Happily Ever After: A Romance Collection

by Amelia Wilde

  “I wouldn’t marry without telling you, Mom,” I snap, rolling my eyes.

  “No, I meant are you dating.” Her voice is so silent, serious. “I don’t mean to pry. You haven’t been with anyone since Michael died.”

  “That’s not true. I dated a guy for a couple of years,” I correct her, getting ready to hang up. She would know if she hadn't abandoned me. The conversation is stealth like our relationship, and I don’t know how to push away the struggle. How to have a relationship like the one Anderson has with Sophia. They are so close. “I’m going out with someone I met a few weeks ago.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Anderson,” I whisper, closing my eyes, thinking of his forest green eyes and his strong arms. Jesus, I miss him so much.

  “You’ll have to bring him to the Keys for a mini vacation,” she suggests in that loud voice that seems like she’s ordering me or mad or… I get anxious not knowing what she means and I wish Dad were here to translate her mood. Right, this is why we don’t understand each other. We used my father as our way to communicate. “I have to meet him.”

  “Maybe later, Mom,” I blurt, exasperated with the conversation. “His mom has cancer and … we’re going through a tough time. We’re not in a place for social visits.”

  “You like her?” She sounds jealous? Or is it just curiosity?

  “I love her. She’s my neighbor. She’s fantastic, you know.” I stop, swallowing the rest of the words. Feeling like I’m betraying my mother for having a better relationship with the woman next door. “Why don’t I call you when we’re in a better place?”

  “You can’t go through life thinking that way,” she chastises me. At least, that’s how it sounds.

  “What do you mean?” Oh, Dad, how I wish you could decipher everything she’s trying to say. No. I have to work harder.

  “Life keeps going, Aspen. It doesn’t matter where you’re at or how you feel. The Earth never stops spinning around the Sun. I regret letting your father be the one who dealt with you instead of learning about who you are. I’m sorry for leaving you when you lost your daddy, knowing how much you loved him. Most of all, I regret not having a relationship with you.” My eyes drip with tears. The salty drops fall from my cheeks, drenching Hugo who I’m using as my support and my pillow. My hand clutches the phone. “I’m sorry for abandoning you. It’s okay if you’re not in a good place, we can start the conversation anywhere. It seems like you need support, a loved one is sick. Why don’t you let me be there for you? This time you don’t have to do much, only answer your phone when I call. Call me when you need to talk.”

  “Mhm,” I respond as the loud sobs echo through my room.

  I don’t even know why I’m crying. Is it because I miss Dad, miss her, or I just need someone to hug me after everything she said? My door swings open, Brynn steps inside.

  “Hey, what happened?”

  She takes my phone and shakes her head, giving it back. “Say goodbye, I’m heading to the freezer for some ice cream. I’ll bring the chocolate syrup and candy. We can talk once you’re ready.”

  “Mom, I have to go.” I sniff.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow, have a good night sleep.” I make a noncomittal sound.

  This isn’t what I expected. I break down as she talks. I wanted her to see me as the grown woman who didn’t need her; someone who has done well for herself. Have I? I guess I have. Everyone at the hospital loves me, and they recognize my hard work. I’m now taking on a new responsibility. And I understand it isn’t that I failed, but that I am ready for the next step. Still, here I am crying because Mom and I can’t understand each other the way most mother and daughters do. The question is, will I answer her call tomorrow?

  31

  Aspen

  “Hey, gorgeous,” I plant a smile on my face as I enter Sophia’s room. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like doing the cha-cha,” she responds with the same joyful energy she’s had since she arrived at my house. “But today I was thinking about running away.”

  “Hold your horses; I’ll get the car.” I check her socks, make sure the blanket is warm and clean and her pillows are fluffed the way she likes them. “You can’t leave without me. Where are we going?”

  Her lips press into a tight smile. “You know when the last time I saw him was?”

  I raise a brow, wondering who she’s talking about. “This is about finding some old beau? Because I could use a new one.”

  “Anderson might not like it,” she says, smiling at me. My insides tense. In the three weeks he’s been gone, he hasn’t texted. I know he’s off the grid, but thinking of him gone is killing me. She doesn’t mention him. “I’m talking about Simon.”

  I freeze. Simon is her late husband.

  “He’s on a special mission,” she continues, as I check her temperature, and wonder what is causing this episode. “But as soon as he ties all those loose ends, he’ll be back for me. He would’ve loved you.”

  “Simon?” I ask very confused because the one in the mission is Anderson, not Simon. She nods. “Do you want to talk about him?”

  “He was as tall as Anderson. They share the same green eyes. When I looked at them, it was like staring at a forest.” Her eyes are lost in memories. “He had many smiles. My favorites were his boyish smile and his scorching smile with the intense gaze that hit me hard in the pit of my stomach.” She giggles.

  I imagine Anderson, who’s the same way with his many smiles that say anything from “I hate this” to “I want to eat you for breakfast”. The latter one is my favorite.

  “How did you meet?” I hand her a cup of water to make sure she’s hydrated. She’s been eating less and less. She drinks her protein shakes, but only the strawberry banana flavor.

