Tuesdays at Six (Sunday Love Book 3)

by kj lewis

  Zinnie looks at her, tears flowing down her face.

  “I was being a brat,” she says wiping her nose. “I was mad because my friends were all hanging out that night. Mom and Dad couldn’t find a babysitter, so they made me stay home to keep Poppy.” She pulls at the tissue in her hand. Her eyes shift down. “I threw a fit when they said they were going to stay a little later. So, they left.” She looks at Charlotte. “They were on the road because of me.”

  “And Sam was behind the wheel because of me.”

  No one says a word. It’s as if a physical weight had been removed from Zinnie’s shoulders.

  “Keep going,” Grace says gently to Charlotte.

  “When I was released from the hospital, I was grieving the loss of the Abbotts and Kathryn. The funerals happened while I was still in the hospital. I thought maybe if I had gone I might have some closure. I don’t know. Sam visited me every day. Slept in a chair next to my bed every night.

  “The community wasn’t as forgiving. Especially once Mrs. Yates started spewing her hatred. She had lost her husband just six months before. Kathryn was her only daughter, and she couldn’t handle a second loss.

  “I mean, Christ, she was 21 and a day. A child herself. Accidents happen. She shouldn’t have picked up her phone, but how many of those people do the exact same thing every day? And to sit in judgement of her.

  “Like I said, her family didn’t have a lot of money. They didn’t have health insurance or burial insurance. Sam had to pay to bury them. Because she was ticketed for failure to maintain control of an automobile, her car insurance wouldn’t pay any hospital bills. She had to pay for the care her brother received. My stay and her visit. The state charged her for the emergency services, and even though the courts ruled she didn’t have to pay damages to Mrs. Yates, she did have to pay Kathryn’s burial costs. By the time all was said and done, Sam owed a little more than three-hundred-thousand dollars. She had to give up her scholarship and go to work to pay the debts she owed.

  “Sam has more than paid her penance. And I don’t mean just the money. What you saw at the restaurant that day was the hurt and grief of a woman who never sought help to deal with her loss. She will always blame Sam. It doesn’t matter that I know for a fact the only reason Kathryn went home with us was because her mom constantly made her feel bad for leaving her there after they buried her father. It doesn’t matter that Kathryn could have easily offered to drive. She could have stayed awake. She knew Sam was as tired as we were. There’s always someone to point the finger at. We can always play the ‘if only’ game. But you can’t, Zinnie, it will tear you apart.”

  “How did you get better?” Zinnie asks her, like a drowning man searching for a buoy.

  “Sam,” she says simply. “I didn’t know how to deal with the guilt I was feeling. So, I jumped on the bandwagon with everyone else. I mean, it’s hard to take responsibility for your part when you are blaming others, right? But Sam knew. She heard I was drinking more than I should have, and she showed up to my room, knocked on my door, and told me to get over myself. That dominos are dominos, and they are going to fall, whether you knock them over or someone else does. We are all affected by decisions made around us every day. We can’t control life. We can plan and influence it, but there will always be things truly out of our control.”

  “You make it sound like Sam is okay. I don’t think she’s okay.”

  “She’s a work in progress,” Zoe says. “Sam did the only thing she could do. She put one foot in front of the other until she found a pace that worked for her. She’s never told a soul about her family until she visited their burial sites with you. You girls, and Walt, changed her.”

  “Sam wanted you to forgive the man who killed your parents,” Charlotte explains, “because she knows what it feels like to hate someone. She hated herself for a long time. Counseling helped. We helped. Finn helped a ton when he hired her, but, ultimately, she had to let it go. I hated myself, too. Jesus, I had so many regrets, but Sam refused to let me wallow in them. She forced me to let it go.” Charlotte’s expression saddens more. “But with her, even though she had to forgive herself, I think there is a part of her that isn’t sure she deserves happiness. It’s why the three of us where so relieved to hear she didn’t give up until she wasn’t given a choice. For the first time since the accident, she fought for what she wanted. Forgiveness is for you, not the other person. Without it, you end up like Mrs. Yates. Driven by anger and hatred.”

