by Marni Mann
I set the note back on the nightstand and stretched my legs into the air, pushing back on my hands to hold my weight. I didn’t know how I’d slept through his alarm, or the sound of the water running while he’d taken a shower, or him moving through the room while he’d gotten dressed. It hadn’t been easy falling back to sleep. I was surprised it had even happened. But I was glad it had lasted as long as it did.
Slipping into the guest room closet, I grabbed a sweater to put over my white cotton tank and shorts and went into the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee. The liquid dripped steadily into the cup as I checked the fridge to see what he’d made for breakfast. I found a burrito with eggs, cheese, onions and bacon rolled up tightly inside. I didn’t bother heating it up; I just grabbed it and took a bite. Even cold, it tasted good. Hart could cook better than anyone I knew—even better than my mom when she’d actually taken the time to fix us a proper meal.
I finished and wiped off the counter with a cloth, brushing the crumbs into the sink. That was when I heard the back door open. I wondered what had brought Hart home so early. “I’m fine,” I said, finally looking over my shoulder. “I told you I—” I dropped the cloth and nervously clutched the edges of my sweater, crossing them over my braless chest. “Mrs. Booker…I wasn’t expecting you.” Why hadn’t Hart warned me that she was coming over? He had told me they were in Vermont.
He really had lied to me.
“Don’t stop cleaning on my account,” she said. Her tone was cold and clipped. Her long dark hair was curled and set, and it didn’t move at all when she walked. Her breasts didn’t either. She opened her jacket and rested her hands on her hips. “It’s what we pay you to do after all, isn’t it?”
My eyes widened. I tried desperately to control the sarcasm that threatened to erupt from me. “Not exactly. You pay me to do administrative work, though I do tend to keep things pretty clean.”
“Wait a minute…” She pointed her finger at me, long and thin, with perfectly manicured nails. “You were at the spa the other day, weren’t you? You were standing outside the office trailer.” She appeared to be thinking, but her forehead didn’t move.
My forehead must have been moving all over the place because I was thinking, too. I was sure I’d have remembered seeing her there.
“Yes, it was you,” she decided. “I didn’t realize Hart had hired the maid to be his assistant, too.” Her eyes moved to my legs and slid slowly back up to my face. “He’s undoubtedly given you quite the promotion, Maria. With the salary increase, I’d hope you’d be able to buy some clothing that covers a little more than these do.”
What the hell was she talking about?
I took a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves. She was Hart’s mom, I reminded myself. She’d never been this windy when I’d known her before, not so long ago. It seemed that her face and breasts weren’t the only things about her that had changed. “My name isn’t Maria.”
She shrugged. “Maria, Mary, close enough.”
“It isn’t Mary, either.”
“Look sweetie, I have many houses, all over the country. You’ll forgive me if I can’t keep all the names of my maids straight.”
She thought I was Hart’s housekeeper, Marlene—not Maria or Mary—and that he had promoted me to be his assistant in addition to being his maid?
That didn’t make any sense.
“I’m not your maid, and I’m not Hart’s maid, either,” I said, my tone as sharp as my words. “I live here…with your son.”
“You what?” She spun to face the back of the house where Hart’s bedroom was located. “That’s impossible. Hart? Hart, honey? Come explain to me who this woman is…” Her voice trailed off as she wove around the couches and end tables, toward the hallway and bedrooms. Her walk was more of a march as she returned alone. Her hair didn’t move, no matter what she did.
“He isn’t here,” I told her.
She didn’t even acknowledge my comment. “Why in hell would you be living here with my son?”
Apparently, Hart hadn’t told her anything about me—not that he and I were together again, not that I was working for him at the spa. Nothing. I hadn’t told my mom about us either, so I had no right to be upset with him for that. But he was only a partner for their business, which meant, technically, I also worked for his parents. That made things completely different.
And so fucking messy all of a sudden.
I waited for some recognition to appear in her eyes, for a memory of me to spark a light in her somewhere. But the surgeries and injections had removed all the emotion from her face.
I was glad I only had a scar to deal with.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?” I asked finally.
Her hard gaze ran the length of me again. Her tongue wet her lips—lips that were far too plump to be natural. “Should I?” she asked.
“I would hope so. I’m Rae.” I paused, waiting for a reaction from the sound of my name. It hadn’t been all that long ago. Had I really changed that much? “Rae Ryan. I dated Hart before he left for prep school.”
She gasped. Finally, she knew me. “Oh dear God, child!” Her hand covered her nose and mouth, as if she smelled something rancid. “What on earth happened to your face?”
The question shocked me. No one had ever been this straight forward. Everyone in town knew the story, and the strangers I waited on may have let their eyes linger a bit too long, but they weren’t rude enough to ask me about my scar.
The circular lines in my marred skin burned from the heat of her stare. “I was in an accident.” I refused to say any more.
“Don’t you know there are doctors who can fix scars?” She sucked in her cheeks, and her chin tilted up so her gaze pointed down at me. “No need to keep walking around with it ruining your face like that.”
Screw you, I thought, as loudly as I could.