  “During a vacation to San Diego with my parents,” she says rubbing her hands. Worried about the temperature, I take them between mine and rub them. “Love at first sight isn’t acceptable, but it only took us a matter of days to comprehend that we were meant for each other.”

  She closes her eyes momentarily. “Do you think I’ll be around when Anderson comes back?”

  “Of course.” I don’t hesitate to respond. “He’ll be back soon. Trust me.”

  “You’re a good kid.” She holds my hand. “This was a good choice. You girls are wonderful with me. The nurses are caring, better than any other place in the world.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “But enough about sad things, what are you going to read me today?” She points at the e-reader on top of her nightstand. “Maybe that Fifty Shades book?”

  I laugh because she insists on reading a little of everything before she leaves. She’s leaving, just like Dad. Even though losing my father hurt, losing her feels ten times harder. Over the years, I’ve learned to love her, to view life from a different perspective. I feel like I’ll miss out on so much more after she goes.

  “We have to finish One Hundred Years of Solitude,” I remind her of our current book.

  “More like one hundred dreading pages of painful solitary words.” We laugh together. “That’s not something I’d like to read before I die. It’s a ridiculous book. An arbitrary novel where the author makes up bologna about this family for One. Hundred. Years.”

  “Arbitrary?”

  “Senseless, like a fantasy. I don’t want to die pondering about the book.” She gestures at the tablet. “When I was in my thirties, I enjoyed reading the book. But now…I want to leave with something happy, exciting, profound. Not sure how things will be or where I’ll go, but if I bring my memories along I want to bring the best.”

  When Dad was dying, I spent days holding his hand and listening to all the cases he oversaw throughout the years. The wicked men he sentenced, and the ones he let go. His biggest accomplishments in life had to do with his career. Not his wife, or his children. Austin, my brother, didn’t bother to visit him. He came for the funeral.

  “Our family was far from perfect.” So
phia Hawkins looks at her bony hands. “My parents immigrated from France in the late sixties. Mama was always sweet. Dad was always busy.”

  It reminds me of my father who was always busy, but he always made time for me.

  “If there’s something I taught my children it’s to be gentlemen, appreciate the women they date and to never disrespect them.” Her eyes close. “Like their father was with me.”

  “What happened to doing the cha-cha?” I ask her trying to cheer her up.

  I touch the screen of the e-reader, searching for a new book.

  “Are you going back to the hospital soon? You should, you have a healing touch,” she continues, her thin arm reaching out, searching for my hand. I meet her half way, setting the e-reader back on top of the nightstand and holding her hand tight between mine. “Being a doctor must have taken you years, don’t miss the chance to reach your dreams.”

  “I won’t.” Brynn and I just applied for a bank loan and are waiting for the response. There are several places we have an eye on, and the applications for the licenses are ready. We are waiting for a permanent address for our offices. “For now, I’m focusing on you.”

  “Remember, life doesn’t wait for you. Reach out and conquer your fears. Work for those dreams.” She closes her eyes. “I think I’m going to take a nap. Will you be around when I wake up?”

  I angle my head, lifting my gaze toward the window of her room. The sun is shining and I wish I could’ve taken her out for a nice stroll. “Of course, I’ll be in the next room.”

  I adjust the blankets after taking her vitals and kiss her forehead.

  “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn,” she says right before I leave the room. “We should read that one.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s about family and the sacrifices that some make for their spouses, parents or siblings,” she explains, and I try to recall the name of the title. It’s not one I’m familiar with, am I? “About faith, about growth, about finding the strength to overcome those difficult situations. Even finding forgiveness within your heart. A tale where the heroine’s strength is tested on almost every page. She has a hard life, her father dies, and her mother asks for plenty of sacrifices from her.”

  “Does it have a happily ever after?”

  “Maybe I won’t find out, dear. But I hope she does because everyone deserves to receive what they give—and you give love and happiness all around.”

  “The Alchemist,” I counteract. “We should read that one. You recommended it a couple of years ago. I remember liking it, but maybe I should read it again.”

  “The truth cannot be veiled by smoke,” she mumbles. “The truth withstands the test of time. The thieves always taking from others in the name of peace, love or family. You’re right. We should read it.”

  Shutting the curtains and her door I pull out my phone.

  Me: She’s taking longer naps, and today she finally asked for something to ease her pain. It won’t be long.

  Brynn: You have to rest. Victoria is staying with her tonight. My vacations start tomorrow and continues until further notice.

  Me: Where are you?

  Brynn: At the grocery store, buying supplies. Are you contacting Anderson?

  Me: Yes. I’m going for a run with Hugo while she’s sleeping. Ella, the nurse, will keep an eye on her. Afterward, I’ll call Bradley.

  I went for a run, showerd and finally dialed the number.

  “Bradley speaking.” I hear the husky timbre on the other side of the phone.

  “Mr. Bradley this is Aspen Zimmerman. I’m—”

  “Ready to talk about my job offer?” His voice sounds excited.

