Steeling my voice, I said, “I’m Rachel”—his girlfriend? Fuck buddy? Play thing?—“his friend. He’s just stepped away, but I can talk to him for you, if you’d like.”
She exhaled heavily. “Well, Rachel, that would be appreciated. I’m not sure how well you know my boy, but all the Giannopoulos men are stubborn mules, my husband included. But this business has poisoned our family. I’m concerned about my husband’s health. The stress is wearing him down.”
My stomach cramped, the notion of Jimmy’s father being unwell hitting home. If something happened to the man before they reunited, it would haunt Jimmy. My final argument with my father tortured me to this day, as did the little things—a birthday of his I’d forgotten, the dinner I’d cancelled because I wasn’t in the mood. Stupid stuff, but tiny bumps became moguls, hills became mountains.
“I’ll make sure he gets in touch. Or”—I searched the trees, nerves buzzing—“if you wait, I can put him on the phone.”
Her answer was delayed, until, “I’ll wait, but he might not want to speak with me.”
I was intimately familiar with Jimmy’s stubbornness, and I could only imagine his father. Even his mother’s voice was a solid thing, her businesslike tone demanding my attention. But to not speak with her? After hearing his dad was unwell? It seemed preposterous.
The man in question walked from the trees, taking long strides, focus on his feet, like he was deep in thought. I hesitated. I’d have loved nothing more than to tell him I was all his, not mar our perfect day with stress, but this was important. This was family.
When he glanced my way, he frowned. “You okay?” His attention settled on the phone burning up my hand.
Sweat gathered along my spine. “I didn’t mean to answer it. Our phones were next to each other, and…I thought it was mine.”
He stopped dead, arms limp at his sides. “Who is it?”
I held the phone toward him. “Your mother.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. He shifted on his feet. “I have nothing to say to her.”
I stood and stepped closer, covering the mouthpiece with my thumb. Alena didn’t need to hear this. “I don’t know what happened, but she wants to talk and fix things.” I touched his forearm. “She’s reaching out. She’s worried about your father’s health.”
He didn’t flinch. His body nearly turned to stone. “Not interested. You can hang up.”
Excuse me? I reviewed my words, wondering if they hadn’t come out as planned. But my brain was functioning. He’d heard me just fine. “This is your family, Jimmy. How could you not want to speak with her and make sure your father’s okay?”
Instead of replying, he wrenched the phone from my hand, hit End, and tossed it on the ground.
My pulse thundered, blood rushing in my ears. “What is wrong with you?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me, Rachel. It’s them who have the problem.”
Rachel. He called me Rachel. Not Sunshine or Ray. It was detached, cold. This was the Jimmy who’d spent an hour flirting with me only to tear off and leave me in his dust. Here I was, about to pour my heart out to him, tell him I was ready for us to move forward, and he was calling me Rachel.
I poked at his chest. “You’re the one with the problem. Your father might be sick, and your mother called to bridge the gap between you. I don’t know the details of what tore your family apart, but this is your chance to make it right. If you ignore them, you’ll regret it.”
He shook his head. “This isn’t like what happened with you and your dad.” His fist swallowed my finger, ceasing my stabbing. “My family is nothing but poison.”
His blue eyes had never been so frosty, the silver at the edges sharpening into icicles. With a flare of his nostrils, he dropped my hand and turned away, jamming the rest of our stuff into his backpack. My throat burned. Gone was the man who’d told me I made him better. Disappeared was the lover who’d loosened my inhibitions. This cold-hearted imposter turned a blind eye to his pleading mother, and I couldn’t process the change.
When he got the bike loaded up, he planted his hands on the leather seat and slumped forward. “I’m sorry,” he said, defeat in his voice.
His apology eased the sting behind my eyes, but we so weren’t done here. “You hung up on your mother, Jimmy. You’re not some angsty sixteen-year-old. She needs your apology, not me.”
