“You okay out there, babe?”
No, no I’m not. “I can’t do this,” I say, shaking my head.
“Good, it’s about time you came to your senses, now get in here so you can work me out before this meeting.”
Ugh, no thanks. “No, I mean this,” I swing my arms indicating us. “Us, this engagement. I can’t do this.”
Brent opens the glass shower door, sticking his head out. “What? What are you talking about? We’re fine,” he says, not getting the seriousness of my statement.
“No, Brent, we’re not. I . . . I don’t think I want this. Marriage. It’s not something I want.” I leave out the part that’s says with you.
“Babe, what are you talking about? Is this because of your sister? Seriously, you’re just upset. Like I said, you shouldn’t go.”
And that is exactly why I know this is the right thing to do. “Brent, it’s not about my sister. It’s about us. This isn’t working. I can’t go on pretending that this is what I want.”
He shuts off the shower and steps out. Grabbing the towel, he wraps it around his lean waist. “Babe, come on. This isn’t about last night with Clarissa is it? Because I swear she came on to—”
“What? No, what are you talking about?” I’m no idiot. I’ve been catching Brent’s wandering eye. On more than one occasion Lexi has tried to tell me she thinks Brent cheats. That comment just confirms it. I shake my head. “Listen this isn’t about—that.” I wave off his guilty confession. “This is about us. I don’t think us getting married is the right step.”
I prep my hands to unlatch the ring from my finger. “Wait. Don’t.” Brent stops me. “I swear nothing happened. Listen, why don’t you just stay and we can continue where we left off last night? We have a good thing here, babe.”
Again, I feel like I am talking to a child. Does anyone understand what I am trying to get at here? I don’t want this. I don’t even think Brent does. I won’t marry into a relationship that already has infidelity issues. I won’t marry someone I truly do not love. And can’t.
The sound of the doorbell indicates that the rental car company is here. I look at Brent who is not getting the severity of my words.
“Listen, I gotta go; the car is downstairs.” I drop my hands.
“Babe, its fine, take your break to think. I’m not worried. You’ll realize I’m something you don’t give up, and come back.”
“But, Brent, I don’t need a break, I need to move on,” I stress. Yeah, I might be upset about my sister, but this is coming from a place deep inside that I have been trying to bury for some time.
Brent moves closer to me, and just when I think he’s going to console me, he stops next to me to view himself in the mirror, testing out hairstyles. “Listen, fine, whatever, I’m cool with the break.” Smiling at his perfected wet hairstyle.
Shaking my head, I am not sure what else there is to say so I nod. “I’ll call you when I get there.”
He presses a quick kiss to my lips before dropping the towel and heading back toward the shower. “Sure, babe, but I might be really busy with meetings so—” The rest of his sentence is muffled by the sounds of the shower.
I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath for strength. No more words spoken, I head out into the bedroom, swing my bag over my shoulder and snatch up my suitcase. I tell myself I have a whole five hours to conjure up a better break up speech, and I’ll do just that when I get settled in. Right now I need to focus on the fact that by tonight, I’ll be meeting my niece.
I THOUGHT SPENDING SOME time in the car alone driving would allow me some peaceful one on one time with my thoughts. But five hours of unbearable driving and I’ve come to realize that I might possibly be as shallow as Brent, because driving is horrible period. I should’ve listened to Brent and taken a plane or a driver and not a flippin’ rental car.
