Mrs. February (The Calendar Girl Duet Book 2)

by Karen Cimms

  “Stuffed cabbage?” He set the plant on the coffee table, followed me into the kitchen, and gave me a somewhat perfunctory kiss. “That’s a lot of work for a weeknight.”

  “I know, which is why I made it at work,” I answered, disappointed by that kiss. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  Before he could answer, he was practically tackled by Zac.

  “Hey, buddy.” He swooped down and kissed Zac on top of the head, then mussed his hair.

  “Are you sleeping over?” Zac asked.

  Chase glanced at me, then at Zac. “Can I sleep in your bed?”

  “No.” Zac looked at him like he was crazy. “You should sleep in your own bed. With Mommy.”

  “Go wash up for dinner,” I told him.

  “I did.” He held out wet hands to prove it.

  “Then go get your sister.”

  When he’d raced off, Chase looked at me. “I know you don’t want to rush anything.”

  “I’m so afraid if we can’t work things out, it’s going to be devastating for them after giving them some hope.” I chewed on my lower lip.

  “It would be more devastating for me.” He hooked his fingers into the loops of my jeans, pulled me to him and gave me the kiss I’d been hoping for when he first walked through the door. “We’re going to work things out. I’ll do whatever it is I need to so that happens, I promise. I’m already seeing a therapist, and I’m trying to understand my jealousy. I was never like this before I met you. I think in part it’s because of Jennifer and Gary, and also . . .” He sighed, and his breath ghosted my lips. “You’re just so damn sexy. I know what guys are thinking, and it makes me kinda crazy.”

  “Kinda?”

  His lip curled into a smirk. “A lot crazy, then. But I’m working on it.”

  The kids were arguing over something as they came down the hall. “We’ll just tell them we’re working it and we can’t promise anything,” I said. “That’s honest and the best we can do.”

  His hands rose up to my waist. “I told Dylan I was leaving early tomorrow. He wasn’t too happy, but I don’t give a shit. If your mother can get the kids, we can spend a few hours together, hash things out.”

  I wasn’t certain we’d be able to hash things out in a few stolen hours, but I agreed.

  After dinner, the kids scrambled into the back seat of Chase’s new truck, and we took a ride around town to see the Christmas lights. Their happy chatter filled the cab, blending with the Christmas music coming from the radio. Chase took my hand. It was warm and comforting, and in that moment it seemed like everything was right with the world. It was so tempting to just let everything be and to pick up where we’d left off, but it wasn’t possible.

  Because even beyond the sound of my children’s laughter and the tinkle of jingle bells, I could hear the ticking of a clock, and the longer I waited, the louder it grew.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen. I arranged the cookies I’d swiped from the restaurant on a plate and set it on the kitchen table. It looked like I was having a friend over for coffee, not preparing to engage in a serious discussion with my ex-husband about our future. I eyed the liquor cabinet over the fridge, but before I could help myself to a little liquid courage, Chase was knocking at the front door.

  “You have a key,” I said as I let him in.

  “I know. I just don’t feel right using it . . . yet.” He gave me a quick smile.

  “Coffee?”

  He eyed the cookies. “Yeah, sure.”

  “I have beer, if you’d rather. Or whiskey.” I knew he’d prefer a beer, but he wouldn’t say so.

  “Coffee’s fine.” He selected a peanut butter blossom from the plate on the center of the table.

  I placed a steaming mug in front of him and carried mine to the opposite end of the table. This was like the scene in the Fifty Shades of Grey movie where Ana and Christian negotiate the terms of their relationship. Was that what we were doing? Negotiating? I wished it could be as easy as saying I’m sorry and moving on, but we were long past that.

  “Since you set this whole thing in motion,” I said, “I think you’re the one who should start, because honestly I’m still not quite sure what happened.”

  He looked confused, so I continued.

