pen my way.
“Write your name and number down,” he mindlessly instructs, concentrating on whatever he’s reading. “Then you can excuse yourself.”
I do what he says, and my hand is on the doorknob before he speaks again. “You look good, Ashby. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working,” he mumbles to the newspaper and a small smile creases my lips.
“Thanks, Coach. You look good too,” I say, and he huffs.
“I’ve gained thirty pounds and developed high blood pressure, but thanks for the bullshit as always, Ashby.”
I shake my head and sneak through the door, crossing my fingers he can find a lead of something where I can coach or do anything in the water. I’m not meant to spend my days behind a desk inside some stifling office building.
The door clicks behind me and I weave through the locker room, again with the whispers at my back, but I can’t be upset. I’m the one who gave them the ammunition to fire my way.
I’m out of the pool house on the way to my truck when my phone dings in my pocket at the same time someone hollers my name.
“Brad Ashby?” they question, and I pull my phone out of my pocket, seeing a number I don’t recognize. Clicking ignore, I wait for the young kid in shorts and a T-shirt to catch up to me. His hair is black and wet, his face flushed and red. There’s something familiar about him though.
“That’s me.” I stuff my hands in my pockets, hearing the ding of a voicemail on my phone.
“Hey. I’m Cayden Mendes. I’m Greg’s brother.” He pants, catching his breath.
Greg was my teammate and a year younger, which means he must have graduated last year. In the haste of my life’s turmoil, I lost track of everyone on the swim team, but Tanner.
“Really. How is Greg? I haven’t talked to him in years. He was going for Architecture, right?” I recall the small fact I remember about a guy who was my drinking partner at parties.
“Um . . . he died.” The kid’s face pales at the same time my stomach drops.
“What?” I lean closer, as though I didn’t hear him right.
“He got in a car accident last year right after graduation.” His voice lowers and my heart breaks for this kid. Thoughts of if anything ever happened to Piper wiggle into my conscious before I can shut them down.
“Jesus. I’m sorry, Cayden. He was a great guy.” He was always ready to stand beside me in the fights between us and the football players. You always knew he had your back. “Please give your family my condolences.” I place my hand on his shoulder, and his chin falls to his chest.
“Thank you. He always bragged about you. What a great swimmer you were.”
“Not that good,” I correct.
“I’m sure you have a really busy life, but can I ask you something?”
The hope in this kid’s eyes has me agreeing before he asks.
“My brother had been working with me. I think I’m about to be cut, and I need someone to train me. Even if it’s only one time, would you be willing to work with me? Tell me where I need improvements—?”
I laugh and hold up my hand to stop his rambling. “Sure.”
“Sure? Really?” His body starts fidgeting and I wait for him to take flight somehow he’s so damn excited.
“Yeah. I have some time.” More time than he knows. I pull out my phone, seeing that voicemail button marked with a one. “What’s your phone number?”
Cayden tells me and I type it in my phone, then text him so he has mine.
“Message me your schedule and we’ll work out a time. When are cuts?”
“Three weeks.”
“Okay. Don’t sweat it. We’ll get you there.” I clasp him on the shoulder again. “I’m really sorry about Greg, Cayden. He was a great guy.” I repeat what I’d said, unable to form words that express my sincerity.
“Yeah, he was. Thank you, Brad.” His eyes light up and a smile crosses my lips at how happy my agreement made the kid.
“Sure. Text me tonight and we’ll get a time down.” I back step to my truck as the kid rushes back inside to the warmth of the building.
Pressing my voicemail key, the first thing I hear is Emerson’s screaming. It’s Mrs. Allen.
“Hi, Brad. This is Mrs. Allen. Emerson has a fever and I can’t seem to get a hold of Taylor. I can’t have her here with the other kids. I’ll wait for a minute, and then I guess I’ll call Sam.”
I click off to not listen to the message anymore. Like fuck she’s calling Sam.
The phone rings as I jog the last steps to my car, climbing in, and starting it up. Finally, after numerous rings, she picks up.
