by Ciara Shayee
I bark a laugh, but I’m disgusted by how Piper—and the boys—have been treated by a man who should be cherishing everything he has. Sorry, had. If nothing else, Piper moving halfway around the world with their sons is clue enough that he doesn’t deserve them.
I’m not sure if it’s the few drinks I’ve already had or just a random burst of inspiration, but I abruptly remember something Bethany has mentioned a few times. It makes my eyebrows hike higher up my forehead. “Wait. Did you say his name is ‘Richard?’”
Cocking her head to the side, Piper nods. “Why?”
Snorting into the dregs of my drink, I shake my head at myself. “Isn’t his surname ‘Holder?’”
I see the exact moment Piper catches up with me. Her eyes crinkle in the corners, her lips curling up in a slow smile that makes her whole face glow.
“Richard Holder…Dick Holder. His parents didn’t like him much, did they? Shit.”
Despite how much I’d love to punch…Dick…in the face for his piss-poor treatment of his family, I can’t help but laugh at his unfortunate name. Dick Holder. Christ.
Thankfully, Piper joins in, although I’m sure she’s heard it plenty of times.
“All right, chuckles,” she finally sighs when our laughter tapers out. “What d’you want?”
Glancing over the top of my glasses, I catch a glimpse of her biting her lip and staring at me before she spins to face the wall of alcohol. “Jameson, please. Neat is fine.”
“Comin’ up,” she mumbles as I click on the shortcut for Facebook and bring up the Burger Co. page. Changing it over to my personal profile feels…foreign. I can’t actually remember the last time I looked at it.
93 new notifications.
8 unread messages.
3 friend requests.
No, thank you.
Ignoring all of those, I type Brayden’s name into the search bar and click on his profile. I can’t help but laugh—his wall is littered with photos of his girls, all posted by Ashley. The latest was posted just fifteen minutes ago.
“Oh, look at that.” Piper joins me on my side of the bar and sighs at the picture of Brayden, Ashley, and baby Ivy all snuggled together in their bed. “They look so happy.”
She’s right. They look tired, sure, but no more so than any parent of three hyper girls, I’d say. Now they have four, one of whom is just three days old.
Scrolling down, I murmur my thanks to Piper for the drink she sets beside my laptop, searching for one particular post.
“Aha, got it!”
As soon as the first image loads up, Piper loses it. Her smile lights up the room as she turns the screen to face her and leans in closer, flicking through the album Brayden titled ‘Easter 2018.’
“No freaking way! How did you get him to do this?”
Grinning, I explain the story of how Carson lost a game of poker and wound up being the Easter bunny at the Jackson Bay Egg Hunt.
“How did I not see these pictures?”
I shrug, taking a mouthful of my drink. “Are you friends with Bray?”
“Oh, no, probably not. Do you mind…?”
“Go for it.”
Piper logs out of my account before signing into her own. When it loads up, I see that both her profile and cover pictures feature her and the boys—the latter also includes an older lady.
“That’s Jude,” she says when I look closer. “She’s the boys’ bonus nanny.”
“Nanny Jude.” The boys have mentioned her a bunch of times. It’s obvious they admire her. All three are hanging off her cardigan-clad torso planting kisses on her cheeks.
“That’s the one.”
It always takes me a bit to navigate Facebook. I’m not the best with social media, but Piper has a friend request in Brayden’s inbox within seconds. “There we go. He better accept.”
Piper is teasing, I know that. I have no idea what makes me say, “He’d be a fool not to.”
My tone is too gruff, too serious, to pass it off as a friendly joke. Fuck. I’m too out of practice with casual conversations that don’t revolve around Burger Co.
Her eyes widen slightly, her lips sliding open as she flounders for a moment. “Well…I am a good person to be friends with.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
We lapse into silence; it’s the most content I’ve been all day. All week, maybe. For such a sunny person, Piper has a surprisingly calming air about her. She’s relaxed, playing a game on her phone while I take the opportunity to check a few emails. Our arms brush every now and then, sending static zipping between us. My battle for concentration is only hindered by the whiskey flowing through my veins and the warmth emanating from Piper at my side.
