“Scarlett.” His voice is gravelly and the tone remorseful and sad. “We can’t.”
Sitting up quickly, he takes in a breath at my fast movement, but I don’t care if he’s uncomfortable. Shame falls over me like a veil. Crossing my arms across my chest, I sniffle back a tear of embarrassment.
“No, don’t do that. You’re beautiful, and this isn’t because I don’t want you,” he says with his hand reaching up to grip my cheek.
All of it is too much. His touches, my heart—the beating and breaking—shatters the dam of tears, and they freely fall. Without words, I lift myself off him, but he doesn’t let me go far. Instead, he sits up with the discarded T-shirt in his hand. Slowly he pulls it over my head as I sniffle and let him.
“Red, look at me.” I do as instructed and he smiles. “We need to talk about this but not right now. If you don’t mind, I’d like to hold you tonight.”
Nodding, I lie on my side, my back to his front as he spoons behind me, pulling the covers over us. His arm curls around my side, resting just above where my son sleeps, and I don’t bother stopping the flood of tears as they drip onto the pillow.
Chapter 15
Taylor
It isn’t the bright light of the morning sun that wakes me. It’s the silence. No longer the comfortable silence of the last day with Scarlett here, I’m greeted with the dead silence of an empty house. Rolling onto my back, I stretch my arm out to her side of the bed and only find coldness.
Her side of the bed.
How easy it is to think of her here in my bed. Giving her a piece of it like she gave me a piece of her last night. It took every ounce of self-restraint to not devour her. To not claim her as mine and make love to her. Thinking of her now, on top of me, kissing me, running her hands across my chest as she grinded her hips makes me hard. But then the same thought crosses my mind.
Henry.
I wouldn’t have ever thought of Scarlett like this when he was alive so why now? His death doesn’t give me permission to lust for his wife. It absolutely does not give me permission to have the feelings I do for her. The overwhelming need I have to protect her, care for her, and make her laugh. Every time she laughs I feel like I’ve scaled the tallest mountain.
It’s too soon. She’s too fragile. Regardless of the status of their relationship, they were having a child together. They loved one another, and I have no right to insert myself into that part of her life.
Frustrated, I climb from the bed and handle my business before walking out to the kitchen. As I pass through the living room, I eye the couch where she first touched me. Or rather, where I let her. Ignoring the jolt of desire the memory stirs, I start a pot of coffee and look around for signs of her. Her purse isn’t sitting on the counter where she left it, and her shoes aren’t resting by the door. My assumptions are confirmed when I see a note on the counter.
Pouring myself a cup of coffee, I pick up the piece of paper as the doorbell rings. Hope fills me and I set the paper back down and make my way to the front door. Pulling the door open, hope dissipates when my sister’s smiling face greets me.
“Jeez, grumpy much?” Addy asks as she pushes her way through the door, knocking me off balance. Following her and the scent of something sweet from the box in her hands, I pause when I see she has the note in her hand. Turning to face me, I see the look of confusion on her face and know I have a lot of explaining to do.
Extending my hand, I take the paper and read the short note that hurts me more than I would have expected.
Taylor,
Thank you for letting me stay for the weekend. I needed the break from my reality but it’s back to life for me. And for you too.
No hard feelings, I get it.
Scarlett
That’s just it. She doesn’t get it. Hell, I don’t get it. Looking up from the note, I see my sister standing with her back against the kitchen counter, a bear claw lifted to her mouth, and a quirked brow and invitation for me to spill.
“Is it too much to ask you to mind your own business?” I ask. A snort is my answer. Before I spill the beans on everything from Scarlett’s admission on the state of her marriage to a PG version of what happened last night, I pull out the counter stool and take my own pastry from the box.
Thirty minutes, a lot of requests from me to my sister to stop gasping and grunting at every other word I speak, my story ends with Addy laughing. Not just a little sarcastic giggle or a “you’re an idiot” snort. No, this is a full-out belly laugh that does nothing but annoy me.
“I fail to see what is funny, Addison.” Full name and a straight face doesn’t stop her. In fact, it only encourages her more. Taking the opportunity to ignore her, I refill my coffee cup and take a sip while she rights herself.
Dabbing her eyes with a dishtowel, she takes a few deep breaths before saying, “Oh brother dearest, you are so clueless.”
“About what exactly?”
“You offended that poor girl. All she wanted was a little affection and instead you shot her down.”
“I didn’t—”
“Didn’t what? Shoot her down? Of course you did. Gosh, Tay sometimes you’re truly clueless. Look, if there’s anything you hold in spades it’s integrity and the need to do right by others while protecting those you love. Always putting yourself last. It’s why you gave up that scholarship to enlist. Your commitment not only to your country but to your friendship with Henry. It’s who you are, and it’s why we all love you.”
She takes in a deep breath and slowly releases it, her eyes sympathetic and her lips forming a tight smile. Her tone is sincere and genuine, but her words make me feel reprimanded. “Baby brother, this time, you’ve screwed up. Scarlett has been through the ringer, and while some may say it’s too soon for her to feel something for another man, none of us know what she’s going through. The pregnancy hormones alone are enough to make each day, heck, each hour, an emotional roller coaster. Add to that her loss and loneliness, she just wanted to feel loved, special.”
