Caught Up in You (In Shady Grove Book 3)

by Beth Andrews

  4

  “HEY,” EDDIE SAID, lowering his voice. Luckily, Max was busy washing his hands and had no interest in his dad’s phone call.

  “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

  Tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear, he dished fries onto Max’s plate then his own. “We were just sitting down to eat.”

  “At eight-thirty? Isn’t that a little late?”

  He pressed his lips together, squeezed the spatula handle so hard, he was surprised it didn’t snap in two. Who the hell was she to question how he did things?

  “We had a busy day,” he managed to say in a reasonable tone.

  “Of course,” she said quickly as if trying to appease him. “Did you get my messages?”

  Messages? There had been more than the one she left with James?

  He grunted in affirmation as he motioned for Max to sit and start eating.

  “What did you need?”

  He could picture her on the other end of the line. Even though it was late, she was probably still at her fancy office, her hair pulled back. When they’d been married, she’d often worked twelve-, fourteen-hour days, put in time on weekends and holidays. She’d had no time and little energy for anything or anyone but work.

  Not even her own son.

  “Actually,” she said, “I’d like to talk to Max.”

  Eddie turned his back to Max, who now watched him with a frown. Must have picked up on Eddie’s tension. “Like I said, we’re just getting ready to—”

  “I’ll only take a moment of his time. I promise.”

  Your promises don’t mean much.

  He kept that thought to himself.

  “Your mom wants to talk to you,” he told Max, holding out the phone.

  Max took it. Eddie couldn’t tell if the flush staining his son’s cheeks was from pleasure or nerves.

  “Hello?” Max said.

  Eddie plated up his dinner, tried not to listen in on the conversation. Not that there was much said on Max’s part other than a few yeses, noes, okays and uh-huhs.

  After a few minutes, Max said goodbye and passed the phone to Eddie. “She wants to talk to you again.”

  Eddie set down his burger. “Yeah?”

  “I’d like to visit Max,” Lena said without preamble, obviously taking the hint that Eddie had no desire for pleasantries or to drag this conversation out longer than necessary.

  His stomach churning, he stood, covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Finish eating,” he whispered to Max before walking into the living room. “Is that what you talked with him about?”

  “No. I wanted to run it by you first.”

  Thank God for small favors. She had no business saying anything to Max about visiting before she had Eddie’s permission.

  “Is next weekend a good time for you?” she asked.

  There was no good time. After Lena’s visits, Max always acted out. Fighting at school. Being disrespectful and angry at home.

  How could it be anything other than a disruption? Lena had taken off when their son was two, claiming she couldn’t handle the responsibility of having a child, wanting to climb the career ladder more than to be a mother. She’d moved to Chicago and had been on the fast track with her job ever since. Until she got sick.

  And now she wanted to see Max next week.

  What choice did he have? She was his mother. She had a right to see him. Max had a right to have his mother in his life, even if it was on a temporary basis.

  “Yeah, that works for me.”

  “Great,” she said, sounding so relieved, guilt pricked him. He pushed it aside. “Maybe one night,” she continued, “he could stay with me at the hotel.”

  He didn’t want to fight her but he had to protect his son. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “It’s only one night, Eddie,” she said, sounding small. “I really want to spend time with him. He’s my son, too.”

  “He is your son,” he agreed, though it killed him to do so, “but you haven’t seen him in months. It’s confusing for him to have you pop in and out of his life.”

  “Now that I’m better, I can see him more often. Can’t we work something out?”

  She sounded sincere. But actions spoke louder than words and he needed to make sure this wasn’t some whim brought on by her illness. “If your visit with him goes well, the next time you come to town Max can spend one night with you.”

  “I know I haven’t been a big part of Max’s life up until now,” she said softly. “But I want to change that. Are you going to let me? Or fight me?”

  Her words, the subtle threat of them, blew through him. Chilled him to the bone. “Goodbye, Lena.”