Not everyone had her kind of money to just throw at a surgeon. Insurance didn’t cover cosmetic corrections, which was what a procedure like mine would be considered. I had looked into it a long time ago. The cost was so much more than I’d ever been able to afford.
Her eyes dipped to the plate I had left on the counter. Sleet. That was what they reminded me of—cold and gray and miserable, their impact capable of great damage. “So, Rae,” she said pointedly, as if she were trying to blend me together with Mary, Maria and Marlene, “you eat his food, and you process his paperwork at the spa, and you occupy his home. My son has become quite the philanthropist.” I opened my mouth, but was quickly cut off before I could say a word. “I wondered why he was having me meet him at the jobsite and not here. I thought there must have been something wrong with the house that he didn’t want me to see, or that he’d redecorated it in a manner I wouldn’t approve of.” Her eyes slipped up my neck and rested on my scar again. “I suppose, in a way, he did, though he kept you particularly well-hidden. Until now.”
I gripped the edge of the granite and leaned my stomach into the stone. It didn’t matter if my sweater fell open and revealed my see-thru tank; she could stare at my tits for all I cared. They were as real as the rest of me. “I don’t believe he’s hiding me just because he hasn’t told you about us.”
“Then you’re deluding yourself.” Her tone was so condescending. “If my son were proud of the woman he’s invited into his life, he certainly would have shown her off to his parents—or at the very least, alerted them to the fact that she’s living in his home.” Her back straightened. “I’m afraid you and your scar simply don’t fit into his clean, perfect world. Hart knows it. I know it.” Her eyes narrowed. “And now, you know it, too.”
I was so tempted to reach over the counter and whip my fingers across her plumped-up face, or allow all the churning emotions inside me to blast out at her in a hurricane of words. But she was Hart’s mom. I didn’t care if she was hurt by me, but I cared if he was.
That made it worth getting past the anger.
So I released my grip on the counter, tucked my ha
nds into the pockets of the sweater and walked into the guest room. My messenger bag was on the floor of the closet. I shoved a pair of jeans, a second sweater, boots and a few cosmetics into the bag and walked back into the kitchen. I didn’t say anything as I passed her.
I didn’t even look at her.
But I did notice her white Lexus as I moved down the driveway to get into my car. It was parked on the side of the house, leaving me plenty of room to get out.
I was glad for that.
She didn’t have to like me, and she didn’t have to approve of our relationship. Parental approval was the last thing I was after. But there was a reason Hart hadn’t told her that I was his assistant and living at his house.
She was right: he’d kept me hidden.
And if he couldn’t share me with his family now, how would he ever be comfortable with me at all? I was someone to hide, the girl who would never measure up to his family’s level of success, with the mystery scar that covered half her face.
The girl who rocked back and forth for no apparent reason.
The girl who had nightmares she couldn’t explain to him, and who wouldn’t let him touch her cheek no matter how tender he was.
How would he ever be able to truly accept the girl in the never-ending storm?
CHAPTER THIRTY
I NEEDED my best friend. His understanding voice, his non-judgmental gaze watching over me as I spilled my soul. His kind, patient hands rubbing my back while I vented everything I had pent up inside. But today wasn’t a visitation day at the rehab center, which meant Brady wasn’t available. So I drove to Shane’s house. It was the closest thing I’d had to a home since Darren had died. Feeling like this, it was also the only place I wanted to be. It wasn’t even noon yet. I knew Shane would still be at work because I should have been there, too. There was no chance of that happening today.
I took my cell phone out of my jacket pocket to send him a text.
Me: I’m outside your house. Do you care if I hang inside for a while?
Shane: Why aren’t you at work?
Me: Looong story.
Shane: We’ll talk about it when I get home.
Me: Ok. Don’t tell him I’m here.
Shane: Now we definitely need to talk. Stay put until I get there.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and let myself in through the front door using the key Shane had given me years ago. It was the first time I’d used it since I had moved out.
His place was so different from Hart’s. It was cozy and felt like someone actually lived in it instead of having the model home feel where nothing was ever out of place. It wasn’t normal for a house to constantly smell like lavender and be dust-free all the time. Shane’s house smelled like pine and tree bark, with a touch of sport-scented deodorant. And it was worn-in: the couch sagged in the middle in the spot where he sat, and the coffee table showed marks where his feet rested. There were newspapers on the counter and dishes in the sink. It was more of a home than anyplace I knew.
I dropped my bag on one of the chairs and curled up in the corner of the couch cushions, breathing it all in. There should have been more life in the house than there was. Brady’s absence felt so obvious. I fingered my phone in my pocket. I wasn’t able to see him, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t talk to him.
I dialed the rehab center. It was the direct line to the phone in the common room. No one had ever answered whenever I’d called before. I had no other way to contact him, so I tried again.
Someone picked up after the third ring. “Rec room.” It was a male voice.
“Is Brady there?” I pulled a pillow against my chest.
Please. Please say yes.
“Brady who?”
“Brady Lucas,” I clarified.
