Shooting the Moon

by Brenda Novak

  “How could you sleep at a time like this?”

  “I was up all night.”

  “Why are you at a hotel?”

  “My father kicked me out.”

  “No! I can’t believe that.”

  Everything had happened so fast, Lauren couldn’t believe it, either. She was still hoping the hotel room was some sort of drug-induced hallucination prompted by the painkiller, but those damn suitcases indicated otherwise. “It’s true,” she said, then winced when pain shot up her shin from her ankle. “And my ankle’s killing me, to boot.”

  “Do you have your pain pills and your crutches?”

  “I do. I had some time to pack, thank God.” After the argument with her father, Lauren had gone directly to her room, gathered her things and left. She hadn’t wanted to treat Brandon to another tearful scene like the one he’d witnessed with Harley.

  “Why didn’t you come here?” Kimberly asked. “You know we would’ve taken you in.”

  Lauren put a hand to her forehead and tried to knead away the last vestiges of sleep. When she’d left home, she’d considered going to Kim’s, but she didn’t want to be “taken in.” She wanted to become independent. She’d decided to bow out of the women’s shelter fund-raiser, leave it in Jennifer Pratt’s capable hands and, as soon as her ankle healed, she’d find a job. A real job, not the “come in when you want” arrangement she’d always had with her father.

  “I didn’t want to impose,” she said. “Or drag your parents into this disaster. Besides, whether I like it or not, I feel I’m doing what I should’ve done years ago. I lived at home for Brandon’s sake and because I didn’t have any real motivation to move. I thought I was happy with my life. But lately I’ve begun to realize that there are certain things lacking. It’s time I grew up for real.”

  “Come on, Lauren. Don’t do anything drastic,” Kim said. “This is just a temporary rift. Once Quentin calms down, everything will return to normal, and you and I will be back at the club, drinking lattes.”

  Lauren sat higher in the bed, careful not to hurt her ankle again. “I won’t be able to spend my time at the club drinking lattes—I’ll be working,” she said. “In any case, my biggest concern is for Brandon. My father wouldn’t let me take him, but he won’t let me come back and see him, either.”

  Kimberly made a noise of surprise. “Why would he do something that would hurt Brandon so much?”

  “He’s a businessman. He was trying to manipulate me into staying put and obeying him like a good girl. Brandon was his bargaining chip.”

  “But you wouldn’t let him get the best of the situation. Good. I’m really proud of you.”

  “No one got the best of the situation,” Lauren said. “We all lost, which is the saddest thing of all.”

  “Well, you said it yourself. Your father’s a businessman. He’ll see it’s in his best interests to rethink this. I mean, how will he and your mother go to Europe next year with Brandon in school? They’re not going to like being so tied down, doing all the stuff you’ve always done—karate, sewing Brandon’s Halloween costumes, dealing with his teachers. You know, everything. Just wait and see.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Lauren said, switching the phone to her other ear. “If not, I’m going to help Harley press his claim. I might anyway. He’s younger than my parents and eager to be a dad.”

  “Oh, my gosh! You’re not serious.”

  Lauren hadn’t known until that moment that she was serious. But thoughts of Audra’s journals and the past, and what Lauren had learned about Harley Nelson just by being with him, convinced her. “He’s a good man who wants his son,” she said. “And I think Brandon deserves the chance to have a real dad.”

  “Where do you fit into this picture?” Kim asked.

  A lump the size of a baseball swelled in Lauren’s throat, but she forced her words around it. “I can only hope Harley will be fairer to me than my father has been to him and let me see Brandon whenever I want. I think he will.”

  “He lives in California!”

  “Maybe I’ll move to California, too.”

  “You’d leave here?” Kimberly cried.

  “Maybe. It’s time to get out on my own, and California’s as good a place as any. Regardless, I’m not going to let my father get away with what he’s doing. Admittedly, I have no chance of receiving custody of Brandon. Before she died, Audra signed guardianship over to my parents, and because they’re not abusive or neglectful, a judge would have no reason to take Brandon out of their home, at least not at my request. But as Brandon’s father, Harley has a much stronger case.”

  There was a long pause. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Kim asked, sounding doubtful.

  “Not necessarily. Why?”

  “You actually seem, I don’t know, like you’ve taken charge of all this…mess.”

  Lauren sighed. “I haven’t,” she said. “I’m just determined to see it through.”

  “I think Quentin’s going to be pretty surprised by what he’s up against.”

  Lauren hated the thought that she was choosing an outsider over her own family. She hoped her decision regarding Brandon had nothing to do with the way she felt about Harley. But she knew it probably had some effect, at least in her willingness to trust him. “How’d it go with you and Tank last night?” she asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I feel guilty about being so happy when things are going so lousy for you.”

  Lauren smiled in spite of the pain in her ankle and the fact that her whole life seemed to be crashing down around her ears. “That means you had a good time.”

  “I had a great time,” she said, excitement oozing through her voice. “And I’m going over to the apartment in an hour to help make lunch, so I’ll get to see him again today. We’re spending the afternoon at Lake Oswego. But I won’t go if you need me,” she added.

