by Alexis James
“You love her,” she whispers.
“Fuck, why do you keep pushing this?” Stomping back to my chair, I fling myself down into it. “Yes, I love her! I love her enough to set her free and to want her happiness more than I want my own.”
I think we’re both stunned by my outburst and the long, silent pause that follows confirms it. I’m pissed as hell she pushed me there, but I certainly won’t backpedal and act like the words aren’t the truth.
“You’re a good guy, Caleb.”
“No, I’m not. I hurt her and that is unforgivable.” I can’t do this anymore. Chewing the fat with Sophia’s sister-in-law will change nothing. She’s no longer in my life, and I’ve got to learn to accept that. “I have to go.”
I disconnect the call before she can say another word, praying silently that she won’t push me and call back again. I stare at the phone expecting it to ring, but after ten minutes of silence I’m resigned to admit that she is possibly more stubborn than Sophia.
Leaning on the desk, I prop my head up with my hands and snarl out a string of curse words to rival Amita. Fuck, there is no easy answer to any of this except to get up each and every day and attempt to muddle through. It will get easier, I think with a heavy sigh. It has to.
Pulling the cupboard door open, I peruse the miniscule amount of food and attempt to find something to make for dinner. There’s an expired can of soup, half a dozen boxes of some generic brand mac-n-cheese, and an opened box of very stale crackers.
The fridge and freezer are no better. The bits and pieces of things I have are either expired or … disgusting. I’m a pathetic excuse for an independent woman, that’s for sure. I’ve got a few bucks in my checking account, no money left in my savings, and a hefty balance on my credit card. I haven’t eaten a decent meal in weeks and as it stands, that trend is bound to continue.
My incredibly hectic school schedule is leaving me no time for tutoring and even less time to work at the preschool. As a result, I’ve had to cut all the fat in my life. No more Wi-Fi, no more car insurance, and definitely no groceries. Sadly, what I miss most is coffee, but thankfully Char takes pity on me a few times a week and brings me a cup from Micky D’s.
With a sigh, I lean back against the kitchen counter and rub my aching stomach. I need to eat something. Hell, the expired soup and stale crackers are sounding good. I haven’t eaten since scarfing down my last granola bar yesterday morning, so ingesting anything at this point is a good idea. Otherwise, I’m bound to end up passed out on my kitchen floor.
Ten minutes later I’ve got the soup heated, the nasty-ass crackers floating in the broth, and I’m forcing each and every bite down. Gross. I suppose starvation is worse, so I pinch my nose closed and chomp down another bite.
A loud knock at the door startles me, causing me to jump and drop the spoon in the soup. The splash hitting me directly in the chest. Cursing under my breath, I wipe the mess off with my palm and stalk across the room, yanking the door open and doing a double take.
Cruz is standing there looking as frazzled as I am. His dark wavy hair is a hot mess, as if he’s been dragging his hands through it one too many times. He’s dressed very un-Cruz-like in a pair of casual trousers and a light blue polo shirt, which sets off the turbulent color of his very concerned eyes. His mouth is set in a grim line as he looks me over and waits silently for me to speak.
“Uh … this is a surprise,” I eventually manage, although I really should have expected this. Did I really believe my brothers were going to simply allow me to unload on them and walk away?
“Hello, pequeńa. May I come in?”
Taking a step back, I close the door behind him and watch silently as he moves around the room, looking things over and frowning. I suppose he’s seeing the neglect—the furniture that desperately needs dusting, the floor that hasn’t seen a vacuum in weeks, the general disorder my life is in now. Books and papers are scattered on every surface, and my laundry is piled on the kitchen table, waiting to be folded and put away. Knowing how fastidious he can be, I can only imagine what he must be thinking.
He glances at my less than appealing meal and shoots me a sideways glance. “Is that your dinner?”
I shrug. “If you can call it that.”
Ignoring me, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts tapping away. Once he’s done, he stashes it and snaps, “Throw that away. I’m having my driver bring up some real food.”
The quick surge of anger that spirals through me isn’t particularly surprising. I’m well aware this man likes to throw his weight around, so why should a few weeks of silence change that?
The total disregard I have for what falls out of my mouth is surprising and a bit refreshing too. I’m no longer anyone’s baby. I’m not about to be pushed around. “What gives you the right to believe you can come into my home and start dictating orders?”
The hostility on his face falls away and in its place is the rare glimpse of the vulnerable man beneath all that ice. “I’m sorry. I just … I’m sorry.” He moves slowly toward me, reaching for my hands. “I came here to apologize to you, not to order you around.”
I roll my eyes. “Could have fooled me.”
“I love you, Sophia. I screwed up.”
Okay … wow. I mean just … wow. Cruz never apologizes to anyone—ever … I mean, ever, ever, ever. He’s never wrong, even if he is. He’s arrogant and self-important and … human?
“I should have given you the benefit of the doubt about Caleb. But I was a jerk …”
“And an ass,” I quip.
He nods. “I was an ass and so was Marco. We had no right to judge you or him. We should have done as you said and tried to get to know him.” His large hand frames my face. “I know you and you’d never love a man who wasn’t worthy of that love.”