After a few minutes, I realize she’s not looking at her phone anymore. She’s looking at me.
Her gaze is intense, her eyes a hundred different colors but not at all confusing. They’re fire and determination and strength. They’re full of passion, knowledge, and fierceness I can only admire. They’re sure and true. Gray and blue and all the shades between.
She was once a funny little girl who questioned the world and lit up whole rooms with her cheerful personality.
Now she’s a beautiful woman with curves that don’t quit and a smile that makes me want to promise things I have no right promising.
Pursing her lips, Piper throws back the last of her drink. “Refill?”
Part of me wants another. I’m not even close to halfway through the bottle—which isn’t like me. However, it’s past midnight and we’re both way past legal to drive. I’d usually crash on the bed in the studio upstairs on nights like tonight, when I can’t drive or don’t feel like walking home.
When I bought the restaurant, I had no idea what to do with the space upstairs. In the end, I turned it into a compact studio and a small, one-bed apartment. Kelly rents the apartment and I use the studio as a bolt-hole. As tempting as it is to do the same thing tonight, I’ve got to make sure Piper gets home safely first, and by the time I’ve walked her home I’ll be closer to my place than here, anyway.
“I’m good, thanks.”
Piper frowns when I add that it’s probably time we get going.
There’s no way she’s as disappointed as I am that our night is coming to an end.
“I guess you’re right.”
“Have another if you want, I’m in no rush. I’ve got to make sure everythin’s squared away before we go anywhere.”
Nodding pensively, Piper swirls her straw around, the melting ice clinking against the glass. After powering down my laptop, I carry it to my office, smiling at the muffled sound of music from the dining area. Piper found the sound system, then.
Once I’ve checked the safe and the kitchen, I double-check the fire door and lean against it for a moment, heaving in a deep breath.
The temptation to just give in and get another drink is difficult to resist. I rarely, if ever, stifle the urge to drink these days. I have no reason to. It’s become my crutch; the comfort I reach for at the end of the day. It’s unhealthy, but it’s all I have.
When I walk out into the dining area to find Piper swaying to a heavy beat in front of the bar, drink in hand and a serene, closed-eyed smile on her face, it’s not whiskey I’m craving.
Ten
Piper
Even with a few too many daiquiris in me, I’m scarily aware of Kellan’s presence.
The seductive beat of the music drowns out his footsteps, but the warmth of his gaze on me is impossible to ignore. Lewis Capaldi’s gravelly voice fills the room, my hips instinctively swaying to the beat. My eyes slide closed, the buzz of alcohol loosening my movements and my inhibitions.
It’s been so long since I let go and had a few drinks.
Which is probably why you’re such a lightweight, the sensible, rational, easily-ignored part of my brain points out as I feel the heat of Kellan’s body nearing.
“What are you doing?” His voice is
a rumble.
A delicious, growly, close-to-my-ear rumble.
“Dancing,” I breathe, sucking in a deep breath as I slowly spin. He catches me before I make it all the way, large hands encasing my hips and holding me captive. I feel a rush of air as he heaves in a breath, his chest brushing my back, he’s that close now.
This sudden turn of events…me, him, this moment…is a heady rush of will he, won’t he?
My stomach knots, excitement and nerves and want all rolled into one. With each drink, my attraction to Kellan has only gotten harder to ignore. He always used to have a short, trimmed beard. Now, it’s a little longer, more unkempt. It’s surprisingly sexy. The sharpness of his green gaze contrasts with the gentle way his eyes caress my skin. His Burger Co. tee hugs his biceps and chest in a way that draws attention to the no-doubt firm muscles underneath. His cargo shorts are almost molded to his thick thighs, but not so much that they look silly.
A vague image of Kellan wearing the tight jeans my ex always favored almost makes me laugh.