Gathering her thoughts before she speaks again, she looks to the left. Like somewhere outside of this room the words will appear. “Maybe it’s more than that, I don’t know. What I do know is she was asking for something, and you flat out denied her. She’s probably humiliated.”
Stepping toward me, my big sister places her hand on my arm and pulls my attention from my cup. “Scarlett is a good person with a huge heart. All she ever wanted was a family to love and to be loved unconditionally. She had that taken from her, but with you, maybe she saw an opportunity to have it again, if only for a short time.”
Staring at my sister, sincerity the only emotion on her face, I contemplate what she’s said. Instead of sitting here in silence with my sister while she shakes her head in disbelief, I grab my phone from the counter and pull up Scarlett’s contact information. Addy mumbles her approval as I listen to the line ring, and then her voicemail picks up.
“Hey, Red. It’s me. I just wanted . . . well, I wasn’t expecting you to be gone. I wanted . . . Call me back, okay?”
I sound like a bumbling idiot. Like a teenager calling his crush. I guess in a lot of ways I am. Minus the teen part. That ship sailed long ago. Regardless of how much time has passed, the feeling is the same. Confliction, worry, and fear. Each emotion brewing under the surface as I play out the last few months in my mind. The way she clung to me the day I arrived in Fayhill to the simplicity of our banter as we shared a pizza, each moment special even when they seemed mundane. I feel more myself with Scarlett than I have with any other woman, possibly ever.
Addy stays for another hour, telling me about the trip to a bed and breakfast she and Landon stayed at this weekend. They cut the trip short so she could spend time with Scarlett, and although she didn’t get the one-on-one time with her, I feel like she enjoys teasing me just as much. By the time I kick her out of the house, half the morning has passed, and I only have a few hours before I need to be at the bar.
I call Scarlett one more
time, but when her voice mail answers, I don’t leave a message. Instead, I shoot off a quick text to call me when she can. Since I don’t know when she snuck out of here, I have no way of knowing when she’ll stop and be able to call me. Hell, I don’t even know if she will call me. If what Addy said is true, and she is embarrassed, I may not hear from her.
Taking a preemptive measure, I make one more call before facing my day. On the second ring his greeting is short but typical. “Sugar.”
“Cap.”
“Touché. What’s up? Everything okay with Scarlett?”
Pausing, I choose my words wisely. No way I can respond with, “Oh well, after I sucked on her tits and made her come, she snuck out of my house like a thief in the night.” Instead I say, “She’s headed back to Fayhill. I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“Thanks for the warning. It’s been strange without her here for a few days. How’s she doing?”
“Good. I think the change of scenery helped. We went out to a buddy’s property and relaxed yesterday. Crashed early.”
For the next few minutes we catch up, and I manage to answer his questions about Scarlett without confessing my sins like we’re at church. It’s what he says before he hangs up that sends me for a loop and has me frozen in place.
“Henry would want her to be happy, regardless of what that looks like to outsiders. The last few years were hard on them. I thought this baby would be a blessing, but I don’t think it changed much. I’m glad she is turning to you. I hate to see her punishing herself for something out of her control.”
“I care about her. Both of them. It’s my job to take care of Henry’s family.” It’s the first time I’ve spoken those words out loud. I’ve thought them for weeks and vowed to myself I would make sure they are always taken care of but saying them to Grant gives them a different meaning.
Chapter 16
Scarlett
“Hey, Red. It’s me. I just wanted . . . well, I wasn’t expecting you to be gone. I wanted . . . call me back, okay?”
The message never changes regardless of how many times I play it back. The first time I listened to it, I was at a rest stop stretching my legs. I could’ve answered his call but didn’t. I could have answered Addy’s text message, but I didn’t do that either. I’m sure they both assumed I was driving and technically I was on the road home just not at that exact moment. It sucks that I missed seeing Addy, but I couldn’t stay.
After one of the most epic orgasms of my life, I fell into a deep sleep. Dreams that were more haunting than happy pulled me from that slumber, but it was the full bladder and layers of regret that didn’t allow me to fall back asleep. Reminders of the line we crossed were emphasized by the appearance of Henry in my dreams. The dreams themselves weren’t anything special, just mundane everyday moments, but anytime the man who was Henry would begin to speak, saying something sweet or loving, I would look back at him confused. Then his face and body would morph into Taylor. Yet, when his body and face changed, his voice remained the same and the kindness was replaced with hurt, anger, and disappointment.
It doesn’t take an internet search for me to know what the dreams mean. I regret what happened. Except I don’t regret what I did or who it was with, I simply regret the moment he looked at me and turned me down. The moment I laid my heart out in the palm of my hand for him to take and he refused. As much as I’ve denied them, my feelings for Taylor have grown by leaps and bounds over the last few weeks. When he stood on the podium at the funeral giving his eulogy, I was moved by his love for Henry and their history together.
