by T. K. Leigh
I release a heavy sigh, rubbing my temples. “That may be so,” I agree, not wanting to tell her she’s not even close to the type of woman I see myself forming a long-term relationship with. She’s exactly like every other girl I’ve dated — pretty, young, petite, and somewhat lacking in the intelligence department. I suppose not feeling any more than a physical attraction has always helped me guard my heart. “But there are other considerations I need to think about.”
“Of course,” she sneers, rolling her eyes. “Your kids.”
My jaw firms, my position unwavering. “Yes. They’re young. They need stability.”
A hand caresses my arm, her gesture unlike her normal advances toward me. She’s compassionate, warm, at complete odds with the almost predatory woman I thought her to be. “I can give you that.”
I stare deep into her pleading eyes, wishing I could believe her. She reminds me too much of Carla. Skylar’s young, a dancer for the Celtics. I know her type. She’s interested in me now because she likes being able to attach her name to mine. Eventually, someone with more star power will come along and she’ll trade up. I can’t put my girls through that again.
“Maybe you can, but I’m not willing to take the risk.”
“So… What?” She reels back, her eyes on fire, her voice a high-pitched shriek. It’s a complete one-eighty from her kindhearted demeanor a second ago. “That’s it? All you were interested in was an occasional booty call whenever it suited you?”
“You knew what this was when you signed up, Skylar. I never misled you.”
In a last-ditch effort, she grabs my belt, tugging me toward her. She palms my crotch, but my body refuses to ignite. “Can you really stand there and tell me you’re willing to walk away from this?” She lifts herself onto her toes, her lips trailing along my neck. It still does nothing for me. “Even you have to admit the sex has been amazing.”
“Yes, it has.” I grasp her hand and remove it, stepping away. “But I’ve had amazing sex before. Hell, I married amazing sex. And it walked out on me, on all of us, when something better came along. I’m glad you’re looking for something more serious, and I’m sure you’ll make another man very happy. I won’t lie to you and promise to try when my heart isn’t in it. No one deserves to be played with, and that wasn’t my intention. If you feel I did, I apologize, but I can’t give you what you want. If you can’t accept that, I don’t know what else to say.”
Her lip curls, the coldness in her eyes causing a chill to trickle down my spine. Before I can placate her further, she reels back, landing a hard slap to my cheek, momentarily surprising me. It stings, but I suffered much more brutal attacks on the ice. Her palm against my face is no more than a pinprick in comparison.
“What was that for?” I ask, unfazed.
“For using me.”
“I’m sorry you think that,” I answer in a calm tone, which only makes her even more upset, the vein in her forehead twitching, her face reddening.
“You think you can just fuck me for six months, then when I want to get serious, use those kids as an excuse?”
I remain silent, refusing to respond to her outburst. This isn’t the first time a woman I’m casually seeing wants to take things to the next level. It usually happens around the four-month mark. But I’ve always remained clear in my intentions. I’ve never engaged in conversations regarding any dreams for a future. I even told them they were free to move on or see other people when they felt the need. It may make me sound like a prick, but it’s the best I can offer anyone at this point in my life.
“Well, I have news for you. You won’t always be able to use them as an excuse. One day, they’ll be adults and in relationships of their own, leaving you all alone, wishing you didn’t turn me down.”
“Perhaps, but right now, those kids are my priority. And as long as they remain my responsibility, my stance on this is firm.”
She pauses, stammering, trying to come up with anything to convince me to reconsider my position, but nothing will. Realizing that, she huffs, stomping toward the doorway. As she’s about to disappear down the hallway, she whirls around, her eyes on fire.
“For the record, I’ve had better sex.”
“Duly noted.”
My response not what she expected, she opens her mouth, then snaps it shut, storming off.
I hold my breath, waiting to see if she’s going to stomp back in for yet another attempt to persuade me to change my mind. When she doesn’t, I slump into my chair with a sigh, rubbing my temples.
“I’ve got to stop sleeping with girls under thirty,” I mutter to myself.
“That’s probably a good idea,” a female voice quips.
I whip my head up. My heart immediately drops to the pit of my stomach, and I can’t help but think I did something to piss off the big man upstairs. First, Skylar shows up to convince me to take things to the next level. And now Carla. Again.
“What do you want?” I bark.
She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip, tugging on the hem of her suit jacket. The way she carries herself makes her appear nervous. When we were together, she didn’t have a shy or uncertain bone in her body. She did what she wanted without a care for what anyone thought.
“Do you mind if I sit?”
I glower at her. “It doesn’t matter what I want. You’ll do whatever you want, regardless of my feelings.”
Her hopeful expression falls as she averts her eyes. “Please, Andrew. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to come here ever since I ran into you almost a month ago.”
“Back in the area now, are you? Last I heard, you’d left Chase and were working as a waitress in one of the Indian casinos in Connecticut.”
“Yes. That’s where I met Rob, my husband. We relocated here for his work a few years ago.”
“How nice.” My tone is filled with sarcasm. “So tell me what you want, then leave. And next time you get the urge to come see me, I recommend you skip the family reunion because I’m not interested in catching up.” I cross my arms in front of my chest, leaning back in my large chair.
