“Thanks, Deena.”
Monica gave Stella a thumbs-up as she walked to her office. Once she closed the door, she glanced over at the portrait of her mother. Those damned tears burned the backs of her eyes. She missed her mom so much. Before she’d gotten sick, Trisha had been the glue that held her family together. Allie did her best to fill the role, but it wasn’t the same.
Monica grabbed a tissue, dabbed her eyes, and had just sat down when Allie blew through the door.
“You get off on blindsiding me, don’t you? First Jules, now this.”
Monica shrugged. “Yeah, a little bit.”
“Hosting it in the garden is kind of brilliant. Congratulations, Sis. Come on.” Allie waved her arm. “I’m starving, and we need to hammer out the details. Might as well do both at the same time.”
Allie was being a good sport about all this, so Monica didn’t complain about her lack of appetite. She grabbed her purse and followed Allie out of the office. On the way out to the car, Monica donned her sunglasses. The morning sun seemed unusually bright. Or maybe her eyes were overly sensitive from all the crying.
“Everything all right?” Allie asked. “You aren’t gloating, and that worries me.”
“Yep. I’m fine.”
Allie stopped walking and turned to her. “I’m sorry that I made you feel incompetent. That was never my intention. You’re really good at this job.”
“Thanks. And I’m sorry I yelled at you. It’s just that you’re always so damn perfect. How am I supposed to live up to that?”
“I’ve never expected you to be perfect, Mon.”
“Actually, you do.” She resumed walking toward her car. “You always expected Brynn and me to follow your every order, to the letter.”
Allie finally moved. “Do I really act like I’m perfect?”
How to answer that? Cal would tell her not to lie. “Sometimes. You were the good daughter, and I was the bad one. We all get it.”
“You weren’t the bad one.” She hopped into Monica’s passenger seat.
“Well, Brynn wasn’t the bad one. So that just leaves me.” Monica didn’t say any more until they reached the restaurant.
“I’ll try to ease up,” Allie said. “Come on, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. You look like you need it. Are you sure you’re okay?”
No. Not even. Monica missed Cal. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be okay again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
They exited the car, and as they walked toward the entrance, Allie patted Monica’s back. “You never do. I’m sorry I gave you a hard time about Cal too. I shouldn’t have interfered. I just want to protect you.” She held up a hand as if Monica were about to argue. “I know you don’t need it. You’ve made so much progress in the last few years, I didn’t want to see you slip back into old patterns. But I was wrong.”
Normally, Monica would snarl about being an adult and handling her own life, but not today. Besides, she was very close to tears. Again.
“When you talk to Cal,” Allie said, “tell him I’m sorry to hear about his dad.”
Monica froze midstep. “What?” she whispered.
“You didn’t know?”
“Tell me.”
“He and Jules left for L.A. this morning. His dad had a heart attack.”
Monica clung to the column near the restaurant door for support. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I…” Allie shook her head. “I don’t know.” She placed her arm around Monica’s waist and led her inside.
“Table for two,” Allie told the hostess. She helped guide Monica to a table and waited until they were alone. “Mon, talk to me. Are you all right? You look like you’re going to be sick. Why didn’t you know about Cal’s dad?”
“Poor Cal. Poor Jules. It just happened this morning?”
“Yeah. Why don’t you call him?”
“We’re over.”
“What? I thought you two were doing well.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did he dump you? That son of a bitch. I warned him.”
“No, I ended it.”
Allie’s head snapped back. “Oh.” When the waitress stopped by, Allie ordered two cups of coffee. “Why?”
“I’m in love with him. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I thought I could handle a fling, but Cal is just so…fantastic.”
“Does he love you?”
“He cares about me, but he can’t stay in one place for long. He’s not made that way.” She glanced at Allie, took in the tight seam of her lips. “Just say it and get it out of the way.”
Allie shook her head.
“You told me so. You told me not to get involved with him. I didn’t listen. Say it.” Monica crossed her arms on the table, dropped her head, and began sobbing.
Allie awkwardly patted her head. “Monnie. Stop, honey. Please. You never cry. This stupid man is making you cry.”
When Allie sniffed, Monica glanced up. Allie blotted her eyes with a paper napkin, taking care not to smudge her mascara. “I hate seeing you this way. You’re breaking my heart.”
“What else is new?” Monica mopped her chin with the back of one hand.
When the waitress brought the coffee, she stopped short. “Everything all right here?”
“More napkins, please,” Monica said.
The woman scurried off and returned with a two-inch stack.
After several minutes, Allie stopped crying, and Monica finally dried up too. “God, this is embarrassing. I’m like a leaky hose. Also, now’s probably not the best time to tell you this, but at the beginning of the year, I’m quitting the foundation.”
Allie sputtered and choked on a sip of coffee. “What? I told you I would ease up.”
“I hate that job, Al. I’m sorry. I won’t leave until you find a replacement. I just can’t do it anymore.”
“Is this about your international grant idea?”
“No. But it might be good for the foundation. You should keep an open mind.”
“So you’re really leaving? For good?” Allie asked. “What will you do for work?”
