CHAPTER 50
When I woke up at dawn and saw her, I knew what I had to do. Sprawled on the bed, her hair fanned out on a pillow, her face so peaceful with her full lips parted, she was a thing of beauty, a work of art. Even with her canvas of scars more visible in the early morning light. This woman who I made love to all night long, whose body I spooned until sunlight snuck through a window. This exquisite miracle. The mother of my child. The only woman who’s shared my bed. My wife. My beauty. My Skye.
Quietly slipping out of the bed, I pull the thick duvet over her. She stirs, lifting an arm over her head and curling a smile on her face. I smile back at her, bending to lightly kiss her forehead. Her eyes closed, she moans a happy moan. Not wanting to make any noise opening and closing drawers, I quickly gather the clothes I wore last night. My sweats and T-shirt strewn on the floor. The clothes I couldn’t get off fast enough. I get dressed quickly and holding my sneakers in my hands, I tiptoe out of the room. I make a bathroom stop to do my morning business and take care of my morning wood. After how much we fucked our brains out last night, I’m surprised I’m so hard. Even in my sleep she gave me a major boner. I can’t help but smile. Then, as I glance at my stubbled reflection in the mirror, my face grows pensive. The smile fades, my brows knit, my lips press thin. I rake a hand through my unruly hair and split.
Anxiety builds as I trek down the stairs, making my way to the kitchen. Hastily, I make some coffee using my Keurig. Once it’s done, I take a few fortifying sips of the piping hot black brew. I search my mind. What the hell am I going to tell her? My mind draws a blank. The coffee no help, I toss the remainder of the dark liquid down the drain and slam the mug on the counter. No more procrastinating.
There’s one thing I’ve got to do before I leave. My pulse revving in my ears, I hurry to the great room and make a beeline for the very early portrait I did of Skye right after we got married and moved to LA. It was my wedding present to her. Carefully, I remove it from the wall and set it down. Behind it is a small built-in safe. Punching in the combination—12-22-06—the date we got married, I watch as the steel door springs open. Reaching inside, I anxiously fish for what I’m looking for. Under the deed to the house, I find it. A small red velvet pouch. Removing it from the safe, I give it a little shake. The jingle inside is music to my ears. Thinking about my plan brings a smile to my face. Tightening the drawstring to make sure the contents are secure and don’t fall out, I slip the bag into a pocket and close the safe.
Two minutes later, I’m out the door. And behind the wheel.
I glance at the clock on my dashboard. Exactly seven. It’s Saturday and minus the weekday rush hour traffic, I’ve gotten to my destination in less than an hour. I swerve my Range Rover into the crescent-shaped driveway of her luxury hi-rise condo building. Sierra Towers. The venerable, impossible-to-get-into home to movie stars, moguls, and other assorted A-listers. Close to trendy Sunset Plaza, the Chateau Marmont, and many prestigious art galleries, including Jaime Zander’s. It makes sense Kayla would choose to live here. Especially since Daddy had a spare unit. I throw the SUV into park, yank the door open, and jump out. A smiling doorman, who works the morning shift, greets me. Harry.
“Mr. Jackson. We weren’t expecting you. Especially so early.”
“It’s a spur of the moment visit. Is Kayla here?”
“I believe so. Would you like me to notify her that you’re here?”
“Harry, let’s keep it a surprise.” Reaching into my pocket, I slip him a twenty-dollar bill.
With a wink, he gladly accepts it, shoving it into a pocket of his prim gray uniform. “I’ll let the concierge know you’re cleared.”
“Thanks,” I say as I lope to the entrance of the building. “By the way, do me a favor, Harry. Keep my car here. I won’t be long.”
At least I hope. With a smile, he swings open a glass door, and I dash inside. The lobby’s a blur as I jog through it. There’s only one thing on my mind.
Thank God, the elevator comes quickly. The doors ding open. To my relief, there’s no one inside it or waiting to share it. Stepping into the pristine carriage, I jab the button marked PH. Kayla’s condo is a penthouse unit, thirty-two floors up with spectacular views of the city. The doors close smoothly. My heart thuds as the elevator ascends swiftly. It doesn’t make any stops.
