by Jayne Frost
Normally, I’d laugh if someone used the word “floozies” but instead my back stiffened in defense.
“Anna’s not a floozy,” I muttered. “She’s my . . .”
Hell, I didn’t know what Anna was. And even if I did, I couldn’t describe her in a word. It would take a book. And besides, Lola was my housekeeper, not my mother.
“You going to turn that pancake, Mr. Sean?” Lola asked. “Or are you planning on burning the house down?”
I jerked my gaze to the stove where a plume of black smoke hovered over the burners.
“Shit.”
I grabbed a pot holder so I could toss the pan into the sink without burning the hell out of my hand. The automatic faucet spluttered to life, dousing the charred remains.
Fucking perfect.
Raking a frustrated hand through my hair, I surveyed my mess through watery eyes. Burnt pancakes, singed bacon, and something that resembled eggs, but not quite.
Blowing out a defeated breath, I ignored my rumbling stomach as I searched the cupboards for clean bowls.
I hadn’t eaten a full meal since breakfast yesterday morning at the Four Seasons, though I seemed to recall some dried fruit snacks Anna pulled out of her bag sometime before dawn. Or maybe it was licorice.
Shit . . . I didn’t know. It was good, though.
Lola elbowed my ribs. “Move, Mr. Sean. Whoever you got upstairs is going to starve to death. ’Sides, you’re just causing more work for me. It’s going to take an hour to clean up this disaster area as it is.”
I held my ground until my stomach let out another loud roar, then reluctantly backed away from the stove and my surly housekeeper.
Lola got right to work, expertly dropping an egg into the skillet with one hand while simultaneously peeling bacon from the one-pound package with the other.
Even with all that, Lola still managed to shoot me an admonishing glare. “Make yourself useful and fetch me some orange juice from the fridge.” She snorted. “I would tell you to squeeze some fresh, but that juicer of yours takes an advanced degree to operate.”
“I have a juicer?” I set the jug of OJ on the island, then opened a cupboard filled with canned goods. “Shit, where are the glasses?”
Lola snapped me with a towel.
“Ouch!” My hand shot to my arm, which stung like a bitch. “What the hell?” Clamping my mouth shut, I jumped out of the way as the tiny tyrant lifted the towel in preparation for another assault.
“No need to cuss. Your glasses are up there.” Lola pointed to a cabinet above the dishwasher. “Didn’t you buy anything in this house for yourself, Mr. Sean?”
“Just, Sean,” I corrected, the way I had done a dozen times. But Lola never took the hint. “And, no, I didn’t.”
Ladling four scoops of pancake batter onto what I thought was a burner cover, she tutted. “You got a built-in griddle, dummy. Why are you using a fry pan?”
I glared at the beast of a stove. Two ovens, eight burners, and apparently, a griddle. Who knew?
Lola snapped her fingers. “Fetch me a tray from the pantry. A wooden one.”
She pointed at the door next to the laundry room, and when I didn’t move, she rolled her eyes.
“I know where it is,” I grumbled.
“It’s a miracle.”
Biting my tongue, I stalked away without a reply. The little dictator could easily hold my breakfast hostage, and I was already feeling light headed.
Poking around the large storeroom, I found the trays on a bottom shelf tucked between the juicer and some kind of tiny coffee machine. I didn’t know who my decorator thought I’d be entertaining, but at least I figured out how she spent so much money stocking the kitchen.
As I turned to leave, a beat-up box with “Grace’s Jars” scrawled on the side in Anna’s handwriting caught my eye.
Memories of my mother came rushing back as I pulled off the lid.
Every spring, Mom would gather bluebonnets and display them in Mason jars.
After we’d moved in together, Anna heard about the tradition, and I guess she’d asked my aunt for the jars because I came home one afternoon and found bluebonnets on every table.
Peeling back the newspaper from one of the jars, I read the date in the corner.
Two weeks before I’d left for the tour.
Even with our relationship fucked beyond reason, Anna had lovingly boxed the treasures.