He spun around. “You don’t understand. My father said things to me a son should never hear, and she let it all happen. They ruined my life and made some brutal choices. Let’s just…” He scrubbed a hand down his face, shook it off, then approached me. My arms were crossed, my spine straight. He dipped his head to my level. “Can we sit and talk about this? I’ll tell you what happened. The whole sordid mess.”
Tenderness laced his tone, and I softened, but this was bigger than Jimmy and me and our fledgling relationship. “Will you call your mother back? After we talk?”
He flattened his lips and jammed his hands into his front pockets. “No. I’m done with them. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have family.”
My abdomen cramped, stealing my breath. He had a mother reaching out and a sick father, but he didn’t have family? So many things about Jimmy didn’t fit into my world, most of them superficial. Still, I’d decided to overcome my reservations, because he was worth it. This wasn’t superficial, though. This was the meatier stuff, the thing that made a man tick, and our clocks were set to different time zones.
How could I love someone who’d rather nurse his anger than make amends?
My head warred with my heart, a dizzying battle that had me shaking. I dug my toes into my sandals. “I’d like to go back, if that’s okay. We can talk tomorrow.” I needed space. Time to process and make sure my feelings were more than infatuation. That he was the man I believed him to be. I probably needed a glass of wine, too.
Silence built between us, an extended pause that worsened my turmoil. He huffed out a sad laugh. “You know what? There’s no need to talk to this out. This is all an excuse for you to continue keeping me at a distance. We’re just casual, like you wanted. I wouldn’t want to mess up your tidy life, anyway.”
His reproach hit hard, knocking the wind from my chest. He had no clue what I’d nearly confessed. That I was going to jump in with both feet, stop fighting our connection. Finally open up. Or…was I? I’d given him such a hard time recently. Playfully maybe, but he’d put himself on the line, and my rebukes must have hurt. Still, if he was the guy for me, how could everything be undone by a phone call?
Tears stung my eyes, a headache setting in, along with a lump in my throat. If I hadn’t answered that phone, we’d be tucked together on his bike, planning our week. Our sleepovers.
Now we couldn’t look at each other.
He plunged his hand through his hair, then strode to his bike. Like he was finished with me. I bit my cheek, barely containing my tears. My mind kept flitting between his anger, his mother’s plea, his sick father—my father, forever taken from me—to our perfect day, and the way my body had responded to his, landing on my selfish choices the past weeks.
Unsure how to unravel it all, I did the only thing I could—nothing. I climbed onto his bike, held on, and spent the ride trying not to cry.
Seventeen
Jimmy
Rachel was the girl for me. I knew it in my bones, felt it in the ache constricting my chest. But I was tired of her games. The ride back to San Francisco was torture. Her thighs hugged mine, her hands gripping my sides, but she wasn’t present. Her reaction wasn’t surprising. She didn’t know about my plan and the ruin it would bring to my family winery, but denying my mother was a big fat X in her books. A checkmark in her undateable column—next to tattoos and bartender.
She may have been the girl for me, but I was done trying to be the guy for her.
When I pulled up to her apartment, she didn’t move. Her chest wasn’t pressed to my back, but I could feel each of her inhales and it hurt. It was too much,
she was too much, and I felt too damn much. Two hours ago, we’d had the best sex of my life, raw and open and real.
Now we sat like strangers.
She pushed off my bike and paused on the sidewalk. “Thanks for the picnic, and the wine. I…” She trailed off, turmoil in her fidgety stance. “I’m sorry for how it ended.”
I was sorry, too. Sorry I’d lost my temper and that my mother had shoved her way back into my life. Sorry I wasn’t enough for Rachel, but it was time to let her go. It had taken me years to be comfortable in my own skin. I needed a woman who respected that.
Gripping my handlebars, I wrung my hands around them, tamping the urge to strut over, carry Rachel up to her apartment, and remind her how good we were together. But her indecision was palpable and getting in deeper wouldn’t end well for me.
At the least, she needed to know the truth of it. “I’m not perfect, and my family situation is a disaster, but I’m not the bad guy here. If I thought you’d have listened, I would have explained things, but you’ve had me running in circles. I can’t keep on like this. It sucks you can’t see what we have. It sucks how hard I’ve fallen for you. But I…” I revved my engine, unable to go on. “It’s better if we end things.”