  “I mean, I know there was a huge misunderstanding about that day when I told you to get out, but you jumped to some wild conclusions, and like I explained in numerous emails, I have no idea why.” I struggled to keep my voice steady. We had barely started, and I was already getting emotional. “I still can’t understand why you never answered me.”

  He stared into his mug as if all the answers could be found there. Sadness rose from him in waves. “I never read them. None of them. Not until the night before the wedding.”

  My fingers tightened around the dish towel I’d pulled into my lap, twisting the fabric into a tight rope.

  “I told you I deleted them, as well as all your voicemails, but that wasn’t true. They were saved on my laptop. I stayed awake all night that night reading every last one. Listened to each voicemail.” It was his turn to struggle. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

  “—an ass.”

  His head shot up, but his features quickly smoothed into acceptance.

  Diane had been right. He was stubborn and pig-headed, and as a result, he’d nearly destroyed us. “You’re an ass, Chase.”

  “I know.”

  Despite how badly I wanted to forgive him, I found myself getting angrier. Agreeing with me wasn’t good enough. “So is that why you called off the wedding? My emails?”

  He picked up another cookie, but instead of biting it, he contemplated it. If I’d known the answers to our problems were located in some pilfered cookies, I would have brought things home more often.

  His eyes met mine, and I could see that he really didn’t know the answer. “I don’t think so. After my accident, I started seeing a therapist. Partly because of this ridiculous jealousy, but mostly because I couldn’t get over you.”

  I couldn’t keep from frowning. “If you were still in love with me, why wouldn’t you talk to me? You rushed right out and started seeing someone else. Jesus, Chase. You started dating Callie back in February.” My voice shot up. “Want to know what I did for Valentine’s Day while you were moving on? I cried myself to sleep.”

  He shook his head vehemently. “I didn’t start dating Callie until after you signed the divorce papers.”

  “That’s not true,” I cried, challenging him. “Wally said you had a blind date on Valentine’s Day.”

  “I didn’t even know what the hell day it was. Lorraine invited me for dinner. When I got there, Callie was there. I could tell it was a setup, and I wasn’t interested. Callie called me a couple times after that, and once she invited me to some hospital dinner she had to go to, said her date canceled at the last minute. I wasn’t doing anything except going crazy, so I went. I didn’t touch her. When she tried to get me to dance, I couldn’t. She wasn’t you, and I didn’t want the memory of you in my arms tainted by someone else. I didn’t hear from her again after that. A few days after you signed the divorce papers, and I had to face that it was really over, I called her.” His eyes held mine, and I could feel his pain seeping into mine. “After I sobered up.”

  My eyes dropped to my cup. I’d had little more than a sip, but I stood and grabbed the pot anyway, topping off my mug before pouring more into Chase’s as well.

  “So did your therapist tell you to postpone the wedding?”

  His eyes followed me across the kitchen. “No. And it’s not postponed—I told you, it’s canceled. No matter what happens with you and me, that’s not ever happening. Understand?”

  I chewed my lip and nodded.

  “It’s only been a couple weeks, and I have a long way to go, but what the therapist has helped me see is that I’ve been trying to bury my pain without dealing with it. I needed to confront you, and I never did that.”

&
nbsp; I set the cup down a little harder than I’d intended. Hot coffee sloshed over the side and onto my hand. “So is that what this is? You’re confronting me? About what?”

  He ran a hand across the back of his neck. It was one of his tells; he’d reach back, rub his neck, and thread his hands in his hair when he was stressed. That hadn’t stopped even though Callie had talked him into cutting off his ponytail.

  “No. What I want . . . What I really want—and I don’t even know if it’s possible after everything I’ve done—but what I want is to fix this.”

  I filled my lungs, hoping to remove the weight pressing against my chest.

  “It’s been broken for a long time now.”

  “I know. And if you don’t want to try, I understand.”

  “You’ll go back to Callie?”

  “I don’t love Callie. I never did. There were some days I wasn’t even sure I liked her.” He gave me a sheepish look.

  I pressed my lips together. I wanted to laugh and punch him at the same time.