“You might want to rethink that,” I reply sarcastically.
He lets my statement slide. “I will admit I am concerned because he’s so much older than you, but I will also admit that you two seemed happy together.”
“We were.”
Cruz nods. “So you haven’t heard from him?”
Shaking my head, I pull him over to the couch, and we settle next to one another. “No. I don’t expect to. He’s probably moved on.”
One dark brow lifts. “Oh you think so?”
I don’t want to. I don’t want to believe Caleb is out there socializing with women who are his age, bringing them home to the bed he once shared with me. I don’t want to believe I am so easy to forget, but I have to consider that maybe I have been.
My heart squeezes painfully as I shrug. “I assume so.”
“Marco wanted to come with me.” Cruz chuckles and smirks. “You’ve broken the poor guy. He’s a mess thinking you hate him. Having Amita defend you isn’t helping.”
“I love her,” I reply. “And I don’t hate him. I don’t hate either of you. I hate what you did and how you treated Caleb, but I understand you were only trying to protect me.”
“Yes, but hurting someone is not how you go about that.”
It’s my turn to smirk. “That sounds like Mia talking.”
He laughs and throws his arm around my shoulders. “My wife is the smartest person I know.”
His driver arrives a few minutes later with bags of steaming food for us. I set the laundry aside and retrieve plates and utensils as well as glasses of water for each of us. I lay the food out on the table—cartons of Chinese, burgers and fries, veggie burritos—and hand over a plate to my brother. He tells me about the kids while we pile our plates and my mouth waters at the thought that I’ll go to bed full for the first time in weeks.
“How many people did your driver think he was feeding?” I ask, shoveling fries into my mouth as fast as I can chew them.
Cruz narrows his eyes at me and murmurs, “I told him I wanted you to have plenty of leftovers.” His hand darts out to catch mine. “After we eat, we’re going grocery shopping.”
My eyes widen. “You�
��re ridiculous. Have you ever stepped foot inside a grocery store?”
He brushes off my statement and replies, “It’s either that or I leave you cash to take care of it yourself. Your choice.”
“But I don’t …”
He glares at me. “Yes, you do. I’m well aware you have no money and that you cancelled your car insurance. I also know that you’re behind on your tuition payments and that your electricity is about to be shut off.”
Confusion settles over me as I set down my fork. “Wait, what? How do you know all that?” He doesn’t respond, but the look on his face tells me everything. Why I’m surprised by his innate knowledge of my entire life is beyond me. Cruz has always had far-reaching ways of knowing everything. Apparently that hasn’t changed even though I haven’t been speaking to him.
His hand tightens around mine. “Baby sister, you do not have to starve yourself to prove to me or anyone else that you are a strong, independent woman. We all know that. You seem to be the only person in doubt.”
“No I’m not,” I protest.
“Yes, you are.” He resumes eating and darts a sideways glance my way. “Your insurance is now current and your tuition has been paid in full. I’ve also paid your rent for the next six months and paid the balance on your electric bill.” He holds up his hand when I start to protest. “I’ve deposited money into your checking and savings and paid off the credit card bill.” His palm presses tightly against my mouth when I start to yell. “None of that was done because I feel guilty about the Caleb situation. I did it so you can concentrate on school and not worry about money. I did it so you can concentrate on your future. Your future is all that matters now. Eliminating these stressors and giving you room to focus fully on that future is my job as your big brother and someone who loves you.”
As his hand falls away, my jaw drops to the floor. I’m stunned. Did he really just take all my worries away? Did he really take away the heavy weight from my chest and replace it with a feeling of hope for the first time in … well … I can’t remember when? I shouldn’t be shocked that he came barging in and took over my life like he has. This is what Cruz has always done for each and every one of us. As the eldest Moran child and as someone who feels responsible for us, it’s just his way to take over and make it all better. But as annoyed as I still am about his handling of me and my life, I’m also eternally grateful.
“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper, tears pooling in my eyes.
“Don’t say anything. Just please don’t ever, ever walk away from us again.” His own eyes shine bright with moisture too. Once more I’m thrown by the knowledge that my hardheaded older brother is really nothing more than a man who loves with all his heart.
Jumping out of my chair, I throw my arms around his neck and start to sob. They are tears of relief, tears of sadness, tears of forgiveness. I might never forget he was the catalyst in pushing Caleb to walk away, but he wasn’t the one who left me heartbroken and alone. Amidst all the mistrust and stubborn anger toward my brothers, I’ve always known they were still on my side, right there out of reach. All I had to do was hold my hand out, say the word, and they’d be back by my side, no questions asked.
I wish I could say the same for Caleb.
“Thank you. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, pequeńa.”
Smiling through my tears, I drink in the warmth of my brother’s embrace, the gentle way he calls me his little one. He’s always been so incredibly protective of me, more so than all the others, simply because I was the baby of the family. It makes me wonder why I was so surprised he and Marco went after Caleb like they did. Did I really expect anything less? My brothers, all my siblings actually, are fighters. They fight for one another, fight for those they love, and fight fiercely for what they believe is right and true.
They fight first and foremost for family. Always have. Always will.
