“It’s totally informal,” Shane dismissed. “Not a big deal.”
“It’s Christmas Eve.”
“We’re spending it with Carter.”
“And his sister and brother in law, whom I’ve never met. It’s proper etiquette to contribute to the meal in some way.”
“It’s not Christmas dinner; it’s Christmas Eve. If Jess needs anything, she’ll let you know. Trust me.”
I hoped so, because the snow was really coming down. It was falling in thick cottony flakes that were quickly covering our footprints. My beat up Camry wasn’t moving from its spot in the driveway. The tires were barely legal, and handled like a bobsled over the slightest hint of moisture.
Reaching the door to the main house, Shane tugged on the collar of his shirt. His face was flushed despite the temperature. “You ready?”
“Are you?” I bit back a smile. “You really don’t like socializing.”
“Hate it.”
“Why are you doing this then?”
“It would be rude if I didn’t. Besides, Jess would’ve dragged me here by my hair if I didn’t come.”
“The doctors can give you something for anxiety,” I started to say, and it hit me. He self-medicated. And he was abstaining from it for me. I’d assumed that he was addicted, because, well, everyone did. He overdosed for God’s sake.
That obviously wasn’t the case. He’d essentially told me that much when we’d had lunch a week earlier. He’d overdosed after an encounter with his father. If I hadn’t felt like a heartless bitch before, I certainly felt like one now. I was taking his means to cope away from him, and for no good reason, because I refused to date him.
“It’s fine, Emelia,” said Shane, reaching past me for the knob. Contrariwise, I thought he was pilfering another kiss. I met his lips halfway. No matter how guilty I felt, I shouldn’t have done it. Nothing changed. I still had ties binding me to area. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t abandon my daughter, couldn’t forget her.
Nonetheless, I leaned into him, my hands resting against his chest. A shock of desire raced through my veins. It felt like flames were devouring every inch of me, centering between my thighs. It had been years since I’d been this close to a man, and I’d forgotten all the aspects of their masculinity. The scent of their cologne, the chafe of stubble, the hardness of their bodies, it all acted as fuel to the fire blazing inside of me.
Reaching down, Shane lifted my legs over his hips, slipping between my thighs. My ankles crossed behind his back, pulling him fully against me. He leveraged my weight against the house, rolled his hips, pressing himself against my core. I moaned when he reached the apex, and mirrored his movement, pivoting my hips so that I could extort the most pleasure from his touch.
Lost as I was to this heady sensation, when I heard a sharp rap on the door behind me, followed by Carter Strickland’s jarring voice, I nearly jumped out of my skin. “For a recluse, you sure are demanding a lot of attention.”
“Fuck off,” Shane grumbled, though he made no move to put me down. I was fairly sure he was using me to hide his raging hard on at this point.
“I will as soon as you get off the fucking door bell, dick wad.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Carter gesture behind me. “Thing’s been ringing like we’re St Paul’s Cathedral.”
With only the storm door barring us from the inside, I could hear the repetitive peal of bells. The air left my lungs in a fit of humiliation. “Merda.” I quickly dismounted Shane and fixed my clothes. Carter watched with unreserved amusement.
“There’s a bathroom right there,” he said as we came through the door. “You might want to use it. Your hair’s messed up from that fuck fest you were having against my sister’s front door.”
“Do you always have to be so rude?”
“Rude? I’m just pointing out the truth! Your lipstick is smeared across half of Shane’s face!”
“I’d hardly call kissing a fuck fest.”
“Sweetheart,” Carter began, “this is a family function—like cookie baking and present wrapping for the kids, and you were doing more than kissing. There’s a nice foggy ass print on the glass for Christ’s sake.”
Before I could retort, Shane pulled me into the bathroom, flicking the light on as he passed through the door. “Don’t bother. You’re better off ignoring him.”
“He’s a jerk.”
“He can act like one.” Ducking in front of the mirror with a handful of tissues, he scrubbed at the red lipstick on his face.