  “What do you mean Sam didn’t give up until she didn’t have a choice?” Zinnie asks.

  “Sam came by every day for over a week to try to sort this out,” I tell Zinnie. “She didn’t stop until I told her she had to. You weren’t able to differentiate Sam from the man who took your parent’s lives. I made a promise to never put you in harm’s path. Sam was bringing you too much pain.” The last part of that sentence makes me nauseous, because I know that is the last thing Sam would ever want.

  Zinnie doesn’t say anything. There’s no revelation on her part. She just absorbs what Charlotte told her. Tears slip down her face, and she asks if she can be excused.

  “Yes, sweetheart,” I answer, and we watch her leave. Her shoulders slumped with carrying the weight of the world.

  “Thanks for coming over tonight,” I tell everyone. “It means a lot to the girls.”

  “We’re not finished,” Zoe says. “That was for Zinnie. Now, we have words for you.”

  “Zoe.” I run a hand down my face. I look like I’ve aged ten years in the last few weeks. I feel it, too.

  Quade takes the lead. “She’s the love of your life, and you just let her go.” Clearly Sam and I weren’t doing as well of hiding it as we thought we were. Honestly, that’s the least of my concerns.

  “Jesus Christ, don’t you think I know that?” I yell louder than intended, lowering my voice so I don’t disturb the girls. “I know that. I didn’t just let her go. I had to. I made—”

  “Yeah, yeah, we get it. You made a promise,” Zoe interjects. “It’s a promise you shouldn’t have made. You honestly think those girls are better off without Sam? Giving into Zinnie is not what is best for her. She has to work through this. Sam loves those girls like they were her own.”

  “How is she?” I ask.

  “Oh, you know. Someone stood up in front of a crowd and screamed aloud the thing she hates most about herself. She lost the only family she’s known since the loss of her own. She got kicked out of her apartment. Lost her job. And when I ask her about it she says that you were only doing what you know to be right, and we should cut you a fucking break. So, you know,” Zoe shrugs, “she’s peachy.”

  “Don’t sugarcoat it for him,” Quade says. “She looks like her fucking heart has been ripped from her body.”

  “You’ve seen her?” I ask, ignoring his last statement. “When did you see her?”

  Quade raises a brow. Shit, I’ve walked right into it. He can hear the jealousy in my voice.

  “I’ve spent time with her every day,” he goads. “Someone had to. You and Finn just dropped her.”

  “You’ve been with her this whole time? You didn’t think that was something I needed to know?”

  “You had the best fucking woman, and you deserted her.” He stands to leave then looks back to me. “I once heard Jenny’s dad tell Everett that the greatest gift he could give his daughters is to love their mother. Fix this.”

  “Or?” I bite back, still unreasonably pissed he’s been with Sam every day.

  “Or bro-code be damned man.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy. I mean, if it’s not me, it’s going to be someone right? At least with me, you’ll know she’s taken care of.” His eyes darken. “Her hair across my pillow. Her beneath me.”

  “Quade,” Finn warns, but Quade is not to be deterred. He leans his closed fist against the table.

  “My hands on her body. Skimming her hips before I m
ake her mine. My name on her lips, when she—”

  The chair I’m sitting in falls to the floor as I lunge at him, drawing up short when I’m pulled back by Pierce’s arms. Quade doesn’t so much as flinch.

  “You fucking stay away from her or I’ll rip your fucking heart out!” I roar.

  He shoves his hands into his pockets and I think it must be to keep from punching me.

  “Finally,” he says. “This is the Walt I know.” He goes to leave but turns around to make one point clear. “I didn’t say all of that to bait you. It’s a picture of what the future looks like. Fix this or step the fuck off.”

  Pierce pats my chest a couple of times to calm me down. “Where is she?” I ask.

  No one answers. Instead they stare at me likely wondering if I am to be trusted with her heart again.

  “If I have to ask again, it will get ugly,” I promise.

  “She’s on a business trip,” Grace offers.

  “So, let me get this straight.” Zoe leans back in her chair, her arms folded. “You’ve had, what? An epiphany?”