“Mr. Sean, would you like coffee or—”
“Coffee’s fine, Lola,” I mumbled, dropping off the tray on my way to the back door. With one of my mother’s jars in hand, I hopped off the deck and then headed straight for a patch of wildflowers growing by the shore.
Sorting through the brush, I picked a few of the most colorful blooms.
As I retraced my steps, I heard Anna’s voice, and when I looked up to the second-floor balcony, I found her propped against the railing with her back to me and the phone pressed to her ear.
It was wrong to eavesdrop on Anna’s conversation, but I couldn’t help myself, so as quietly as possible, I edged toward the house.
“No . . . it’s in the blue bag,” Anna said, agitated. “No more than three or she’ll get jittery.” She paced in a tight circle, nodding absently. Her face lost all expression when she noticed me. “I’ve got to go,” she said, her tone devoid of emotion. “Yeah . . . you too.”
You too . . .
I’d been on the receiving end of enough of her calls to recognize the familiar response.
Anna forced a smile. “You should’ve woken me up.”
When the phone rang again, her gaze shot to the screen, and without a word, or even a glance my way, she turned on her heel and walked into the house.
You have no right to be upset, I reminded myself as I filled the jar with water from the spigot next to the back door.
I took a deep breath and wrestled the jealous beast trying to claw its way out of my skin.
Lola eyed me with concern when I flung the back door open. “You okay, Mr. Sean?”
“Fine,” I snapped as I arranged the silverware on the tray. Blowing out a breath, I met Lola’s gaze and smiled. “Sorry.”
A thud against the marble steps, and then another, prompted Lola to step out from behind the island.
“I got it,” I said on my way out of the room.
Meeting Anna halfway up the stairs, my focus shifted to the suitcase in her hand.
“What’s going on?”
She blinked at me. “I have to go.”
Molding my palm to her hip, I held her in place. “Go where? What’s the matter?” Her chest heaved, heart thumping so loudly, I could practically feel every beat. “Anna, tell me. Whatever it is, we—”
“There is no we!” she cried. “I told you one night, and now I have to go.”
Seeing the tears well in her eyes, I let my hand fall to my side. “You don’t have to do anything. Whatever it is, we can work it out.”
Anna looked at me for a long moment, her eyes roaming over my face. “No, we can’t. I’m sorry.”
I clenched my hand into a fist to keep from hauling her into my arms. And then I smiled. “I’m not.”
Whatever that said about me, and my morals, I wouldn’t trade the last thirty-six hours for anything. In fact, I wanted more.
Anna glanced to the foyer and then back to me, so I gave it one last shot. Crossing my arms over my chest, I locked our gazes. “You can stay, Anna. For as long as you want.”
The indecision faded from Anna’s green eyes. “No, I really can’t,” she said flatly. And then she rushed down the stairs. Turning to me at the bottom, she frowned. “Goodbye, Sean.”
I didn’t say anything, didn’t move. But then the front door clicked shut, and my knees got weak.
Sinking onto the step, the unforgiving marble chilled me straight through my jeans.
“Can I help with anything, Mr. Sean?” asked Lola, hovering near the entrance to the kitchen.
I smiled, fake as hell. “N
o thanks, I’m heading out to meet the guys. Might be gone a few days.” The thought of sleeping here—no, I couldn’t do it.
“Hey, Lola?” She paused, then turned back to me, her smile as fraudulent as mine. “Change the sheets, will ya? And get rid of the flowers.”
Chapter Fourteen
Anna
Sitting in the parking lot at the Iron Cactus on Trinity Boulevard, I tipped my head back and stared out the moonroof of my car. The wispy clouds blended into the evening sky, their edges burning pink against the violet sunset.
“Jolene,” my favorite Ray LaMontagne song, whispered softly through the speakers. It was an anthem for my life after Sean had left, and the refrain hit me hard, like a hammer to the chest.
I’d found the CD in a box in the garage, tucked away with the other relics from my old life. Pictures and poems and other trinkets that told the story of our shared past.
