Love Happens

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Oh, my God. Silas, I’m sorry.” There’s something to her voice that suggests she’s not as clueless as I am.

  The cop reads me my rights and slaps handcuffs on my wrists, hauling me to standing. She’s now in my view, hands still planted on the hood, but she’s sobbing and shaking.

  “Do. Not. Move. Or you’ll regret it,” he orders to her while he drags me to the car and throws me in.

  As I struggle to sit up, I cough up the crap I inhaled while on the ground. He’s fucking manhandling Pansy like she’s a toy, cuffing her and throwing her into the back seat beside me.

  “Hey,” I murmur softly as she tries to sit up.

  “Not a word out of either of you.” His voice is ice.

  “I can explain,” Pansy attempts as he whips around, glaring at us. I’m surprised, but I’m thankful for the metal grid separating him from us.

  “Shut up, now.”

  Slinking back into the seat, she squeezes her eyes shut and bites her lower lip to stifle her cries. Anger boils within me at her fear; I want her to feel safe, protected. I am also curious as to what she can explain. It’s likely a mix-up with her sister and this will all be sorted soon. It has to be.

  I try to steady my heart rate with deep breaths as he arranges for the car to be towed. He then calls the police station to tell them he’s bringing us in.

  We roll into town about thirty minutes later, and the irony is not lost on me: I desperately wanted to get here, to catch up with the tour bus, and now I’d rather be any place else.

  Once we’re in the station, the officer deposits us in chairs and walks a few feet away to a desk. Pansy uses the opportunity to whisper hurriedly, “I’m sorry, Silas. It’s all my fault. I took my sister’s car without her permission. This is her way of punishing me. I’ll get you out of this.”

  I’m dumbfounded by her revelation, and irritation builds at the sheer absurdity of it all. Seriously? This is all a case of siblings squabbling, and somehow I’m stuck in the middle. It doesn’t matter that with one phone call I’ll walk away from this—I’m angry. This is the cherry on top of a fucking shit-tastic day.

  “Shut up,” the officer barks. His dark eyes glowering, he waits until he’s satisfied we’ll be silent before he turns back to his task.

  “How fucking stupid are you?” I coldly utter through gritted teeth. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit. When this is all over, leave me the fuck alone.”

  Ride

  Silas’s cruel, razor-sharp words are a kick to the stomach. I get that he’s handcuffed and being threatened with jail time because of Ivy—well, really because of me—but he’s no different than the rest of them.

  He called Ivy and Cody dicks, but he’s the biggest dickwad of them all. I thought he saw me for who I am, thought he got me. I thought he was special. He’s not. He’s no better than them.

  When I turn my back to him, he scoffs at what I’m sure he thinks is my immaturity or further stupidity. We wait in silence and are eventually separated when I’m taken to a holding room where an officer finally un-cuffs and questions me.

  I should ask for a lawyer, but I’m sure Ivy will show up soon. This whole thing reeks of her—never mind the wasted time, money, and energy used to “punish” me in this manner.

  During my interrogation, it becomes clear that the officer likes me, or at the very least, he’s sympathetic to my situation. He shares tidbits about Silas even though he shouldn’t—Silas has been released, his one phone call leading to his ticket to freedom.

  I’m glad I’ll never see that asshole again. Even if he did write a beautiful song and we had some sweet and memorable moments, I’ll never forgive or forget the horrid things he said to me. He called me stupid, again. Enough is enough. I’m done with that.

  I finally ask for my phone call and I’m told to sit tight. Alone in the holding cell, that’s what I do: sit and wonder how I got here, if or when Ivy is going to come, and what happens next.

  During the night—I have no clue what time it is—a guard comes for me. Fortunately, he doesn’t cuff me again, and he leads me back to the front of the station.

  Ivy’s standing at the discharge desk. The stabbing staccato of her expensive heels hitting the floor, repeatedly, is the maddening music to my walk of shame. Contrary to my rumpled appearance, she’s so prim and proper in her crisp beige suit. Not a strand of her strawberry blonde bob is out of place, and her makeup is flawless. Perfect—that’s Ivy.

