Forbidden Kiss: Carson Cove Scandals

by Callahan, Kelli

  Taylor: Is Dylan still there?

  Bryant: No, he went out with friends. I don’t know when he’ll be back. I wish you were here…

  Taylor: Maybe next weekend.

  Bryant: You’re really going to make me wait an entire week?

  Taylor: When does Dylan leave?

  Bryant: If it’s like most of his visits, he’ll stay until Monday, and get up early so he can drive back to school before his first class.

  Taylor: Then I guess you have to wait. :(

  Bryant: You can’t sneak in a visit during the week?

  Taylor: I’ll have to see how things go with school.

  Bryant: Okay.

  I might have been convinced to squeeze in a visit to Bryant on Sunday night if Dylan was leaving—even though I was still wracked with a fair amount of guilt over almost being caught. I was dancing on a razor blade, and one false step would cut me in two but didn’t know how to shut off the part of me that was falling for him. We kept texting back and forth—I had another glass of wine, but left my movie paused because talking to him was a lot more interesting than the comedy on the screen in front of me.

  Bryant: Send me a picture…

  Taylor: No way, I’m already in my pajamas and my hair is a mess.

  Bryant: So? You can take your pajamas off it makes you feel better…

  Taylor: You’d like that, wouldn’t you?

  Bryant: Very much… Come on. I may have to wait an entire week to see you!

  Taylor: Fine…

  I took the best picture I could, but I wasn’t very happy with it, so I snapped a few more to try and get a better shot. None of them were perfect, but I finally found one that I considered acceptable to send. I still ran it through a few filters to adjust the color, hide some of the background, and smooth over a few of the blemishes I hated. I always criticized the people who didn’t post anything on Facebook unless it had been heavily filtered, but there I was—doing the exact same thing, like some kind of hypocrite. I hit the button and sent it to Bryant once it was as perfect as it was ever going to be.

  Taylor: Here you go…

  Bryant: Wow, beautiful!

  Taylor: Do I get one of you?

  Bryant: I guess that’s fair.

  It didn’t take long for Bryant to send a response, and he didn’t use a single filter—he didn’t need them. It was a casual picture of him on the couch with the top few buttons of his shirt unbuttoned. It should have been a crime to look that hot without trying—just seeing a picture of him was enough to make my body tingle. There was something about Bryant that made me temporarily lose my connection with rational thought—I knew it was forbidden, dangerous, and even exchanging text messages with him was a risk if one of his kids looked at his phone. Every time I convinced myself I was going to pull away before it was too late, I found myself thinking about having his lips against mine—feeling them on my skin—and being in his arms.

  Taylor: I wish I was there with you right now.

  Bryant: I would do so many things to you if you were…

  Taylor: Dirty things? :)

  Bryant: You know the answer already. I would finish what we started earlier today.

  The conversation started to get quite flirty—with a hint of dirty—and Bryant asked for another picture. I decided to send him one that was a little more risqué than the first one I sent. I unbuttoned my pajama top, leaned forward, and took one that showed my breasts without revealing my nipples. That got me one of him without a shirt, and I’m surprised my cell phone didn’t melt in my hand—it was so hot that my hand trembled, and my mouth fell open. I really wanted to be there with him—I wanted to feel the same pleasure he showed me when he took my innocence. He made me feel carefree—despite the danger—and for the first time in my life, I felt sexy. I snapped a few more pictures, sent them to him, and was tempted to take one that showed more skin—but my phone lit up while I was trying to figure out the angle. It wasn’t a message from Bryant—it was from Victoria.

  Oh god…

  Victoria: Hey girl! Long time! How are you doing?

  Panic immediately swept through me—there was no way for her to know I was literally exchanging dirty messages and pictures with her father—or had some strange daughterly intuition made her message me out of the blue? I quickly fired off a message to Bryant to let him know that I had something come up. He was disappointed that I was bringing the conversation to an abrupt end, but I couldn’t sit there and continue it while I exchanged messages with Victoria. Just staring at her message made me sick to my stomach—it brought every bad thing we were doing back into perspective immediately and left me with a sense of dread. I had no choice but to reply—even if it made me want to just crawl in a hole instead.