“That’s actually a broad delineation.” Acting like one and essentially being one were two vastly different concepts. I knew from experience.
“As much as he annoys me, he’s not a bad guy.” Tossing the tissue into the wastebasket, he grasped my waist and spun me around for another kiss.
“You just wiped your face off.” I pressed my palms against his chest, and turned my head, trying futilely to hold him back. He wasn’t having it. “You’re going to get lipstick on you again.”
“It’ll be worth it.”
“Shane.”
“All I want is a kiss.”
“Really?” I gestured to the undeniable erection he was sporting. Shane waved it off as if it was of little concern.
“It’s been that way since I’ve met you, Emelia. All I’m asking for is a kiss. One little kiss. I haven’t had enough of you yet.”
“Then it’ll be the perfect distraction for your anxiety.” Squeezing between him and the sink, I inched toward the bathroom door. “Friends, remember?”
“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
I choked on a retort. “You totally did too!”
“Then I lied to get you here.” Bracing his toe against the bathroom door, he effectively locked me in the bathroom with him.
“Shane.”
“Emelia.” He looked down at me, those steely eyes always piercing me, searching for my innermost secrets. “You kissed me outside. So why’re we back to playing games?”
“I didn’t kiss you.”
“Lie.”
“Fine, but I thought you were going to kiss me first.” I crossed my arms over my chest, demonstrating my inflexibility. “That doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again.”
“Lie.”
“Damn it, Shane! Let me out of this bathroom!”
“Quit playing games and kiss me.”
“Why do you want something when you can only get it through bribery?”
“Because it’s a lie. You want me. You’re just too afraid to admit it. You’re afraid of getting hurt.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I rectified, “I’m afraid of hurting you.” I turned my back on him, tried to get a hold on my emotions. My chin quivered in a mixture of anger and regret.
“Lie.”
“Dio mio!” I snapped. “I’ve been nothing but straight with you from the beginning, Shane! But you insist on—”
“She’s dead, Emelia!” My hand met his face in a sharp slap. I hadn’t meant to hit him. I’d done it without a conscious thought. Shane dropped his head and rubbed his cheek. When he spoke again, his voice was tense. “This, what you’re doing here, you’re not living. You’re waiting to die. And I can tell you from experience it’s not going to come easy. You’re going to be waiting a long fucking time. And when you get there, there ain’t no tunnel of light, or angels to greet you at the golden fucking gates. It’s black, and it’s empty, and it’s nothing. Your daughter’s not sitting on some white fluffy cloud looking down on you. She doesn’t drop down from Heaven every time you visit her grave. She’s gone. She doesn’t exist…but if she did, do you think this is what she’d want?”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” I could barely get the words out. Tears streamed down my face. I wiped at them with the sleeve of my shirt.
Shane stared. His lip curled in a weak smirk. “Nobody. I’m nobody.” Opening the door, he walked out.
I stood there in shock and grieving. I felt numb…detached…si
ck. I felt like I’d lost Giovanna all over again. This time was far, far worse. Raised Catholic, I’d always believed the dead went to a better place. I survived on that belief the last five years. I held onto it like a lifeline. At times, it was all that kept me going. To think now that my child simply ceased to exist, or that she would spend eternity in some dark void, it was more than I could fathom or accept.
Yes, I imagined her in Heaven. I pictured her in some delicate dress with little white wings. I pictured her as an infant, and she aged with each passing year. I followed her developmental milestones as I watched the children at daycare. In my mind, she had learned to roll over, crawl and walk. She cut teeth. She said her first word. She called me ‘mama.’ She liked to color with crayons, and when she did, she made rainbows in the sky. She lived, even if she was beyond my reach.
Now…now, she was nothing. She didn’t exist.
Somehow, I’d managed to make it outside. It was quiet, the muffled kind of silence only the snow brought. It crunched under my feet, packing down under the soles of my shoes. Despite the temperature, I hardly felt the cold.
