“Is there something else going on?”
I sigh, sinking back down into the couch cushion. “I finally ran into Madison. I think she’s an even bigger mess than I am. Pregnant and all.”
“That’s crazy! Do you think she thought you’d be disappointed in her? I mean, Emery was worried about telling everyone for that exact reason.”
“I don’t know. Everything seemed off, like I wasn’t even looking at the same person.”
“That sucks, but the people who stay in your life through your struggles are your true friends. She should have been there for you.”
“Like Beau was for you?”
“Exactly!”
“I don’t know. I just feel like things have to get better at some point. At least they can’t get worse.”
“Do you remember the napkin I gave you when you came into the diner? Remember those words no matter what happens,” she says quietly.
I’d completely forgotten about the napkin until just now. Too much happened after we left the diner that day, and I never took it out of the pocket of leather jacket. “I will,” I reply, trying to remember where I put that jacket. I haven’t worn it since then.
“Hang in there. I’ll take a look at my work schedule and see if we can do another girls’ day soon.”
“I’d like that.”
“Anyway, I need to get going. Beau just walked through the door. He says he has a surprise for me.”
“You’re so lucky. Don’t forget that.”
She’s quiet. It’s a rare occasion. “You better call me if you need anything.”
“I will. Have a good night.”
“You too. I hope your book is good.”
As I hang up the phone, I stand up from the couch and run upstairs, hoping the napkin is still tucked away in my jacket. Luckily, the coat is right where it should be, hanging behind my door. Sliding my fingers into the right pocket, I breathe a sigh of relief when I feel the paper against my fingertips. I pull it out, unfolding it carefully. The words take my breath away.
I pin it on my bulletin board and head downstairs to finish my book, realizing my lips are turned up for the first time this week.
“Rachel, why don’t you go up to bed?” I must have drifted to sleep at some point while reading because Dad stands over me now. He’s still dressed in his suit, but his tie hangs loosely from his neck.
I yawn, noticing the small flame that still burns in the fireplace. That’s not going to make him happy. “What time is it?”
“A little after twelve,” he replies, kneeling down to extinguish the flames. “Has your mother been in bed a while?”
“She went up a few hours ago.”
He nods, his body completely unmoving. I’ve often wondered what he’s really doing when he’s out late. Can there really be this much to do at the office, or is there something else that keeps him out late at night? Sometimes, when I actually see him come home, there’s something like guilt written on his face. One night, I swear there was even the scent of a woman’s perfume. Mom doesn’t see it, or she doesn’t want to. Even I denied it for the longest time.
“Are you holding up okay?” he asks out of the blue.
“Things can’t get any worse,” I say honestly.
He looks back over his shoulder. “Your mom said you remembered part of the accident. That should help if the police ever decide to press charges or any lawsuits are filed.”
Guess that ball wasn’t done twisting. Everything always comes back to the legalities with him. It’s not about me. It’s not about Mom. We’re just part of a package. One he needs for his presentation of the perfect man.
Sitting up, I let my feet fall off the end of the couch. “I’m going up to bed.”
“Okay,” he mumbles, turning back to the small flame.
My thick wool socks make little sound against the wood floors. This house feels like nothing more than an oversized, empty box. It’s never felt much like a home. Sometimes, when Dad’s not here, Mom and I pretend it is. But it isn’t. It never will be.
THE THING ABOUT FLOWER shops in the fall is business slowly dies down. Weddings become fewer and far between. There are still anniversaries and funerals, but those don’t require as much work on our part. I miss being busy. It helped keep my mind where it needed to be.
“If you want to head out early today, you can!” Ms. Peters yells from inside the cooler.
Do I want to? No. Do I think I’m a good use of her money right now? No.
“Is there anything you want me to do before I leave?”
“If you could sweep in the showroom, I think I can handle the rest,” she says, coming out with an armful of roses. With the swing of her hip, the cooler door closes. I’ve never seen anyone work quite as hard as she does, even my dad.
“Will do.”
Sweeping isn’t my favorite thing to do here because of all the little thorns and pieces of glitter that always seem to find their home on the tile floor. If it were up to me, I’d probably run a vacuum over it and make quick work of my little enemies.
I’m halfway done with my last assignment for the day when the door buzzes. That’s another thing about flower shops. Customers don’t come in and out like they do the grocery store or gas station. You can go hours without seeing anyone.
Looking up over my shoulder, I spot Madison standing right inside the door. “Hey Madison, can I help you with something?” I ask.
She walks to me like a cat to a mouse. “I was wondering if you have time to talk. Somewhere private.”
I’m taken aback but interested all the same. “I’m off as soon as I finish this. If you want to just wait.”
“Yeah, I can do that.” She sounds scared and vulnerable, like all the ways you don’t want someone to sound when they ask to talk to you.
“Is the baby okay?” I ask. Her baby bump is apparent under her black trench coat, but that doesn’t mean a whole lot.
“The baby’s fine,” she says, smiling weakly. “I’ll wait outside.”
I watch her, afraid she’ll leave before she says what she came to say. It’s the quickest sweep job in history. If Ms. Peters thought my behavior to be off, she didn’t say anything. When designing an arrangement, she loses herself in it. Her eyes narrow with every flower she places, then she steps back to look at it. She repeats these steps over and over again until her vase is full.
She’s definitely not paying any attention to me.