  Lauren slid her ankle from beneath the covers and examined the swelling. “Go have fun. I’ll be fine. There’s nothing you can do for me, anyway. I’ll order room service and eat, take my pain pill and sleep for a few more hours.”

  “I’ll come over later. Give me your room number.”

  “I’m staying at the Renaissance Towers, Room 2323.”

  “Let me get a pen.” There was a pause, then Kimberly repeated the information. “Does Harley know what happened? That you’re not living at home anymore?” she asked.

  “I doubt it. But he knows Quentin’s back. He was there when my father walked in the door.”

  “Oh, boy. I’ll bet that went over well. Did he and your father get into it?”

  Lauren winced at the memory of the sick feeling in her stomach when she’d first heard her father’s voice and scrambled to right her nightgown, the raised voices that followed, poor little Brandon crying and begging Harley to take him along, and she barely able to get around on her new crutches. It was all pretty pathetic. “Not too bad,” she said because she didn’t want to describe the details. “Harley handled everything surprisingly well.”

  Kimberly hesitated. “You’re being pretty supportive of Harley.”

  Lauren didn’t answer.

  “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  An image immediately appeared in Lauren’s mind—Harley kissing her, touching her—and she felt her cheeks flush hot. “No.”

  “Right,” Kim said, but there wasn’t an ounce of belief in her words. “We need to talk.”

  “Not now,” Lauren groaned.

  “Then later. But consider it a date.”

  HARLEY COULD HEAR movement, water turning on and off, a drawer slamming, voices.

  “So what time did he get home?” someone asked and, unless he was mistaken, it was Kimberly speaking.

  “Had to be after three,” Tank replied.

  Harley took the pillow off his head and rolled over to check his alarm clock. It was nearly one o’clock in the afternoon. He’d
slept for six hours, but somehow that didn’t make the day’s prospects any brighter.

  “Quentin showed up last night,” Kimberly said, her voice muffled as though she’d turned in a different direction.

  “I heard,” Tank responded.

  “Did Harley say anything about what happened?”

  “Not much. Until he called Damien.”

  “He called Damien? What for?”

  Harley cringed, expecting to hear his blunder repeated. He felt like an idiot for telling Damien that Lauren was in love with him. He’d only done it because he knew it was the last thing Damien wanted to hear. But that was no excuse.

  Fortunately, when Tank spoke, there was the sound of a shrug in his voice. “No reason, really. I think he just wanted to piss him off.”

  Silently thanking Tank for his discretion, Harley started to get out of bed, but froze at Kimberly’s next words.

  “So, does Harley know Quentin kicked Lauren out of the house last night?”

  “He didn’t say anything about that.”

  “I just talked to her. She’s at a hotel.”

  “What happened?”

  “She and her father had an argument, and she took Harley’s side.”

  “What about Brandon?”

  “Her father wouldn’t let her take him. She left during the night, while he was sleeping. And he won’t let her come back to see him, either.”

  Shit. Harley couldn’t believe it. Brandon had watched his grandfather throw him out of the house less than twelve hours earlier, and then awakened to find Lauren gone. What had Quentin been thinking? Lauren’s father had to be the biggest asshole Harley had ever met.

  “That’s too bad,” Tank was saying, but then Lucy interrupted, asking Kimberly for a drink of juice, and the conversation turned to other things—what they were going to do at the lake, whether or not they needed a life vest for Lucy, what time Lucy had to be home.

  Harley sat in his room, deep in his own thoughts, paying little attention to their inconsequential chatter. Finally they trooped out of the house and the door slammed, then silence fell. And he ignored everything his head had been telling him and picked up the phone.

  LAUREN’S CELL PHONE would not stop ringing. She fumbled through her covers, searching, but she was so tangled up in the sheets that she couldn’t find it. The ringing stopped, and she sighed and sank back into the soft mattress. But then the ringing started all over again.

  Surely it wasn’t Kimberly. Lauren wasn’t expecting to hear from her until later, much later.

  Then she sat bolt upright, instantly awake, and began to search in earnest. What if it was Brandon? She hadn’t called him after hanging up with Kim because she knew her father would probably be monitoring the phone and she wanted him to relax his guard first, if possible. But if there was a problem and Brandon needed her…Or her father had changed his mind…

  Finally coming up successful, she punched the talk button before the caller could be transferred to her voice mail and put the phone to her ear. With the drapes mostly drawn, it was too dark to read her caller ID. She didn’t take the time to even try.

  “Brandon?” she said, sounding breathless, even to her own ears.

  There was a pause. “It’s me.”

  Harley. Lauren would have recognized his voice anywhere, although after last night, she hadn’t expected him to call her.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “How’s the ankle?”

  “It’s getting better.”

  “How’s the rest of you?”

  “As good as possible under the circumstances, I guess.” She thought again of last night and felt fresh embarrassment wash over her. What must Harley think—particularly after rejecting her?

  There was a pause. “I heard about what happened,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. My father’s just…he’s not himself right now.”

  “Oh, really? I couldn’t tell by his behavior.”

  Lauren tried not to laugh because laughing made her feel too disloyal. But with everything else going to hell in a handbasket, a little laughing didn’t seem like such a big deal. Besides, Harley had every right to dislike her father. He’d never seen how loving and caring Quentin could be. He’d only seen him at his worst.