My car was unlocked. I swiped my fingers across the handle to remove the ice, and pulled upward, opening the door. At one hundred and fifty-thousand miles, nobody was going to steal my beat up Camry. It smelled of cinnamon air freshener and engine oil, and ran like a beast. I didn’t even need keys to start the thing anymore. The ignition cylinder was stripped. A little fidgeting and the thing fired to life. I cleared the windows with a few hasty swipes of the wipers, and coasted down the driveway. The steering wheel felt loose in the snow.
My thoughts turned inevitably back to Giovanna, agonizing over her eternal existence, or lack thereof. And Papa, God, Papa…I had always imagined the two together, but now…now I no longer had that small comfort. I had nothing.
I didn’t make it more than a mile down the road when my car spun out of control. Honestly, I don’t think I had it in me to panic. I was too numb inside. The whole thing was surreal. There was no jarring crash. I just sort of slid in a wide, graceful circle, kind of like a carnival ride. When I came to a rest, my passenger side sloped somewhat to the right. Inside, I knew I was stuck.
Despite my intuition, I let off the brake and pressed the gas. The tires spun and squealed. The car remained immobile. Fuck. This wasn’t good at all.
I sat quietly, measuring the situation. I had no coat. It was below freezing. I was going to have to get unstuck or walk the mile back to the house. Both were going to suck, majorly. I was going to freeze my ass off in either equation.
Shifting the car into reverse, I hit the gas. The car rocked back. I shifted into drive. It rocked infinitesimally forward. I repeated the process. Again, reverse. Again, drive. I gained a measure of hope that it might actually work.
Except it didn’t.
“AAGggghhhh!” Beating my hand against the steering wheel, I vented my frustration. There had to be a way out of this. The hell if I was going to freeze to death in this imported coffin. I should’ve broken down and tapped into my funds, bought myself a Land Rover. Fuck pride.
“Cazzo!” Think. I needed to think. “Get it together, Cipollini.”
Why had I let Shane get to me like that? Dropping my head against the steering wheel, I took a deep breath, calming myself down.
His words had been harsh, but they were the truth. Giovanna was dead, and I was throwing my life away. That wasn’t even the part that was bothering me, though. I just kept picturing my daughter in this black expanse. Your daughter’s not sitting on some white fluffy cloud looking down on you. She doesn’t drop down from Heaven every time you visit her grave. She’s gone. She doesn’t exist.
If anyone would know, it would be Shane. When he overdosed, he had met it head on. He embraced it. He welcomed it. He would know what the other side looked like, or if there even was one. According to him, there wasn’t. The thought was a punch in the gut. Asshole. What an asshole. Who says something like that to a mother who lost her child? Your daughter’s not sitting on some white fluffy cloud looking down on you. She doesn’t drop down from Heaven every time you visit her grave. She’s gone. She doesn’t exist.
Beside me, I heard a terse honk. I lifted my head, scrubbed my eyes with the back of my sleeve. Richard sat behind the wheel of his Jeep. Carter climbed out of the passenger seat, trudged toward me through the snow.
“You drive as good as you walk, Emster.”
“I don’t need your shit, Carter.”
“Sure looks like you do.” Opening my door, he gestured for me to move. “Get out.”
“Nice.”
“I am. I’m going to get you out.”
“By yourself?”
“No, your boy Shane there’s gonna push.” Carter jabbed his thumb over his shoulder as he slid behind the wheel of my Camry. I turned, found Shane flicking a cigarette to the ground from between his finger and thumb. Our gazes met for a breath before he looked away. Impulsively, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes.
“What do you need me to do?” I asked, turning back to Carter. He was preoccupied with searching for the lever to adjust my seat.
“Get in the Jeep. Richard’s gonna take you back to the house.”
“I’m not staying. I’m going home.”
“Sweetheart,” said Carter, in his typically condescending voice, “unless you’re gonna carve a path through the ice and snow with your nipples, I seriously doubt that.”
