Hurrying into my clothes, I prep myself for the potential mortification the next couple minutes might bring. What if Colton decides last night was a mistake?
It’s not in his plan.
There’s Casey to think about.
It makes work too complicated.
It was the heat of the moment and he doesn’t have time for any sort of relationship.
He’s scared and not willing to put himself out there again.
My heart sinks as the excuses tally up in my mind. Then I remember the way he looked at me last night—the way he changed my life with just his touch. How could he discard any of that so easily?
Smoothing my sweater down, I look in the rectangle mirror above his dresser. Urgency has my hands fluttering around my face in an instant as I try to fix my mussed hair. I give up after a few frantic heartbeats and use the rubber band I spot on the dresser to pull my hair back into a ponytail and out of my face.
Wiping the remnants of mascara from beneath my eyes and smoothing down my unkempt clothes one last time, I take a deep breath and pull my socks and boots on before I walk to the bedroom door.
Slowly, I open the door and peek into the hallway. From what I can see of the living room, the Christmas tree lights are off and the apartment looks lit only by the natural light filtering in from the front window.
I step out further. The place looks empty.
Once again, my heart plummets from my throat into my stomach and it begins to burn with the acrid taste of disappointment and the slap of rejection.
Eyeing my coat draped over the arm of the couch, I walk over. I’m surprised to find a note resting on top of it. Like tearing off a bandage, I read it without pause.
Good morning, Beautiful.
Casey forgot Mr. Snuggles, I had to go to Benton.
I didn’t want to wake you. Please lock the door behind you.
Have a good day. - C
I’m smiling, relieved and a little overwhelmed by everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. It’s not a love note, but he didn’t have to leave me a note at all.
It dawns on me how many times Colton’s asked to move his work hours around, how many times he’s left work early and stayed late. His life really does revolve around Casey, and I’m okay with that.
I’m smiling as I grab my jacket and step out the door. I breathe in the cold air of morning as I walk the few steps to Nick’s apartment. At least the walk of shame is only a dozen feet or so.
Quietly, so as not to wake my roomie, I test the handle and find it still unlocked. The instant I open the door to find Nick sitting at the kitchen table, freshly showered with a cup of coffee in hand, my face reddens.
“Well, look who finally decided to come home,” he teases, and he takes in my appearance with far too much enjoyment. “Looks like someone had fun last night.”
I try not to smile, and I ignore him as I pull off my shoes.
“What, no call to tell me you’re having a sleepover? I’ve been worried sick.” The shit-eating grin on his face tells me otherwise.
“Shut up,” I mutter and rush past him, locking myself inside the bathroom.
“You have to come out of there sometime!”
Forty-Three
Mac
The instant I step into my dad’s house, I’m affronted with the scent of Douglas fir and, if my senses don’t deceive me, something savory . . . dinner. A roast?
The door rattles shut behind me and I’m pleasantly surprised to find that the living room is clean. The white lights around the windows twinkle, as do the rainbow lights that glow around the tree. There are actual presents underneath it, too. “Wow.”
I jump as a loud clang echoes in the kitchen, followed by a grumbled expletive. I can’t help but laugh and shake my head as I discard my things on the recliner and head into the kitchen. I notice the dining table isn’t set, though there are three plates, a bundle of utensils, and glasses waiting to be set out.
The moment I see both my dad and Bobby in the kitchen, I stop dead in my tracks and my hand flies to my mouth. My brother is bent half-over, looking for something in a low cupboard, wearing the apron I saw my dad in yesterday at Alison’s. My dad’s back is to me, but from the looks of the lacy ties around his neck, he’s wearing mine. “Oh my God,” I breathe and try to suppress my pure delight.
Bobby straightens, glaring at me, but I don’t care. I’ve never seen him in an apron and I’m loving every second of it. My dad turns around to face me, his eyes wide for a minute, and then he smiles and wipes his hands off on the front of it. “Hey, sweetie.” I meet him in the middle of the kitchen for a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Hey yourself.” I glance between them. “It smells delicious in here and you both look fantastic.” I give them one last appraisal, realizing how special they’ve made tonight, and my heart warms. “Do you two need some help?”
Bobby’s quick to respond and he gestures toward the dining room with the butter knife in his hand. “You could finish setting the table, if you want.”
“Sure.” It’s a funny feeling, helping with dinner instead of being the mastermind behind it.
As requested, I set the table, switching out a small fork that was mixed in with the others for a larger one because I can’t help it. Then I pour us all waters and grab a bottle of wine from the rack that sits on the buffet cabinet. “Is red wine okay with dinner?” I glance behind me, and my brother looks guilty for some reason. “What? No wine?”
“I kinda just want a beer,” he says with an apologetic wince.
I can’t help a soft little laugh. “You can have a beer, Bobby. I don’t care.” When he glances at the roast, I understand his predicament. My dad nods an okay and Bobby looks relieved. I stifle another laugh. “You don’t have to get all fancy just because I’m here. It’s not like I don’t know how you are. Though you are both full of surprises, it would seem.”
* * *
After two helpings of roast, a few flavorful carrots and potatoes, and half a small bowl of salad, I sit back in my chair and let out a deep and very contented sigh. “I’m so stuffed.”
