Awake: Book 3 of the Wild Love Series

by Jameson, Red L.

  She laughs, which eerily sounds like a cackle. “How can you say something like that after you told me you’re going to marry your girlfriend? You always try to sound like a saint after you cut deeper.” Eva turns and looks at her king-sized bed. Slowly, she reaches down and takes off her bone-colored summer sandals with the impossible heel I doubt I could ever walk in. “I’m tired.”

  “How can I help?” Sherman offers. God love him, he is trying. And I’m pretty sure, despite what he’s said, how angry and hurt he is, and the fact that he is in love with another woman, he still has a lot of love for Eva.

  “Go to hell,” she says without any emotion. She’s stumbling to her bed and Sherman moves forward, his arms reaching out to her. How many time has he caught her when she’s fallen? How many times has she caught him?

  And now they won’t be there for each other.

  I’m suddenly heart sick, but I am moving quicker than Sherman. I’m afraid if he gets to Eva first, she’ll say something even meaner, maybe strike out. Turning the navy blue comforter over, I help her get under the covers, Sherman close behind me.

  She nestles under the bedding, her back to me and her soon-to-be ex-husband.

  “I’m sorry, Eva,” Sherman whispers.

  “Of course you are.” She sniffs. “You’re with a woman ten years younger than I am with probably great tits, natural ones, the kind you like. Not these silicone things that I bought for myself. I’m sure you’re very sorry. Just go away. I need Moira to tuck me in. At least I can count on her. I don’t know what I’d do if it weren’t for her.”

  Sherman places a warm hand on my shoulder as I’m ensuring the comforter is under Eva’s chin. I glance at him. Lord, is he ever trying.

  “Thank you,” he mouths.

  I nod.

  “I’m sorry,” he pantomimes again.

  I nod once more then turn away from him, sitting beside my friend, caressing some of her soft honey-colored hair from her face.

  “I’m hot, Moira.”

  “I’ll open the window,” I whisper and do what I’ve said.

  “Eva?” Sherman’s voice is soft and intimate. “Please, feel free to call me whenever you want. We can talk this out.”

  “I don’t want to talk this out,” Eva grumbles. “Besides, what’s there to talk about now? You won. You’re getting married. And I’m getting left behind.”

  I can tell Sherman’s going to argue her point. But that would emphasize it all the more. At least in her mind. Probably. It would for me.

  So I rush back to where I was sitting. “Is that cooler, Eva?” I lift the hair at the nape of her neck onto the pillow.

  “Yes, Moira.” She takes my hand and holds it to her shoulder, where I feel her body tremble with unshed tears.

  “I’m going to go.” Sherman clears his voice once more. “Eva, I—I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Too bad. You did.”

  “I’m sorry. I—I—thank you for inviting me.” Sherman sips in a breath. “That was very kind of you. I love seeing our big Joe. He’s a man now. Can you believe that?”

  Eva’s shaking augments.

  “I’ll always love you, Eva. You’re the mother of my children. I—” Sherman cuts himself off then leaves in a hurry.

  Eva turns to look at me after the click of the door closes after Sherman.

  “Oh, now don’t you start crying on me.” Eva clumsily caresses my cheek where a tear has fallen. Then her own glassy eyes fill. “Because if you cry, then I’ll cry.” And a tear falls between her heavily mascaraed lashes, where I try to delicately wipe it away, trying like hell to smile and fight my own tears.

  I’m heartbroken, having watched this. During so much of it I commiserated and reflected upon my own divorce.

  “Why is it men know exactly how to make us feel inferior even when they say they love us?” Her voice is shaky as another tear falls. “I mean, if he hadn’t tacked on the part about being the mother of his children then would he care at all? Is that the only reason he loves me?”

  I shrug, trying so damned hard to figure out a way to make her smile, because I am the second born who fixes things. I’m the fixer. I make everything all right, even if, afterwards, I have to drink myself into oblivion, I’ll fucking make everything work.

  “Men.” I shake my head and try to sound light and fun.

  She does smile at that. “I’m so drunk, Moira.”

  “Going to be sick?”

