When Sh*t Gets in the Way (When Life Gets in the Way Book 2)

by Ines Vieira

  “Olivia is what you would call a state of the art addict. She is addicted to anything that can make her feel good. Be it money, men, alcohol or drugs; you name it. But what she craves more is undying attention. She hated how Taylor had replaced her so well in my heart. Mind you she never was there in the first place, but my curiosity of why this woman abandoned me was new and unsettling. I was too young to understand any of it but old enough to know she should love me just as much if not more than Taylor did. That lack of love does something to a child. It makes you crave the other person’s attention and acceptance, even if they are the scum of the earth. Olivia was never a saint, but the word love to her is as foreign to her as an alien language is to us. I was entertaining to her for the first day or so of our visits together but then she ultimately would get bored with me and find other means of entertainment. Here entered the parties with booze, drugs, and sex. All of it out in the open where a very impressionable child shouldn’t have to be confronted with it. Olivia played her part well though. In the presence of my mother and father, even my grandparents, she demonstrated to be an eager parent wanting nothing more than to spend time with me. Even when certain events happened that were traumatic for me, she was able to convince them to always give her another chance. Either she went to rehab several times to show she was getting help or sometimes she stooped to blatant coercion and emotional blackmail to get her visitations. The years passed and each time Taylor and Craig left me at the penthouse for one of Olivia’s bonding weeks, I grew more distant, quieter.”

  “The cataclysmic event that brought the whole house of cards down was when Olivia left me alone in the house for a full week and decided getting a tan at some tropical island was preferable to spending time with her son. My grandparents were out of town and had given their staff the week off. In hindsight, they probably did that so there would be no witnesses to whatever Olivia would pull off next. On the fifth day, I had run out of food, so I called my father as a last resort. You see, I felt shame. Shame that I couldn’t get the woman that gave birth to me to love me as she should. Shame that I couldn’t take care of myself and needed others to look out for me. Shame that I couldn’t accept these little visitation rights of hers when by sacrificing a few days a month, I gained the best parents I could have ever wished for.”

  Oh, Quaid.

  “That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Apparently, my parents were more upset about me having to spend time with Olivia then they let on. I now know what happened, but when I was nine all I knew was that one day I was attending a private school in the city, living with my parents in a swanky loft in Brooklyn, and the next day, dad had formally resigned from his father’s company and moved us to our beach house in Plymouth. No more visits from Olivia, no more calls or texts or anything. She disappeared from my life and I was able to be what I always wanted to be. Just Taylor and Craig’s kid. Nothing else.”

  “I found out this week my dad handed her almost every last cent he had to his name over to her. In exchange, Olivia couldn’t approach me until my eighteenth birthday. Dad thought by this age; I would be able to make my own decision in regards to wanting Olivia in my life or not. Signed and sealed contract in hand and my father never batted an eye at losing his fortune to keep me away from her and to finally live away from his parents grasp.”

  “Why do you grandparents put up with her then? She seemed so chummy with your grandmother last time I saw her,” I ask still processing everything Quaid has divulged.

  “Appearances, Jess. To my grandparents, appearances are everything. Olivia knew how my biological father had died. Something my grandparents swept under the rug as an accidental drug overdose brought on by his depression. I bet all they saw was their stocks and bonds in their company devalue should it be known the real reason. Also, no one knows I’m not Craig’s biological son. For all intents and purposes, Taylor is my mother. Not Olivia. The gossip magazines would love to get their hands on dirt like this, but Olivia has always been shrewd. She knew that going off to sell her story to any of those magazines would offer only one payday. Why risk that when she could milk her maternity for years to come?”

  “Jesus,” I gasp.