  “No.” I sigh, at this moment his offer is at the bottom of my priority list.

  “Then how can I help you?”

  “Mrs. Hawkins’ health is deteriorating rapidly. I wanted Anderson to be aware of her condition.”

  “How long?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I can’t contact him just because you want him to be aware of his mother’s condition. I need a time frame.”

  “You’re an insensitive asshole,” I protest.

  “Pria, can you take this fucking call? Apparently, I’m coming off as an insensitive asshole.”

  “You are fucking insensitive,” a male voice says on the other line with a blast of laughter.

  Did I interrupt something? I check my calendar and the time. Sunday eight o’clock at night.

  “I’m charging you triple for this,” a woman mumbles. “Good afternoon. I’m the public relationships director of HIB. Is there something we can do for you?”

  Why do I want to speak to a PR person? Shouldn’t I try human resources? I take a deep breath and let out everything at once. “Anderson Hawkins, who works for Mr. Bradley, gave me this number if I needed something. I’m Dr. Zimmerman and I’m in charge of his mother’s health.”

  “Yes, I’m familiar with him and his mother’s condition. How is she doing?” The genuine concern in her voice takes me aback. Why does a PR person care?

  “Not well,” I respond, jealousy crippling through my veins. Who is this woman? One of the bimbos Anderson slept with? Fuck, that’s a petty thought. Where is that coming from? I’m tired and missing him. Give the report and see if you can contact him, then hang up. “We believe she doesn’t have much time left. She’s starting to mix reality with her past.”

  “Mase, is Anderson on the field? Can you bring him back?” She grunts at his response. “Is there something we can do to help while he’s absent?”

  “No, I have everything. And we can care for her during his absence. I worry that he won’t see her before…” I can’t say it. She can’t leave so soon, not after we have found our routine. What will happen to our daily talks? What book will I read when she’s gone? The family recipes she’s passing on from memory…what’s going to happen to all of them? I need more time with her. “I just feel like he should be back soon.”

  “Can you give me a moment? I’m placing you on hold.”

  It takes minutes for her to come back to the line. “Thank you for waiting. Look, I understand this is pressing. I’m too familiar with what you and Anderson are going through—losing a parent. I can’t tell you where he is or when he’ll be back. However, Mason assures me that this stage of the mission is almost over and he’ll be arriving home soon. If things worsen or you need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact him. You can text this number, Mason is better versed in the art of texting.”

  “Thank you for your help.”

  “I’m glad to help. And please, when Ms. Hawkins passes, call us too. Anderson is important to the company, and we would want to be there for him.”

  32

  Anderson

  Two sudden explosions pierce the sound of the jungle. They came from the north. Tiago and my men draw their arms after the first explosion. The men from the cartel we’re doing business with are pointing their weapons at us. I remain unarmed, hands held up staring at Joaquin Amador, their leader. The plan is going accordingly. Only a few more minutes and it should be over. “We didn’t fire that. It would be wise if your men lower their weapons before there’s a massacre, and only the two of us are left.”

  A man lunges toward me, raising his gun toward my head. I duck and hear a second gunshot. The man whips both his hands up to his head falling after the impact of a second bullet. Taking cover, I pull my gun and begin targeting the enemy. Amador lays on the ground with two holes in his head, Tiago’s specialty. Mission accomplished.

  Amador is a former government prosecutor who deserted his life and went to work for the Olmecas, a cartel stationed on the southern Mexican border. The man planted moles along the Mexican army and the agencies killing anyone who would try to obstruct his way. His next plan was to run for governor of Yucatan, a southern state in his country. His death was paid by the government, but taking him down opened the door to bigger fish. The Gulf cartel is looking for a foreign group to join forces with them. With
this operation finished, I have won their trust.

  “Ten minutes left, gentlemen. I recommend you head to the helicopter,” Harrison’s voice comes through the transmitter. “The DEA is picking up their own men.”

  “Sir, we’re on our way out,” I salute Vincent Gore, pull my gun again and shoot the man he’s handcuffing. “No survivors. We agreed.”

  “We want to bring them home for questioning,” he growls.

  Tiago shoots two more men. “With all due respect, sir, our agreement stated that you can’t bring souvenirs home. One of them learns about you, your guys or us and they will retaliate.”

  “We would be careful.” His smug posture makes me want to shoot him too.

  “I don’t give a fuck if you endanger yourself or your family,” I roar pulling him by his collar. He’s about five-eleven, shaved head like Tiago, but too lean to take me down. Staring down at him, I give him an ultimatum. “But I do when your stupidity puts my men in danger. I’ll have your job by tomorrow morning.”

  “You’re a nobody. You’ll be out of the job before you touch American soil.”

  I could kill Gore. Many things can happen during a mission, men die. I don’t. Knowing he’s out of the job will serve him better. “You can have my job, but can you handle it? I advise you run, there’s one more detonation coming this way.”

  We rush through the thick greenery. The third explosion happens when we reach the helicopter.

  “The third explosion, we are done with these fuckers,” Tiago’s voice comes through my headset as we load our equipment aboard the aircraft.