The Right Side of Wrong

by Prescott Lane

  I lean up on my elbow. “I thought you didn’t want me there.”

  “Paige,” he says, cupping my cheek. “How could you think that?”

  I have to be dreaming. His lips are just inches from mine. “I haven’t been very nice to you this week. I thought this was payback.”

  “No, I was looking forward to seeing you tonight,” he whispers.

  “You could’ve called me,” I say. “You didn’t need to come all the way out here.”

  “I wanted to see you,” he says.

  My heart is beating so loudly in my chest, I think he can probably hear it. “Eventually, I’ll probably run into your father. I can handle it.”

  “I can’t,” he says. His voice is quiet, but the jealousy is loud and clear.

  “Slade, that was the first night I was with your father. Nothing happened between us. Not even a kiss.”

  I see his body relax in relief. His hopeful eyes fall to my lips, and at that moment, all I want is for him to kiss me—to be viewed as a woman and not anything else—but he pulls back. “I should go back to the city. I just wanted you to know what happened tonight.”

  In what is probably one of the most honest moments I’ve ever had, I reach for his hand.

  He looks down at our hands, then up to my face and says, “You better mean the next thing you say or do.”

  I’m too confused by what I’m feeling to be sure of anything. Slade is not a patient man. He turns for the door, leaving me alone in his bed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  PAIGE

  An entire week passes without a word from him. I can’t explain what happened on the night of the party. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the night, or maybe it was being in his bed. Who knows? But I almost kissed my boss. And I’d have let him do more than that. Now, I’m not sure how to move past it. Should we talk about it or avoid it? Judging by the radio silence, I guess Slade’s choosing the latter. And I’m not going to push a conversation with my boss.

  My emotions waver from wishing I’d kissed him to thinking I should have never grabbed his hand. What never changes is the certainty that I’m falling for him, though it’s a mystery as to why. He’s hot one minute and cold the next. I’d chalk my fascination up to him just being sexy and wanting to know what it would be like to have him kiss me, but it’s more. I hate to admit it, but he seems to want to take care of Finn and me. I grew up on fairy tales where the prince always saves the princess. The New Age movies always have some twist where the female characters are strong and can save themselves. I believe in that message. Hell, I am that girl.

  Still, having a man want to protect and take care of you, no matter how misguided and Neanderthal-like it is—it gets a girl going. So I’m falling for him despite my best efforts not to, despite the fact I’m bad for him, and despite the fact this is the worst idea in the history of love affairs.

  There are too many reasons this is wrong for it to possibly be right.

  I’m not going to dwell on it anymore right now. It’s a beautiful Tennessee Saturday, but more importantly, it’s my twenty-first birthday. Most twenty-one-year-olds might binge-drink or fly to Vegas, but I’ve decided to give myself my first birthday party. Finn is the only person on the guest list, and he’s easy to impress. I might even let him have a tiny bite of cake. He had a rough day, too—his six-month checkup with his pediatrician.

  It’s so nice she’s open on Saturday mornings, which helps working parents out. So while it’s my birthday, Finn got a couple of shots today, so I think we both deserve cake. Finn and I went to the store and bought balloons, birthday plates, candles, and everything we need to make my first birthday cake. And I’m doing the whole thing from scratch.

  Because it’s my first time baking a cake from something other than a box mix, I’m keeping it simple—yellow cake with chocolate icing. From start to finish, it takes me about three hours. I know most people could do it in half that time, but most people aren’t baking with a six-month-old.

  After setting up the decorations on the island, I place the cake in the middle on a little cake stand I found in the cabinet, then pluck Finn out of his playpen. “Alright, buddy, let’s get you changed, then party time.”

  Smiling and already singing “Happy Birthday” to myself, we head to our room. I’m in the middle of changing his diaper when I hear the sound of the garage door opening. It has to be Slade. Catrine doesn’t work weekends. I feel myself smiling. Maybe he remembered it’s my birthday. It was on the paperwork he made me fill out, so it would be incredibly sweet of him to remember.