  Taylor: Hey! I’m good… I’m spending Saturday night on the couch watching Netflix, how about you?

  Victoria: Girl, same! I was behind on a few assignments, so I spent the day working. Now it’s time to relax…

  Victoria sent me a picture of herself holding a glass of wine and angled it so I could see that she had a movie going in the background. That meant she wanted a message from me—and my wine glass was empty. I quickly ran to the kitchen, refilled it, and put my pajamas back on before starting my movie back up. I took a similar picture and sent it to her, once I applied a few filters to hide the fact that my makeup was long gone—not that Victoria cared, but she had surprised me once by posting a picture I sent her on social media. Once again—I was being a hypocrite—in more ways than one considering the fact that I was literally sending pictures to her father before she messaged me.

  Victoria: I watched that movie! It was good!

  Taylor: Yeah, it’s really funny!

  Victoria: How are things going in Carson Cove?

  Taylor: Same as always, I guess.

  Victoria: Have you heard any rumors? :)

  Taylor: What kind of rumors?

  Victoria: About my dad…

  Oh god. She knows something. Fuck!

  Taylor: I don’t think so… We don’t exactly run in the same circles. Why?

  “Should I tell her the truth? This is my opportunity… I could tell her about the art show—I don’t have to tell her everything.” I started muttering to myself.

  Victoria: One of my sister’s friends messaged me—she was trying to get in touch with her and asked if I knew where she was. She also mentioned that my dad was seen with some mystery woman…

  “If she knew it was me, she would just say something… Now I’m talking to myself like a crazy person,” I sighed and took a sip of my wine. “I need to be as honest as possible here—it will ruin our friendship if I don’t—I just can’t tell her everything.”

  Taylor: I won tickets to the art show the other day, and he was there… I saw him talking to Alexis Devereaux…

  I wanted to keep typing—and reveal as much of the truth as possible without telling her that I had spent one unforgettable night in her father’s bed. My fingers hesitated before I could say what happened after I saw Alexis talking to her father. I typed another sentence—erased it—typed another one—then erased it too.

  Victoria: He would never date someone like her. She’s a pariah.

  Taylor: Yeah, I don’t think she got anywhere.

  Victoria: What a fucking bitch. Maybe that’s what they saw…

  Taylor: Maybe…

  Victoria: Hopefully, he’s not involved with anyone. Especially her.

  Taylor: It took me a while to get used to the idea of my parents dating too…

  Victoria: I would have been fine with it under normal circumstances…

  Taylor: What do you mean?

  Victoria: My mom isn’t doing well. She thought she knew what she wanted with the divorce… Damn it; she told me not to tell anyone. I know you won’t say anything though.

  Taylor: No, of course not…

  Victoria: She’s all alone in the city, and she’s having a lot of regrets right now. My brother visits when he can, but she doesn
’t feel like she can really talk to him—he’s still her baby.

  Taylor: The price of being the youngest…

  Victoria: Yeah. My mom just misses her family right now—and I think she misses my dad too, even though she won’t admit it. I’ve been trying to convince her to reach out to him. I don’t know if a reconciliation is possible… She hurt him.

  Taylor: I’m sure it would be difficult…

  Victoria: I know. I might make a trip home to talk to him—or at least talk to her in person.

  My guilt immediately went through the roof—the panic that had been twisting my stomach into a knot made me begin to hyperventilate. My head spun, and I felt like I couldn’t get enough oxygen. More wine was probably the last thing I needed, but I downed the entire glass and ran to the kitchen for more. It didn’t make me feel any better, but it was wet—and after a few more sips, my breathing returned to normal. Victoria would be upset if she came home and found out that I was involved with her father—there was a good chance it would end our friendship—but if she thought I was standing between her parents and reconciliation, then she would absolutely hate me.