As we spent more time together and he allowed me to be lost in my emotions, I appreciated him more. It was the night he held me without judgment as I told him about the end of our marriage that things shifted for me. Going to see him this weekend was a gamble. I didn’t plan on jumping him, and while it may not have been my finest moment, it was great just the same. Nothing may come of it, and I may have damaged our friendship, but to touch him, to feel his skin on mine, it was more than I imagined.
Sitting here on my couch, my phone in my lap, I contemplate calling him back. What will I say? “Sorry for throwing myself at you?” I’m not. “Sorry, my attempts at seduction fell short and you weren’t into it?” That sounds pathetic.
Instead, I opt for a quick text message.
Me: Got your message. I’m home safe and sound. Thanks again for the reprieve from my life.
And now a quick text to Grant because, honestly, I’m surprised he wasn’t here waiting for me when I got home.
Me: I’m back. Exhausted and turning in early. I’m making fajitas this week, I’ll let you know what day.
Once the response from Grant comes through with a dozen thumbs up emojis, I toss my phone on the table and head for the shower. Stopping before I make it out of the living room, I realize I didn’t check my mail from the last two days. Sliding on a pair of flip flops, I head out to the curb. As I thumb through the mail, I see Mr. Stanton walking across his lawn toward me.
“Hi, Mr. Stanton.”
“Hello, dear. Did you get your package?”
Looking at him confused he smiles and then points to my front porch. A square box sits off to the side of my front door. I hadn’t even noticed it when I walked out.
“Oh, I’m glad the delivery guy made it back. I came in through the back door today, so I didn’t even see it. Thank you.”
Patting me on the shoulder he smiles and returns to his house. Stepping up to the porch, I bend to pick up the box. Lighter than it appears in size, I carry the package inside and set it down on the table along with the mail. The return address doesn’t have a name, only a post office box that I don’t recognize. Tugging at the tape, I pull the strip across the package and pull the box.
Nestled in a layer of tissue paper is something I know well. Emotions bubble up inside of me as I lift the envelope sitting inside. Sliding my finger under the seal I pull the card out and I recognize my sister’s scrawl.
Scarlett,
I thought you may want this. Mom has a box of your things in the attic as well. Congratulations on motherhood. Again, we are very sorry for your loss.
Regards,
Eliza
Regards. Not love or even sincerely. Nope, regards. How formal and practical. As I pull the tiny hand-knit blanket from the box, a wave of nostalgia hits me. I don’t have memories of my life with this blanket, but I’ve seen photos of me holding it like a protective shield. It’s gender neutral, colors of gray and yellow, because my parents didn’t know if I was a boy or girl. Apparently, I wanted to keep them on their toes, questioning everything, even in the womb.
Ignoring the fountain of tears, I pull the blanket to my nose, inhaling and hoping for some sense of home to hit me. Instead, the musty odor makes me sneeze. This blanket was important to me when I was little. By all accounts, it was my comfort. The one item I relied on for peace. My parents didn’t save and preserve it. They probably packed it in a cardboard box not unlike the one my sister shipped it in and placed it in the attic with all the other discarded items of our childhood.
Cast away like I was, it’s simply a possession they no longer deemed necessary. Anger is something I held on to for a long time when I thought they were only disappointed in me. Now, standing in my kitchen holding this blanket I know it isn’t about me, it’s about them. I will never make my son feel this way. He will never know what it’s like to not be enough. To always be second best and never fulfill the expectation of his parents.
I place the blanket back in the box and go back to the front door, locking it before heading down the hall to my bathroom for a quick shower and a little time with some mindless television. Kicking off my shoes, I begin stripping out of my clothes when the closet door catches my eye. The door is closed. I rarely close the closet doors. This is a topic Henry and I argued about often. My inability to close the closet door and his refusal to rinse the sink after shaving.
Slowly, I place my hand on the d
oor knob to the closet and take a deep breath. Apprehension keeping me from opening it. Why am I frightened? It’s not as if someone is hiding in here, that’s ridiculous. I must have subconsciously closed the door before I left. You’re welcome, Henry. See I do listen.
Opening the door, I peek inside, and nothing seems to be out of place. Turning to walk away, leaving the closet open like I prefer it, I finish undressing, tossing my clothes into the laundry basket before stepping into the bathroom. Turning the knobs, I set the temperature to very warm and step under the spray of the shower. I let the water pound on my shoulders, washing away the emotions of the last few days. Once I’ve stepped out of the shower and toweled off, I wipe the steam from the mirror and stare at myself in the mirror.
My face is fuller and my freckles a shade darker than usual. It’s the light in my eyes that catches my attention. For the first time in months, I see hope and determination staring back at me. Buried with my past are the pain and frustrations I’ve carried all these weeks.
I know there is nobody else in this world who will make sure we’re cared for, who will be responsible for our happiness and future. That is my responsibility and as much as the thought exhausts me, I make a vow to myself and my son to give it my all. A night of television and a good night’s sleep in my own bed are the first steps to a new beginning. Starting tomorrow, I have a life to get in order and a baby to prepare for.
Chapter 17
Taylor
Six weeks later
The soft lull of music from the bar and tapping of the keys on my computer are the only sounds I hear. It’s how things have been at night for the last six weeks. Long gone are the dinnertime phone calls with Scarlett, and in their place is new employee paperwork.
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