  “Do you remember the day everything fell apart?” he asked.

  “Of course I do.”

  “I thought I was coming down with something that morning. I’d had chills all day. Headache. So I left work early. As I pulled into our street, a green Corvette was waiting to make the turn onto Grand Avenue.”

  There was no air left in the room. I knew only one person who drove a green Corvette.

  “When I got closer, I saw it was Preston. I’d know that son of a bitch anywhere. And that car.” He searched my eyes. I didn’t even blink. I couldn’t. “Before that, I’d noticed some pretty pricey cars traveling our street—our quiet, dead-end street. Cars that were worth more than half the houses in this neighborhood. And there was that time on Zac’s birthday when that Aston Martin pulled up in front of the house. The yellow one. I came around front to find you and Zac waving to the driver. When I found out that car belonged to Preston—”

  I let out such a loud gasp that he stopped speaking. Preston. That fucking bastard had been watching us. So many things clicked into place. “I didn’t know. Honestly. I thought it was someone you’d invited for Zac because of the fancy car.” Bile crept up my throat and I swallowed it back down. “Go on. I’m sorry.”

  The way he was watching me, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to decide if I was telling the truth or not. If he didn’t believe me, we were doomed.

  “Anyway, I’d never seen the driver of any of the cars before that day, and I was pissed that he was cruising around our neighborhood. When I got home and saw your car here, I panicked. I tried to convince myself it was a coincidence. I didn’t want to believe he’d been here, but then I came in and there was soft music playing on the stereo. Jazz. Not Pearl Jam, like we always play, not Soundgarden. Jazz. And the flowers—the same fucking red roses he always bought for you. Then the wine glasses . . .”

  He grew quiet and stared at the floor. Maybe he was seeing the shattered glass and rose petals strewn about the kitchen. Or maybe he was picturing something that never happened. When he spoke, his voice was so low I had to lean forward to hear him. “But what killed me was that you were in the shower. All I could imagine was . . .” He dropped his head into his hands.

  I wanted to go to him, drop to my knees and bury myself against his chest, but I couldn’t move. Preston had sowed the seeds of a cancer in my marriage that had thrived on jealousy and misunderstanding.

  “After I left here, I drove to his office. I didn’t know if I was going to confront him or kill him.” He looked up, ashamed. “But then I saw that Aston Martin parked in front of the building beside the green Vette, the same one I’d seen in front of the house on Zac’s birthday, it hit me like a freight train. It was like I’d been oblivious to what had been going on right under my nose. You see, I remember very well when Preston got engaged and how hard you cried that night after I showed up at your door. You broke my heart. You were so in love with him, I thought I’d never have a chance with you. That I’d forever be in the friend zone. But I went after you anyway. I was crazy about you, and after a while, I thought you loved me too. I wanted to believe that. I tried to convince myself you and Preston were over—”

  My voice was weak. “It was over.”

  He raised his hand. “Let me finish. Please?”

  I drew my knees up under my chin and wrapped my arms around them, hanging on to myself for support. Just hearing Preston’s name nauseated me.

  “How do you think it looked?” he asked, trying to justify himself. “Preston is pulling out of our dead-end street. There’s an expensive bouquet of red roses on the kitchen table and a card that says he can’t live without you. And then you step out of the shower? What was I to think?”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded. “So did you? Did you even think?”

  “What?”

  “Did you think, or did you just react? You started accusing me and dragging things up from the past out of nowhere.”

  “It wasn’t out of nowh—”

  “Yes, it was, because I’ve always been honest with you and told you the truth. You knew all of my supposed dirty little secrets, what was real and what wasn’t. At least, that’s what I told you. Whether or not you believed me is what’s at issue here.”

  “I overreacted and I was wrong, and because of that, I hurt the people I love the most.” He covered my hand with his.

  I wanted to pull away, but I didn’t.

  “If you loved me so much, how did you end up almost marrying someone else?” My lips drew together from the bitterness that coursed through me, as if I’d been sucking on a lemon.