  “I need a minute.” I get up from my seat and walk to the ensuite bathroom. I splash some water on my face, hoping it’s enough to cool my rising temperature. Quaid’s whole tale is so beyond anything I could even conceive even with my healthy imagination. He was just a kid pulled into so many directions. His loyalties so screwed up. Not knowing who was the right mother to love and wanting the wrong one to love him back. To be a five-year-old boy and be told your mom isn’t your mom and your father has already perished is hard enough to fathom. All this time I thought Olivia held a part of his heart, but in reality, all she held was a young child’s yearning of wanting the person who brought him into this world to love him just as much as the woman raising him. Am I surprised that he held off telling me such a safeguarded secret from me? I doubt he has ever been able to tell his story to anyone before. Those types of scars are better off buried in the past where they belong. Yet, here he is. Giving me all of it. All the ugly, distorted truth in hopes I will understand why he never gave it to me in the first place. So why am I still standing here looking at my pale reflection instead of running into his arms?

  Merda!

  I know exactly why. Because none of what he’s told me changes the fact he wasn’t honest with me in the first place. He led me to believe Olivia was something she could never be. I understand his motives of omission but still leaving me in limbo was almost cruel, even if unintentional. It broke something in me and if I’m being honest with myself, even the truth didn’t set me free. I still feel chained to the hurt and mistrust. Knowing my mind hasn’t changed even after Quaid’s story is just the icy water I needed to cool my veins. I walk back into the room and find Quaid looking as forlorn as I left him. I take one quick breath and pray that God gives me the courage I need to see this through.

  “I’m so sorry you had to go through that Quaid. If I wasn’t in awe of all you were able to accomplish, then by you telling me your story surely has made me so.”

  “Jess, I don’t need your admiration right now. I need you, don’t you see? You’re the only person I have been brave enough to tell. I mean, you’re the only person I ever wanted to tell in the first place!”

  “And I appreciate your honesty, Quaid. I really do. I appreciate that you finally came to me and told me the truth that was eating away at you, but don’t you see? Too much has passed for us to go back. I would always second guess your every word and you would end up resenting me for it. We’re too young to be dealing with shit like this. I mean, we should be arguing about which movie to pick on a Friday night, not on my ability to trust you.” And just with those measly words, I felt like Delilah cutting off Samson’s hair, because Quaid’s whole demeanor changed from entirely determined to utterly defeated.

  “I’ve lost your trust,” he whispers back to himself more than to me. I don’t confirm my previous statement. It would feel like putting salt in an already too open wound. A wound I caused with my own jagged perverse knife. I knew the smart thing was to push Quaid away. That was the smart thing. So why was my heart bleeding out on the floor next to him? Why was my chest screaming for me to stop this madness? Every inch of my being wanted me to run to his arms and ask him to hold me and promise me that he would never let me go, no matter how much I pushed him to.

  “Is that all I’ve lost, Jess?” Steel blue eyes frozen still lock on mine and I’m yet again a coward and turn my back to him, grabbing the back of a chair so my legs don’t fall from under me. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to run. But most of all I don’t want to do what I need to do. What I must do to quit Quaid altogether. And that is; break our hearts one more time. Only this time, I can’t be weak. I need a clean cut. I’m sure the hemorrhaging will stop eventually. People don’t really die of a broken heart, do they? We’ll both recover eventually. All my logical
stats and analyses of divorce rates, plus the percentage of unsuccessful college relationships, to whatever other crap I can come up with, gives me the conviction I need that I’m doing the right thing for both our sakes. Even if right at this minute it feels like my world is ending and I’m the one pushing the button of the nuclear bomb

  I summon all my remaining courage and face Quaid one more time, and see my answer reflected back to me. It even sounds like a bad joke. How long does it take to mend a bleeding heart? In our case, a lifetime isn’t enough.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m no longer yours to concern about.” If I thought this would be the blow that would finally break us, I was sorely mistaken. Instead, the unexpected happens. A broken Quaid begins to laugh. It takes me so off guard that I just stand there looking at him, jaw wide open and perplexed beyond belief. Here I am, dying inside and he's laughing? Really?