She rocks on her heels, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the past few weeks. After seeing you and the girls, the guilt and regret…” She meets my hardened stare, undeterred by the harshness in my gaze. “I’ve often wondered about them. What shows they like to watch. What their favorite colors are. If you taught them how to skate, like I have a feeling you did, considering you bought Alyssa skates when she wasn’t even born yet.” Her lips lift slightly in the corners.
“All things you would have known if you weren’t selfish and abandoned them.” Standing, I place my palms on the desk, leaning into her, my imposing frame dwarfing hers. I hate that she’s here, that she’s speaking so fondly of my kids. “After learning I couldn’t play hockey anymore, I was going through the worst time in my life. Instead of being there for us, you checked out, started sleeping with the guy who took my place on the ice.” My jaw clenches and my nose turns up in disgust. “So I don’t owe you anything, not a single iota of information about how those girls are thriving, what they like to do, what they like to eat. The minute you disappeared, having full knowledge of what my mother had done to us, how it affected us, you were dead to me.”
She shifts on her feet, stepping away from the large wooden desk and toward a sitting area containing a couch and a love seat. Her eyes scan the framed photos and newspaper clippings hanging there, many of which used to adorn the walls of the café. Once I took this job, I brought them here so the place would seem more like a trendy coffee shop and bar rather than a memorial to my fallen hockey career.
“Do you miss it?” She glances over her shoulder, then fully turns toward me. “The thrill of the ice? Hearing tens of thousands of people cheering your name?”
“Of course I do.” My expression softens, my voice laced with longing. “For as long as I can remember, the only thing I wanted was to play hockey. I worked my tail off, s
acrificing everything to make that happen. So when I had to retire after a few seasons…” I shake my head, the anger bubbling back to the surface. “It killed me.” I look away, feeling exposed. Clearing my throat, I straighten my spine, returning my emotionless eyes to hers. “So, as much as I’ve enjoyed this little trip down memory lane, why don’t you tell me why you’re here.”
She squares her shoulders, drawing in a deep breath. I have a feeling I’m not going to like whatever she’s about to say, but nothing could have prepared me for the words that fall from her mouth.
“I’d like to get to know them. Alyssa and Charlotte. I’d like to be a part of their lives. I’d like them to get to know their brother.”
I stare at her, mouth agape, eyes wide. Then I break out into a laugh, thinking I must be in some alternate universe. “You’re joking, right?”
“You have to realize how difficult it was for me to come here and ask this of you. I know I haven’t given you any reason to want to grant my request, but—”
“You’re right,” I interrupt with a snarl. “You haven’t. And if you think I’ll ever let you near those two girls just so you can destroy them, you’re sadly mistaken.” My voice booms against the walls of my office. I’m sure the other members of the athletic staff can hear, but I don’t care. I can’t control my emotions, not when it comes to those girls. Especially when it comes to what Carla did to them. “So get out of my sight right now or I will call security and have you escorted out of here.”
She raises her palms toward me in a sign of surrender. “Fine. At least I know I tried to do the right thing.” She heads toward the door.
“The right thing?” I shoot back in disbelief, following her. “So now you’re interested in doing the right thing? You’re about six years too late for that, Carla.”
She faces me, her expression still calm, despite my outburst. “I get that I hurt you, Andrew. And you can hate me every day for the rest of your life. But don’t those girls deserve to know their mother?”
“Mother? Are you seriously referring to yourself as their mother? That term deserves respect, admiration. You are not their mother. Even though you gave birth to them, that does not make you their mom.”
“At some point, they’re going to have questions and will no longer be satisfied with whatever answer you’ve been giving them. You can’t keep them from me forever.”
I widen my stance, my fiery eyes glaring down on her. Like the Carla I used to know, she doesn’t flinch. “Is that a threat? Because I assure you, I will do whatever it takes to keep those girls safe, to protect them from feeling even an ounce of pain.”
“It’s not a threat,” she sighs, her tone even. “I’m simply stating a fact. They’ll eventually wonder where they came from, who their biological mother is. They’ll want to know more than that I left. What are you going to tell them then?”
“The same thing I have for years. That they don’t need to worry about that because their mother was a fucking coward. The only mothers they need to concern themselves with are the women in my life who stepped in when you bailed.”
“You claim I was selfish to leave like I did. And I was. I admit that.” She briefly looks to the ceiling, blowing out a small breath. “God, I’d do anything to go back in time and tell my younger self to think about what she’s doing, but I can’t. I don’t have a machine that can send me back to the day I made the worst decision of my life. I can’t take it back. But I can try to make it right going forward. So please. I beg you, Andrew. Stop thinking about how much I hurt you. Instead, think about what’s best for the girls. I’m sure you’ve made mistakes you regret, things you wish you could change. Just… Just think about it.”
Her words ring in the air between us for a moment before she turns, leaving me alone to stew. If I hated her before, my animosity has increased at the thought of her being a part of my girls’ lives. I was the one who changed their diapers, who sang them to sleep when they woke from a nightmare, who cleaned their cuts and scrapes when they fell. She doesn’t get to waltz back into their lives and pretend the last six years never happened.