  He clicked the phone off, imagined how satisfying it would be to wing it across the room. Instead, he set it carefully on the coffee table and headed to the kitchen. To his son.

  Are you going to let me? Or fight me?

  He was going to let her. Was going to let her see Max, be a bigger part of his life. Partly because it was the right thing to do. Because he felt sorry for what she’d gone through with her cancer diagnosis. Because he truly was glad she was going to be okay.

  But mostly because if he fought her, he was terrified he’d lose.

  * * *

  TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY-FIVE DAYS. She hated mornings the most.

  Actually, Joan thought, keeping her eyes shut as she lay under the heavy comforter on her bed, she hated every single waking moment of each day. But mornings were, by far, the worst. Because each day there was a moment, just as she awoke, when everything was fine. When she forgot, for the briefest of seconds, that her life had been changed forever.

  Each day there were a precious few seconds when she was happy.

  And then it all came rushing over her. The pain. The crushing grief. The sense of hopelessness. Of despair.

  Her son was gone.

  She didn’t know what to do. Wasn’t sure she could go on. She didn’t want to die.

  She just...didn’t want to live.

  Everything inside of her stilled and she held her breath as if she’d uttered her guiltiest secret aloud. Waited for the repercussions, the anger and denial, but none were forthcoming. Not from her husband, who slept next to her. Not from the universe or the God she used to believe in.

  Not from herself.

  How could she deny what was in her heart? The truth she faced each day.

  That she kept hidden from everyone. She wasn’t okay.

  Wasn’t sure she’d ever be okay again.

  But she’d keep pretending she was.

  Everyone told her to take as much time as she needed, but even if she lived forever she’d never get over losing Beau. Her only child.

  She was supposed to learn how to live without him. How? He’d been her shining light, her main focus and the best thing that had ever happened to her for so long...

  How could she possibly go on when he’d been so senselessly taken from this world?

  It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. It was the injustice of having him ripped from this world that kept her going. The sense that if she gave up, she’d somehow be letting the monster who’d taken Beau’s life win. She had to at least pretend she was getting better. That she was handling her loss with grace and dignity.

  When all she really wanted was to curl up into a ball in some dark corner and never come out.

  She didn’t have that luxury. She had to be there for Harper and Cassidy. Had to be a pillar of strength for those around her. She would not be pitied, would not be looked down upon or thought of as weak.

  She’d keep right on pretending she was strong.

  Steve shifted, rolled over so that his body pressed against her back, his morning erection solid and warm against the cleft of her rear. A year ago she would have snuggled closer to him, would have lifted his arm and wound it around her waist, led his hand to cup her breast. They would have made love slowly. Sweetly. Or they would have come together wildly. Passion dri
ving them both higher and higher.

  Six months ago she would have kept her breathing even and pretended to be sound asleep. Or she would have stiffened and edged away, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t touch her.

  This morning she remained still. Kept her body relaxed as he rubbed against her, his hand gripping her hip, his breathing growing ragged. He rolled her gently onto her back—he was nothing but gentle, her husband, the man she’d fallen in love with years after thinking she’d never find love again.

  They’d gotten married the summer Beau turned thirteen, had said their vows in a small, private ceremony in Steve’s backyard with Beau giving Joan away. Steve’s son and daughter—sixteen and eighteen respectively—had stood up for him.

  It had been such a beautiful beginning. Such a lovely promise to what could have been a long and joyful life together.

  But now that life was empty. She was empty. And so alone.

  All she could do was hold on to the shell of their marriage. Of herself.

  Steve shucked his boxers, slid her underwear down, then lifted the hem of her nightgown. There were no tender words between them. No smiles or laughter like there used to be. He didn’t kiss her, had stopped trying to get her to respond—to his kisses, his touch—months ago.

  But she wouldn’t deny him. Not when she knew sex was a basic human function. Not when he’d been so good to her, helping her keep up her facade in front of everyone else.

  She could pretend with everyone else but not with Steve. It shamed her.