  I place Finn in his crib, taking a second to brush my hair. I look at myself in the mirror, the stupid grin on my face. The man drives me crazy, but something is between us, and it’s time we get it out in the open.

  Propping Finn on my hip, I’m almost skipping toward the kitchen. “Slade? I can’t believe you remembered.”

  I grind to a halt, finding a long-legged, raven-haired beauty with a fork in my cake. She didn’t even bother to cut it. She’s just standing there, eating my birthday cake right off the cake stand, sticking her fork in it over and over again. To make matters worse, she’s one of those women who oozes sexiness and knows it.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  “Kimberly. Slade invited me for the weekend,” she says, eyeing me. “You must be the maid.”

  The weekend? He brought her here to sleep with her, right under my nose. Then I’d have to wash his damn sheets after. “That’s my cake,” I say, walking over and yanking the stand away.

  “Slade told me to make myself at home,” she says. “He’s just making a phone call. I’m sure he’ll want to hear about how rude the help is.”

  “I don’t care what you tell him,” I bite out.

  “Oh, there you are,” she says, waltzing over to Slade, who just appeared in the doorway. She snakes her body around him as he flashes her a dirty grin.

  Finn wiggles in my arms, reaching out for Slade, and for the first time, he locks eyes with me. He’s hurting me on purpose, and I have no idea why. I grab my purse and Finn’s diaper bag, walking past them, still pawing each other.

  I don’t know how I find the strength, but I stop, look him right in the eye, and say, “Today’s my birthday, and she ruined my cake.”

  *

  With tears streaming down my face, I hold Finn, the diaper bag, my purse, and a small overnight bag. It’s a lot, but I wasn’t about to make two trips. There’s no way I can stay in this house and listen to them go at it all weekend. We’ll find a cheap hotel for the next couple of nights.

  Reining in my tears, I force myself to bury the hurt, like so many things in my life. If life has taught me anything, it’s how to stuff emotions. I can’t think about all that I’ve lost because there’s always more to lose. I promise myself that I’ll have a good cry about it later when all the losing is done and over.

  I open the door to the garage, finding the outside garage door open. Slade stands with his head down and his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. My hands are too full to grab the keys, so I place the bags down, then reach for them. His head turns to me. I wipe my hot cheeks, pushing the button to open the trunk of the car, but he promptly slams it shut.

  “You shouldn’t drive when you’re upset,” he says.

  “I can’t stay here,” I sob.

  “Nothing happened with her. She’s gone,” he says, stepping toward me. “Just had one of the ranch hands drive her home. She won’t be back.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “But it’s your birthday. I don’t want you to be alone.”

  I look him right in the eye. “I’ve been alone my whole life, even when I was with people. This is no different.”

  “Paige,” he says, softly touching my hand, “let’s celebrate your birthday. You can wear the dress you bought for the opening, and Finn and I will take you out.”

  I just glare at him. “Despite what you think of me, I can’t be bought.”

&n
bsp; “You know I don’t think that way about you.”

  I laugh out loud, shaking my head. “Something almost happened between us the other night, but you pulled away. And then stayed away all week. That was enough of a message, Slade. I didn’t need you to do this. I get it. You think I’m a whore, and you don’t do whores. Okay, I fucking get it!”

  “No, Paige,” he says, taking me by the waist. Finn squirms in my arms, feeling the tension, and starts to fuss.

  Pulling away from Slade, I stick my finger in his face. “But let me tell you something. That woman was more low-class trash than I’ll ever be. At least I know how to use a damn knife and cut a slice of cake!”

  Moving past him, I frantically strap Finn into his car seat, throw the bags inside, and slam the door shut. Slade holds his hand over my door, preventing me from opening it. “Just hear me out,” he says.

  “You hurt me. And worse, you did it on purpose. I don’t need to know anything else.”

  “Please, just stay here. I’ll go,” he says, almost pleadingly. “I don’t want you driving when you’re upset.”