That was the price of seeing Sean again, I guess. Letting him inside me, both literally and figuratively. Four years of progress erased in two days. Followed by four days of utter misery.
If Mom hadn’t called me that second day and told me that Willow was having an asthma attack, prompting me to freak out and demand that she bring my child straight home, I might still be at Sean’s.
Since Willow ended up in the hospital, it was a good thing I’d followed my instincts.
Still, it hurt like a bitch, leaving Sean that way.
I shook my head, dismayed. I really had fallen into old habits, stalking Sean’s social media, Google searching anything related to Caged.
And what did I find?
An article on that reality star, Kimber what’s-her-face, talking about how good it was to see Sean when she was here.
Here. In my hometown. The thought of her in Sean’s bed, looking out the same window that faced the dam . . . I couldn’t even think about it. The tabloids claimed that Kimber was planning another trip to Austin, so it was a good thing I got out before she showed up on his doorstep.
Knocked out of my trance by a tap on the passenger window, I shifted my gaze to Peyton, arms crossed over her chest, scowling at me with her stormy gray eyes.
Reluctantly, I unlocked the door.
Sliding into the seat, she stared straight ahead. An awkward silence hung between us. Since I was the one in the wrong, I spoke first.
“I’m sorry, Pey.”
Ever the dramatic, she turned slowly. “You’re sorry. You haven’t returned my calls in four days, and you’re sorry?”
Hands knotted in my lap, I twisted my emerald ring.
“I went to your house last night,” Peyton continued, accusation dripping from her tone. “Didn’t you hear me banging on the door?”
Guilt bloomed in my chest when our eyes met.
I’d spent the last forty-eight hours lounging with my little girl inside the pillow fort I made on my living room floor, ignoring my phone. The only knock I remembered was from the pizza delivery guy.
“I swear, Pey, I had no idea. Willow was really sick when she got home and we just . . .” Peyton wasn’t buying what I was selling, so I gave up, offering a conciliatory smile. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I did text though.”
Once.
Not cool.
Peyton tossed her designer bag on the floorboard and then twisted in her seat. “You texted?” Leaning against the car door, she scrutinized me like a hostile witness she was about to interrogate. “I figured your rendezvous with Sean was at least worth a phone call.”
My cheeks flamed, heat crawling up to my hairline. “It wasn’t a rendezvous. We had a few drinks and I went back to his suite. And I was kind of buzzed, so I stayed the night.”
“Whoa, whoa, hold up.” Peyton lifted her hand in the universal don’t-you-dare-say-another-word signal. “You spent the night in his suite? I thought you just had drinks. Isn’t that what you told me?”
We’d been best friends since we were six. I never lied to her. “Well, yeah, but it was at the Four Seasons.”
Her eyes narrowed, growing darker by the second. “So y’all had a tryst in his suite?”
I shook my head. “No tryst in the suite.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not technically. But still, I had to work hard to keep from melting into the plush leather seat.
Peyton let out a relieved sigh. “Thank fuck. It would be just like the slimy asshole to take advantage of you after everything with . . .” Her eyes darted to mine and she softened considerably. “With Gran.”
At the mention of Gran, the familiar lump hardened in my throat. “It wasn’t like that. Sean loved Gran.” Gazing at the traffic, the lights blurred when tears formed. “He even sent flowers to the cemetery.”
“How chivalrous of him.”
Her sarcasm drew my heated glare. “Drop it. You don’t know how Sean was with me.”
The vein on the side of Peyton’s head pulsed. “Then tell me!”
My teeth dug into my bottom lip as I weighed the pros and cons of getting into this with my best friend. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was Peyton. She was the one who’d glued me back together after my breakup with Sean.
But, no, it was too soon, and I was still too raw.
Instead, I took her hand. “What does it matter? I was bound to see Sean one day.” I gave her a small, knowing smile. “Someday I won’t have a choice, and we both know that. Let’s save the dramatics for that day. Okay?”