Fuming, I slam the door, the impact causing one of the framed photos to fall to the floor, the glass shattering. It takes all the restraint I possess to not punch the cement wall and scream. That woman is delusional if she thinks I’ll willingly allow her access to my girls. I don’t care what it takes. I’ll fight her every step of the way.
Chapter 22
Brooklyn
Pinks and purples fill my vision. A floral arrangement here. A serviette there. Polite chatter surrounds me, but I don’t hear a word that’s said. Instead, I smile, feigning interest as Mrs. Bradford parades me in front of her friends who have assembled at the Cambridge Tea Room for my bridal shower. Every single one of them is unfamiliar, many having flown here from Georgia just for the occasion. Mrs. Bradford doesn’t let me forget that fact, either, repeatedly commenting it would have been easier on all involved if I had agreed to have the bridal shower and wedding down south.
As I listen to their conversations, I have to fight my desire to roll my eyes. These women are well-off members of southern social circles. They speak of their vacation homes in Palm Beach or the Hamptons, their ski chalets in Aspen or Sun Valley, their yachts and cars. This lifestyle is so foreign. I feel like I have nothing to add to the conversation. Worse, some of them look upon me, their noses raised, as if I’m nothing more than another one of Wes’ charity projects, like he found me in the slums and provided a chance at a better life. Is that how he sees me? As just another charity project?
Over the past several weeks, I’ve devoted all my attention to Wes and making things work between us. After his beautiful second proposal, he deserved nothing less. As he made love to me over and over again that night, I was convinced we had finally found our place as a couple, that our love would be strong enough to survive anything life threw at us.
But the following morning, it felt like the night before never happened. Wes was back to being the serious workaholic I knew him to be. I imagined spending a lazy Sunday in bed with him, something we’d never done. Instead, he got up early and went into the office, saying he was behind on a bunch of projects. I tried not to act disappointed, tried not to be overly clingy, but I needed Wes. Being with him is the only thing that quiets the doubts. With him, I’m at peace in the path I’ve chosen. Away from him, turmoil clouds everything else. Am I doing the right thing? Am I willing to forgo excitement and passion for dependability?
“And you’re still planning to start school in the fall?” an annoyingly pleasant voice asks, bringing my attention away from the overtly feminine decorations that seem more suitable for a baby shower. Even the mountain of gifts adorning the long table at the head of the room are wrapped in shades of purple and pink. My two least favorite colors.
I smile at the petite woman with blonde hair wearing a floral dress. I can’t remember her name, but Mrs. Bradford introduced her as the wife of one of their high-paying clients at the architecture firm. “Yes, I am.”
“That’s admirable, what with Wes soon taking the helm at the company and everything.”
I furrow my brow. “He is?”
“Of course, dear. At least that’s my understanding.” She nods toward Mrs. Bradford. “Joel says your husband is ready to retire and hand the reins over.”
“That’s correct,” she confirms in that smooth southern accent of hers. “My dear James claims work’s impeded his golf game.”
There’s a fluttering of polite laughter as I stand there, a deer caught in the headlights. Why didn’t Wes say anything? This is a big deal. He’s worked his entire life to follow in his father’s footsteps. He studied hard, graduating at the top of his class. He does everything he can to bring new and innovative ideas to the firm, hoping to show his father he’s ready to take over. Why didn’t he share this important development with me? Then again, I’ve kept so much from him, too, but I’m trying to get better. I’m trying to make an
effort. Is he?
“Now that you mention it, he may have said something to that effect.” I grit a fake smile. “We’ve just been so busy with agreeing on blueprints for the new house and getting all the contractors lined up, it must have slipped my mind.”
“I don’t know why he’s even going through the trouble when he’ll need to move back to Atlanta if he wants to run the company,” Mrs. Bradford interjects. This time, I can’t hide my surprise, shooting wide eyes to hers. Her expression is self-righteous and smug. “You can’t expect him to run things from here, can you?”
“I…”
I feel blindsided, unsure what to say. From the beginning, I’ve known Wes had his sights set on taking over the company, of propelling it to the next level, focusing on greater sustainability and less environmental impact. Never did I think he’d have to go back to Atlanta to do that.
Does he think I’ll just leave my home? Sacrifice the work I’ve put in to get this far in my career just to give it up, like his mother hopes I will? Is this why he wanted to get married so soon? So he could trap me into the marriage, leaving me no choice but to follow him wherever he wants to go? The idea makes me sick.
“Dear me…,” the woman says, appearing genuinely remorseful. “It’s not my place to say. I should never have opened my mouth, considering how full your hands are with planning a wedding.”
I force a smile, pretending this news doesn’t hit me in the gut like it does. “It’s all right.” I raise my lemonade to my lips, bracing for the sugary concoction to assault my taste buds. I would give anything to have a flask of rum or vodka. Hopefully Molly will come better prepared than me, even though she’s pregnant. “Thankfully, Mrs. Bradford’s been an enormous help in that regard. She’s taken the guesswork out of everything.” I try to hide the annoyance in my tone. “All I have to do is show up when she tells me. She even made sure I had the perfect dress to wear today.”