I’ve never been good behind the wheel, hence why I don’t own a car. When I got to California I could barely afford a bus fare let alone a car payment so I learned to get around in other ways. Nowadays, I cab it or get driven around by Brent’s henchmen. Who the hell knows why I even insisted on attempting this drive on my own, because boy was that a mistake. These highways are a death trap for horrible drivers, what with animal invasions and speed limits that should not exist. I told myself I should have pulled over and turned around when the first issue arrived, involving a minivan with a colony of kids in it. You know, the family who feels it’s necessary to put those decals on the back of their window, yelling to the world how many kids they’re hoarding? Yeah, that one. I mean, I find myself a calm person in most circumstances, but putting me behind the wheel has caused me to lose touch with reality. So when I’d had about enough of the little colony of shits mooning me, I took it upon myself to play back by giving them a full frontal by flashing them my perky goods. Not only did that shut them up, it also got the lingering eye of the state trooper driving next to me. Plus, a $175 ticket for indecency that I wasn’t able to sweet talk myself out of, and now forty-five minutes behind schedule, my drive from hell proceeds. I manage to flip off more drivers than a tattooed biker at a death-metal concert, get attacked by a bird (well, dead bird now) and, last but not least, I almost run over a whole family of skunks. With the lingering stench in the car, I’m convinced one, to defend his family’s honor, jumped into my exhaust and has been spraying into my pipes ever since our head-on road battle. If I wasn’t truly fighting my shallowness issues, I would Google the nearest spa and stop there for a few hours before dealing with reality. It’s seven o’clock in the evening before I find myself standing on the steps of the Ashford Police Station. I was instructed to come here first. A few people come and go, staring at me strangely. It’s probably because I’m in five-inch heels and a peacock-feathered trench coat that cost more than their yearly clothing budget.
“Oh my, what is that smell?” An older woman covers her nose and looks to her husband as they pass me going down the steps.
Shit.
“It’s a dead skunk somewhere, dear.” He holds his wife closer while they descend.
Oh, double shit.
I nonchalantly bend my chin to take a whiff of my jacket. And totally gag back.
Shit trifecta!
“Oh, that’s it,” I mutter to myself. I turn to strut back to my car. Screw shallow. I think I passed a resort of some kind on my way in. I make it two steps down before the gentle voice of a stranger stops me, asking if I need assistance.
With a deep sigh, I turn around and smile politely. I oblige, letting him know I was, I mean I am here to see Officer Belmont. He looks at me as if he knows me, his smile kind as he guides me inside and through the general office to a quiet room, letting me know Officer Belmont will be with me shortly.
I sit rigidly on the metal seat, wondering how people sit in these things, when the door opens and an older gentleman, a little heavy on the stomach, enters the room, holding a file in his thick hands.
“Ms. Daniels, thank you for making your way up here. I know this must be a shock for you. It’s a shock to us all.” He sits down, adjusting his tie and fixing the file of papers he has in front of him.
“Officer Belmont, I assume?”
“Oh, yes, my apologies. I remember you left right before I was transferred over to Ashford.” He sticks out his hand to shake mine. His grip is hard but friendly.
I release his hold and fold my hands back in my lap. “So, you said over the phone that I would need to identify my sister’s body?” I shudder at the thought.
“Her husband’s cousin actually took care of that. He arranged for the bodies to be released to the funeral home. We assumed that would make things easier for you.”
That’s a relief at least. “And my sister’s daughter . . . my niece? Is she here?”
“At the station? No, she’s at home. Sweet little peach, she is. My heart breaks for her. I’m not sure she quite understands what’s happening.”
Gee, way to give it to me gently.
“Oh, please, do call me Henry.”
“Sure, Henry,” I repeat, waiting.
“She just turned four. Little spunk, that one. Insisted she have a princess party and invite the whole town for her birthday. Your sister, of course, threw one for her. My Patti—my wife—helped with the decorations and cupcakes. It was a memorable day.”
I smile at the story. It must run in the family. I mean everyone is a princess at heart. “Are her grandparents with her now?”
“Great-grandparents, actually. John’s parents are deceased. His grandparents live over at Riverside. They’ve been there for the past couple of years now.”
“How lovely. So I assume they’ve made arrangements to take in their great-granddaughter and watch after her?” I ask.
Henry looks at me, confused. “Ms. Daniels, Riverside is a retirement home. Both John’s grandparents are well into their eighties. His grandfather is long gone mentally and suffering from dementia, and his grandmother, well, she’s a feisty thing, but in no condition to be on her own, let alone look after a child.”