  Humiliated her. But he was the only one who knew the truth. She was broken. Forever shattered.

  He slid inside of her and she bit her lower lip, grimaced. She wasn’t prepared for him but after a few strokes, her body responded the way nature intended. He grabbed her hips, pressed his face into the side of her neck and pumped into her. His body was warm, his scent familiar.

  She could hold on to his strong shoulders. Smooth her hands down his sides, over the soft skin of his lower back. She could lift her hips, meet him thrust for thrust, give a small piece of herself to him, take some comfort for herself.

  She kept her hands at her sides, palms up, fingers splayed. Her hips still. Turning her head away from him, she stared blindly into the darkness of their room. The bed squeaked. Her body moved with each of his firm thrusts, rubbed against the softness of the sheet. The numbers on the digital clock changed. Changed again. And again. Until Steve’s fingers tightened, his body growing rigid.

  He emptied himself into her with a low groan, his breath hot on her neck, his skin damp with sweat. And almost immediately, he rolled off her and padded into the adjoining bathroom.

  Leaving Joan to stare, dry-eyed, at yet another sunrise her son would never see.

  * * *

  EDDIE MONTESANO WAS back at Shady Grove Elementary, back in Harper’s classroom.

  Max, too, she noted, spying the little boy’s head behind his father’s legs. Eddie, in faded jeans, a snug T-shirt and a worn Pittsburgh Pirates ball cap, stood in the doorway, almost in the same spot he’d been yesterday when he’d told her he didn’t need her help. And he was watching her, his focus so complete, so intense, it was all she could do to take a full breath.

  Harper forced her attention to the sleeping newborn in her arms. But even as she smiled at the precious baby, she felt Eddie glowering at her from across the room.

  God, talk about unnerving. She was about ready to jump out of her skin. Or hold tiny Dawn Rupert up as some kind of shield against his death glare.

  What on earth was he doing here?

  “She’s beautiful,” Harper told Dawn’s mother, Lydia. Harper lifted the warm weight of the baby higher and inhaled that sweet, newborn scent. Seriously, they should market this stuff. “And you look great.”

  Lydia’s light brown hair was shiny and in soft waves around her pretty face, no dark circles or breakouts in sight on her clear complexion. Her green top hugged her post-baby boobs, her dark skinny jeans daring anyone to guess she’d given birth just seven days ago.

  Good thing she was super sweet and funny, or else Harper would have to hate her on principle alone.

  “Thanks,” Lydia said with the dismissive wave of a woman well used to not having to try hard to look good. “Honestly, she’s been such an easy baby so far, I’m afraid I’m getting spoiled. Not like that one.”

  Smiling, she nodded toward her older daughter, Shana, who skipped happily around her mother while singing the latest Beyoncé song under her breath.

  Beyoncé. At seven. Whatever happened to “Mary Had a Little Lamb”?

  “If Dawn keeps sleeping so much during the night,” Lydia continued, taking the baby from Harper, “I might be able to come back in a few weeks.”

  Lydia was the classroom mother and a really good one, too. Then again, the woman probably made cleaning toilets look fun and effortless.

  “Take all the time you need,” Harper said, unable to stop herself from shooting a glance in Eddie’s direction, only to discover he was no longer at the door. He and his son were now in the middle of the room. And slowly, steadily getting closer.

  “I hate leaving you in a lurch like this but I’ll be back before Halloween. If you need someone before then, let me know. I’m sure I can find a sitter.”

  Harper laughed. “We’ll be fine. Don’t worry about coming back before you’re ready.”

  “Come on, Shana,” Lydia called as she headed toward the door. “Let’s get your baby sister home.”

  “I get to help change her,” Shana told Harper proudly. A miniature of her mother, she had long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a penchant for T-shirts featuring Hello Kitty. “But I can’t feed her ’cause I don’t have boobs yet.”

  By the door, Lydia groaned and sent a furtive glance in Eddie’s direction.

