* * *
The garage had that closed up smell to it when I stepped inside. Why did I think giving this up was the better option? Because I’d been blinded by hurt and fear. The time away had made me appreciate New York and everything it represented even more. Being back without the weight of the past had renewed my determination to build a future with the people I cared about.
I wanted to go straight home after a night of flights and layovers, but it was late. Did I think she’d just let me back in? Forgive me when I'd told her I couldn’t change, not even for her?
“Take the time you need. You have a lot of things to make up your mind about, including where you want to be. Only you can figure out what’s best and stop waffling. When you do, come back to me, Grease Monkey.”
Those words gave me hope. But I was delirious with the lack of sleep and smart enough to know I might screw it all up with Baker because of it.
So I’d wait. Get some rest in the leftover office chair. And regroup in the morning.
* * *
The text with an address woke me up a few hours later, quickly followed by another that my sister had called in a favor with a friend.
Yeah, right. I didn’t know if she’d always been a liar or if this was a new habit. Either way, I still wasn’t ready to even think about forgiving her. She’d shattered our trust and stomped on the pieces.
Damn it. Why hadn’t I gone to a hotel? I needed a shower in the worst way.
I checked the clock on my phone. She’d be gone to work by now. I could sneak in, be in and out of the apartment before Baker knew it.
Just go to Dad’s.
No, I wanted Easy to be the first to know I was back.
* * *
My heart pounded as I turned the key in the lock. Silence greeted me when I pushed the door open.
Home.
I nearly sagged against the doorframe as relief swept through me. I’d almost given this up, but I wouldn't without a fight now. It hit me what that emptiness I'd felt the last month in Wyoming was.
Homesickness.
Being back in the space that was ours evaporated that.
The kitchen was tidy, but the dining table had more of whatever she used to make her products all over it. There was a string of stickers strewn over the coffee table and tiny boxes stacked on the floor by the windows.
She’d been focusing on her makeup in the last month. That’s my girl.
I left everything as it was and dropped my bag off in my closet. She hadn’t touched a thing. And no one else’s shit was in there. I grinned. No new roommate.
I hesitated in the doorway to her room. Honey and all things Easy invaded my nostrils.
I frowned. Her bed was made with a thousand pillows stacked on it. My girl didn’t have time for that stuff in the morning, always rushing to get out the door. I glanced back in my room. My side of the bed was disheveled, the sheets back and pillow dented in.
I retraced my steps across the wood floors to my bed, bent, and inhaled deeply. Honey.
“Caught ya, Easy.”
I whistled as I sauntered to the shower. Soon I’d make things right. Soon.
Chapter Forty-Six
Holt
She’s been . . . close.
I stared up at the brownstone with my fists clenched at my sides. The location was maybe a fifteen minute walk from Dad’s, which in this city was practically next door. In my mind, I'd imagined an Upper East Side address worth tens of millions.
Maybe then I could justify why she’d left.
Sure, this was better than the apartment I’d grown up in, but it wasn’t the luxury I'd pictured.
A man gave me a nasty look as he edged around me. I was routed in place in the middle of the sidewalk.
You don't have to do this. She's not worth it.
She most certainly wasn't. I’d gotten a lot of the closure I needed during Andrew's wedding weekend. What I'd seen from the woman who'd given me life was disgusting. She didn't care about any of us.
And I'd let her keep me away from New York and my family for a month. I'd allowed her to steal even more time with the people I loved. It was time to stop running. Time to close the door.
I jogged up the steps and rang the bell.
Please don't let him answer.
I wanted nothing to do with the man who might be my biological father.
After an excruciatingly long time, the door creaked open. My pulse accelerated. I shouldn't be nervous. The woman before me didn’t matter, yet I lost the words I'd practiced on the way over.
She was as perfectly put together as before. The pale pink starched blouse was a disguise for all that ugly inside. Her pearls around her neck didn't fool me any longer. She wasn’t this picture of innocence she tried to portray.
She was the devil in pastels and pearls.
“Hello, son.” Her tone was as crisp as her slacks.
“I’m not your son.”
It was the same thing my brother had told her, but I needed to say it too.
Her false smile broadened. “They always let you hide in their shadows, didn't they? You never learned to be your own man, have your own thoughts.”
I scowled and reminded myself she spewed poison for her own pleasure.
“Stay away from Marlow. Stay away from Dad. Stay away from Andrew and his family. And stay the hell away from me.”
I didn't care so much about answers anymore. Why she'd left and if it was my fault no longer mattered. Dad said I wasn't the reason, and that was enough for me. He was the truth. She was a web of lies.
And the most important thing was making sure she didn't bother my family anymore.
She laughed, a fake sound that burned my ears. "This is precious. You think you can tell me what to do, son?”
I cringed at the word.
“I said I’m not—”
“Why don't you ask me what you really came here to know?”
I hated that she’d cut me off and the certainty in her tone that she held the power.