His little breakdown of my plan, which is apparently not a plan anymore, stuns me speechless.
“We were under the impression you knew this,” Officer Belmont continues. “We thought you would be taking the little girl.”
“Take her where?” I want to stop staring at him, because I’m probably starting to creep him out, but I’m also having a hard time registering this recent turn of events.
“To live with you, of course.”
Huh? I almost laugh. By all means, I want to do what’s best for my sister’s child and do right by my niece, but I’m not in a position to look after a child. Ha! I mentally scoff just thinking about showing back up at Brent’s place with a four-year-old in tow. That would go over well. He doesn’t even like dogs. Hey, babe, oh, why yes, that’s a child I have with me. Now do you want to give in and end things? Great!
And can I also mention I’m only twenty-six, for God’s sake! How would I care for a little girl? I’m barely a grown-up myself.
Officer Belmont pats me on my shoulder. “I’m sorry to give you so much upsetting news at once. I’m sure once you meet your niece you’ll know what’s best.”
He removes his palm from my shoulder and stands. I rise along with him, adjusting my top and placing my arm through my purse strap.
“Can you please tell me what is next? I would like to get my sister the proper burial so we can all move on from his tragedy.”
“Yes, of course. Visitation is scheduled at the funeral home for tomorrow afternoon. I assume you’ll be staying at your sister’s house with your niece. John’s cousin is at the house watching her. So we can head over there now. He’s spent a lot of time with the family, so we thought it best to have him close right now. Keep some sort of familiarity in the girl’s life.”
“I understand.” We walk out of the station and he instructs me to follow him to the house. I replay the comment about keeping familiarity in the poor girl’s life. How do you do that when she’s just lost her parents? Does she understand what’s happened? Does she even know about me? How does me landing on her front steps equal familiarity in her little life?
The whole drive is spent agonizing over meeting this little girl who scares me more than a technology outage. What exactly do I do? Introduce myself? Hi, I’m your horrible aunt who never came around. And I think your mommy hated me, so how about we figure out where to put you for the rest of your life? Vomit in a handbag, I am in official freak-out mode.
Don’t yack . . . don’t yack, I coach myself as I try and calm my nerves.
Just as I feel I’m coming back down to stable ground, a car full of off-tune singing teenagers swerves into my lane, causing me to jerk out of their way. “Learn how to drive the speed limit, gramma!” a snarky little teenage diva yells out the window as they pass by.
“Oh, hell to the no,” I grumble to myself.
My patience, along with some coffee from the container in my hand, goes spilling into my lap. I mean who seriously drives like that? Society has really lost their hold on the youth today. Teaching them nothing about the rules of the road. There are lines there for a reason, people! I take it into my own hands to provide proper demonstration of how to be courteous to other drivers. Unfortunately, I plan on doing it in the proper way next time. This time, of course, once we hit the stoplight, I sledge my Starbucks coffee container out my window, making its new home in a splattered mess on the mini prima donna’s windshield. As the light turns green, I enjoy the shocked faces of all the divas-in-training. I make it my job as a safe driver to give them my parental advice by pointing at the speed limit sign . . . with my middle finger.
SAFELY GETTING ME OFF the road, we finally pull into the driveway of a one-story brick house. I put my rental car in park and wait for Officer Belmont to get out of his cruiser. I feel my phone buzz in my lap and I jump.
Nope, not nervous at all.
I need to seriously pull my shit together. I am Christina motherfuckin’ Daniels. I can do this. I pick up my phone, denying the shakiness in my hands. I’m sliding the lock off when tapping at my window startles me senseless again. I send my phone into the air, and it nosedives down into the tiny crack between the door and the driver’s seat.
I look up to see Henry instructing me to roll down my window.
“We’re here. Are you coming?”
“Yes, sorry, I’ll be right out,” I say.
“All right. And Ms. Daniels?”
“Yes?”