  “Well, yes,” I answer.

  “What’s changed? Don’t go after her because you don’t want Quade to have her. Don’t go after without knowing what you are doing.”

  “Tell. Me. Where. She. Is.”

  This has to be the longest flight in the world. I’m pretty sure we’ve circled the earth twice to get my arse to London.

  “What’s our ETA?” I ask my pilot.

  “The same as it was twenty minutes ago,” he answers, not at all intimidated by my surliness. I grumble about firing his arse and check my watch on the way back to my seat. Another fucking hour.

  “Another drink, Mr. Nelson?” Samantha, my stewardess asks. It had to be Samantha working this flight. Karma is fucking brutal.

  “Yes. Please,” I add after a beat, to soften the sting in my tone.

  I spent last night talking with Zinnie, and I think that is how Sam would have wanted it. I made it too easy for Zinnie to hide behind the mess, but in my gut, I know Sam understands. She would be the first to say the girls come first.

  I asked Charlotte to do it with me. As much as I wanted to be what Zinnie needed, it was obvious she needed Charlotte more. And there is a part of me that thinks Charlotte needed Zinnie just as much. My heart broke for the dark-haired beauty as she told her story last night. The pain still so fresh in her green eyes. I didn’t want that for Zinnie.

  Zinnie still has a long way to go, but I told her that it’s a path we walk together as a family, and that Sam is part of this family. Then I told her that I intend to marry her.

  This made Zinnie cry harder, not because she is against it, but she’s missed Sam. She begged me to let her come to London, so she could make this right with Sam, but I wouldn’t let her. Finn can bring the girls over if this goes well, but until I know for sure, I still have an obligation to protect them. And I have an obligation to protect Sam.

  The truth is, I don’t know what Sam is going to say or do when she sees me. It’s an excruciating reality to know you obliterated the heart of the person you love.

  Sam needed me, and I left her. I made mistakes and hid behind my own insecurities as a parent. I thought, look at me, I’m such a great parent, I even let the woman who gives me breath go. Instead, I should have been parenting Zinnie through her crisis. Not protecting her from it. It’s a hard lesson to learn. The difference between protecting someone and controlling their surroundings.

  I didn’t sleep a wink last night. Zinnie and I agreed that the reason for my trip wasn’t to be shared with Poppy. Not yet. It would be too confusing for her.

  Fuck me over. When I fuck up, I really fuck up.

  I was up with the sun. Zinnie hugged me until she stopped crying, then told me to go get Sam.

  When Graham and Emme Taylor entered their office this morning I was waiting for them. Like so many others, Emme has already taken a liking to Sam and wasn’t going to make this easy for me. I told her I didn’t need another lecture, that I already knew I was a daft prick who didn’t deserve her. When her lips twisted, I lost my shit and raised my voice. Not a mistake I will make again. I pray for the person who finds themselves on the wrong side of Graham Taylor. That man has serious protective issues.

  “Pot, kettle,” he stated when I told him as much.

  “Mr. Nelson, we have started our decent,” the pilot says overhead. Clearly, I am not the only one ready to get off this plane.

  The flight traffic is a nightmare and it takes and extra thirty minutes of circling until we have the clear to land. The wheels barely hit the ground before I’m standing at the door. Thankfully, my handler is used to me and has everything ready to go. The car is sitting on the tarmac, along with someone from customs to check me into the country and bypass all the lines.

  It’s now five in the evening. It’s nearly dark. As the lights of the cityscape twinkle, I sit impatiently in the car until we arrive at my destination, only placated when the historic structure comes into view. The Milestone Hotel. The Taylors take care of their own.

  I’m greeted by name when I exit the car. That’s the kind of hotel this is. The staff knows the wealthiest in the city without having to be told.

  “Samantha Abbott’s room.”

  “Of course, Mr. Nelson. Let me ring her.”

  “No. Room number please. I want to announce my own arrival.”

  “That’s against our…” I have to hand it to the young man behind the desk. He’s giving it his best, acting as if he will not be intimidated. We both know that’s not true, because this hotel understands power, and I have power.