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I yell at him. I’m so mad I have to hold myself in place not to take the extra three steps to be right in front of his face to give him a slap that can be heard on the other side of the world. I mean, c’mon? How dare he? Can’t he see it’s taking every cell in me not to fall apart in front of him and he has the audacity to laugh? To fucking laugh?

  “I swear to God Quaid Stevens, if you continue to laugh like a fucking hyena for one more fucking second, I’m going to fucking kick you in the balls!”

  “There! There she is! There’s my girl!” he spits out slowly recovering from, what I can only assume, is an episode of sorts.

  “I’M NOT YOUR GIRL! I’M NOT YOUR ANYTHING! Haven’t you been paying attention! It’s done! It’s over!” I yell out and my whole body is either shaking from how mad I am or from the lies I’m spilling out. A now recovered Quaid takes those three safe steps that were keeping us protected from each other and grabs my face, pulling it up so that we are eye to eye.

  “I want you to listen closely, Jessica, and for once in your life, I want you to pay attention. I know how all you hear is the sound of your own voice in that head of yours, but if any of my words ever register, let these be the ones. YOU ARE MINE.” Eyes of steel, freeze me in place while his words start to carve their way into my soul.

  “And when I say you are mine I’m not saying that you are my property or a thing I bought or purchased. You are not an object or some trophy. When I say that you are mine, I mean that you are mine. You are my heart. My soul. My air and the lungs that I need to breathe it in. You are my dreams and my future. You are my present and my past. You are my will and my reason. You are my everything. So don’t tell me you’re not mine when everything that I am has your imprint on it.”

  I don’t even know when I start to cry, but I realize I am when Quaid starts to clean away my tears with the softest caress his thumbs can provide. Reaching down, he pulls up my trembling hands in his and places mine flat on his heart, covered by his. He then leans in and our temples join and this small action feels so familiar, that even though my heart aches. it also belts out loud in my ear; home.

  “You own me. If you’re not mine, then this thing that beats in my chest belongs to who, huh? Because it sure as fuck doesn’t belong to me, Jess.”

  I’m a blubbering mess. Each word he utters feels like he’s reading my thoughts like scripture. Having Quaid so near only messes with my mind even more and I don’t know what side is up anymore. Again, I feel powerless to hold my ground and I fear if he says one more word, I’m done for. I shake his hands away from my face, and immediately I feel cold without them. It will always be like this, won’t it? His puzzled face lands another blow to my fragile resolve and before I know it, my feet have taken my choice away from me, reaching the door as fast as they’ll take me. I only have enough time to offer two words to him as my only explanation as to why I need to be anywhere else but in this room with him.

  “I’m sorry.” And as I shut the door behind me, I am more repentant than he will ever know.

  I’m so sorry.

  Chapter 32

  Jess

  After leaving the hotel, I immediately text Drew and Izzy to know where they are. I desperately need my two friends to talk me through what happened. I need to purge the last hour out of me. I need to get back some clarity. Hell, gain some fucking logic and make sense of leaving Quaid behind after that painful disclosure. He bled his truth for me to witness and what did I do? I just hung him out to dry.

  Merda!

  Each organ in my body seems to be crashing one at a time at the realization that I messed this up with my running away. I’ve never run from anyone yet when it concerns Quaid; I’m out the door before I have time to collect my thoughts. It’s like my default setting is to run as fast and as far as I can when Quaid is in the picture. Why is it I do this only with him? I face anything else without batting an eye. Bullies and patriarchs alike have never intimidated me. But Quaid’s gentle heart has me booking the first flight to the moon to get the distance I need.

  I’m a mess, and I need my friends to help me out. Cass and Ronnie are in different time zones and are probably still sleeping, but it’s half past seven in New York City on a Saturday morning. Here everyone is awake and getting the day started, so Izzy and Drew are my go-to BFF’s this morning.