  “Pansy.” My name is blasphemy on her lips. “How could you?”

  I stare blankly at her, trying in vain to keep my emotions in check. This day has been from hell and I can’t handle much more. All I want is a cardboard box to crawl into and sleep. A homeless shelter sounds wonderful about now.

  She natters on about how disappointed she is in me, chastising me for stealing her car. Yes, she says stealing, and she’s sure to tell me it doesn’t change a thing. She’s not supporting me. I’m on my own. The clock in the precinct indicates it’s five fifty-three in the morning. No wonder I’m exhausted—I’ve been up for nearly twenty-four hours.

  As we walk outside into the cool morning air, I sigh, stretch, and smile. I wasn’t locked up long, but I embrace my freedom. Glancing at my sister, I see her annoyance at me written all over her face.

  “Ivy, this is where we say goodbye.” My tone is devoid of emotion.

  “What? Where are you going?”

  “I’ve no clue, but one thing I know for sure is that I don’t want to be around you. I’ll always love you, but I don’t like you. I’m sorry I borrowed your car. Yes, it was wrong and selfish, but I’m sick and tired of you telling me I’m stupid. I’m not. I’ve got a higher than average IQ and a 4.0 GPA.” I only say those things because they matter to her. “Goodbye, Ivy.”

  “Pansy, stop being stu—” I shoot her an icy glare as I pass her on the steps. “Don’t go, let’s talk.”

  “I’ll text you when I’m settled.”

  She calls after me as I head down the road, only concerned with finding a motel. I’ve got savings, and while I’ll have to be smart with my pennies, I need to sleep before I figure out my next move.

  I’m not even ten minutes from the station when a black Range Rover pulls up beside me and the driver’s window rolls down. Silas.

  “You need a ride?” He sheepishly grins.

  Scoffing, I dismiss him with a flick of my hair before walking on. He’s crazy. Did he forget what he said to me?

  “No. Get away and leave me alone.” Fleeting satisfaction of using his words on him warms me.

  Behind me, the car door slams, and seconds later, he’s at my side, pulling on my hand. My eyes narrow into slits as his twinkle with amusement. He awkwardly smiles, big and bright, trying to soften me.

  “Pansy, I’m really sorry. I’m the fuck-up this time,” he confesses. “I met your sister, Ivy, and I get it.”

  “Ivy has nothing to do with this. You called me stupid—I’m not. I’m tired of people treating me like I’m dumb.”

  “You’re not stupid, not by a long shot, and I never should’ve said that. I’m the one who’s stupid.”

  “No, you’re not,” I interrupt. I don’t like that word being used for anyone. It’s wrong and hurtful.

  “Fine.” He chuckles. “But, I do have a stupid temper, and I have no excuse for calling you names. I’m truly sorry. How can I make it up to you?”

  I like this side of him; his sincerity restores my belief that he’s a decent person. He’s got a mean temper, but he can admit his faults. My family has never apologized for their cruel words, even when they knew they upset me.

  My silence must unnerve him because he laces his fingers with mine, urging me toward him. I resist, needing to keep my head about me. As much as his apology helps, the wound is still there. It’s still fresh, and I’m tired, vulnerable. It’d be too easy to let this go. That’s what I always do—let people off the hook for treating me like garbage.

  “Please forgive me.
” He clings to me, pulling me closer.

  His remorse tugs at my heart. Damn, why can’t I be a cold-hearted bitch, make him work harder for his apology? Sadly, it’s not my style.

  Our chests collide and my breath hitches. His arms envelop me, his pleading expression weakens my efforts. I’m anchored to him, and his hand caresses my cheek as my body overrides my mind, willingly leaning into him.

  “You hurt me.” I push hard against him, remembering how his words were blows to my heart, my ego.

  I’ve caught him by surprise and he stumbles, loosening his hold, but before I can distance myself, his fingers latch onto my bare hips. Rough, calloused tips sink into my exposed flesh, sending an electrifying jolt up my spine. His grip is both strong and gentle.