  “I don’t know. Did I say anything to him that sounded gutsy and brave?”

  I nod. “You sounded very brave. I sure couldn’t have said the things you did.”

  She pulls a strand of my hair. “I’m going to get you strong, girlie. I’m going to get you to yell at that asshole ex-husband of yours. Tell him how things are.”

  I smile, not sure what to say. Things aren’t bad between Tony and me. Sure, I wish we had fought a little more, so I could have told him how much he hurt me. But what’s the point of doing that? I doubt he would care.

  She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. I’m sorry. I’m so thirsty.”

  I smile wider. “I don’t mind. I’ll get you some water.”

  Before I stand, she turns more and places a hand on my hip. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I don’t know what I was thinking. Well, I’m fucking drunk, so thinking wasn’t part of it. It’s just…Sherman’s so good at railroading me. He doesn’t have to yell. I’m the yeller. He just oozes all this confidence that he’s right and I’m wrong. I should have told you I fucked around on him. But I didn’t want to admit it.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t judge you for it.”

  Eva closes her eyes. “I do.” Then the hand on my hip moves and runs through her hair. “He’s always so reasonable. Always so level-headed. And he remembers everything I say and uses it against me. It’s never fair when we fight. Never fair. And, I guess, I thought if you were here, you could make it more fair. But he’s getting married.” Her face contorts as she sobs. “He’s getting married.”

  I lean down and hug her, letting her cry on my neck. We stay that way for a long time, and my heart continues to break through every second. But I won’t let go of her. Not until she’s ready.

  I didn’t have a friend through my divorce. I tried to go to my mother. She still lived in Bar Nunn, my small hometown, population less than three thousand. She’d been living on her own for so long, and I remember her being so strong, so tough. That’s why it came as a complete surprise when she, on the day I ran to her after Tony had gotten a lawyer for our divorce, forgot my children’s names. The next time I visited she forgot who I was.

  I had her stay with me to go to doctor’s appointments. There were so many tests. She cried and screamed when they did an MRI, and a doctor had to sedate her. I’d never seen my mother like that. It scared me. I called my brother to ask him to come up, but he was busy. Always so busy. It’s not like he’s running the government or trying to find the cure for cancer. He’s a second chair saxophone player with a symphony, who plays in bars to squeak by financially. Hell, Tony’s had to help him pay off his debts more times than I’d care to admit. So I gave up trying to talk to my brother about our mother.

  When waiting for the results of her tests, I went back home with her, only to find her house filthy. She used to have a spotless home. As a kid, she freaked if I left a dirty spoon in the sink. But her house…god, there were piles of mud-crusted plastic bottles all over. It broke my heart to see my former home like that.

  Just when I was pretty sure the world had it out for me—my mother diagnosed with dementia and my husband getting a divorce attorney when I couldn’t afford one, Tony sat me down to talk. He said he fired his lawyer. We could get divorced on our own terms and whatever I needed, he’d give it. He promised. I wondered why it was so easy for him to make that vow but not keep our wedding ones.

  I was so tired and worn out that I felt grateful for Tony, for our divorce. Then I realized how vulnerable I’d been du
ring the upheaval of discovering what was wrong with my mother and how he’d taken advantage of that. So, every night, I’d find my numb with a box of wine. Don’t judge me. I didn’t want to spend too much money on the wine. But did I ever need it.

  I tried having my mother live with me, but she accidentally poked Liv with a safety pin. In the belly. When she wasn’t quite a year old. Making my poor daughter bleed for minutes while I wondered how to keep my mother away from my children.

  Tony pays for her care. “Anything you need. Remember?” he’d said. My mother’s in one of those homes where I don’t have to worry about Dateline showing up. The staff are wonderful and, I think, well-paid. There’s sun sparkling through all the huge windows, and my mother got used to it quickly. Thank god for small wonders.

  I know what it’s like to go through a divorce alone. And it’s nothing anyone should do. So I’ll hold onto Eva for as long as she needs it.

  After several minutes, she pulls away.

  “I’m going to get you a cool washcloth.”

  She nods sleepily.