When the elevator reaches the top floor and dings open, I charge out, marching straight to Kayla’s unit. There are only two units on the floor. One to the right, one to the left. Kayla’s is the latter.
I stare for a brief moment at the sterile white door, collecting my thoughts. Stupid me should have written down a speech. Rehearsed it. Then, memorized it. But once again, so not like me. I couldn’t even prepare a speech for my beloved wife’s funeral. I’m going to have to wing it.
I ring the bell. No answer. I ring again. Once more, no answer. My pulse spikes with frustration. I ring yet again, this time holding the buzzer down. It rings in my ears like a bee about to sting. Bzzzzzz!
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Then, just as I’m about to give up, I hear the hiss of a chain followed by the double click of a lock. The door swings open.
Kayla, holding a crutch and dressed in a sheer white negligee, faces me. Her dark nipples visible, the short nightgown grazes her long toned legs, one of which sports a black boot cast. Her cropped platinum bob is a bedroom-made bird’s nest. To no avail, she tries to fix it, raking her free hand through her scalp like a plow. She gives up.
“Phineas, what the hell are you doing here?” she gasps. “I thought you were the Grub Hub delivery guy.”
“Let. Me. In.” I punch each short word with authority.
She glares at me. “What do you want?”
“We need to talk.” I fire the words at her.
She chews her lower lip, her expression atypically anxious. Then, another voice drifts to my ears.
“Hey, darlin.’ Breakfast is here?”
A velvety drawl. I recognize it immediately. Kayla’s cheeks flare as I look over her shoulder.
A tall, lean, fit man, wearing just a stark white towel wrapped around his hips treads toward us. His thick silver hair is slicked back as if he’s just stepped out of a shower.
“What the fuck?” I slam the words in Kayla’s face as his surprised gaze meets mine. He stops dead in his tracks.
Kayla fidgets with her sparkling engagement ring. “Darling, I can explain.”
“Explain what!?”
I answer my own question. “Explain him!” I stab the pronoun at her.
“Oh, you mean Jim?” The nonchalant tone of her voice makes my blood curdle. I can feel my body heating as I hold her hot in my gaze.
“Are you fucking him?” Silence. “Answer me, Kayla!”
Composing herself with a fling of her head, Kayla bats her thick eyelashes, then plasters a smug, confident smile on her face.
“Darling, please, it’s just business. Jim is a new client. He’s even interested in acquiring one of your works to expand his collection.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Are you on drugs?” I bark. “Maybe the bastard’s got other interests.” Blow and blowjobs.
The silent observer swaggers up to us and stands behind Kayla. Barefoot, he’s about my height. Meeting me eye to eye, he snarls. “Did you just call me a bastard?”
“I should have called you one years ago.”
He scoffs at me. “What the hell do you mean?”
“For fucking my wife over. Skye deserved to have her own show.”
Hartley snickers. “She was too nosy for her own good.”
“So obnoxious,” singsongs Kayla.
“You would know.” I grit the words, my teeth clenched as tightly as my fists. My nails bite into my palms as my eyes stay gridlocked with the prick.
“So now, you fuck my fiancée.”
Cupping his hands on her shoulders, the prick shrugs dismissively as if he has my permission. You know what? He does. Suddenly, I remember, throug
h my shock and anger, I came here to break up with Kayla. I mentally grin like a Cheshire cat. He’s made it so goddamn easy for me.
“Guess what, bastard. You can fuck her as much as you want.”
Surprise washes over Kayla’s face. Her eyes widen again. “What are you saying, Phineas?”
“Read. My. Lips. It’s over.”
“Over?” She repeats the word like a toddler learning it for the first time. Ha! Maybe I should spell it for her.
“O-V-E-R.”
Do tears leak from her eyes? Hell no. Not a single one. Instead, they narrow into two sharp jade blades that can cut through anything. But me.
“Are you out of your mind?” she shrieks.
“No.” Pause. “I’m out of here.” For a brief second, I glance down at the ring I gave her. The three-carat diamond twinkles like it’s winking at me. My eyes return to hers. “Keep your fucking ring. I don’t want it back.”