  “Pansy, I could be halfway home by now, but I couldn’t leave. I felt like shit for how I treated you and what I said. If I’d really meant it or if I was a heartless asshole, I wouldn’t be here. Okay, I am an asshole for saying what I said, but I’m truly sorry.”

  I’m now back in his arms, chest to chest, and I can’t think of one good reason why I shouldn’t be here.

  “I should stay mad at you,” I weakly murmur, letting my stubbornness have its way, one more time.

  His smile grows; he’s wearing me down and he knows it. Being in his arms has eliminated any fight in me. Even with his short temper, I like him, I really do, and his remorse is evident in his features and voice.

  “Give me another chance?” His tone is hopeful and confident.

  “Drive me to a motel and let me sleep, then we’ll talk. I’m thinking you can start making it up to me with a ride to my next destination.”

  My fingers comb through the short, soft hairs of his beard as I pinch his chin with my thumb and forefinger. His lips tempt me. I want to kiss him, but it’s not smart. I’m sleep-deprived and making decisions based solely on my libido is not wise. Before I can bring his mouth to mine, his lips descend on me.

  His tongue swipes across the seam of my lips and I eagerly open for him, inviting his teeth to nibble on my lower lip. Pulling my lip into his mouth, he sucks and teases a moan out of me. Our kiss is long, languid, and loaded with endless possibilities.

  Pulling back, he whispers, “Oh yeah? And where would that be?”

  “I’ll let you know when I know.”

  Smiling, his mouth covers mine again. Our lips tangle, tongues twisting as my stomach flip-flops and my heart races with anticipation. His kiss is solace and hope to my weary heart. I don’t know if this is it or if there’s a future for us, don’t know where we’ll go or how bumpy the road will be, but I welcome the ride.

  S.M. West was born on an island paradise on the shortest day and longest night of the year, Winter Solstice. Perhaps that’s why she’s a night owl? She loves romance and intrigue, a strong heroine and fiercely passionate hero with passion, intensity and edge.

  If she’s not reading or writing, she’s hanging with her family, planning her next adventure, enjoying a glass of wine or indulging in chocolate.

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  Some Sort Of Love by Melanie Harlow

  From the outside looking in, I had it all—a career I loved, a supportive family, the Nixon metabolism but not the Nixon ears, and a salary that supported my lavish taste in designer shoes, fine wine, and lacy lingerie … but I had no one to share it with.

  Until the day I ran into him—my one night stand from college with the crooked smile, let’s-get-out-of-here eyes, and dirty, dirty mouth.

  Cute and cocky then, today Levi Brooks is six feet four inches of hot bearded fantasy. A sexy single dad with broad shoulders, strong hands, and a fantastically big … heart. (I mean, it’s massive. And generous. And it pumps so hard … um. Sorry. Lost my place.)

  Being a good father means everything to him, but he’s keeping me at a distance because he thinks I deserve someone better—a man who can give me more time, more attention, more of himself. He doesn’t believe he could ever be enough.

  But he’s wrong.

  He’s everything.

  This book is dedicated with gratitude and respect to the mothers who shared stories about their beautiful children with me during research for this book. Thank you for your candor, your generosity, your wisdom, and your time. Your love and devotion inspired me.

  Laura Barnes

  Jennifer Eastwood

  Sarah Ferguson

  Ella James

  Kelley Jefferson

  Melissa Quintanilla

  Rachel Todd

  From the complications of loving you

  I think there is no end or return.

  No answer, no coming out of it.

  Which is the only way to love, isn’t it?

  ~ Mary Oliver

  Jillian

  You know that stomachache you get when you have to go to a family function, and everyone’s in a couple but you, and they all pretend they don’t think it’s a big deal that you’re thirty and single and don’t have a date for your sister’s wedding tomorrow, but really they’re all wondering what’s wrong with you and they’re too polite to ask?

  That’s the stomachache I had as I drove to Skylar and Sebastian’s rehearsal dinner.

  And the closer I got to Abelard Vineyards, the winery where Skylar worked and where the wedding would take place, the worse it got.

  Because maybe they wouldn’t be polite.

  No date tonight? Must be hard to find a man once you’re past a certain age.