“Hello, Brad. No worries, I called Sam and he’s on his way.”
Bile rises my throat. I guess when she says a minute, she means sixty seconds.
“No, no. I’m coming.” I look at the clock, realizing I’m more than an hour away. “Can you just keep her there for like an hour?”
“An hour?” Her voice shrills. “I’m sorry, I can’t. The other children. We’ll just have Sam come, and then you two can meet up.”
I have no choice. The lady won’t budge as much as I wish she would. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll get a hold of Taylor.”
We say our good-byes and I can’t dial Taylor’s number fast enough. While I wait for her to answer, my anger brews more intense. I hate this vulnerable feeling. The protectiveness that she’s my daughter pores through me and quickly my vision narrows into one line. I’m her father, not Sam.
“Hi,” she answers.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Hi, Brad.”
“Taylor. Where have you been?”
I repeat my question in the same accusative voice.
“I’m working. If this is about Em, I know. Sorry, she shouldn’t have bothered you.”
My anger boils, spilling out everywhere.
“No, she should have. I’m her goddamn father. Fuck, Taylor.”
I hear her suck in her breath over the receiver, and I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t calm me.
“What is wrong, Brad?” she asks, and I hear the receiver muffle as she talks to someone else. “Okay, sorry. I’m going outside.”
The sliding doors of the hospital alert me she’s outside. “What’s wrong? How about the fact that some guy is picking up my daughter. Or that you said she shouldn’t have bothered me. She’s mine, Taylor.”
“And mine, Brad. And it isn’t some guy. It’s Sam. The guy she’s known—”
She stops herself and I’m thankful, because I might just throw my phone out the window of my truck, which is currently going seventy-five miles per hour.
“Don’t say it, Taylor,” I seethe.
“I wasn’t going to. She’s sick, Brad. I know you were going to the University to talk to Coach Kass. I was only apologizing because I didn’t want her to interrupt you.” Her voice lowers, and I wonder if she has someone around her.
“The fact that you think I wouldn’t want to be bothered that my daughter is sick pisses me off, Taylor. Straight up. I can’t believe you would say that.
” I inhale another breath, considering the thought that’s been lingering in my head the past few days. The same thought Dylan told me to hold off on and not mention to Taylor. But I can’t sit back and not have any control over it anymore. Still Dylan’s voice, ‘Give it awhile. It’s only been a week,’ rings in my mind, but I can’t wait any longer.
“I want custody,” I rush out, my voice much calmer than before.
Silence seeps over the line, but I hear her breathing.
“Brad, we need to talk more,” she says, but I’m shaking my head, even though she can’t see me.
“No, we don’t. Taylor, I really hope things work out between us, and I want you both in my future, but I need to know Emerson will always be.” My heart breaks because I’m sure I’m shattering Taylor again, but I can’t idly sit back and let another man take care of my daughter.
“Let’s just talk about it, work it out between us. It’s only been a short time, Brad.”
I pull over on the side of the highway, needing to calm down.
“I don’t like him around her.”
Another long pause of silence on the other end.
“Please, Brad. We can handle this together.”
I’m surprised on how even keeled my voice is when I open my mouth to respond.
“I need an answer to a question, Taylor.” My car rattles as another truck breezes by. I take her silence as a sign to keep going. “Would you have ever sought me out and told me about her?”
She gasps, and I don’t think I’m going to get an answer from her.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“God, Brad. Can we please not do this over the phone?” I hear how upset she is, but all rationality I have is slipping away from me.
The thought of Sam having my daughter is like fifty knives stabbing me. “Tell Sam I’ll meet him at the house. I’ll be there when you get out of work. We’ll talk then.” I hang up, unable to hear the bullshit she’s spouting. She was never going tell me I had a daughter, but she’s mistaken if she thinks I’m going to let Sam try to slide into my spot. I’ve missed two years, and I’m not missing anymore, even if I have to pay through the nose in attorney fees.
Love Rekindled (Love Surfaced) Page 9