I would have, if not for the slight squeeze of Kellan’s hands. He slowly glides his fingers up my side, sneaking his fingertips below the hem of my borrowed t-shirt.
A shiver ripples up my spine.
“You’re sin, you know that?”
“Wh-what?”
Kellan’s low chuckle spreads through me, his chest against my back. “I almost didn’t give you this shirt. I liked you in the other one too much.”
“Oh…” My response, faint though it is, apparently amuses him. He laughs again, gently but firmly spinning me around. I have to tip my neck to peer up at him, realizing just how tall he is in comparison to my five-four. He’s overwhelming. He dwarfs me, his broad form surrounding me, his wide shoulders at my front and his hand at the small of my back holding me to him.
Kellan’s eyes shine a bright, grassy green as he gazes down at me, his nostrils flaring when I tentatively rest my hand on his waist before boldly diving under the fabric. The heat of his skin under my palm warms my entire body. My cheeks flush, my heart hammering against my chest.
My sixteen-year-old self would be squealing her head off if she could see us now.
The tender yet firm grasp of Kellan’s hands on me is maddening. It’s perfect and yet not enough. He lightly teases the curve of my waist with his fingertips, the corner of his mouth curling up in a slight, devious smirk.
“What are you, um…what are you doing?”
“Can’t you tell?”
“N-no.” I can hope, but that’s not the same thing, and it’s probably the daiquiris talking anyway.
Leaning closer, so his breath fans over my face—smoky and spicy with a hint of sweet from the sip of my drink he stole earlier—Kellan laughs. The conflict, his hesitation, it’s a living, breathing entity between us. It’s all over his face and his slow but deliberate touch. I can see the war raging in his head. It’s the same one raging in mine.
“I’m taking you home.”
Disappointment lands heavy in my gut. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
“No?” His hand stretches farther up my shirt. Another shiver tears through me as the very ends of his long fingers reach the bottom of my bra.
Holy shit, is this happening? Does Kellan Patterson seriously have his hand up my shirt?
The ever-so-slight brush of his fingers against my breast confirms that yes, he absolutely does have his hand up there. And boy, do I wish he’d do more than just lightly brush against me.
A breathy sigh rushes from my lungs as he glides his hand lower. The calloused tips of his fingers leave goosebumps in their wake before hitting the band of my shorts. For a second, I waver, wondering…
Is this a good idea? Do I want this?
The cool air that replaces his touch when he finally mumbles something too soft for me to decipher and pulls his hand away leaves me feeling cold. Yes, I want this. Our chests touch when we each suck in a deep breath. I can’t help but smile; he mirrors it, something like wistfulness clouding his pretty eyes. If I didn’t understand his reasons, if I weren’t pretty confident that our ages and our connection—namely, my parents—are to blame for him slamming on the brakes, I’d be pissed at his hot and cold routine. As it is, I remind myself that this feels great right now, but a heat-of-the-moment lapse in sense isn’t the way I want this to happen with us, if anything is going to happen.
“I really am taking you home,” he says, looking more like he’s trying to convince himself than me.
“Okay,” I say softly, biting my lip for a moment before leaning into his chest and winding my arms around him. He’s big—broad as well as tall—so they only just cross over. My head goes to his chest, warm and firm, and any lingering nerves dissipate as his hands land at the small of my back, his chin resting on my crown.
It’s sweet and tender and not at all like any of the casually friendly interactions we’ve shared in the past or the heated exchange just moments ago. It’s…more. It’s perfect. It’s progress.
“C’mon, short stuff. Let’s get you home.”
After making sure everything is as it should be, Kellan grabs his lightweight sports coat and leads me out into the night. The Boardwalk is well lit, so we take off together with the glow of the streetlights making his hair shine gold and his eyes gleam whenever I catch him looking at me, instead of where we’re going.