“Oooh, yeah…him. Let me check. Hang on.” I heard him place the phone down. His feet pounded over the floor. There was laugher in the background or yelling. I couldn’t tell which.
I busied myself by brushing my fingers through the long strings that hung from each side of the square pillow. I stopped when I felt something weird. It was a little piece of a potato chip. I smiled as I set it on the coffee table.
“Hello?” His voice came through the phone like sunshine.
“Brady?” I sat up sharply. “It’s Rae.”
“Hey, good timing! I just got out of my one-on-one.”
I tried not to let my voice quiver. “I’m so glad you answered.”
“Is everything okay?”
I couldn’t bitch about Hart not telling his family about me, or what had happened with his mom. Brady wasn’t a big fan of Hart to begin with. But he was also in rehab working on himself, which was difficult enough. He didn’t need to be dealing with my shit, too. More than anything, I wanted to see him, to be in his presence. It had been too long. “I’m coming to see you tomorrow.”
“Something’s wrong…” His voice deepened. “Tell me what’s going on.” I loved his concerned tone. It was the sound of someone who truly cared about me.
I wanted to crawl into his lap. I wanted him to hug me and tell me everything would be all right.
“I was just missing your voice,” I said. “That’s all.”
“Bullshit.” He didn’t buy it. “What did Hart do?”
I leaned back into the couch again and tucked my legs underneath me. “It’s nothing, Brady.”
“You think I can’t handle it, don’t you?” I heard his breathing slow, as if he was trying to force himself to stay calm. “You know I can, Rae.”
I sighed. “His mom came to the house this morning. Hart wasn’t home so it was just us. She thought I was the maid, Brady. He didn’t tell her about me, or our relationship. She was so fucking mean.” I could have used some weed to dull the pain of thinking about our encounter. But I had nothing on me to smoke, and talking to my best friend in rehab didn’t seem like the right moment to light one up, so I went to the fridge for a beer. “She doesn’t think I’ll ever be good enough for Hart. And she kept making comments about my scar.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Nope. Not at all.”
“Screw her, then.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“You haven’t told Hart any of this, have you?” He knew me too well. He could tell there was more. “I bet you left his house and went straight to my dad’s. You’re sitting on his couch right now, aren’t you?”
I set the beer on the coffee table while I sat back down. “Yup. I’m here and…I can’t go back there. Not after that bitch put me in my place.”
“I know you’re working for Hart now. Dad told me. If he messes everything up for you, I will kill him.” I loved that he had my back, but that was the opposite of what he should have been feeling, considering how his anger had damaged things for him in the past. “Those bank deposits are important to you, and losing that job means you won’t be able to make them anymore.”
I took another sip, tucked my legs against my chest, and rocked…back and forth. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
He huffed. “I know why you didn’t tell me, and you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” His voice turned gentle. “Does he know what’s coming in six days?”
He remembered. Again.
“He didn’t even know that Darren had died. I told him as little as possible.”
“You’re afraid to tell him about it.” It wasn’t a question.
I shrugged. “I’ve never had to tell anyone before. Everyone around here already knows.”
“Listen, what his mom said is really fucked-up, but you can’t hold Hart responsible for that. He might have a good reason for not telling her about you, like maybe he knew she’d react like the Wicked Bitch of Bar Harbor.” I laughed at that. “Before you get all crazy, find out what that reason is. It’ll hurt if he says something you don’t want to hear, but you’ve been through way worse. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
I had never heard him be so rational before. “Wo
w. This rehab thing is really working for you, Brady.”
He laughed. It was a beautiful sound to hear. “No matter how it goes down, Rae, I’m here for you. That will never change.”
He was right; I could handle whatever was going to happen between Hart and me. And I did need to talk to Hart before I assumed to know his reasoning, though I wasn’t sure I could do that today. I needed to get my emotions under control first.
Six days was affecting me in the worst way. Even worse now that Gerald had left me the voicemail.
I didn’t want to take any of that out on Hart.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“You knew all of this already. You just needed to hear me say it.”
“I miss you so much, Brady.” Tears rose without warning, but I smiled through them.
“I love you, too. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Nothing could keep me away,” I said.
I held the phone in my hand even after we’d hung up, feeling the warmth of it as though it was Brady’s hand in mine. Then I pulled up Hart’s name and hit the button to start a text. I composed it carefully, making sure it wouldn’t come across as a screaming accusation.
Me: Won’t be coming to work today and I won’t be back to the house tonight.
Hart: Are you okay?
Me: Not feeling so great.
Hart: Do you need to go to the doctor? I can take you if you want…
I should have known he would have asked that. He wanted to take care of me—as always. It didn’t make sense; he was so caring, so giving, and yet he hadn’t felt secure enough to share our relationship with his family.
Me: No doctor needed, but thanks.
Hart: Then what can I do to make you feel better?
He could have ensured his mom knew who I was, that she hadn’t mistaken me for Maria or Mary…or even Marlene. My hands shook as I thought about the way she had looked at me, and the tone of her voice when she spat those ugly words.
Yes. I definitely needed more time to cool off before I spoke to him.