When You Start to Miss Me: A Romantic Suspense (Wildflower Romance Book 3)

by Stacy Claflin

  After a while, a dog barks, sounding like it’s heading our way.

  I kiss her temple. “Are you ready to go?”

  “I want to stay here forever.”

  “Then we’ll stay.” I rub her shoulder, and she shivers. “Do you need my coat? I can run and get it from my car.”

  She shakes her head no. We sit in silence as a man and a woman jog past with a little terrier. Then they’re gone, and we’re alone again.

  I’m not sure how much time passes, but it’s completely dark now. I sit up straight. “We should probably get going. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to need some sleep to get through tomorrow.”

  Malia turns to me, slightly smiling. “Yeah, it is kind of a necessity.”

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m tougher than you think.”

  “I never doubted that.”

  She gives me a questioning glance.

  “And I’m serious about being available any time you want to talk. I can’t promise not to beat the person who did that to you, but I’ll definitely listen and support you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She gives me one more mind-melting kiss.

  Malia is nothing if not confusing, but I wouldn’t have her any other way.

  Chapter Twelve

  Malia

  I watch Lincoln from my rear-view mirror, but his car doesn’t budge. He motions for me to leave. Is that the gentlemanly thing to do? Wait for the woman to leave first?

  It’s annoying, but I kind of like that he’s concerned and won’t leave me behind. When I’ve been on dates in the past, the guys have always dropped me off at home or the restaurant, burning rubber to get out and barely giving me time to close the car door.

  I ease away from the curb and head away from the neighborhood. Lincoln pulls out after me.

  He’s definitely unlike any other guy in my life—past or present. I can’t help but wonder if he’ll stick around. He seems too good to be true. Or maybe this is life’s way of telling me that things can be different. That I’m going the right direction, trying to start a life that doesn't involve the restaurant, and especially not my family.

  I hate the thought of leaving them behind. They need me, but they don’t treat me well. It makes me feel selfish wanting to get away so bad, but nothing my parents or brothers do is for me. Everything is all about their needs.

  Maybe if they see I won’t stick around to be treated badly, they’ll be nice to me in order to keep a relationship with me. Or they might not want me around unless I’m doing as they demand. And that thought makes my heart ache. It shouldn’t. I should hate them, and I do on some level. At the very least, I resent them, each and every one. Belen can’t help it, although sometimes I think he understands more than anyone gives him credit for. But at the same time, I can’t blame him for throwing tantrums all the time. If I could get away with it, I probably would too.

  I turn right, and Lincoln goes left. My mind immediately goes back to the beach, to lounging with him, to watching the stars, and especially to those kisses. He was so slow and kind, so gentle. It was like he appreciated taking the time and just wanted to enjoy being with me. Not like he wanted one thing so he could take off, either satisfied or furious he didn’t get it. That’s how all other guys are. I’m not sure why he’s so different, but I sure hope I can keep his attention long after we’re done with our project—if we ever get started. At the rate we’re going, I’m not so sure.

  I slow as I near the restaurant. I’ve been putting this off, but I need to do it. It’s going to be painful, and my mom is going to have a breakdown. I’d tell her at home, but I never see her there. I had waited all day Sunday, but she must’ve slept in the restaurant’s office again.

  It’s packed inside, and Lola throws me a grateful glance. “I’m so glad to see you! Table five needs—”

  “I’m not here to work.”

  She scowls. “Why are you here, then?”

  I ignore her and make my way back to the office. Everyone only cares about what I can give them, not about what I need. Except Lincoln. What did I ever do to deserve him?

  The office door is cracked open. All I hear is the clacking of a keyboard.

  I knock as I come in.

  Mom glances up at me and frowns.

  “Great to see you too.” I step inside.

  “Your father is supposed to come and sign off on some important papers.”

  I close the door behind me. “Actually, I’m here to talk about him.”

  Her mouth forms a straight line. “You’re not telling me he isn’t coming after all?”

  “I don’t know what he’s doing. This isn’t about the restaurant.”

  “Spill it.”

  I pull out the chair across from her.

  “Don't bother. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Really, Mom, I should sit. This is important.”

  “I’m sure it is. Just tell me. I don’t have all day.”

  “No time for me, you mean.” I narrow my eyes. She wants me to spill it, fine. “Dad’s seeing someone. They were making out in our driveway on Saturday. I confronted him, but he didn’t care.” I point to my cheek as proof.

  Mom’s expression doesn’t change. “Okay. Is that everything?”

  I give her a double-take. “That’s your only response?”

  “What do you expect from me? That’s what he does.”

  “It’s not right!”

  “Doesn’t mean he’ll change.”

  “Then why stay with him?”

  She stacks some papers. “What do you think would happen to the business? There’s no way we can run it separately. It’s too tricky.”

  “You’re unbelievable! I don’t know why I bothered to tell you.”

  Mom shrugs. “I don’t know why you’re surprised by him. The man isn’t going to change.”

  “Because you put up with it!”