  He lowered his eyes, and his head dropped. He was silent for a long time.

  “I was crazy jealous when I left, and I somehow convinced myself that you were still seeing Preston.”

  “Still?” I was practically out of my chair.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I felt like I was losing my mind. I was losing my mind. After I moved out, I stayed at the gas station and slept on the couch in Dylan’s office—not that I slept that much. I’d get up in the middle of the night and park out on our street and just watch the house—”

  “Hoping to catch me?”

  He scrubbed his hand across his face. “I just wanted to know you were safe. I was trying to protect my family from a distance. I know it’s stupid. I could have been sitting out there like some damn stalker while someone broke in the back door and killed you all in your sleep.”

  “Chase!”

  “I’m sorry. This is the shit that went through my head. I’d park outside of Mrs. Szemanski’s house around ten thirty, and I’d wait until your bedroom light went out. Some nights I just sat there and cried.”

  My anger began to melt as I watched him struggle to keep from crying again. He was still my Chase, still the strong, quiet man I loved, but he had been broken in the past year. We both had.

  “One night, I was there so long I must’ve fallen asleep. I woke around three thirty to a cop pounding on the window. Not any cop, but apparently the same one who responded when you called thinking we’d been robbed.”

  I inhaled sharply, the hurt and humiliation of that day threatening to capsize what little hold I had on my emotions.

  “He told me if he caught me lurking in the neighborhood again, he would arrest me. I guess he thought I was some kind of threat to you. I didn’t stop coming around at night, but I would just drive by after eleven to make sure your car was in the driveway. Whenever it snowed, I made myself sick worrying that you were out driving somewhere. If I couldn’t sleep, I’d get up and drive past the house. I was making myself crazy.”

  He drained what was left of his coffee, then rose.

  “Do you have anything stronger?”

  I nodded to the cabinet over the refrigerator. He knew where we kept the alcohol, although he was behaving like a visitor. He moved a bottle of tequila out of the way, then grabbed a half-empty bottle of Scotch that had been there since before
he moved out and poured several inches into a glass.

  “Do you want anything?”

  I shook my head.

  He tossed back half the Scotch in one swallow. When he looked at me, his eyes were tearing.

  “The thought of seeing you was more than I could handle. That’s why I couldn’t look at you. It was too painful, and I was afraid I’d fall on my knees and beg you to take me back.”

  “And you didn’t want to come back?”

  “Of course I did. But not if Preston was in the picture. Not if you weren’t in love with me.”

  I was stunned. “I can’t believe you would think that. Why? Didn’t I show you every day how much I loved you?”

  “I’m an ass, Rain. What can I say? My family was convinced you only married me because of Zac and that you didn’t want another kid from a different father. When Dylan and Lorraine tried to convince me Zac wasn’t mine, I nearly went berserk.”

  It was becoming difficult to breathe. How could I put him through all of this only to turn around and tell him that some of the things he didn’t want to hear might be true? Maybe I did need something stronger than coffee after all. I dumped the rest of my untouched coffee into the sink, pulled a bottle of Riesling from the refrigerator, and poured it into my empty mug. I set the bottle on the table next to the Scotch.

  “Like I said, I was making myself crazy. I’d picture you with Preston and I couldn’t think straight. I knew if I didn’t get my shit together, I was going to do something foolish. I had to find a way to move on. So I found an apartment and made up my mind it was over. I tried to make peace with my family, since they were all I had other than the kids. I was doing little more than existing.”

  He picked up the Scotch, then pushed it away as if he’d changed his mind. “Then last spring, before racing season began . . . I kind of lied to the kids.” He was watching my face as he spoke. “I told Zac I was planning to drive the race car this year, knowing he would probably say something to you. I knew—or at least I hoped—you’d be upset enough to call me and ream me out. I was hoping that would open a dialogue or something, since you’d stopped contacting me. Plus if you didn’t respond, then at least I would know once and for all that you didn’t care.”