“Good,” the greedy bitch bites back as I pivot on my heel and lunge toward the elevator. I punch the down button in victory, the word “Yes!” loud on my breath. I’ve ditched the bitch. I can’t wait to get back home and gather Skye in my arms. And that’s just for starters. Impatiently, I tap my foot. Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Goddamn fucking elevator. Slower than torture. I jab the button again, feeling Kayla’s eyes on my back.
“What about our contract?” Her voice is shrill. “Don’t forget, I represent you till the end of the year.”
Shit. I forgot about that contract.
“If you break it, I’m going to sue your ass for all you have.”
“I’ll call you,” I say calmly though my muscles clench at the thought of being stuck with her. Even professionally.
“And you better not fuck up the Zander show. There’s too much riding on it. Including your career.”
The door to her condo slams shut with a bang as the elevator glides open with a ding. A harmony of sorts. I step inside it and the doors slide closed. As the elevator descends, I blow out a breath.
I’m outta here. Mission accomplished. Sinking a hand into my pocket, I clutch the soft velvet pouch, rubbing the hard contents between my fingers.
A euphoric lightness of being soars inside me. I’m a free man. It’s time to officially reclaim my wife.
CHAPTER 51
Nine a.m. I trudge to the kitchen to make myself some coffee, discarding the stale coffee pod left in the Keurig. An empty mug sits beside it. The Boss. The words printed on it in red. His mug. Where is he? Why did he leave me?
Last night was one of the most intense and unforgettable nights of my life. One of soul-blazing confessions and passionate lovemaking. Orgasm after orgasm. Rediscovery and reconnection. Our bodies and hearts reunited after close to five long, painful years apart.
Then, I woke up this morning alone. Finn gone. Nowhere to be found. Bereft, I checked the entire house, my bungalow, and his studio. There wasn’t even a note.
The light of my life—Maddie—is still sleeping. Saturday, Rosita has the day off. Too wound up to heat up some milk, I sip the strong black brew, hoping for some clarity. It’s complicated. It all comes back to that. My stomach twists. Insecurity kicks in. Gloom looms over me. Did he go back to her?
I weigh my options. If Finn marries Kayla, I don’t think I can stay here. After last night, the pain would be too great. Unbearable. But the thought of never seeing him again—and my beloved daughter—is equally unbearable. In fact, unfathomable. I feel like I’m standing on a fault line, the earth about to cave in. My body quakes; my hands shake. As I lift my coffee mug to my lips, I lose my grip and it tumbles to the terracotta floor. Shattering. At least a dozen jagged ceramic pieces swim in the pool of dark liquid surrounding my feet. Grabbing a wad of paper towels from the nearby dispenser, I squat down to clean up the mess. Still shaking, I blot up the coffee and gather the shards. Tears blur my vision. Suddenly, a sharp pain rips through my finger. I yelp. A river of blood starts pouring down my digit, forming crimson tributaries on my palm. Shit. I’ve cut myself badly. I hold the soaked towel to my wound and as a fire engine-red stain permeates the paper, I begin to sob uncontrollably. Fraught with emotion, I stare down at the floor, my hot ugly tears coming down like raindrops. I’m sobbing so loudly I don’t even hear footsteps.
“Skye baby, what’s the matter? What happened?”
Without brushing away my torrent of tears, I look over my shoulder.
Finn. Worry etched deep on his beautiful face. He jogs over to me and squats down beside me, eyeing the bloodstained paper towel wrapped around my finger.
“Jesus.”
“I cut myself,” I splutter.
“Let me see.” His voice as tender as his touch, he takes hold of my trembling hand. I watch as he removes the towel. Blood gushes from the deep gash.
“Sheesh. You really did a number.” On my next shaky breath, he slips his T-shirt over his head and presses it against my finger.
“Hold this. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
“But what about the mess?” Doing as he asks, I cast my eyes down at the scattered mug fragments and coffee puddle saturating the floor.
“It can wait.” Leaping up, he hurries to one of the kitchen cabinets. My eyes stay on him as he jogs back with a box of Band-Aids and a tube of ointment in his hands. Squatting back down, he sets the bandages on the floor and then unscrews the cap of the ointment. Neosporin. Holding it in his hand, he removes his shirt from my finger. There’s a huge splotch of blood on the fabric.