Monica shrugged. “I don’t know. I only know what I don’t want. But hopefully, I’ll figure it out as I go along. I’m going to call Jules, see if her dad’s all right.” She grabbed her phone and stepped out of the restaurant.
“Hello?” Jules’s nose sounded stuffy.
“It’s Monica. I just heard about your dad. Is he going to be all right?”
“Yeah, he’s going to be fine. Here, I’ll let you talk to Cal.”
Chapter 21
When Jules shoved the phone into his hand, Cal had no idea it was Monica. “I don’t mean to bother you,” she said, sounding stilted. “I heard the news and—”
Cal tightened his grip on the phone. “No bother. It’s very kind of you.”
“Allie just told me, or I would have called sooner. Is he going to be all right?”
“Yeah, he’s going to be fine, as long as he takes it easy. That may require heavy sedation.” She remained silent. They’d regressed in less than a day. She didn’t chide him, didn’t chuckle…just silence. “I’m only joking. We’re going to take proper care of him, of course.”
“I’m so sorry, Cal. If there’s anything you need…”
He needed her. Turning away from Jules, he closed his eyes. “I have it under control. Thank you for calling.” Now he sounded odd and formal.
Monica hesitated. “You’re welcome.”
There were a million things Cal wanted to say, but they weren’t the words she needed to hear.
“If you change your mind, call me. Good-bye, Cal.”
She hung up before he could say anything. Why had he let her walk out that door? Why hadn’t he followed her? Because you can’t offer her tomorrow. You don’t even know where you’ll be next week. Cal had always equated his ability to take off anywhere, at any time, with freedom. Now it just felt pointless.
He thrust the phone back at Jules and mumbled something about coffee. He could use a few minutes alone
. Had Allie told her the rest of it—that he was planning on going back to Vegas? Did Monica even care? She’d called Jules, after all, not him. He had a sinking suspicion that he’d fucked up badly. The thought of never holding her again left him empty.
He made another trek to the cafeteria and brought back sandwiches and crisps. Tara placed the unopened food on a side table, but Jules nibbled on hers.
“Did you and Monica have a row or something?” she asked.
“Yeah, something,” Cal answered. He glanced at the telly and pretended to watch the news.
The next few hours passed slowly. Cal made himself useful by checking in with the nurse every hour. Finally, Tara was allowed a five-minute visit.
When she returned to the waiting room, she looked ill. “He’s working himself into a fuss. His blood pressure is too high.” She sank down in the chair and placed one hand over her eyes. Tara relied so much on the old man, Cal didn’t think she’d make it through the day without him. “He’s worried about work and about Jules’s upcoming court date. He simply won’t lie still.”
“He’ll be all right, Mummy. Won’t he, Cal?”
“Of course.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Father will pull through this. Don’t worry about court—I’ll contact your attorney and see if he can postpone your appearance until next month.” She gazed up at him, looking so terribly young, her brown eyes wide and searching as they met his.
“Thanks for being here. Knobface.”
He leaned over and kissed her temple. “I’ll go see if I can settle him down, all right?”
Cal found a young, pretty nurse, and using a hefty dose of charm while stressing his accent, Cal talked her into giving him five minutes with the old man.
Cal wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked into the room. But the robust, arrogant father he knew appeared old, weak. His skin matched the white pillowcase, and his hair looked much thinner than Cal remembered. The old man’s cheeks were sunken, and the tubes and wires running from his arms and chest weren’t encouraging. It brought back memories of Babcock.
George Hughes was a colossal prat, no question about that. As he lay there, immobilized by the equipment attached to him, he barked at the nurse trying to take his blood pressure. He demanded to see the doctor and kept asking for his mobile. “Now, damn it. Why won’t you people listen? I need my phone. Where is my phone?”
“You’re not getting your phone,” Cal said. “You’ve had a heart attack, you geezer.”
George’s white brows dropped so low they threatened to cover his eyes completely. “Get this man out of my room.”
Cal shot the nurse a grin. “I’m the son. Lucky me, eh? I’ll try and get him to behave.” She unwrapped the cuff and shot him a sympathetic glance before leaving the room. “They don’t like you,” Cal said. “You’re being a twat.”
“What are you doing here? Come to dance on my grave, have you?”
“No, I’m a terrible dancer. No rhythm at all. I probably get that from your side of the family. And you’re not dying. Yet. But keep it up with the yelling and the threats, and you’ll be stuck here for days. Is that what you want?”
Screwing up his lips, causing deep wrinkles to pucker around his mouth, George looked out the window. “Don’t know why you care. No one invited you here.”
“Not strictly true. Jules asked me to come with her.”
George placed his hands on the guardrails. “If you’re here to suck up, you’re in for a rude surprise. You’re not even in the will, you know.” He glanced back at Cal with an expression as icy as his tone.
Like Cal gave a toss. “And here I thought Pixie was the dramatic one. Listen, Jules has been worried sick. Tara’s nerves are shot. They’re worried about you. Tell me what needs to be done, and I’ll take care of it.”
“Why should I trust a layabout like you?”
Cal shifted his weight onto one foot. “Because you and I have something in common.”
“What, our last names? I’m not even one hundred percent certain you’re really mine. Your mother wasn’t faithful, you know.”