“Same,” my dad says and Bobby belches at the table, right on cue. He’s quick to say excuse me, but my dad glares at him anyway.
“This was really nice—and delicious.” It was exactly what I needed, time with them, to feel a semblance of normalcy again. “Thank you, both.”
My dad’s head bobs a bit and he folds his hands in his lap. “It wasn’t too bad,” he says. “Not too bad at all.”
“Alison’s a good teacher,” I say, winking at him.
“I bet she is.” Bobby hoots.
My dad casts a sharp look at him. “Watch your mouth. I taught you better than that.”
Bobby clears his throat, sheepish and a bit reddened, and takes the final sip of his beer.
“Well, I’m happy for you,” I say.
My dad’s expression doesn’t change. He rises from the chair and starts collecting our plates. I’m not sure if he wants to give us space to talk about this or if he doesn’t want to hear about it at all. “You want some help, Dad?” I ask.
“I got it, sweetheart.” He winks at me and steps into the kitchen.
I take a sip of my wine and glance up at Bobby, he’s texting someone.
“Is that your new girlfriend?” I ask.
He glances up at me for a brief second then back down at his phone. “It’s Mom.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t expected that.
“Have you talked to her again yet?” Bobby asks me, leaning back in his chair.
I shake my head. “I’ve been a little . . . busy,” I say honestly. I’ve barely thought about my mom the past couple days; I’ve been too preoccupied with Colton. “You have though, I see.”
He lifts his shoulder and sets his phone down. “I don’t hate her like you do, Mac. I mean, I don’t know her, but I don’t hate her either. I’m curious, you know?”
I pale. “I don’t . . . I don’t ha
te her,” I say, which sort of surprises me. “I just don’t know that I trust her.”
Only the sound of my dad clanking around in the kitchen fills the house, and I pick at a loose thread of the tablecloth.
Eventually, Bobby breaks the silence. “So, Dad, is Sam going to be our new sister?” His eyes are wide and hopeful. Bobby has always had a soft spot for Sam, maybe even had a crush on her at one point in his life.
“Really, Bobby?” I chide, though I’m partly amused by the idea. “What are you, seven?”
“You know,” my dad says, turning on the kitchen faucet. “That’s why I don’t bother telling you two anything.”
“Hey, don’t lump me in with Bobby.”
“Come on, Dad, I was just joking,” Bobby says. “Alison’s cool, I guess, I just don’t know her all that well. Other than Mac’s lifelong bitterness toward her.”
I cringe. “That was before, jackass.” I toss a dirtied, balled-up napkin at him. “She and Sam are doing better now.”
Bobby’s palms fly up as my dad steps into the dining room. “Dude, I didn’t know.”
I roll my eyes, and this time when my dad’s meet mine they hold meaning I don’t quite understand. He leans over beside me and grabs the bowl of roasted vegetables. “Sorry, Dad,” I say, glaring at Bobby. “We’ll stop bringing it up.”
He towers over me. “Good. You’ve got your own relationship problems to worry about.”
My face burns and my heartbeat falters as he turns and walks back into the kitchen. What? When I look at Bobby, he’s smiling. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” I say coolly.
“Just be careful with Colton,” my dad says from the kitchen. “He’s older, has a kid—he’s in a completely different place in his life right now than you are.” I’m not sure what’s worse, having them both know and work with Colton, or the fact that they might know more about him than I do.
Either way, I feel sick with unease. My face reddens and I swig down the rest of my wine. “I’m boring. Let’s talk about Bobby and his new girlfriend,” I toss into the ring, then I sit back and pour myself another glass of wine.
Forty-Four
Colton
Metal. Hoses. Rubber belts and carbonated filters—that’s what I know. Wrenching is when I’m most at ease. Building something I can physically touch and manipulate is much easier than intangible, confusing relationships that make my head spin and my jaw ache when I think too much about them. Being with Mac in the light of day—in her father’s shop and under his watchful eye—is even more uncomfortable than I thought.
I’m aware of every single time Mac comes into the shop. It’s impossible not to be. Yet I have to pretend it doesn’t faze me. The sound of her heels alone taunts me, and I have to stop myself from looking over at her, watching her and thinking about what she looks like without that tight skirt on and her perfectly curled hair mussed and falling over her shoulders.
No matter how well I’ve trained myself to seem focused and unaffected, all I can think about is what happened between us Saturday night. I walked in this morning to find her bending over behind the parts counter, searching through her files and my jeans have felt too tight ever since. Now, I know what she tastes like. I know what she sounds like in the thralls of ecstasy—I know the feel and scent of her skin, and I’ve seen the lust that fills her eyes when all her walls are down.
Even under the chassis and surrounded by air guns and compressors shutting on and off, I hear heavy footsteps approaching. “I’ve got to get this car out today,” I tell Reilly. “You’ll have to grab a beer without me.”
“I’m not trying to get you drunk, son.”
I freeze, my muscles tensing ever so slightly. Cal’s a nice guy, but he’s reserved and intimidating as hell.
I use my legs to scoot myself out from underneath the Dodge Ram. “No date? That’s a bummer,” I joke.