  “Watch it!” She glowers at me. “Before you find yourself with a matching bruise.”

  My mouth falls open, and I stumble back. “How dare you! I’m only trying to help.”

  “Then mind your own business and let me get back to work.”

  “Gladly.” I open the door and step out, but I don’t close it yet. “Are you seeing someone too?”

  She flicks some hair behind her shoulder. “What do you think?”

  “You two deserve each other!” I slam the door.

  The nearby employees turn and stare at me.

  “What are you looking at?” I storm outside and to my car, my heart thundering and my mind racing. My entire family is insane. Every last one of them. And they don’t appreciate me at all.

  As I’m getting into my car, a text comes in from Dad.

  Dad: U told mom?

  Malia: she doesn't care.

  Dad: Belen needs u. Get home.

  I don’t bother replying. He texts me several times while I’m driving, all of which I ignore. My heart won’t stop thundering. Several times I scream, making my throat sore.

  What am I supposed to do? Are my friends right? Should I pack my things and stay with one of them? But what about my schooling? All it would take would be one call from my parents, and I wouldn’t have any more funds. Even my checking account is still connected to theirs.

  As much as I want to run from them, I can’t. I’m in too deep. It’s going to take time to sever my ties.

  My stomach knots. Twists, turns, lurches. I’m going to be sick.

  I pull over just before reaching our neighborhood and vomit in a bush next to a stop sign. My parents are cheating on each other and neither cares. Holden is screwing up his life with drugs. Belen is home right now, having a meltdown. I’m the only one who can calm him down. Or at least that’s what Dad claims. He probably could if he actually tried, but all he’s concerned with is that blonde chick.

  Then there’s me, stuck in the middle fixing everyone’s problems. I need to find a way to distance myself from them wit
hout losing my college funds. Or maybe it would be worth it to deal with loans and scholarships to be free of them. I just have to get through next year, but that could be too long. It’s already been more than long enough.

  I pull into the driveway and take a moment to collect myself before heading inside. Before I reach the front door, Dad opens it.

  “Why were you ignoring me?” He’s loud enough for neighbors to hear.

  “It’s illegal to text and drive.”

  “You were texting me before.”

  “Before I was in my car!”

  He raises his hand and steps toward me.

  “It’s also illegal to hit your kids!”

  That makes him freeze. “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me.” I furrow my brows. “Lay a hand on me again, and I’m calling the cops.”

  “How dare you threaten me!”

  “No, how dare you hit me.”

  Hollering sounds from inside. “Excuse me, I need to help Belen.”

  Dad glowers at me.

  “Unless you’d rather I leave. I have plenty of studying to do.”

  He steps aside without a word, his expression pensive.

  My skin crawls as I pass him, half-expecting him to strike.

  He doesn’t.

  “Belen in his room?”

  “Yeah.”

  I stop. “You know, all you have to do is talk to him and he’ll calm down. Using my brother as leverage against me needs to stop. He’s your son.”

  Dad raises his hand.

  I hold up my phone.

  He slams the door shut.

  I keep the phone in my hand as I make my way upstairs. Belen’s screams grow louder with each step I take. Something slams against a wall loudly. I shudder, imagining him throwing himself at it. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  If Dad would have just used calm tones with him when he started to get upset, it never would have escalated this far. But I’m starting to think he enjoys the drama. Loves being able to blame others for it.

  This is the last time I’m getting sucked into it.

  I knock on my brother’s door. “It’s me, Malia.”

  His screaming continues.

  “Belen, I’m coming in!”

  Something crashes against the door.

  “Or I could go to my own room. Would you prefer that?”

  His hollering quiets. Doesn’t stop, but decreases.

  “Does that mean I can come inside and talk to you?”

  Nothing crashes against the door, so I take that as a yes and open the door.

  Belen’s room is a disaster. His shelves are empty and the contents spread around the room, lying on the floor and on his bed and other furniture. He’s bigger than me at fifteen and can do a lot of damage.

  “What happened?”

  He screams.

  “I need you to use your words.”

  My brother hollers some more, but I think I hear something about his favorite video game.

  “Did you lose your game?”

  “Yes!” He picks up his globe and throws it on his bed.

  If it were up to me, I’d take all the devices from him. It’s too much stimulation, and he gets so furious when things don’t go his way. Even if he wins but someone does something he thinks is unfair, these meltdowns occur. But my parents insist on the games because they also keep him quiet for long periods of time when the games go how he wants.

  “Do you like the game?”

  He looks at me like I’m crazy.

  “You have to keep in mind that it’s just a game, Belen. It isn’t real life.”

  “It is!” He spins around, stomps over to a shelf and picks up a handful of books then aims them at me. “It’s real!”

  “It feels real, but it’s supposed to be for fun. When it isn’t fun, it’s time to walk away.”

  “No!” Belen throws the books, but they’re too heavy to reach me. He screams.

  “Do you want to draw a picture? We can do that together.”

  “No pictures.” He crosses his arms.