I peeled out the second I said it and didn’t glance back. Couldn’t glance back. If relief had flooded her features, it would have cut deep. If she’d looked crushed, I would have said fuck it and grabbed her and kissed her and apologized for being such a dick, only to wind up back here the next time she freaked out.
Lose-lose.
I drove for an hour, gut twisting, cruising the streets in search of peace that didn’t come. Just as my life was turning around, my family had to mess it up, again. Get in the middle of another relationship. Rachel could cope with me having estranged parents, but one hint they wanted to mend fences, and she saw me as the asshole in the equation. The troublemaker.
My path was clearer for it. I had to cut them off, once and for all. Bring their lies to light, clear my conscience. My mother would stop trying to reach me, and they’d all leave me the hell alone. Maybe then I’d meet a woman who could accept me as I was.
I pulled over by the ocean. Salt stung my nose, the expanse of the Pacific a welcome sight. Cars rushed behind me, waves rolled ahead, birds coasting above. I blinked through the darkening light, envious of the seagulls and the simplicity of their existence.
Fly. Fish. Eat. Repeat.
My phone rang and I gritted my teeth, unsure if I should check it. If it was my mother, I’d probably toss it in the sea. If it was Rachel, I’d probably toss it, too. Then I’d jump in after it.
Unable to resist, I pulled it from my pocket. Owen Phillips. An unexpected name, but one that had me relaxing. We hadn’t connected since his first text. He’d asked to hang out once, but Rachel was coming over, and I’d been greedy for her, unsure how many nights we’d have.
Not enough, in the end.
I hit Talk. “Owen Phillips.”
“Last I checked,” he said. “Wondering if you wanted to grab that beer.”
I could drive around for the night, or stare listlessly at the horizon until the sun came up, but clouds were rolling in, dark with rain, and none of it would make me feel a damn bit better. It certainly wouldn’t help me forget I’d have to see Rachel in four days and pretend I was over her.
“Sounds great,” I said.
Thirty minutes later, I walked into The Blue Door. My gaze cut to the stools Rachel and I had sat on as I coaxed her into a no-strings affair, clueless to what I’d started. It was probably stupid to revisit this place, but it had a cool vibe, and the familiarity was comforting. Cameron stood behind the bar, and I spotted Owen at one of the cramped tables, spinning his tumbler of amber liquid. He glanced up as I came in. His eyes skimmed over me, past me, then darted back. A grin split his face.
I ordered a beer from Cameron, then made my way over to Owen. He clasped my hand and pulled me into a hug.
“Been a long time,” I said.
He thumped my back. “I’ll say. Barely recognized you.”
I wasn’t the only one who’d changed. Owen was still taller and broader than me, but the eighteen-year-old I’d chased around the soccer field had worn jeans and running shoes back then, his shirts often from Goodwill—he’d showed up at school once, an old top of mine on his back. That kid had hidden behind a mess of sandy hair. He’d been the first to throw a punch if it meant protecting a friend.
This thirty-year-old man seemed cool and collected: trim hair, gold watch, pressed dress shirt and slacks. Like me two years ago.
“You join a biker gang?” he asked as we sat.
“I heard membership came with health insurance.” We shared a grin, and I gestured to his business attire. “What about you? Did a millionaire mug you and swap out your second-hand clothes?”
His straight posture relaxed. “I had a meeting, hence the clothes. And if my friends in D.C. saw my teenage self, I’d have gotten laughed out of the city.”
A bead of moisture dripped down my bottle. I spread it around with my thumb. “Heard you were living there. Married. Working some fancy finance gig. Why’d you guys move back?”
He swirled his drink as low murmurs rose from the half-filled room. Blues tunes strummed from the speakers. Owen tapped his finger against his glass. “I moved back on my own. Left everything behind. The wife. Job. All of it. Consider me starting fresh.”
“Jesus. Anything you want to talk about?”