  Rushing into the bathroom, I do what I said and hurry back to her, finding her in a peaceful sleep.

  Yes, thank god for small wonders because I can’t imagine the pain she’s experiencing. Luckily, Tony’s never gotten serious with any of his girlfriends. And after the divorce, he was more attentive than ever. He kept swinging by the house, eating dinner with us, hanging out. One night, when he kissed me goodbye…it just felt so natural. He’s the father of my children, and I—shit, I hate myself for it—forgot about his girlfriends.

  I’ve forgotten more than that one night.

  It took almost two full years to figure out that to Tony, sex doesn’t mean that much. Even with me. The mother of his children. It didn’t mean we were getting back together, like I initially and naively thought. It didn’t mean he was in love with me. It was just sex. And when I realized that, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so dirty.

  So I told Tony no more sex. He shrugged and said that was probably for the best. I matter so little to him that I was only worth a shrug.

  God, the man’s broken my heart in a myriad of ways. What I hate is how many times I probably should have stopped my heart from getting involved with him in the first place.

  I glance down at my one friend, beautiful Eva. She knows everything about my marriage and divorce, even the times I slept with Tony. Yet, she’s never judged me. She’s only encouraged me get out there, try to have sex with someone who I wasn’t married to at one time. Her breathing is relaxed as is her once clenched shoulders when Sherman was in the room.

  I kiss my fingertips and place them on her forehead. “Sleep well, Eva,” I whisper. “Dream of beautiful men who adore you.”

  She sniffs, stretches, then returns to her easy in-and-out breathing.

  Tiptoeing through the room, I find a glass for her and fill it with water from the tap, then place the washcloth and glass on her nightstand. After checking her one last time, I slip away, feeling my heart torn into pieces, and the horrible need for a cold glass of wine beckons.

  My siren call is a chilled chardonnay in a pretty, maybe even ornamental glass. It makes me feel like I couldn’t possibly be an alcoholic if I’m drinking from something so glamorous. I’m sure that’s one of the steps I’m going to learn—denial—in these AA meetings, which I’m not sure I’ll go to again.

  I’m thinking of my need for wine, something to fill the pain so I can forget tonight, when I open Eva’s bedroom door. Both Shane and Joe are there in the hallway, looking at me like grown up lost boys.

  4

  I’ve always thought Shane was pompous, but now I wonder if it’s an act. I wonder, if like his father, he’s trying too hard for something he’s not sure will fit him even if he does succeed at wearing it. His father, apparently, didn’t want the money or prestige of his career. I wonder what Shane’s trying to achieve.

  But it’s Joe—beautiful Joe—who has my attention. He’s trying so hard to cover his emotions, and that, for whatever reason, makes me like him all the more, wish I could hold him and tell him he doesn’t have to hide from what he’s feeling.

  I swallow as I close the door behind me.

  “She okay?” Joe’s whisper is raw, sad.

  I nod.

  “What’d she talk about?” Shane’s eyeing the door.

  I shrug. I’m not about to tell her sons anything. Their parents can share with them what they want.

  “Is she drunk?” Shane’s nostrils flare.

  “Why’d you say something about a gun?” I cock an eyebrow at him, diverting from answering.

  His jawline kicks. “I thought—I thought I heard my dad ask if she still keeps a gun in the nightstand.”

  I want to ask him why he assumed the worst of his mom, because at the first mention of a gun, very briefly, for half a second at most, I saw flashes of the news headlines about a woman kidnapping her soon-to-be ex-husband. But Shane’s wincing, not looking at me, seeming to be embarrassed.

  “Fuck.” Shane shakes his head. “This is fucking ridiculous.” He turns to his brother. “Aren’t we the ones who are supposed to be fucking up right now?”

  Joe grunts and looks down at his huge black boots. Military-style boots. He’s back into civilian life for less than a day to this. Yes, I want to hug him even more. But I won’t. He’s far too tempting.

  “Well, welcome home, bro.” Shane pats Joe on the shoulder. “What a fucking welcome for you.”

  Joe shrugs.