  “Would you rather tell me with your words about your frustrations with the game?”

  His stance tightens, but he doesn’t otherwise respond.

  “I know I can get frustrated when things don’t go my way. Sometimes people who are supposed to be nice to me aren’t. That makes me sad and mad. Is that how you’re feeling?”

  No response.

  I sit on his bed. “When I’m feeling mad, sometimes I cry into a pillow or write it all down. Other times, I talk to my friends.”

  “Raven?”

  “Yes, she’s a good listener. I can listen to you. You’ve told me your feelings many times before, remember? It usually helps.”

  “Why only you?” He takes a step closer.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Only you listen to me. Not Mom or Dad or Holden.”

  “They don’t listen to me, either.”

  “Why?” Belen takes another step closer to me.

  “I wish I knew. My guess is that they can’t see past their own problems to help anyone else. It’s sad, especially from Mom and Dad, but that’s what we’ve got.”

  “Only you care.” His arms fall to his sides.

  “I don’t think that’s true.”

  “It is!”

  “They don’t know how to express it, and they also don’t know how to help you when you have big emotions. And I think it makes them sad.”

  He tilts his head.

  “I know you can’t help how you feel. It’s normal to have big feelings, but it would help them to understand better if you could try the things I always suggest—like using your words or putting your feelings into art or writing. You’re really good at drawing. It’s okay to draw angry pictures.”

  “That would make them like me?”

  “I think they like you already. They just can’t help you when your big feelings do this.” I look around at the mess. “Do you want me to help you clean this up? Then we can set up an area for your art, just like you have your game area.”

  “An art area?”

  I nod. “Yes, and when you get big feelings, go there and draw them out. I think it’ll really help. Do you promise to try? You can start as soon as we get this stuff put away.”

  “Okay.”

  It takes about an hour, but he finally settles into his new art corner. We found all of his art supplies and an old easel. I don’t know if it’ll help, but it at least gives him an outlet that doesn’t involve yelling or throwing things. At least it’s working for now.

  I sneak out of his room and collapse onto my bed, exhaustion squeezing every inch of my body. If only I could sink into the bed and disappear, not have to deal with anything anymore. I really don’t know how much more of this I can take.

  My phone buzzes. I don’t want to move to check it, but if it’s Lincoln or one of my friends, I want to read their text. Keeping my eyes closed, I feel around for the device and check the message.

  Lincoln: Hope ur home safe. I had a lot of fun tonight.

  My heart warms, almost making me forget all of my stress.

  Malia: Yes. Cant wait for next time.

  We send a few happy emojis back and forth before my eyes won’t stay open any longer and I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lincoln

  Malia and I are at the library studying this time, so we’re actually getting work done. Though I’d rather be back at the beach running my hands through her hair and getting lost in her eyes again.

  She sets down a pad of paper with close to a million notes scrawled on it. “I think we have enough here to get an A on two projects.”

  “Looks like we’re going to have to figure out which ones to use.”

  “Yeah. I think it’s good we have backups, though. If something goes wrong with one, then we can try another. Which are you most excited about?”

  I grin. “Whatever you want to do.”

&nb
sp; She gives me a playful shove. “That’s not what I asked.”

  I take her hand and lace my fingers through hers, finally taking the time to get lost in the sea of green that is her eyes. “Honestly, I’m just glad to have an excuse to spend time with you. It could be anywhere, doing anything. I’d pick up garbage on the side of the road with you if that was my only option.”

  Her eyes light up and pink fills her cheeks. “You can’t mean that.”

  I squeeze her hand. “But I do.”

  Malia pulls her hand away. “Actually, you might be onto something with that garbage clean-up idea.” She lets go of my hand and writes a note in the one free space on the pad of paper.

  “Wait, you’re serious?”

  “Yeah.” She looks deep in thought before continuing. “If someone is cleaning trash and then we stage an attack, that could be interesting. See what variables make people step in and help.”

  “But what if someone calls the cops? The fake actor could get in trouble. Or we all could. I’m not so sure.”

  “You worry too much.” She frowns. “We’ll put it in the backup list.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  We gather our things, having gotten through everything we needed to do for the day.

  I glance at the time. “Do you have to go to work?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m not going in today.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Nope. Want to grab some dinner?”

  My heart leaps. “I’d love to. Where?”

  “Anywhere but my family’s restaurant.”

  “Sounds good to me. My treat. Any ideas?”

  She twirls a lock of hair around her finger. “There’s this one place not far from the courthouse. It’s kind of a hole in the wall, but you will never have a better nacho.”

  “Let’s go there.”

  She beams. “Great. I haven’t eaten there in forever. My car? It’s just in the lot behind the library.”

  We head to her car and twenty minutes later, we’re walking into a little Mexican restaurant that makes my mouth water as soon as the door opens. We seat ourselves, then a waiter brings us menus, chips, and salsa. The flavor of the salsa alone explodes in my mouth, I can’t even imagine what their meals are going to taste like.