  I have to end things with Bryant. I have to stop saying that I will—and actually do it—no matter how good he makes me feel.

  I exchanged a few more text messages with Victoria and tried to steer clear of the subject I didn’t want to discuss. I asked about school, guys she was dating—basically anything that would ensure she didn’t start talking about her parents again. It had been a while since we talked but I was absolutely relieved when the conversation finally began to wind down. I had way too much wine and was ready for the bed. I certainly didn’t want Anna or my mom to walk in and find me in the living room drunk. The movie I was watching ended at some point, but I had no idea what happened towards the end—it didn’t matter. It wasn’t going to make me laugh anymore—nothing could do that.

  I need to see Bryant as soon as possible. I don’t want to risk this dragging out until next weekend—I don’t know if Victoria will come home immediately or wait until things settle down at school.

  * * *

  The next day

  I don’t know how I managed to actually fall asleep—it was probably all of the wine in my system that put me down for the count. I tossed and turned for a little while and actually heard Anna arrive shortly before my mom did. Even though I did fall asleep, I didn’t sleep well. My dreams were chaotic and filled with flashing scenes of my worst fears—getting caught with Bryant—the look on Victoria’s face when she found out we were together—and the one that woke me up was of him getting remarried to his ex-wife. That’s what it appeared to be at least—until he raised her veil, and I saw Alexis Devereaux underneath it. It was a dream so horrifying that I woke up in a cold sweat with the sun peeking through the clouds.

  I’m definitely not going back to sleep after that.

  When I was younger, I had a lot of reasons for painting—and one of them was because it helped me process my emotions with a certain level of clarity. My easel was turned around and the last painting I was working on was facing the closet—it was supposed to be a landscape, but I wasn’t in the mood for that. I replaced it with a fresh canvas, mixed up some paint, and let my emotions flow through the end of the paintbrush. Three hours later, I had a painting that was filled with dark imagery, and a splotchy outline of a woman crying orange tears. I had no idea why they were orange—and the woman didn’t resemble anyone I knew—but it seemed to capture the turmoil that was tearing my soul in half.

  I wish it was possible to cry it all away—that would be easier than facing the truth.

  I heard my sister’s bedroom door open, and a few minutes later, my mother’s did as well. I decided to join them—except my pajamas had a few smears of paint, so I quickly changed into a fresh set of clothes. The painting I created was personal, and even though my mother had lost her love of art, she would have still asked to see it if she knew I was working on something new. Anna probably would too—just because it had been a while since I picked up a brush. It was too emotional to share, and I wouldn’t be able to tell them where the inspiration came from. It was just too damn complicated to explain.

  It’s a good thing it isn’t socially acceptable to have wine for breakfast…

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bryant

  The next day

  Dylan stayed all weekend, and I tried to let myself get absorbed with work when he wasn’t around. If I didn’t have something to distract me, the only thing on my mind was Taylor. I wanted to find a way show her that I was sorry our date didn’t work out, and I hated that I was going to have to wait an entire week to do it. I wasn’t upset with Dylan for visiting—I loved spending time with my son—it was just poor timing because I didn’t know he was coming until he showed up at my door.

  I tried to call Shaina a couple of times on Sunday, but I wasn’t able to reach her. I did talk to Victoria for a little while, and she said she hadn’t been able to get in touch with her either. By the time I made it to work on Monday morning, I was starting to worry more about my oldest daughter than when I would see Taylor again. It wasn’t unusual for Shaina to get busy with school and miss a few calls, but she normally called me back—at some point. The silence didn’t sit well with me, especially since Dylan and Victoria hadn’t been able to get in touch with her either—that definitely wasn’t normal.

  “Cassie, I need you to do something for me.” I walked out of my office after my first morning meeting.

  “Yes sir, what do you need?” She looked up at me.

  “I need you to place a call to Shaina’s school—if they need to talk to me, it’s fine, but I want to know if she made it to class today.” I looked around the office and sighed. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with her.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” She nodded and started searching for the number.