  The manager arrives just as I start to lose my shit and informs me that Miss Abbott was delivered to the Four Seasons for a meeting and isn’t expected back until later this evening. I instruct him to please have the bell-hand pack her items and have them ready. We will be back to retrieve them.

  The lobby at the Four Seasons is larger and it takes me a minute to spot her. She’s sitting at the bar, engaged in a conversation with a man. He’s my age, maybe a year or two’s difference. He carries himself as someone with wealth does. I know she is here on business and I do not want to hinder her job, but when his lips touch her ear in a whisper, it’s clear I’m going to dig my hole deeper before digging my way out of it.

  “Samantha,” I all but growl.

  She’s surprised to see me, but she holds her composure. She introduces me to the man next to her, but I’m not listening. The veins in my neck pulse and I think I might now understand what Bruce Banner physically felt before he began to Hulk out. The rage flowing through me at the site of his hand on her thigh is greater than I’ve ever known.

  “Kindly remove your hand from her thigh,” I say, my hands balled into fist. The man astutely reads my threat and picks his hand up.

  “I look forward to seeing the numbers. If they match your proposal, we would be honored to carry the spring line.” He shakes her hand and leaves his half-eaten dinner on the bar.

  “We’re leaving,” I say to Sam.

  “I’m eating.” She turns back to her dinner and slowly cuts off a piece of steak. The bartender brings her a new glass of wine and she thanks him.

  “I’m not playing.”

  No response.

  I toy with the idea of carrying her out of here on my shoulder but that’s not really my style. Instead, I sit, facing her. She doesn’t face me, but when I cross one leg over the other as if I have all the time in the world, I catch an eye watching my movements. She’s not unaffected by me, that’s for sure. Attraction was never our problem.

  She chews each piece of meat longer than necessary, and by the time she picks up the dessert menu, I’ve had enough. Throwing some bills on the bar to more than pay for the meals, I stand.

  “Car. Now.”

  Two words. Simple, but effective. Or maybe it was my tone. Either way she’s making her way to the entrance. I take her elbow and guide her to the car. I instruct my driver to tak
e us to her hotel.

  We ride in silence. I don’t want to start a conversation that I can’t finish in the fifteen minutes we have.

  We arrive, and I shoot a menacing, albeit childish, look to the boy who refused me her room number, as we cross the lobby to an elevator.

  Sam’s room is quaint. It has a seating area and a bedroom. Smaller than the rooms I am accustomed to, but tastefully done.

  “Why are my things packed?” she asks when we enter the bedroom.

  “I had the staff pack them. We’re going to my house.”

  “I assume the girls are okay or you would have led with that,” she says kicking off her shoes. Her suitcase is packed, but left open on the valet stand. She digs in and pulls out something more comfortable than the dress she is wearing. Thank fuck, because she is spectacular in it, and it’s hard to concentrate when she looks this good. She shimmies out of it, leaving herself in a lingerie set that has my dick a concrete rail.

  She removes her bra, and when the breasts that I have adored since I first saw her spring free, there is no way my arousal can be hidden. She doesn’t notice, or maybe she doesn’t care. She slides on a plain white t-shirt then sits on the bed to slide off her thigh highs. Next, her knickers fall to the floor and she bends to pick them up. I wish she had her back to me so I could see her arse. Instead, the shirt billows out and I see nothing. She reaches in her case again and pulls out Finn’s sweats.

  She sighs when they are pulled up and in place. She puts everything she was wearing away in her case then grabs a makeup bag of sorts. Still not a word spoken. I follow her to the bathroom where she washes her face, then brushes out her hair.

  I was wrong. She should have stayed in the dress. Here, in her natural beauty, when she is most gorgeous, she’s more of a distraction.

  Her facewash and lotions go back into her case, and I think she is ready to zip up and head out with me. Instead, she goes back out front, grabs a water and some chocolates from the mini-bar, and takes a seat on the couch. Her legs fold under her.

  “We’re leaving. Going to my house,” I say again.