“Ivette, why are you standing at the—oh, I didn't realize we had a visitor.” The man I hadn’t wanted to see stood behind her.
I ignored him and focused on my mother. There were more important things I had to do with my time.
“You leaving us was the best thing that ever happened.” She opened her mouth to respond, but I didn't let her. “Stay away from all of us.”
I spun and trotted back down the steps. This time I wasn’t running. I was walking away intentionally.
“I left because of you.”
I stumbled. The words were like fire blazing arrows in my back. They were the ones I’d feared most of my life.
She left because of me, son. Don’t you ever think otherwise. Ever.
My father’s words gave me strength. He was the one who’d been there for me through everything. He was the one I could trust. And I was finally listening to him.
I kept walking. I'd said what I needed to. Done. So very done with her. But if she ignored my warning, I had my family to stand up against her. We had each other. Something she would never get back.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Baker
“I’ll be there in an—”
I froze in the doorway and sniffed. Was that motor oil? I shook my head to clear it. Obviously, I was hallucinating . . . or losing my mind. Maybe both.
“Baker?” Trish’s worried voice came through the phone.
“I’ll be there in an hour. You guys go on and eat without me.”
“No. Mr. Dixon just started to cook, so you have plenty of time.”
“See you soon.”
I tossed my keys on the counter and surveyed the room. Everything looked the same. The disappointment was still potent. I’d gotten better, but every day I pictured opening the front door to find Holt standing in the kitchen, coveralls on, beer in hand.
It never happened.
And now I was smelling a garage shop. Lunatic. A delusional lunatic.
* * *
“Hey!” A chorus of welcomes greeted me as I came into Mr. Dixon’s living room.
Ella screamed the loudest. All was normal.
“Am I late?”
“Right on time,” Mrs. Quinn said. “Andrew just set the table.”
“He did?”
“I heard that,” he called from the dining room.
“Here you are, love.” Mr. Dixon passed me a glass of red wine and kissed me on the cheek. “How’s the magazine world?”
“Crazy busy?”
“More importantly, how’s the cosmetics world?”
What would I do without this family?
I gave him a shy smile. “I have news,” I said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
The room stopped. Even Ella was quiet, her attention on me.
“Juniper wants 1000 glosses, 500 blushes, and 500 shadows.”
Trish shrieked. “Baker, that’s terrific.”
“Didn’t she just order a couple hundred of the gloss?” Andrew asked.
“Already gone.” My chest puffed out a little.
Because of Juniper’s interest, I'd moved up the timeline to have everything tested. They were perfectly safe. And Hayden had helped me get my company legally set up . . . with Patrick’s and Andrew’s help. I was so grateful I had people to look out for me.
Mrs. Quinn hugged me. “So proud of you, my dear.”
“When do Ella and I need to report for duty?” Mr. Dixon saluted.
“I’ll let you know as soon as the supplies come in.” Though I had no idea where I was going to produce all of these things. My setup in the apartment wasn’t nearly big enough to handle making larger quantities.
Trish slung an arm around my shoulders. “I hate to add to the pressure, but I’m out too.”
I slipped my arm around her waist. “You get preferential treatment. First customer and all.”
She winked at me, and I winked back.
“I’ll print more labels,” Cricket said softly.
“Hey,” I said, startled. She was a phantom, appearing and disappearing at will. “That would be great. Oh, and she liked the new packaging you came up with. I showed her a sample this afternoon.”
Cricket blushed. “I can get what you need by this weekend.”
“Let me know how much and I’ll give you the money.”
She shrank back into the kitchen without another word.
“Who’s hungry?” Mr. Dixon practically glowed, completely in his element with his family around.
“Me.” I raised my hand, silly after the spectacular day I'd had.
Funny, the first person I’d wanted to call with the news wasn’t in this room. Or this city, for that matter. I’d almost broken down and done it, but I still needed the first move to be his.
* * *
After dinner, we did the dishes and gathered in the living room. The television was on, but muted in the background. Mr. Dixon sat in his chair. Mrs. Quinn took the matching one next to him. Trish and Andrew sank onto the love seat, while Cricket and I settled in on the sofa opposite them.
Andrew’s phone buzzed with a text. Lines creased his forehead as his fingers flew across the screen.
“Big client?” Mr. Dixon pointed his chin at the phone.
He slipped it back into his pocket. “I talked to Marlow,” he blurted.
“Was that her?”
“No. It was a few days ago.” Trish placed a hand on his thigh. “It didn’t go well.”
His father tightened his fingers around the stem of the wine glass. “It didn’t go well when I spoke to her either.”
“I thought I was ready. But the second she answered, I realized I’m still so angry with her.”
We all were. It was shocking what she’d done.
“Me too. I told her if she needed me, I’m here and I’d like to continue to keep Blake. But I need some time to get over what she did.” Mr. Dixon’s sadness seeped from every part of him.