  “It’s your house.”

  “My mother died,” he says, his voice almost unrecognizable.

  This is the closest the man has ever come to opening up to me. I ask, “When? In a car accident?”

  His head shakes. “Just stay here.”

  “Is this why you don’t get along with your father? Something to do with your mom?”

  I can see the walls go up in his eyes, and he snaps, “Will you please just stay here? I’m leaving. We’ll talk when things have calmed down.”

  All I can manage is a nod.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SLADE

  This is what I thought I wanted. I wanted her to hate me. It seemed like a good plan at the time, but what works in theory feels a whole lot different in real life. What kills me is the reason she thinks I did this. Immediately, she jumps to the belief that someone like me couldn’t want someone like her. Nothing could be further from the truth.

  I’ve made this drive into the city a thousand times, but this time it seems to be taking forever. Why do bad things seem to last forever, and the good moments are so fleeting?

  This push and pull, back and forth isn’t good for either of us. Either she stops, or I do. Either she stays mad in an attempt to push me away, or I do something to push her away. Enough is enough. This has to stop. Today is the biggest fuckup I’ve made with a woman ever. As soon as I saw her, the hurt, I regretted it. I knew I’d made a mistake. I just hope I can come back from it.

  Sometimes it takes losing someone to realize all the reasons you shouldn’t be together don’t matter.

  I hate being the asshole. Forever, Paige will think of me as her jerk of a boss who brought home a sidepiece just to rub it in her face. Kimberly didn’t deserve to be used, either. Not that I laid a finger on her, but I still used her. So I’m a double asshole. But something tells me Kimberly will forgive me easier, not that I care or that it’s even important to me. All I care about are Paige and Finn.

  That woman is fully underneath my skin. I haven’t spoken about my mother in years, much less her death. Granted, I skirted the truth, but for the words to even come out of my mouth is proof of the hold Paige has over me. From the first moment I saw her at the party, my need to save her, to protect her overpowered me.

  I try to tell myself the hurt she’s feeling now will safeguard her against a greater one. The problem is, I’m a selfish man.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  PAIGE

  I’m still in my pajamas when the doorbell rings at eight in the morning. Not that I was sleeping. Not even the Cooking Channel could soothe me last night. I spent the night cleaning up the disaster of my birthday party that never happened, trying not to cry and contemplating if I should even keep this job.

  The answer is yes because I have to. I don’t have any other options. Stumbling out of our room before the doorbell wakes Finn, I deactivate the alarm and answer the door. A huge metallic pink number one balloon hits me in the face.

  “Delivery,” a female voice says, but I can’t see her through the sea of latex.

  Moving the balloons aside, I find a smiling, middle-aged woman holding them with a wagon full of stuff behind her. “I’m sorry,” I say. “You have the wrong house.”

  “Paige Hudson?” she asks, looking down at her clipboard.

  “Yes, that’s me, but the only baby here is a boy, and he’s only six months.”

  Her head tilts. “This is for you, dear.”

  “For me?” I say. “Unless you have a number twenty balloon somewhere to add to that one, you’re at the wrong house.”

  She hands me a folded notecard, and I see in Slade’s handwriting:

  For all the birthdays you missed.

  *

  “You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Catrine asks, hitting the balloons with her hands.

  Every day for the past week, Slade has sent three deliveries—morning, afternoon, and evening. The first morning was an entire birthday party for a one-year-old little girl. Noon that day was a two-year-old party, then dinner was for a three-year-old. You get the picture.

  All the birthdays I’ve missed. That’s what he said.

  He’s kept his word, delivering to me every birthday I’ve ever missed.

  The six-year-old party was puppy dog-themed. The ten-year-old party was a horse theme. Fifteen was for the popular boy band the year I turned that age. I have no idea how he found that one.

  Other than his first note, there are no cards, but each birthday comes with a gift—a stuffed animal, a gift card, music. For my sixteenth, he sent me the title to the Mercedes.