  “Shana Marie!”

  Shana’s eyes widened. “What? That’s what Daddy told me.”

  Harper bit her lip to stop from smiling. “I’m sure you’re a big help to your mom and dad.”

  The little girl twirled so that her skirt floated out. “I am.”

  “Less spinning,” Lydia said, “more walking, please.”

  Harper laid her hand on Shana’s shoulder and guided her to her mother. “See you tomorrow.”

  She waited until the Ruperts were well down the hall before facing her unexpected guests. Making her way slowly to her desk, she sent Max a comforting smile.

  He ducked his head and slid farther behind his father. Were those tear marks on his face?

  “We need to talk,” Eddie said flatly.

  She sat behind her desk and linked her hands together in her lap. “Yes, I guessed that was your reason for being here. What can I do for you? From your expression, I take it this isn’t a social call.”

  Or going to be a pleasant visit.

  Then again, maybe he just wasn’t a pleasant sort of person. His brother

  James was. He was a complete sweetheart. Friendly. Kind. The type of man a girl could reason with, have a polite conversation with. A truly nice man.

  This one storming toward her, his son in his wake? Not so nice or friendly. Which was a pity. She bet he’d be a real heartbreaker if he’d only smile once in a while. Luckily, she wasn’t interested in having her heart broken.

  “If you have a problem with me,” he said, laying his hands on her desk and leaning forward, “you tell me. You don’t take it out on my kid.”

  Eyes narrowing, Harper slid her gaze from Eddie’s furious expression to Max’s face. Yes, the boy had definitely been crying and she could easily guess why. But she wasn’t saying anything until Eddie explained that remark.

  Standing, she mimicked Eddie’s stance so that they were nose to nose, though she doubted she looked quite as menacing as he did. “Excuse me?”

  “Dad,” Max whispered, tugging on Eddie’s shirt.

  Eddie laid his hand on his son’s head but didn’t turn his way. “Max told me you made him miss recess.”


  She sent Max a pointed look. The boy stopped tugging, his face turning beet-red as he stared at the floor.

  Oh, Max.

  She could, and did, forgive the boy for his part in this little drama. But Eddie? He wasn’t getting off so easily.

  “I see,” she said, tapping her mouth with her finger. “So, to your way of thinking, since you didn’t...what? Agree with me? Do as I wanted? I—in a devious and clever act of vengeance—made your son sit on the bench with me while his friends ran around the playground. Wow. I’m really quite the monster. And obviously I don’t have enough to do as all that was on my mind from the time you left this classroom yesterday was how I could get my revenge. Want to hear my evil laugh? It’s the one I use whenever one of my nefarious plans comes together.”

  Eddie’s frown deepened, turned to confusion. “This isn’t funny.”

  “It’s a little funny. Especially from this side of things. Max,” she said, “did you tell your father why you had to sit out during recess?”

  He lifted a shoulder.

  She walked out from behind the desk and crouched so she and Max were eye level. “Do you want to tell him?”

  He shook his head so hard, she felt a breeze from the swinging of his floppy hair.

  “Tell me what?” Eddie asked.

  The little boy wasn’t going to budge. Easy enough to tell where he inherited that stubborn streak.

  She straightened. “Max had his recess privileges taken away because he misbehaved in class today and at lunch. He disrupted the class several times this morning by walking around during lessons and tapping the other children’s desks. And the report I received from the cafeteria monitor stated that Max deliberately poured milk onto Elliott’s sandwich because Elliott wouldn’t share his cookies. Max and I had a discussion about his behavior and I believe he understands what he did wrong, but since recess is a privilege and not some God-given right, he lost that privilege for today and the rest of the week.”

  Eddie slid his hand under the bill of his cap and scratched his head. Tugging it down again, he set his free hand on his son’s shoulder. “Wait for me out in the hall while I talk with Mrs. Kavanagh, okay, buddy?”

  His eyes glistening with tears, his lower lip quivering, Max slunk off.