  “He’s not all bad,” she countered. “In most ways, he was a good father to me.” She hoped he’d be a good father to her again someday.

  “I’ll take your word for it. What are you doing right now?”

  “Sleeping.”

  “Any chance you’re ready to get up?”

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and ran a hand through her tangled hair. The painkiller made her feel as if she could sleep all day. Or maybe it was the aftereffect of last night’s emotional trauma. “What for?”

  “You promised to let me take you for a ride on my bike, remember?”

  Lauren remembered. She also remembered that she hadn’t been completely serious when she made that promise. “I was joking,” she said, deciding to play it safe. She needed to talk to Harley about Brandon, but she didn’t want to have that discussion on the back of his bike.

  “Does that mean you’re chickening out?” he asked.

  “I’m not chickening out,” she protested. “I’m insuring my future health and safety. My ankle’s already hurt. I’d rather keep the rest of my body intact.”

  “We’ll wrap your ankle in a brace, and I’ll help you get around. You’ll be fine.”

  If he was going to help her around, she’d definitely have an opportunity to talk to him. They’d be together, side by side….

  Then again, they could talk right here.

  She glanced around the room, remembered the tingle of his kisses last night, and decided maybe it would be better to leave the hotel. Imagining Harley’s touch, picturing him in her bed—this bed—made her feel just as eager and breathless as before.

  “Lauren?” he prompted.

  “I don’t know,” she said, forcibly redirecting her thoughts. “Talking me into getting on a bike is a lot like convincing a claustrophobic to shut himself in a closet. What if I freak out?”

  “I’ll be there with you,” he said. “It’s time you trusted me.”

  She already trusted Harley. Or she wouldn’t have deemed him worthy of Brandon. But there was one more thing, probably the most important issue of all—would she have time to shower and do her hair?

  “When?” she asked.

  “Now.”

  “In an hour.”

  “Fine. Tell me where you are.”

  Lauren gave him her hotel and room number, then hung up and hurried to the bathroom as fast as her ankle would permit.

  Her life was in complete disarray, but somehow everything seemed all right because Harley was coming to see her. Go figure.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  LAUREN STOOD BACK and surveyed herself in the mirror. At first glance, her swollen ankle made her appear to have a clubfoot, which wasn’t particularly appealing, but barring that, she looked pretty good. Certainly better than she had at the park yesterday when she was sporting Aunt Myrtle’s idea of a hip outfit. Today she was wearing the best her hastily packed suitcases could provide—a pair of low-riding jeans, with enough bell at the bottom to allow for wrapping her foot, and a T-shirt top that hugged her breasts and showed an inch or two of bare midriff.

  Making an O with her mouth, she quickly smoothed on some pink gloss, then brushed her hair until it gleamed and applied some mascara to make her eyes more noticeable. She definitely wasn’t movie-star gorgeous, like Audra had been, but she wasn’t half bad since she’d filled out a bit and lost the glasses. After the rejection she’d suffered last night, she needed to feel attractive.

  She was just adding a pair of silver hoop earrings when she heard Harley’s knock. Crossing her fingers for luck and continued good health, despite the motorcycle, she limped across the room and opened the door.

  “Wow,” he said, letting his gaze drif
t over her. “You look—” he cleared his throat “—great.”

  “Really?” Lauren felt a warm blush rise up her neck. Having Harley look at her so…avidly more than compensated for all the years he’d ignored her.

  “You still up for this?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

  “As long as we don’t wrinkle my clothes,” she teased.

  He scowled in mock warning. “Picking a fight already?”

  “Just getting even. Come in. I need to put on my watch and grab my purse.”

  He stepped inside the room, wearing jeans, a Harley Davidson T-shirt and his jacket, and smelling like soap and leather. Lauren felt her stomach flutter, and experienced a moment of guilt for being so happy to see him.

  “Somehow, when I heard your father threw you out of the house, I was picturing you in more…”

  She turned in time to see him glance pointedly at the rich furnishings and elegant drapes.

  “…desperate circumstances,” he finished with a wry grin. “This place doesn’t inspire much pity.”

  “Is that why you’re here? Because you feel sorry for me?” she asked.

  “No.”

  She waited for him to explain, but he only frowned and said, “I’m here to give you a ride on my bike, remember?”

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE I’m doing this,” Lauren said, eyeing Harley’s sleek, black bike and its shiny chrome accents as he handed her the helmet he’d fastened with a bungee cord to the back.

  “Don’t think about it,” he said, straddling the seat and raising the kickstand. “Trust me.”

  Lauren accepted the helmet but she didn’t put it on. She continued to stare at the bike. “It looks heavy.”

  “It is heavy.”

  “What if it falls over on us while you’re trying to start it?”

  He gave her a “get real” look. “It’s not going to fall over.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I won’t let it, okay?”

  Still Lauren hesitated. “I think maybe you should start the motor before I get on.”

  “Oh, brother.” He rolled his eyes but settled his own helmet on his head and, a moment later, the engine roared to life, making it almost impossible to hear anything else.