  I promptly sent each gift back, but he’s relentless. Today, at least by his timing, I’m turning twenty-one, which is my actual age, so hopefully, this will finally end.

  I haven’t said a word to Catrine or anyone about what happened the night of my actual birthday. I don’t have it in me to trash-talk him, although I secretly wonder if it would make me feel better. I haven’t talked to Slade since then either. Clearly, he’s waiting for me to make the next move, but he doesn’t get it.

  I’d be lying if I said his gesture didn’t melt my heart a little. It’s sweet. Most women would probably kill for a grand gesture like this, but not me. In my world, a man bearing gifts is a man who wants something.

  I’m not the whore he thinks I am. No present or party will make me forgive him. That’s not what I want. I refuse to allow myself to be treated like that by him or any man. I’m just going to do my job, keep my head down, and stockpile the money I make for school.

  “Paige,” Catrine says, “you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. And you’ve got to eat some of this cake. Chewie and I are actually getting sick of cake.”

  “My birthday was a few days ago, and Slade ruined it,” I say, pushing the latest cake aside.

  “Happy Birthday!” she says. “I wish I would’ve known. What did he do?”

  I just shake my head as the doorbell rings. “Would you mind getting it? I just can’t see another clown or magician.”

  Sitting on the sofa, I lower my head to my hands, hoping the doorbell doesn’t wake Finn. Perhaps I was blessed by never having birthday parties. Catrine walks over, sitting beside me. She places one single chocolate cupcake, a bottle of champagne, and an envelope in front of me. Cake is typical of Slade’s speed birthdays. And the alcohol makes sense since I’m now legal age, but the envelope scares me.

  “Do you want a minute alone?” Catrine asks.

  Shaking my head, I reach for the envelope. It could be anything—airline tickets, a letter of apology, a letter of eviction, notice I’ve been fired. All I know is that it won’t be good. Slowly, I pull it out, unfolding it.

  My heart sinks. He’s giving me something I really want. “Damn him.”

  “What is it?” Catrine asks.

  Gently, I toss the paper in her lap. Her eyes widen, and she looks up at me. “P
aige, you have to accept this.”

  “He can’t buy my forgiveness.”

  “But this is him saying he’s sorry in a big way.”

  “Please return it to him,” I say.

  “Paige, this is saying something more than he’s sorry. He’s paid off the next two years of your college tuition.”

  It’s tempting. The most tempting thing he’s tried to give me, but some things can’t be bought. My heart is one of them. It’s the one piece of me that hasn’t been stolen or taken from me. I had to give up my education. I’ve had my body used and abused, but no one ever got to my heart. No one could take that from me, and I’m not about to sell it to him. It’s not for sale. It has to be earned.

  “All of this is,” Catrine says, waving her arms in the air. “He obviously cares for you.” When I don’t respond, she grabs her purse. “But I’ll take it with me.”

  As soon as she leaves, a slow rain begins to fall, marking the end of my birthdays. Any man would give up after this, and I’m not sure why my forgiveness means so much to him. He knew I was falling for him, and instead of just letting me know he’s not interested, he chose to hurt me, to do something so crass that killing any feelings would be a guarantee. It worked, so why all the regret?

  Maybe he’s trying to force me to quit now. It’s not that I haven’t thought about it, but I have no other options, and nothing is worse than living the way we were before. My phone rings, Slade’s name flashing. I should answer—he’s the boss—but I doubt he’s calling about work. So I just let it ring. A roll of thunder ripples through the house as it’s really starting to pick up outside.

  I hear Finn’s cry even over the storm and rush to get him from his crib. Picking him up, Finn’s baby chunk trembles in my arms. “It’s okay,” I say, cuddling him close.

  He sticks his hand in his mouth as drool runs down his arm into the folds at his wrists. I thought crawling would thin him out, but no luck with that yet. He’s still my little butterball. I try to place him in his high chair so I can prepare our dinner, but he’s having none of it. I’m not sure if it’s the rain or maybe that he’s cutting a tooth, but he wants to be held.