  So why aren’t you married yet, Jillian? That clock is ticking!

  You’re not one of those lesbians, are you?

  One of these days I was just going to go with that one. It was so much more interesting than the truth—I just hadn’t found the right guy yet and didn’t have a clue where to look. In fact, was it too late to get a hot lesbian date for tomorrow night? That would shut them up.

  Stop it. Just stop it.

  I took a few deep breaths and tried to focus on what mattered. You’re being ridiculous. This is not about you. This is about Skylar. She’s your sister, and you love her, and you’re thrilled for her. She deserves to be happy. Just because she met the love of her life first doesn’t mean it’s never going to happen for you. Now get over yourself.

  The knot in my gut loosened a little. I was being ridiculous, wasn’t I? Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad. I had nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I had a lot to be proud of—M.D. after my name, a job I loved at a thriving pediatric practice, a great relationship with my parents and sisters, a beautiful condo with a riverfront view, a healthy body with the Nixon metabolism but not the Nixon ears, and a salary that allowed me to occasionally indulge my expensive taste in shoes and wine.

  At the end of the day, I was right where I wanted to be.

  It’s just … I was lonely. And worried I’d waited too long to make a relationship a priority. And scared that I’d never meet someone who’d make me fall head over heels like both my sisters had.

  No. Don’t start. You don’t have to let anyone see that. You just have to stand tall and smile, hopefully with a big-ass glass of wine in your hand.

  Ah, wine. Wine was my friend. Wine understood me. Wine knew that it was entirely possible to be one hundred percent happy for your sisters and also ten percent jealous, because Wine does not care about mathematics. And Wine would never ask why I didn’t have a man by age thirty. Wine and I had spent enough alone time together that Wine knew it wasn’t that I didn’t want to find love—of course I did.

  But it was fucking hard!

  It’s not like they were handing out soul mates at the deli counter. I’ll take one tall, dark, and handsome with a steady job and a good sense of humor—oh, not the six-inch, the footlong. Thanks.

  Sighing, I pulled up at the winery and parked in the side lot next to Miles’s Jeep. Around the back of the sprawling French Provençal style main building, a huge white tent
for the reception had already been constructed. The rehearsal was supposed to start at six, and it was a few minutes after, but I took a minute to refresh my lipstick and fuss with my hair. If I had to walk in late and alone, I could at least do it looking better than I felt.

  After a final once-over in the small rectangular mirror on the visor, I took one more deep breath and told myself, There is nothing wrong with you.

  Then I whispered it. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

  Then I said it louder. “There is nothing wrong with you. Other than the fact that you’re talking to yourself in the car.”

  A knock on the driver’s side window made me jump—it was Natalie.

  I opened the door and got out, my heart still pounding. “Jesus, Nat. You scared the shit out of me.”

  “Sorry. I came out to get my sweater because the A/C is on in there, and I was chilly.” She held up a navy blue cardigan and gave me a quizzical look. “What were you doing in there?”

  I locked my car, and we began walking across the gravel lot toward the main entrance. “I was … practicing my speech for the toast tomorrow. Are you sure I should be the one to give it? I feel like you’d be better at it.”

  “Tough. You’re the maid of honor.”

  “More like the old maid of honor.”

  She laughed as she elbowed me. “Oh, stop. You are not an old maid.”

  “Someone will make that joke tonight—I guarantee it.”

  “That’s ludicrous! You’re young and beautiful!”

  “I’m not young; I’m thirty. That’s like ninety in judgey years.”

  “Oh Jesus.” She shook her head as we climbed the stone steps leading to the massive double doors. “You’re gorgeous and smart and fun. You don’t need to settle for anything less than perfect, and perfect can take a while to find, especially with your schedule.”

  I groaned. “Tell me about it. I don’t even know where to look anymore.”

  “No more bites from that online thing?”

  I shook my head. “I got off that after the convicted felon contacted me.”

  “Oh. Well, what about that surgeon you met for drinks last week?”

  “Turns out he exaggerated the state of his divorce. As in, his wife didn’t know about it yet.”