I can’t imagine how wonderful it will feel to wake up tomorrow morning and know that I’ve mended fences with my brother and that I no longer have to worry about expenses. Of course, I’ll still have the same, empty hole in my heart where Caleb is supposed to be, but I guess a girl can’t have everything.
Maybe it’s time I start feeling grateful for what I do have and for what I once had with Caleb. I did have his time, his attention, his affection. Not for as long as I would have liked, but I did have it nonetheless. I may not have had his undying love, but he did care about me and he did admit that he believed he was falling in love with me. That’s something especially considering how jaded he was by his marriage.
I’m grateful for the time I had with him. I’ll miss him forever, I suppose, but at least I can say that I did know what it was like to love.
I believe there’s a part of me that will love him for the rest of my life. I’ll go on, have the future he hoped I would, but he’ll always remain in my mind, my heart. The one person I wanted who didn’t want me. That’s a tough pill to swallow and it’s easy to wallow in self-pity, easy to think he walked away because I somehow didn’t meet his needs. But that’s on him. Nothing I can do will change that.
Papers are spread out across the bar in big stacks, proof that while I might not want a TA, I sure as hell need one. Entering grades on a Sunday afternoon is not my idea of a day off, however, I will admit that the busy work keeps my mind occupied and the bottle stashed far, far away.
I’ve made a concerted effort to curb the excessive drinking this past week or so. It doesn’t help and it doesn’t even make me numb anymore. All I end up with is more regret and a nasty headache I have to fight off for the entire next day.
I’ve been forcing myself to work out, get in the occasional run or walk. I have started to improve my eating habits. Before Sophia, I was careful about what I ate, watched my carbs, drank a lot of nasty tasting shakes. After her … well, mostly I’ve been existing on whiskey and the occasional fast food. The only time I actually consume a real meal is when Pop and I go out.
With that thought, I take another bite of my turkey on whole wheat, wash it down with ice water, then turn my attention back to the stacks that are screaming at me to get my shit together.
Truth is my shit hasn’t been together for a long, long time. I’ve been trudging through life since Rianne and I divorced, every day the same. That changed when Sophia blazed into my life and brought some much needed energy to it, but since we split I’m right back to trudging. It has got to stop.
I’m almost forty for crying out loud and what do I have to show for this life? A decent apartment, a good job. A car? Really … those are my accomplishments? How fucking pathetic is that?
Most people who reach this age have many things to be proud of: homes, wives, children. All I’ve got is a brokenhearted ex-girlfriend and a pissed off ex-wife. I have nothing to show for all my hard work other than the money that arrives in my bank account each month.
What the hell am I doing?
The doorbell buzzes, pulling me out of my head, slapping and bringing me to my feet. I rarely get visitors. Even Pop doesn’t come here because he insists my place is too cold.
He’s not talking about the temperature either.
Yanking the door open, my eyes widen in surprise and I’m admittedly stunned. This is the last person I ever dreamed would be standing at my door. “Moran. What brings you here?”
“Mr. Bonham. May I come in?”
I consider the request for half a beat then curiosity gets the best of me, and I nod, stepping back to allow him entry. He moves past me with purpose, into the living room, where he turns to face me with a grim look on his face.
Our silent stare-down feels like it lasts for a good ten minutes when in actuality it’s probably no more than thirty seconds or so. I refuse to be the one to drive this conversation, especially since he’s the last person I want to have standing in my apartment. It still smarts to remember how hostile he and his brother were that night, and how neither one seemed to consider how terribly hurt Sophia
would be by their behavior.
“Mr. Bonham, I owe you an apology.”
“You think?” I snap.
His jaw tightens, but it’s clear he’s very good at restraining his emotions if need be. “I apologize for myself and my brother for the way we treated you that night at Sophia’s. I hope you can understand we behaved like that because we care about her. And we worry.”
I shrug, attempting to act like I’m taking it all in stride. I’m not. Every single word is one more reminder of how I let her down. “Well, thanks for the apology. Doesn’t really matter now.”
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he smirks at me. “Oh?”
All right, asshole, two can play this game. “Sophia has moved on. So have I.”
His brows shoot up. “Really? Because I just saw my sister last night and it doesn’t look like she’s moved on. She’s buried in school work and behind on her bills.” He glances at the stacks of papers on the bar. “Looks like you’re rather buried in schoolwork yourself.” He takes a step toward me. “She’s not eating or sleeping and her heart is broken. Is that what you call moving on?”
My stomach jumps into my throat then lands with a nauseating thud. I don’t want the image of brokenhearted Sophia in my head any more than it already is. I don’t need to know she’s struggling and that I’m the cause. I don’t want to know the woman I love, the one I force myself daily to stay away from, needs me now more than ever.
“Amita told me she’s spoken with you.” I respond with a nod since talking might result in me saying something I shouldn’t. “I know you love my sister, Caleb. I know you broke things off with her not because you’re a bad person, but because you want only the best for her. Correct?” I nod again, slower this time. If he’s talked with Amita, there’s no point in lying about my feelings for Sophia. The best I can do is pacify him and send him on his way.