After appraising me for a long moment with her face pinched as tight as her brows, Peyton’s mask fell away. “I just don’t want him to hurt you again.”
My attention shifted to the emerald ring on my finger. Yes, Sean had outgrown me, outgrown us, but I had the evidence of the great love we’d shared, the best part of Sean Hudson, whether he knew it or not. And for that reason alone, my ability to hurt him far outweighed his ability to hurt me.
“You can’t talk about him like that, Peyton.” I tipped my chin at her, defiant. “He’s Willow’s father.”
Hearing my daughter’s name in the same sentence with Sean’s sent my stomach tumbling. They didn’t exist in the same space in my head. In my mind, the Sean I knew when we made her was gone, his love and light extinguished by the rockstar he’d become.
But I’d glimpsed something in the hotel suite and again at his house. An echo of the past. I’d chalked it up to geography, sharing the same space, breathing the same air. But it had been four days, and the feeling hadn’t diminished.
Peyton touched my arm, bringing me back to the here and now. She blinked at me, her face pale in the reflected light from the dashboard. “You didn’t tell him about Willow, did you?”
I shook my head. “No.”
He didn’t ask.
I left that part out.
Peyton’s shoulders sank as she released an audible sigh. “That’s good.”
“Willow will find out someday, Pey. You know she will. And then they’ll both hate me.”
Peyton straightened, setting her jaw. “Dean is on her birth certificate, so Willow doesn’t ever have to know.”
Frustrated, I shook my head. “Dean doesn’t want anything to do with her.” Peyton cringed at my harsh tone and harsher words. But it was the truth. Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Which do you think is worse, a father that doesn’t want you, or a father who’ll show up on occasion?”
Peyton scrutinized me with a cocked brow. “Remind me again, which one is Sean?”
Anger surged through me on Sean’s behalf, indignation he didn’t ask for and likely didn’t deserve.
“I didn’t give him a choice. I didn’t—”
“You found Sean with a groupie,” Peyton shot back. “Before he even left town. He didn’t give you a choice.”
Peyton’s gentle reminder knocked me back. All the way back to the frantic eleventh-hour phone calls I’d made that she knew nothing about.
Admittedly, I was weak back then, and the day before I’d married Dean, I tried to find a way out.
&nb
sp; But Sean had changed his number, shed the vestiges of his old life, like a worn-out piece of clothing that no longer fit.
And I was part of that old life, so I let it go.
“It doesn’t matter now anyway,” Peyton grumbled. “Once Caged signs the offer from Benny Conner you won’t have to worry about Sean for at least eighteen months. Probably longer.”
My heart slammed against my ribs with such force that my hand crept to my chest to make sure there wasn’t a hole. “What offer?”
Peyton’s face fell, pity swimming in her stormy eyes. “I thought you knew. Benny Conner retained the firm to draw up some papers to open up negotiations with the band for a tour of Europe and Asia. The Euro-Trash Festival. Memos have been flying around the office for the last couple days.”
And if I checked my email, I would’ve known that. But apparently, I was too busy reliving my past to be bothered with the present.
Stupid.
I forced my lips to bend, my cheeks nearly cracking from the effort. “That’s great.”
The understatement of the year.
Benny Conner was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, a sure-fire ticket to superstardom for Caged.
I took a fortifying breath and then grabbed my purse. “I’m happy for them.” Walking the tightrope between the truth and a lie, I pinned the smile to my lips. “Let’s go eat. I’ve got to pick Willow up in an hour or so, and I’m starved.”
Peyton looked around as if she just realized why we were here. When our eyes met, her lips parted, but I shook my head, signaling an end of the discussion.
My chest constricted under the weight of everything said and unsaid in my life as I climbed out of the car.
Peyton stole concerned glances at me as we crossed the parking lot.
But I held my head high, determined to prove to her that I wasn’t the fragile girl Sean had left behind four years ago. I’d survived the storm then and found beauty in the chaos.
Willow.
She was my reward.
“Are you okay?” Peyton asked as she pulled the door open to the cantina.
“Yep.”