  Drew is the first to reply. Since Izzy is still probably asleep in our dorm room, Drew asks for me to meet him in his dorm. From there we can go back to my place and wake up sleeping beauty. Since we’ve started to be her shadow, Izzy has become more herself over the past couple of weeks. Sure, she still freaks out any time there’s a strange noise coming from outside our room, or someone lets a coffee mug fall in our favorite bistro, but she’s at least starting to sound more like the loveable Brit Drew and I adore.

  Drew’s been on a honeymoon high with Grant for the past couple of days, and it doesn’t seem as if this is going to change anytime soon. I’m hoping his recent positive outlook on life will cast its own bright light at my predicament.

  Drew’s dorm building is eerily quiet. It is Saturday morning, after all, so most of the students dwelling in these walls are still slumbering away. I knock on the door, jittering from side to side wanting to vomit out my drama-filled life to Drew when Evan opens the door. I shouldn’t be surprised since he is Drew’s roommate, but Evan opening the door in only basketball shorts and no glasses, makes me take a quick step back. Anytime I see Evan; he’s always so put together. His fashion sense of tweed coats and suede loafers do little for him. I’ve always pegged him as a wannabe one percenter, unimpressive and forgettable in all accounts. Well, at least to me anyway. But seeing him now without his Clark Kent apparel, I see the boy before me, is holding some serious heat. That would be all good and well for some early morning eye candy if I hadn’t had my fix already this morning, but something is off. Evan seems uncharacteristically disheveled. His hair is longer, his facial hair is in need of a good trim, and I can’t even recall when I’ve ever seen him this scruffed up. He looks like a freight train has run him over and someone forgot to tell him he should see a doctor to check for internal injuries. Wearing glasses usually hides any sentiment his brown eyes hold, but without them, I see they too look beaten to a pulp.

  “This is a bit early for a house call, Jessica,” Evan huffs, annoyed at my presence.

  “Yeah well, I’ve been up since four a.m. Thought I’d share the merriment. Just tell Drew to get his ass out of bed, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

  “He’s not here. Probably at his boyfriend’s. Check there,” he says already halfway closing the door in my face. I quickly place my hand on the door interrupting his quick retreat and pushing him to the side so he could see I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Well, that means that Drew’s on his way here now. So, I’ll just wait if that’s okay with you,” I state already entering and moving to Drew’s side of the room.

  “It seems I don’t have much say in the matter. Won’t tell you to make yourself comfortable either,” Evan snarks looking defeated by my unwanted pr
esence. I just shrug his taunt and fling myself on Drew’s bed. I have more important things to think about then Evan feeling his domain is being hijacked my visit.

  “Whatever. I need to grab a shower anyway. Hopefully, you won’t be here when I return,” he smirks and grabs a towel from the chair in the corner and a small case holding his grooming gear.

  “Nice talking to you too, Mr. Sunshine,” I yell out before he has time to slam the door behind him. Some people are just jerks in the morning I guess. I continue to stare at the wall, Evan’s mood already forgotten, when Drew texts me saying he’s just a couple of minutes late. Probably contained by Grant for a quick make-out session. Another pang of misery hits my heart. One of the highlights of my day began with Quaid enveloping me in his arms just before sunrise. It was our favorite time. Sometimes we’d talk about what we both had planned for the day, or what stupid dreams I had the night before. But what I remember most was his soft touch pushing my hair away from my face. His eyes studying mine with nothing but adoration in his. The streaks of the early morning sun kissing his skin.

  God, I miss him so much.

  This morning he showed me his bravery by confessing all the bull that happened in his family and how this little secret ended up controlling his decisions. How it molded him into the person he was. In some level, I get his reluctance to not spill his truth right from the start. I mean it’s one hell of a pill to swallow. And if I put myself in his shoes, can I say that I would have done anything differently? This secret wasn’t only his to share. It involved a myriad of people. People he loved before I ever came into the picture. If it was my mom and dad, would I be that eager to tell my boyfriend of a few months their past? Even if I did love him, would I have been that comfortable in sharing something that had hurt my folks and me? I’m torn just thinking about the hypothesis of such a scenario, while Quaid actually lived it.