  Shane moves closer to Joe, wrapping him in a real hug, all the tension seeming to wash away from him. I can hear him murmur, “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” Joe whispers.

  “No. It’s not. You deserve a fucking parade for coming home. Instead…fuck.”

  Joe thumps on Shane’s back. “It’s okay, brother. You welcomed me back and that’s all that matters.”

  I feel like a voyeur. God, I’ve never seen men like this before. So caring. So nurturing. I feel like I should excuse myself, but I want to keep watching. I want to see what these two specimen of men, the kind of men I’ve never known before, will do next.

  They’re the kind of men I’m hoping to teach my son to be.

  They break apart and smile at each other. Shane has water pooling in his bloodshot eyes. Then they pound on each other’s arms and realize I’m standing there, looking at me with tension returning to both their shoulders.

  “Gotta go,” Shane says and immediately brushes past me.

  “You sure you should?” Joe asks. “How much you drink tonight?”

  Shane shakes his head as he walks away. “That’s my job, Joe. To worry about you. Not the other way around.” Then he’s moving swiftly down the stairs.

  Joe starts to follow but then reaches out and grabs my wrist. “Stay here. In the house. I want to talk to you, but I have to make sure—” he glances where his brother hurried away.

  “Go.”

  Joe looks at me. “You promise you’ll stay? I want to—”

  “Go.”

  “You’ll stay so I can—”

  “I promise. I’ll stay. Go. Catch up with him.”

  Shocking me to my curling toes, Joe leans down and kisses me on my cheek. Then in about two steps he’s out of sight.

  I can’t help but touch my face, right where his lips had been. It was a quick kiss. Probably didn’t mean anything. But I’m sweating, my heart’s pounding, my trembling body indicates a lot more happened than I’m trying to let on.

  I really can’t be attracted to Joe. He’s my friend’s son. And what kind of horrible friend would I be if I…well, I’m not. I’m not going to do anything about this.

  Even though I promised I’d stay to talk with Joe, it’s such a bad idea. I’d rather drink. Tony has the kids for two more days. So, for once, I can drink myself like I’m imbibing from the waters of Lethe, as Shane and his also literary father might say. My preference when drinking is to find numb, but after t
onight I want to drink myself into a coma.

  Clumsily stepping down the stairs, I’m thinking of going to a grocery store while I’m sober to stock up on wine. I can drink a lot this weekend, which will be good to forget Eva’s heartache, mine, the fact that I’m missing my children so much it feels like someone chopped off my arms and heart, and this stupid, idiotic, instant infatuation I have for Joe.

  When I reach the front room, I’m shocked all the guests have left. God, Eva will be so embarrassed. I think about getting my chafing dishes and cake, but I can do that tomorrow, when I talk with Eva, make sure she’s okay. And that way, I won’t have to talk to Joe alone.

  I stand in Eva’s gorgeous house, in the middle of her once bustling living room, now full of empty plastic cups and paper plates and the slight scent of rum making the room seem tropical. It’s too hot in here. Eva’s house has a great draft if the right windows are open. And I know which windows those are. Pursing my lips, I rush to the other side of the house, opening what I can quickly, thinking about escaping before I see Joe again.

  He probably just wants to talk. He’s probably curious about his family now that he’s back home. He might not even be attracted to me. Maybe all the times he touched me was him just being friendly. And maybe I should fill him in on some of the details.

  But I’m so scared of him. He’s beautiful, and I already feel like my willpower is fading fast. Even if he’s not attracted to me, I’m scared I’ll make him feel uncomfortable with how much I want to…I’d love to touch his whiskered jaw. God, what would it feel like to run my breasts up against his big chest?

  Yes, I need to stay away from him.

  I’m reaching up to unlock one of the windows in the kitchen when a male voice, deep and rumbling, says, “Here. Let me.”

  Instantly, my nipples bead. God, I hate my body right now when I affirm it’s Joe at my back, placing one of his big hands on my waist, his tight stomach against me as he easily reaches and unlocks the window. He smells so…I don’t know. It’s a masculine scent. Aftershave or something. Sandalwood, I think is what it’s called. And he smells so clean.