Cal glances at my stall next to where I’m working. “You’re up against it, huh?”
I climb to my feet. “This Dodge came in at the last minute. Mac asked me if I could get it done today since the Tacoma over there is waiting for parts.”
Cal nods, like he understands, but I get the feeling he’s not even really listening to me. He’s got that focused, contemplative look about him today.
Mac’s heels precede her voice. “I’m outta here . . .” Her voice trails off.
Cal and I both look at her and the instant her eyes widen, I start to worry. She glances between us. That means that she’s worried, which means that he knows.
She eyes him carefully. “I’m heading out. Lock the doors behind you?”
We both nod, and her gaze shifts between us once more before she turns to leave. She looks good today, sleek and pinup-esque, but then again, she looks perfect every day—hence my continued physical discomfort around her. “So,” I start. Unable to bear the silence, I head over to my stall to grab my stethoscope. “Did you need me to work on something?”
Cal uncrosses his arms from his chest. “Here . . .” He hands me an envelope. “Your holiday bonus.”
I can’t help my surprise. I’ve only been with them for six months. Even if I wasn’t expecting it, I’m grateful; it’s more money to put toward Casey’s college fund. “Uh, thank you,” I say, a little stunned. “I wasn’t expecting anything.”
“You’re a good worker, Colton. You deserve a little something. You and Reilly both.”
“Well, I appreciate it. This is—”
“Are you sleeping with my daughter?” Cal says without ceremony.
I nearly choke, and I feel the blood drain from my face as I break out in a cold sweat. “I don’t—I—”
“You hurt my baby girl I’ll kill you, Colton. Make no mistake.” His voice is level and natural and the most threatening thing I’ve ever heard. Straight-faced, he turns and strides toward his office. “See you tomorrow.”
I nod even though he can’t see me, and as soon as he shuts his office door, I let out a breath and lean back against my toolbox. Although I doubt Mac would tell him much about us, he clearly knows something is going on. Part of me was worried that when the day came he would tell me to stay away from her completely—so I find partial relief in the fact that he only threatened my life if I fuck it all up.
Forty-Five
Colton
“We love you, Colton. I haven’t seen you in months. You barely even call us anymore.”
With a quick rub of my neck, I slouch back against the couch and let out a self-reproaching breath as my mom continues to berate me. She’s been saying the same thing for years. When do we get to see Casey? When are you going to patch things up with your father? How about when he acknowledges the fact that he even has a son? He’s made zero attempts to mend things since that night, so I’ve put in equal effort.
“Your father misses you, honey, no matter what you might think.”
“Really? Well, I seem to keep missing his calls.” I stare into the flames of the fire in the hearth, then at the two stockings tacked to the mantel.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Colton, don’t be so dramatic. No matter what you think, you and your father are so similar it’s blood-boiling. You’re both so stubborn and pigheaded. If you would only talk to him you would see that.” She pauses and I hear a long sigh on the other end of the line. “Besides, Colton, it’s the holidays. Casey deserves to get to know her grandparents better. Just think how angry she’ll be with you one day when she understands that you kept her from seeing us, all because you and your father can’t seem to get over yourselves.”
It would be easier to stomach the thought of seeing him if the last memory I had of him wasn’t the disgust and disappointment in his eyes. It’s like you’re not even my son.
“. . . besides, Grandmas should be able to spoil their grandbabies.”
“Mom, it’s not that—”
“Really, Colton, don’t you care at all that I want to see her?”
“Yes, Mother, of course I care.
”
“Good. Now, why don’t you come to San Francisco next weekend? It’s not so close to Christmas, and we can spend the weekend together.” She barely gives me a breath to answer. “Please, Colton, I’d really like to see you both. Consider it my Christmas gift.”
It’s really not too much to ask, I know this. Like Mac resents her mother, Casey will likely resent me one day for excluding my parents from her life. As an only child without much close-knit family and an ever-present chip on my shoulder, I already know that’s true. And I know my mom doesn’t deserve my distance.
“Why don’t I fly out there? I can see where you work and meet your new friends—”
“No, you don’t need to fly here.” I can’t deal with that right now. “It’s easier to drive. Just let me check with Kylie to make sure next weekend is fine, and I’ll let you know, okay? We’ll come stay a night with you in Frisco.”
“Oh, wonderful! I’ll pay for your gas,” she adds, sounding a little desperate, and I know at that moment I’m a horrible son.
“You do not have to pay for my gas, Mom, I’m an adult. Besides, it’s only a few hours. I think I can manage. And I haven’t been purposely keeping Casey from you. You know that, right?” It’s true. I might not want to be around my dad, but I don’t want to keep Casey from them. “It’s just been a busy year with the move and Casey starting kindergarten, plus she’s in dance and swim classes during the summer . . .” I shake my head because none of it matters. Not really. We both know why I’ve stayed away.
“I know, honey. This will be a good time for us to catch up. Everything’s been such a whirlwind with you since, well, the accident and all.” I hear the opening and closing of drawers on the other end. “Alright, then, I’m writing it on the calendar now. No changing your mind, okay?”
Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 58