“Yeah, actually. Would probably do me some good, but it’s a messy divorce, and the judge assigned to the case has a thing about us airing our dirty laundry. My lawyer advised me to keep my mouth shut. My soon-to-be ex-wife is an attorney herself, and she can be”—he took a healthy pull of his drink, then crunched on an ice cube—“aggressive.”
“Well, I’m around if you want to unload. My life took a header off a cliff a couple years back. You’d be preaching to the choir.”
“That header have something to do with why you don’t talk to your folks?”
I gripped my beer so tightly my rings bit into my skin. Last thing I needed was more family talk. “Not something, everything. And how’d you know we were on the outs?”
“I called them to get your number. Your mother jumped all over me, demanding I talk some sense into you, convince you to call them.” He shook his head. “That woman always scared the crap out of me.”
I huffed out a laugh. “She has a way with words. Remember when she picked us up from that soccer tournament in San Diego and caught us sharing a beer under the bleachers with the Ellis twins?”
He coughed around his next swallow, pounding his chest and clearing his throat. “What did she say again? ‘If you’re not in the car in two minutes, you’ll never need a protective cup again.’ My nuts crawled into my stomach.”
“The Ellis twins were worth it.”
The memory settled, the first positive one I’d had of my mother in ages. Others surfaced too: her singing me to sleep when I was sick, her tears of pride when I’d earned my Master Sommelier. The moments tugged at the frayed edges of my heart, guilt surfacing the way it did at times. A pang that didn’t last.
Her interference with Rachel had singed all residual fondness. As did the memory of our last argument. When it mattered, when my future hung in the balance, she’d turned a blind eye.
Owen nudged my foot under the table. “There something you need to get off your chest? I may be under a gag order, but I can listen.”
We hadn’t seen each other in twelve years. No phone calls. No Facebook chats. I didn’t know the first thing about his work or the woman he was set to divorce. In school, we’d picked up girls together and drank beers underage, sweating it out on the field with our teammates. We’d since grown into men, but underneath we were still the same boys, finding our way through life one fuck-up at a time. “There was this girl,” I said.
“Isn’t there always?”
“Pretty much.” I ran my tong
ue over my teeth. Rachel’s taste still lingered. As did the feel of her lips, her skin. Always a girl. But this mess had started before her. “Her name was Sophia, and I met her after college. Her family bought the property next to ours. That winery on the hill?”
He nodded, and I went on, ready to purge the story. Get it out. Eviscerate the guts of it. “Her father and mine didn’t get along, something about pesticide usage seeping onto our grapes. My folks were pissed when I asked Sophia out. Not that my father giving me a hard time was new, but it wasn’t cool. Then Sophia’s dad found out our property division line wasn’t accurate. He sued my father for a section of his vines, and the bastard won.”
Owen let out a low whistle. “That must have burned.”
“More like set off an explosion. By then I’d been with Sophia two years and planned to propose. But I was given an ultimatum. End things with her or lose the winery. Lose everything I’d worked toward. So I chose the girl, assuming he was full of shit. The man had always been stubborn, but I was his son, right?”
“Wrong?”
I clenched my fists. “The fight we had could’ve been heard for miles. The whole business landed in my brother’s lap and I was disowned. But the best, the fucking kicker, was when Sophia found out, she turned down my proposal. I lost Offshoot Winery for her, and she dropped me like a rock.”
Two years later, I could still barely choke out the words.
Owen winced. “Man, that’s harsh. Your dad was always stubborn, though. Maybe it’s his age. Some old-fashioned views on family.”
My father was twenty years older than my mother. So focused on the winery, he’d married late, and my brother had often joked she’d end up as his nurse. A joke that had lost its humor.
I mulled over Rachel’s words today, that he might be unwell. It was likely a ruse. A trick to get me on the phone. If it were serious, Alena Giannopoulos would have shown up at my place and dragged me out by the ear. Still, I couldn’t tell if the possibility made me sad or worried or protective. It was hard to feel much under the ache of losing Rachel.
Legs (One Wild Wish, #1) Page 16