Something has shifted tonight. I may have been drinking, but I’m not blind or stupid. I can feel something is different. The way he’s looking at me, the way his hands felt on my skin, the heat of him looming over and around me…
Oh yeah, that crush I was so desperate to escape all those years ago definitely survived the separation.
Ambling along with the soft breeze playing with my hair and the warmth of the summer night keeping me from feeling a chill, I can’t help but ask, “Why are you being so nice?”
Kellan raises his eyebrows, jamming his hands in his pockets. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I shrug. “No reason. I just…you seem…”
One side of his mouth curls up.
“Forget about it,” I huff, gently shoving him as he chuckles at my lack of words and looks up at the sky, like he’s searching for something.
Or someone.
“Why did you come back?”
I frown down at my feet as we walk past the ice cream store and the laundromat and the Samuels’ bakery.
“I wanted to be closer to my family. I wanted the boys to be closer to them. In England, we had Jude, but here, they have grandparents, aunts, an uncle, cousins…”
“What about their father’s family?”
“He has a younger brother, Robert. His parents live an hour or so away from where I lived with the boys, and Robert lives near them with his wife and their son. I think the last time we saw any of them was when their boy was born. He turned two in May.”
“Christ, so Arlo was…two?”
“Yep.” He’s changed so much since then. He wasn’t even talking in any kind of sentences the last time he saw any of his extended paternal family. Arlo babbled, but none of it really made sense until he was around three and started going to nursery. Sometimes, figuring out what he wanted was like trying to decipher the Da Vinci code. “Jax and Finn occasionally ask about them, but not often, and Arlo wouldn’t have a clue who I was talking about if I brought them up.”
“That’s…real sad.”
“It is. I see the boys with Mom and Dad, or with Rosie, Everly, and Bass, and it just boggles my mind that they have these other family members who lived fifty miles away from us.”
Kellan’s right—it is sad that the boys don’t know their paternal family. However, I learned early on that the people who really care will make the effort.
One year, Jaxson and Finley’s shared birthday card was made out ‘To the twins.’ Their grandmother didn’t even write their names on it.
“Did they object to you leaving the country?
”
I laugh, but the sound holds no humor. “I wouldn’t know. They didn’t respond to any of the messages I left or the emails I sent. I assume Richard told them we were leaving as well. Even he just told me to ‘do whatever’ when I asked for his thoughts on us moving.”
“Christ, Piper. That’s all kinds of fucked up.”
“Yeah.”
I’ll never regret the poor decisions that kept my relationship with Richard going for so long, because I got my boys out of it, but he’s not the man I thought he was when we started out. He’s not the father I would have chosen for my sweet, funny, caring sons. I’m not always sure I’m the best mother on the planet—in fact, I’m definitely not. I lose my shit with them sometimes and I’m not always as patient as I could be, but that’s parenthood. I apologize, the boys usually apologize, and we move on. None of us are perfect, and that’s one of the biggest things that frustrates me about Richard. I’ve never demanded perfection from him. All I’ve ever asked is that he prioritize his sons. They deserve better than his half-assed attempts at being a parent when it suits him.
Glancing around, I realize we’re not far away from Mom and Dad’s. Our time is running short, and I’d rather not spend it talking about my ex or his family. “Aren’t you walking in the wrong direction? Your house is that way, right?”
“It’s fine, Piper. I said I’d get you home and I will.” Kellan’s tone brooks no argument, but it makes me smile.
“I appreciate it. You didn’t have to walk me all the way.”
“Sure, I did.” He flashes me a grin, and it strikes me for the first time that it looks strained, like he doesn’t do it often. As he reaches up to rub the back of his neck, Kellan confirms my suspicion. “Your dad would have my head on a platter if he found out I let you walk home alone at this time of night.”
Laughter bubbles out of me. “You sound like a boy taking a girl on a first date or something.” Raising an eyebrow, I ask, “Do you have honorable intentions, Mr. Patterson?”
“Not at all,” Kellan says, casual as you like, barking a soft chuckle when my feet come to an abrupt stop and the smile slips from my face.