Frayed

“Yes, I mean no,” I stammer.

“But she told you it was?”

“Yes.”

“And you believe her?”

“I have no reason to think she’d lie about that. What would be the purpose now?”

She nods, agreeing. “What else did she say?”

“She said she didn’t want to tell me. She wanted to leave the past in the past.”

“Why didn’t she tell you before?”

“She said she tried to contact me, but I didn’t call her back.”

“Did she?”

“Serena, come on. Yeah, she called me, but . . .” I stop, not really sure what the but is. That she didn’t try hard enough, try often enough?

“Where did you leave it?”

I drop her hand and cradle my head. “Nowhere. I left her standing there. I was so f**king pissed. I had a right to know.” I glance over at her. “I had a right to know.”

“Yes, you did, but put yourself in her place. You were with someone else. She was young and I’m sure she was scared. It must have been hard for her. Shit, it was hard for me when I found out I was pregnant. I was twenty and scared shitless—scared to tell Jason, scared to tell Mom, and so scared to have a baby.”

“Yeah, but you had him. And you kept him . . . .” My voice trails off.

“Yes, but my circumstances were different. I was with Jason. He was there to help me through all my doubts.”

I run my hands through my hair. “Are you defending her?”

She gives me a stern look. “No. I’m not. I just think maybe you should think a little more about her and a little less about yourself.”

CHAPTER 22

Burn

Bell

Guilt chased me for years. Guilt for pursuing a guy that belonged to someone else, guilt for asking a friend to drive me home from a bar and being oblivious of her drunken state, guilt for giving up my baby. It was a domino effect—I chased someone I shouldn’t have and wound up pregnant. When I found out, I couldn’t wait to tell him in hopes he might be as thrilled as I was and that it might change things between us. But in my haste to get home to meet him, one of my friends died, and the guilt was more than I could stand. How could I raise a child? I was irresponsible and incapable—I was sure of that. And with that realization came the certainty that someone else could give my baby the life I knew I couldn’t.

I never blamed anyone for my actions but myself—not my dead father, not my mother, not my brothers, and not any former lover. I just swam in my own self-condemnation. It hung around the fringes of my very existence. For years, it teased me, taunted me. It haunted me to the point that it almost dragged me under. But then something happened, something that made me realize I could let it go. That something was a friendship with a very special person—Dahlia London. Her kindness and understanding helped me see through my pain and made me understand it was okay to move on. With her support and that of my family, I finally found direction in my life. I stopped flailing and decided it was time to grow up.

Don’t get me wrong—the constant guilt is still there. Time can never fully heal those wounds. But I had come to accept my decision and because of that, I was able to start anew. It hadn’t been easy. My wounds ran deep. Yet somehow I was confident that I could continue to heal. My choices had led me to where I ended up. I had accepted that. When I started down this path, I was a young, immature woman. And once I made my decision, I was a lost girl who looked for love in all the wrong places.

Now I’ve turned my life around. I’m doing great—well, not great but really well. Sure, my job sucks. Working for Tate Wyatt started as a dream job, but the novelty wore off the more his attention toward me bled into possessiveness. I am handling it, though. And I don’t really love living here. However, I’m not home that often and my family stops by or I visit them often.

But the hardest thing about telling Ben is that I’m feeling lost again, and I can’t shake the feeling. All the memories keep swooshing around in my head and I can’t get them out. I spent all day in bed and called in sick on Monday, but Tuesday comes way too fast. I wake up from a dream. The same dream I always have but this time instead of smiling I yell, “Damn you, Ben Covington, you came back into my life with all your charm and turned my world around one minute, then upside down the next just like you did to me before.” My mind keeps repeating over and over, You should have known better. You did know better. You kept yourself at a distance. You tried so hard to stay aloof. But the more time you spent with him, the more time you wanted to spend with him. I shake my head, saying to myself, “Yeah, it’s all true but it doesn’t make it any better.”

My legs swing onto the floor and I push myself into the shower, drag myself out of it, force myself to dry my hair, dab on a minimal amount of makeup, and dress as casually and comfortably as I can for work and still get away with it.

With coffees in hand I enter the showroom. Tate is standing at Josie’s desk with his arms crossed talking to her. His head snaps up.

I cross the room, stopping at Josie’s desk. “Coffees for everyone.” I manage a smile.

Tate takes his and with a huff he storms off. His door slams, but before I can say anything to Josie, it reopens. “Bell, I need you in my office in fifteen minutes.”

I nod and his door slams again.

“What’s going on with you?” Josie asks, clearly concerned.

“Nothing.” I take the lid off my coffee.

“You look like shit.”

“Jeez . . . thank you.”

She laughs. “Seriously, where have you been and what’s the matter? I left you a message and yesterday Tate was the biggest ass**le that ever walked on the planet. Did something happen?”

I don’t want to break down at work. “Oh, Josie, so much has happened, but Tate is the least of my worries. He showed up at my event on Friday with Romeo.” I lower my voice. “I think they may have been having a threesome.”