“Ooo, nice. Come on. Get them all out of your system.” George remained quiet. “I’m talking about our fondness for Juliette.”
“Am I supposed to thank you for showing up here and doing your duty?”
Cal leaned both hands on the footboard. “God, no. That would ruin our delightful dynamic. I just want you to calm down, leave work to your assistants, and get better. And do stop yelling for your mobile. It’s not happening.” Cal moved around the IV drip and opened the table drawer, removing a pad of paper and a pen.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” George watched Cal’s movements. “Seeing me weak like this.”
Cal rolled his eyes. “Not really. I don’t hate you. I’m not wild about you, either, so don’t go crazy.”
George snorted. “The feeling’s entirely mutual.”
So they didn’t hate each other. Not exactly a touching moment, but Cal would take it.
“See to Juliette’s court date,” George said. “Call my secretary and have her reschedule my appointments. Tell her to prioritize anything pressing and pass it off accordingly.” He continued to rattle off a long, detailed list, and Cal wrote it down. “Did you get that? It’s all important.”
“I’ve got it.” Cal stood and shoved the list in his pocket. “I promise you, I’ll take care of it.” He turned to leave, but George’s voice made him retrace his steps.
“Calum, I might need a nurse when I get out of here. I don’t want Tara taking care of me. That’s not how it’s meant to work. Find someone qualified. It’ll put her mind at ease.”
“I’ll find the best nurse in Beverly Hills.”
George sighed. “Perhaps you’re not as useless as you look.”
Cal threw back his head and laughed. “That’s possibly the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
He patted his father’s foot. “Get some rest.”
* * *
The day had passed so slowly. Throughout the afternoon, he made tea runs and spoke three times to his father’s secretary. Competent woman. Emotionless. The perfect match for George Hughes.
Now Cal stood by the window, staring down at the dark street below. Not many cars at this time of night. In the window’s reflection, he watched Jules stir. She opened her eyes and rubbed her neck.
“Any news?” she asked.
“No. Why don’t you let me call for your driver? You and your mother should go home and get some sleep. Real sleep. You’ll feel better for it.”
“No, I don’t want to leave.”
He understood her reluctance. Cal had never left Babcock. Not for one day. Near the end, he’d been terrified to leave her side, afraid she’d die without him there. Cal hadn’t wanted to sit at her bedside, vigilant, waiting for the end. It had been agonizing, yet he’d done it. He’d held her hand in the final moments. Maybe that had given her a bit of solace. He liked to think so anyway.
Jules came to stand next to him, and he placed his arm around her shoulders. “He’s going to be fine.”
“He’s been so stressed since my arrest,” she said.
“It wasn’t your fault, Jules. You heard the doctor say a lifetime of unhealthy habits was most likely the cause.”
“Still, I didn’t help.” She flung an arm around his waist. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I’m going to plead guilty to the drink-driving charge. Take responsibility for my actions and whatnot. Monica turned her life around—so can I.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Of course you can. You could rule the world, if you set your mind to it.”
“Maybe I’ll become world empress tomorrow. For right now, I’m going to stretch my legs a bit. Do you fancy a coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Jules held out her hand, palm up. “Money?”
He snagged a bill from his wallet. “I want change.”
“I w
ant bigger tits. What’s your point?” She walked out of the waiting room and disappeared down a corridor.
A few minutes later, Tara stirred, and her eyes flickered open. She glanced around, then she blinked, owl-like, at Cal. “Where’s Jules?” Her accent was working-class plastered over with new money and willpower, but occasionally her roots came through, like now. At first it had surprised him, his father’s choice of a trophy wife, but when Cal stopped to think about it, he realized Tara’s father was extremely wealthy. That made up for a lot. Even for a snob like George Hughes.
“She went for coffee.”
“Thank you, Calum, for being here. I don’t know what we’d have done without you today.”
“Of course.” Over the last twenty-one years, Cal had barely spoken more than a few dozen words to the woman. Her job as Father’s wife was purely decorative, but she seemed to care deeply about the old man.
“Did you tell your mother about George?” she asked, a little too casually.
“No, not yet.”
“He refuses to speak of her, you know. I’ve always wondered why he married her in the first place.” Tara realized she’d blundered, and her cheeks burned bright. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Cal sat across from her. “I’ve often wondered the same thing. They have absolutely nothing in common.”
“They have you,” she said.
“You know Father’s opinion of me.” How Cal was an uneducated wastrel who’d never amount to anything. He couldn’t really argue with that assessment. After all, what had he contributed? Making the world a better place, one restored car at a time? Hardly life-changing.
Perhaps Monica Campbell and her charitable ways were rubbing off on him. Cal admired Monica’s drive, the fact that she’d gotten her life in order when she had fallen pregnant. That one still gutted him. That she’d gone through that pain and kept it locked away inside of her. Everything made sense now—her complete transformation. He finally got it.
Tara leaned forward and shyly touched his knee. “For what it’s worth, Calum, George is wrong about you. He always has been. You’ve got such a good heart, and you adore Juliette. It’s never been my place, but I’ve tried to turn him around.”
His Kind of Trouble Page 31