Contrary to his assumption, I wasn’t a bad driver. Nonetheless, his observation left me thoroughly mortified. I quickly slid into the truck with Richard, my ex-husband’s lawyer.
“Snow emergency,” Richard told me. I think he was trying to alleviate my humiliation. “All roads are closed except for emergency personnel.”
“Wonderful,” I muttered, “just fucking wonderful.” I frowned in discontent. “Sorry for the trouble.”
“No trouble at all.” Hitting the gas, Richard left Carter and Shane behind to deal with my car. I watched in the mirror as Shane put his shoulder into the rear and pushed. Carter must’ve nailed the gas, because the tires spun, flinging snow all over him. He curled his back against the onslaught, ducking for cover.
Annoyingly, I felt bad for Shane. As harsh as his words were, I didn’t think he’d meant to be callous. He was just disillusioned, like pointing out the truth of my past was going to make it disappear. I had issues. I was aware of that.
Still, I wasn’t going to fall into the guy’s arms because he managed to wheedle a few kisses from me. I wasn’t one of his brainless fangirls that was going to swoon over his every word. I had a brain, warped as it was.
Damn, if his words didn’t poke around in my head.
Nobody, I’m nobody.
“Emelia—may I call you Emelia?” Richard asked, pulling me from my brooding.
“Emily or Em.”
“Em,” he said, choosing to act like my friend. He was one of my ex’s lawyers. Though I didn’t give him much of a battle in the courtroom, I was going to have a hard time relating to him on a personal level.
For a short stretch, he gathered his thoughts, preparing his approach. His driving slowed to a crawl, buying time.
“Just, say it, Richard, whatever it is. Assuming you’re still with the firm that represented Thomas, I expect it concerns him.”
“It’s my job, Em, nothing personal, and I hate to bring it up on Christmas Eve, but Shane and Carter said that you’d be flying back to Seattle first chance.”
“I’m not dropping the restraining order.”
“He’s aware. He’s not asking you to.”
“Then what does he want?”
“For me to give you this.” From his pocket, he pulled an envelope. He reached across the console, passing it to me. I took it from his hand, slid my thumb under the corner and dragged it across the length, tearing it open. It was a check. I could tell by the printed envelope, obscuring the contents.
“What is it for
?” I pulled the check from the envelope, unfolded it, looked it over. “Jesus.” A lot of fucking zeroes stared back at me. I folded it back up, stuffed it back into the envelope, offered it back to Richard. “Doesn’t matter; I don’t want it. I don’t want anything from him. I don’t want to be indebted to him in any way, shape, or form.”
“He doesn’t want anything from you in return. He said that you could do what you want with it, donate it if it makes you happy.”
“Why—so it can ease his conscience? No. No, thank you.” I shoved the check further in his direction.
“Emily.” Richard said this in disappointment, as if I were making his job difficult. Complicating it further, I tore the check up and dropped it in the cup holder. He glanced at it and focused again on the road. “Well, ok then.”
“Sorry again for the trouble.”
“I didn’t expect you to take it. You didn’t want the money the first time around.”
“Nothing’s changed.”
“You’re entitled, you know. You didn’t enter the marriage empty-handed. Some of that money is yours.”
“It’s not worth it.”
“No offense, but you could live better.”
“Can it buy back my daughter’s life?”
“No, no, but it you could use it toward adoption, or finding a surrogate. You do have a viable ovary.”
“You know an awful lot about me.”
“It’s my job.”
“You needed to review my files to hand me a check?” I said skeptically. The man was thorough. I’d give him that.
“I’m the band’s attorney as well.”
“Ah.” He probably did background checks on all of their potential relations, including Shane. “I think you’re focusing on the wrong member of the band. Perhaps your time would be better spent defending Tate. He needs the help.”
“Agreed, but I can’t neglect one for the other. Besides, it was a dual issue. Thomas asked the firm to look into you. He was…concerned.” Richard’s mouth turned up in a vague smile. “He’s under the impression that you’re being taken advantage of by some seedy individuals.”
Breaking the Habit Page 9