“With you?” she asks, shocked.

“No!”

“Holy shit, those are two hot men. I bet they both have big—”

I cut her off. “Ewww . . . don’t say it. I am not interested in either of them and definitely not the two of them together.”

“But you’d be in between.” She tips her coffee cup in my direction.

I start to walk away. “Not interested.”

“What happened to Glow Boy?”

“Glow Boy?” I toss over my shoulder.

“The one who had you glowing brighter than a firefly for the last few weeks.”

“He dumped me.”

“So you were shagging him,” she says, not exactly quietly.

“Shhh . . . And I was not.”

“Well, whatever you were doing it’s better than what I’m doing.”

“And since when do you say shag?”

She smiles and shrugs. “Seemed appropriate.”

I toss my stuff on my desk and flop in my chair. “Hey, are you doing okay?”

“Me? Ha! Me and Bob are doing great.”

“Bob? Who’s Bob?”

“B.O.B.,” she spells out.

“Oh.” I laugh, thinking I haven’t used mine in so long I kind of forgot about it.

“Oh is right,” she says, turning around.

I turn on my computer and think that at least work will take my mind off Ben for a little bit.

“Bell, are you coming?” Tate’s voice booms from his office door.

“Yes, let me grab a pad and pen. I’ll be right there.”

Josie turns around. “Just remember, big . . .”

I cover my ears. “Don’t say it.”

She doesn’t know we dated, because I ended things before she started work here. And although I never actually had sex with him, I am very well aware how big he is from the couple of times he shoved my hands down his pants during some heavy make-out sessions. The thing was, I’ve never needed more than first base with a guy. I do like to feel wanted, but the actual sex part isn’t important to me—until Ben. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve slept with my fair share of men. Any boyfriend’s end game is to score, but I don’t always let them win. Sometimes I cut them loose because I just don’t feel any connection, but there are times when I’ve drunk enough to get myself in the mood and then I feel something, and something is better than nothing. But those times are past.

I keep my eyes down as I pass Josie’s desk for fear she’ll make me laugh. Tate’s door is cracked open. I knock. “Can I come in?”

“Yes,” he says in a cold tone.

I step in and leave the door open.

“Shut the door and take a seat.”

I inwardly roll my eyes at his dramatic behavior, but I do as he says.

“What the hell were you thinking? When a client asks you to come meet him, you don’t say no. Was it because you didn’t want to run into that boy toy of yours so you didn’t come?”

Boy toy? I have no idea what he’s talking about, and the blank look on my face must register with Tate.

“Romeo told me he saw some guy’s name on your phone and that same guy was at Beck’s with his face buried in another girl.”

Tears sting my eyes and any energy I had managed to muster up this morning is depleted immediately. Ben already found someone else? I should have known. I sit up straight, knowing I am not going to allow my boss to see my weakened state. “No, Tate, that’s not what I was thinking. I was actually thinking how inappropriate it was for you to tell our client where I live and for said client to call me at the last minute and expect me to drop everything to come running.”

He clears his throat. “Well, moving on, the Johnsons are having some issues with the florist. Can you see if you can help them out?”

I jot it down on my pad, trying to control my furious shaking. He continues with a list of items that need to be taken care of and I write them down, never once lifting my head to meet his scrutiny. About twenty minutes later he finishes.

I stand up. “I’m still not feeling well, so if you don’t mind I’m going to take care of these issues from home.”

He nods. “That’s fine.”

I walk out of his office on trembling legs and go to my desk, collect my things, and make my way to the door. As I step out onto the sidewalk I realize I never said good-bye to Josie. I didn’t even notice if she was at her desk.

• • •

My grandmother loved to go places but hated to drive. She didn’t think it an extravagance that she had a driver take her where she wanted to go, and neither did any of us. My grandfather used to joke that she was like Driving Miss Daisy. I own that movie now and watch it whenever I want to be close to her. I stop it and rewind before it gets to the sad part, though. I don’t like sad. My grandmother had her license and she could drive; she just chose not to. She told me she liked to ride in the car and look out the window—that was why. In fact, the only time I remember her being behind the wheel was the night my father killed himself. She came to pick up River and me, but I didn’t know why at the time. It wasn’t until much later that night that my mother and brothers told me my father was dead. I blamed myself, Xander blamed himself, we all blamed ourselves for our fractured family, but we stayed close, maybe even closer because of what had happened.

My father’s death made River and Xander stronger but not me. Somewhere along the way I let everyone shelter me, coddle me even—after all, I was the baby of the family, the younger sister to two older brothers, the girl who couldn’t make her daddy happy when all he wanted was for her to play the guitar, and the young woman who got pregnant and who lost her direction at the same time. I might look like my grandmother—the red hair, the shorter stature, the curvy form—but unlike my grandmother who loved to go places and found an alternative way to get to them, I’m struggling finding my own alternative way in life.