“I ruined your T-shirt.” I sniffle, thinking back to our first encounter at Christie’s when I ruined his scarf with my bloody mess of a hand. It was then when I fell in love with him. And knew that this man would take care of me forever.
He laughs lightly. “This is nothing compared to all the paint stains I’ve gotten. It’ll wash out.” He squirts a dollop of the antiseptic ointment on my still bleeding finger. “This cut is nasty, but I don’t think you need stitches.”
Inwardly, I sigh with relief. I’ve had enough stitches to last a lifetime. But what’s one more scar?
He flips open the box of Band-Aids and pulls one out. He peels it open. “Baby, I leave you for a couple of hours and you turn into a hot bloody mess.”
I can’t help but smile through my tears. I am a hot mess. My life feels like an open wound. But as he gently but securely wraps the adhesive strip around my finger, the hole in my heart begins to close.
“How does your finger feel?”
“Better.” I give it a little wiggle. Truthfully, it does.
“Why are you still crying?”
I shrug a shoulder and blink back tears. A jumble of emotions clouds my thinking. “I don’t know.”
He tenderly brushes away my tears and then traces my lips with a glistening finger. At his touch, my tears subside. A cocky smile glides across his face. His jewel-like orbs glint with mischief.
“Maybe I need to kiss the boo-boo.”
I glance down at my bandaged finger. The next thing I know, he’s lifted my hand to his mouth and with a kiss, is helping me to my feet.
Letting go of my hand, he grows serious. The smile fades as his fingertips trace my jawline. “Babe, I didn’t come back here to put a Band-Aid on your finger.”
My pulse quickening with anticipation, my gaze stays on him as he digs his hand into a pocket and retrieves a small red velvet pouch. Loosening the silky drawstring, he empties the contents into his right palm. My eyes grow wide and my breath hitches in my throat.
Our matching wedding bands!
“Put mine on me, baby.”
My hands trembling, I do as he asks. Staring at the sparkling gold ring on his finger, my eyes start welling up again with tears.
His expression grows intense, filled with emotion. “Now, give me your hand.”
Slowly and silently, I lift my left hand. My heart swells with love for this man as he takes it in his. Without as much as a blink, I watch as he slides the gold band over my ring
finger, my mind flashing back to that night in Vegas when we exchanged our forever vows.
“I love you so much, baby.” His voice is a soft rasp, borderline tearful. “Not even death will keep us apart.”
At his last words, my heart cracks and I totally lose it. The dam behind my eyes breaks loose, and the reservoir of tears I’ve been holding back storms down my face.
“Finn, my love,” I choke out, “I’m never going to leave you again.” True to the inscription on the back of my locket, I silently vow once again to be his forever.
He cradles my face. The intense shimmer in his gem-set eyes is blinding. “Skye baby, I’m never going to let you go. Ever.”
My lips quiver at his words. They part with my need for him. My hunger. His eyes burn into mine.
“I think I need to kiss more than your finger.”
I think so too. My skin prickles. My knees grow weak. I’m overwhelmed with love and longing.
Reading my mind, he draws me into him and crushes his lips onto mine. The kiss is deep and fiery. Long and passionate. A kiss that says you’re mine. Fireworks explode behind my eyelids, the electrifying sparks lighting up every cell of my body. Any trace of doubt and insecurity evaporates as I become lost in him.
“Holy guacamole!”
As I tangle my tongue with his, those two words bounce into my ears.
A startled Finn releases my lips as quickly as he claimed them. He spins around and we both face her.
Maddie!
Clad in her pajamas and clinging Kangy, she stares at us sheepishly. Then, a priceless smile lights up her face like a Christmas tree.
“Are you guys being romantical?”
My heart stuttering, my cheeks flushing, I wait for Finn to respond. He waits for me. Dead silence.
Finally, Finn’s lips part. “Sunshine, come here. I need to tell you something.”
My heart thuds; my stomach bunches. Is he going to tell her the truth about me? I’m not sure if I’m ready.
My joyous little girl skips up to her father. He lifts her into his arms and smacks a kiss on her forehead as she wraps her arms around his neck.
Remember Me Page 23