“In case you have forgotten, throwing coffee containers is strictly illegal in Ashford. We do not litter here.”
“Oh, my God, I so agree. I was horrified when that gigantic bird just swooped down and knocked my poor coffee out of my hand. That was a double-shot espresso caramel-mocha latte.” Wait for it. Wait for it.
Looking semi-confused, he nods once and steps away as I roll the window back up.
I lean over and try to feel for my phone, now playing hide while I’m unable to quite seek in that narrow space at the side of my seat. “Where are you?” I mumble to myself, or to my phone, hoping it will respond and pop into my hand. Just when I’m about to abandon my mission, I feel the cool metal brush my fingers.
“Gotcha!” I go to slide the bar once again, and I realize my engagement ring is missing. The diamond must have slid off between the seats. Shit. I’m bending sideways, feeling around again when there’s more tapping at the window. This time I whack my head on the steering wheel.
“Oh, for feck’s sake.” I rub my now throbbing head and see Henry motioning at me to move it along. “I’m coming!” I shout through the glass. Geesh, relax, Mr. Pushy Pants.
I abort my mission and snatch my purse. I’ll just have to locate the ring later. It’s not like it’s going anywhere. I get out of the car and hit the locks.
The house, no bigger than the one we grew up in, lies on a small plot of land in what seems like a newer developed neighborhood. Toys cover the lawn and it’s obvious by the perfectly trimmed bushes and blooming flowers that someone in the family had a green thumb. Henry leads me up the concrete driveway and down the stone path to the front porch.
It’s no lie when I say I am nervous as shit. And by definition of nervous right now I mean I could probably yack in my Prada bag at any moment. As Officer Pushy Pants presses the doorbell to announce our arrival, I take the opportunity to bend over and suck air into my suffocating lungs. I said it before, but I really don’t want to barf in my bag. I just got this bag. And I seriously love it. Like I’m five again and it’s comparable to a PB&J love-it.
One more breath. Inhale, exhale.
Before I make a move to rise, because sadly enough I think I’m stuck in this position, the door opens and a large figure stands before me. I don’t see much yet, but at kneecap level what I do see is a set of nice muscular legs clad in a pair of what he makes look like the hottest jeans
I’ve ever seen. I mellow out my breathing and slowly raise my head for a better view. It’s like I’m riding an upward escalator. The higher I go, the clearer the image I get of the person standing at the top.
And boy oh, dreamsicle boy.
Strong legs. Check.
Lean waist. Check.
Oh, Lord. Strong hands on lean waist. Check.
Yep, moving upward, even better. A gray, long-sleeved Henley hugs his abs and chest, and my lady bits wish they were hugging him. I may or may not begin to break a sweat at the tall drink of manliness before me.
I blame this strange reaction on my lack of sleep. First official day I’m on my relationship break and I’m already drooling and gah gah-ing over the first built male I come in sights with. Deciding I’ve embarrassed myself enough, I stand tall, my posture the picture of the successful art pro that I am, and I get a good look at John’s cousin.
And I gasp.
Then swear.
And swear again.
The last word that leaves my mouth is a name that hasn’t left my lips since the day I left this town.
“Ian?”
I gape at the face of a man much older than the boy I remember. I scan those strong hands I dreamt about night after night and imagined touching me during my teen years. Those perfect lips that shared my first kiss. The last sad smile I saw before I turned my back on my life in this town and never looked back.
Ian Whitman.
My first love. My only love.
“Welcome home, Chrissy.”
HIS VOICE, MUCH DEEPER than I remember, sends a vibrating spark to my heart. One that ignites my past, setting my insides on fire. His gentle smile touches a place in my heart I thought would never truly work again. His nervousness seems to match mine as he tucks his large hands into his jeans pockets.
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
Ian Whitman.
I fought to forget the events that finally led up to my departure. It was, I swore, the last day my mother would ever lay a hand on me or wound me with her words. The last time I would listen to my sister defend her.
My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3) Page 3