  I went back to my office, looked over a few reports, and made some decisions regarding our investments for the week. Cassie had to leave a message, so it turned into a waiting game. The worry intensified as the day wore on, and by the afternoon, I was starting to lose my mind. Cassie could tell that it was really bothering me, so she called back—and refused to let them just take another message. She stayed on hold for nearly ten minutes, but someone with a little bit of authority finally came on the line. It shouldn’t have taken that long considering that I made donations to Shaina’s school, on top of paying her tuition. I was just about to walk over and take over the conversation when my cell phone lit up, and I saw Shaina’s number.

  “She’s calling me.” I waved Cassie off and headed to my office. “Hello?”

  “Hey Dad!” It was Shaina’s voice—and she sounded rather cheerful.

  “Shaina…” I sat down behind my desk. “Why haven’t you returned my calls—Dylan and Victoria said they were having trouble getting in touch with you too…”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve just been really busy with school—I spent the whole weekend in the library researching a case that I have to present…” she exhaled into the receiver.

  “Last week too?” I narrowed my eyes.

  “It’s just been…” she sighed. “Really busy.”

  “Okay.” I decided to drop it—I was talking to her—she sounded fine. “Please make sure you stay in touch. You know we’re going to worry if you don’t…”

  “I know.” Her voice trailed off for a second. “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you too…” I closed my eyes and tried to calm down—the worry hadn’t left me completely. “How is everything going—outside of the case you’re working on.”

  “Everything is fine…” A muffled sound echoed, and it sounded like she put her hand over the phone. “Hey, I gotta go. I just wanted to make sure you knew I was okay.”

  “Sure, no problem. Maybe we can talk later this week?” I leaned back in my chair.

  “Definitely! I’ll call you.” There was another muffled sound, and then she hung up.<
br />
  I quickly sent a message to Dylan and Victoria so they would know that I heard from Shaina. Cassie came into my office and told me that she confirmed Shaina had been attending classes regularly. The crisis was seemingly averted—everything was fine. I just had to keep reminding myself that my kids were grown, and they were living their own lives. There was a good chance that we would grow further apart once they graduated—a weekly call would become a luxury instead of an expectation. My ex-wife and I always joked that we were going to have another baby after the three we already had were in high school—just to avoid empty nest syndrome. There was no chance of that happening anymore, and I wasn’t sure I would be up for it, even if there was a way for it to happen.

  That may become a point of contention with Taylor—but our relationship isn’t far enough along to think about it now.

  I got back on track with my meetings for the afternoon once I confirmed Shaina was safe. The other people in the office left, including Cassie, but I stayed behind to catch up on some work. It wasn’t like I had anyone waiting at home—and I wasn’t going to be able to see Taylor until the weekend if she couldn’t find time to sneak away from her schoolwork. I hated it—especially after getting interrupted over the weekend, but we would just have to make up for lost time when we were together. Taylor must have sensed that I was thinking about her, because my phone lit up and I saw her number on the screen.

  Taylor: Hey…

  Bryant: Hello beautiful.

  Taylor: I don’t have as many assignments as I expected. Can I come over?

  Bryant: Give me time to get home. :)

  Taylor: Okay. There’s something we need to talk about…

  Bryant: Oh? Is there a problem?

  Taylor: Let’s just discuss it in person.

  Bryant: I should be home in about an hour.

  It seemed that I had traded one worry for another—I didn’t have to worry about Shaina anymore, but Taylor’s message was ominous. Experience had taught me that it usually wasn’t a good sign when a woman said they needed to talk—but I had no idea what could have happened. We talked over the weekend—we traded a few dirty pictures—everything seemed to be fine. If the roles were reversed, I’m not sure I would have been as calm as she was when Dylan interrupted us—I certainly wouldn’t have been happy about being locked in a library all day like someone was ashamed of me. That wasn’t the reason—the reason we needed to keep things secret meant just as much to her as it did to me—possibly more. All I could do was drive to my house and wait—that didn’t do anything to ease the tension, especially when I heard her car pull up in the driveway.