“It’s not that she was talking to her. But inviting her to our wedding? That was low.” Andrew ran a hand through his hair.
“I can’t believe she’d do something like that. If she wanted to try to fix things, that wasn’t the place to start,” Mr. Dixon said in disbelief.
“She tried to tell me she didn’t do it.” Andrew didn’t sound convinced.
“She told me the same thing. I can’t trust her,” Mr. Dixon choked out, pain contorting his face.
Mrs. Quinn took his hand into hers.
“If you love her, don’t shut her out forever.”
All eyes landed on Cricket, who looked down at her lap after she spoke.
“I just need more time,” Mr. Dixon said.
“Turn that up.” Mrs. Quinn slapped at his arm and pointed toward the TV.
An old DMV photo of my face was plastered on the screen.
“The passenger in the shooting spree in Washington, D.C. three years ago that left twelve people dead and thirty-seven injured has finally been identified.”
“Is that true?”
Through blurred vision, the one person I’d never wanted to discover my past stood in the doorway.
Holt.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Baker
Three Years Ago
* * *
“We’re gonna leave our mark, baby. You and me. Nobody’s ever gonna forget us.”
Kyle started the ignition to the car, turned up the radio to a deafening volume, and grabbed my hand. He grinned as “Heroes” by Postmodern Jukebox blasted.
I gave him a wary smile. Whenever he played that song, he always got in a weird mood. At that moment, he was giddy to a point I’d never seen. He’d been having these highs and lows a lot more recently.
And they scared me.
So much so that I’d called the police. Told them something was happening. They’d never come.
Kyle did illegal things. Things that I chose to overlook because I loved him. Because he treasured me.
But his behavior had become strange, and I feared he'd hurt himself. Or maybe others.
He grabbed the back of my head and smashed his lips to mine. The kiss was bruising. Something beyond passionate. And where I usually settled with his touch, that kiss set me on edge.
When he ripped his lips from mine, he was breathless. “You”—he pointed at me—“are my inspiration.”
Those were the kinds of words I’d eaten up from the time we’d started seeing one another. They were the reason I fell so hard and fast.
I touched his cheek, but words failed me. Tell him you want to go back to school.
I dropped my hand. Now wasn’t the time. Not when he seemed so high. I didn’t want to upset him.
He threw the car in reverse and we squealed out of the driveway of our townhome. I gripped the seat as he sped down the street. His hand was tight on mine as he raced around cars and blew through two stop signs.
Another driver slammed on the brakes to avoid crashing into us.
“Kyle. Can we slow down please?”
His answer was to press down harder on the gas.
As we rocketed up the ramp of the I-66 freeway, he sang at the top of his lungs.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Blood thundered in my ears. My heart pounded so hard my chest hurt.
He released my hand and reached behind us. I turned to see him yank a blanket off the backseat.
Bile rose up my throat.
A pile of guns big enough for a small army lay innocently on the cloth seat.
Kyle grabbed one. He cocked it.
I stared in horror. Frozen.
Is he going to kill me?
He turned up the radio.
4:37 p.m.
Why am I looking at the clock? Why don’t I do something?
In slow motion, he smiled at me. Turned his head. Rolled down the window. My hair blew in my face.
He lifted the shot gun. Aimed at the car beside us.
Boom.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Holt
One look at her and I knew the truth.
She was ashen as tears leaked from her eyes.
“I tried to stop it.” Desperation clung to her words. “I tried.”
Trish bolted across the living room to her side and threw an arm around her.
I blocked out the noise from the TV. I remembered that day well. Most of America did. Some asshole took a joy ride through the capital, shooting innocent people as he went. It wasn’t the deadliest killing in our history, but it ranked up near the top of most fucked up.
“Did you—” I couldn’t finish the question. Couldn’t connect the woman I knew with that.
“I was in the car.”
Mrs. Quinn cleared her throat. “You’ll have more privacy in the kitchen.”
I nodded once and went straight for the fridge. Half a beer was down before I felt Easy enter.
A phone rang from the other room, but all I could focus on was Baker. Her arms were folded around her middle like she wanted to make herself small.
I exhaled long and slow. “Tell me your truth. The raw version.”
She lifted her eyes to mine. “Why’d you come back? Just give me that before you hear the ugly facts.”
“For you.”
Her mouth quivered. A few more tears escaped down her cheeks. She lifted her chin.
“I was fifteen when I met Kyle. If there was a god, he was mine.”
Immediately, I hated the guy. Not only for what he’d dragged Baker into, but that he’d owned her heart.
She swallowed hard. “He was twenty. I didn’t care that he was too old for me. He felt right. In here.” She pointed to her chest, and I wrung the neck of my beer bottle.
“He was good to me. Said we were going to do big things. I believed him. He made me believe in him.”
She turned away for a moment. I was impatient for the rest of this story, but I’d give her the time she needed.
Trust Me: A Roommates To Lovers Romance Novel (Free Book 2) Page 24