I quietly clock out and pull on my puffy black jacket. Tonight brings our first chance of snow. I hate the cold, but I love to sit inside my warm house by the fire and watch the little white flakes fall.
When I step out onto the sidewalk, Madison’s back is pressed against the brick building. She’s watching cars go by, but I don’t think she’s actually seeing them.
“I’m ready,” I announce.
“We should probably go somewhere private.” Her voice shakes like a wall near a passing train. It’s scaring the shit out of me.
“Like coffee shop private or my car private?”
“Car,” she answers, pushing off the wall of bricks.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my keys and press my thumb against the unlock button. I glance at her, noticing she’s already heading for the passenger seat of my little car. Whatever this is, she can’t wait to get it out.
I step off the curb, looking both ways before entering the street. As I pull the car door open, I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into, but I already feel sick to my stomach.
“We’re not going anywhere, are we?” Madison asks, interrupting my trance.
I look down, feeling the seatbelt buckle in my hand. Either nervousness or habit caused me to grab ahold of it. “No. Just a habit, I guess.” I let it fall back and fold my hands in my lap. “What did you want to talk about?”
She focuses her eyes out the window and clears her throat. “There are two things actually.” Her bottom lip quivers.
This is like watching cars collide, or m
aybe the car is coming at me. “Okay.”
“I’m going to start by saying I’m sorry. It’s not going to be enough, but I’m so, so sorry.”
All I can do is stare.
“I was there that night at the party. I never joined the crowd, though, so no one saw me. Well, except for two people.” She pauses, covering her mouth with her small, bony hand. “I went with Sam. I hung out with him every now and then when I just wanted to have a good time.”
My eyes fixate on her round stomach. Sam’s baby. She’s carrying Sam’s baby.
“Why didn’t Sam tell me?” I cry, feeling the weight of months of heartache weighing on me. Was this some sort of sick joke between them? If they were on a mission to hurt me, they’ve succeeded.
She shrugs. “I don’t think it was a big deal to him. It was all about fun, you know?”
“What does he think about the baby?”
Her brows pull in as her fingers run over the top of her rounded belly. “He doesn’t know about the baby.”
That fact shouldn’t comfort me, but it does. At least I know he didn’t sleep with me knowing he was having a baby with my former best friend. After that potential anger toward Sam is wiped away, my disappointment in Madison boils over. “How can you not tell him he’s going to be a father?”
Her eyes double in size. “It’s not his. It’s not Sam’s.”
“It’s not?” Those conversations where you feel like you’re talking in circles … this is one of them.
She folds her elbows onto her lap, burying her hands in her hair. Not an inch of her face is in my view. “That night … you saw me. You looked so broken … that look in your eyes. I’m so sorry.”
She must be talking to the wrong person. I’d remember being upset at Madison. I would have felt it when I saw her in the hospital. “I still don’t understand.”
“I was with Cory … in the woods. We were messing around, and you must have come looking for him. I saw you, but he didn’t. When you ran off, I texted Sam and told him he needed to find you.”
My heart’s gone. It has to be because I swear it’s not beating. My lungs must be missing, too. I can’t breathe. I feel, but not alive. I’m too broken to even feel broken. My boyfriend and my best friend. The one who’d promised me so much, and the one who I’d thought would be my sister for life. This is not all right. How the fuck did they ever get it in their minds that it was?
“How long? How many times had you ‘messed’ around with my boyfriend?” The words escape me before I even have time to think about them.
She sobs. Flat out sobs into her palms. I don’t feel sorry for her, not even one bit. “A few months. Since the Christmas before when we ran into each other at a party. It only happened a few times when you weren’t around.”
I’m upset.
Hurt.
Furious.
Pissed off.
“Thanks for keeping it behind closed doors,” I groan, every last bit of sarcasm dripping from my voice.
“I didn’t mean it like that. Cory was committed to you, but one night we were talking, and he said things were different. He said he’d asked for a break. I knew you were still together, but it was Cory. I’d had a crush on him since high school.” She’s still crying. She doesn’t deserve that release of emotions.
“Why are you telling me this now? Why not just let it go?”
“Don’t you get it? The baby is Cory’s. I’m not going to be able to hide it for much longer. My mom thinks I’ve been sleeping around because I won’t name him. She sent me to stay with my aunt so people wouldn’t talk, but I’m back now. They’re going to talk.”
I heard her, but I think I stopped listening when she said ‘The baby is Cory’s.’ This crap doesn’t happen in real life. It’s a scene scripted for one of those trashy soap operas. Not me. This can’t be meant for me.
“Please tell me you’re lying,” I plead, shaking my head wildly.
She lifts her head back up, revealing her swollen, red eyes. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
That’s why I was running that night. I was running to get away from them, to escape the ugliness. And Sam, he was there to save me. Cory and I weren’t fighting because I was in Sam’s arms … we were fighting because I’d caught him with my best friend. He ran me off, and I landed safely with Sam. It’s not my fault. It’s not.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Car. Get out!” My whole being shakes with anger.
She jumps, fumbling for the door handle. This isn’t just a two car wreck … it’s a multi-car pile-up. When her door finally clicks open, she takes one more look back at me. “I never slept with Sam. I think you should know that.”
“Just go. Please.” My voice is lighter, calmer. There’s only one place I want to go right now, and I can’t get there with her leg dangling from my car.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, disappearing under the dull light of the early evening. I sit and stare straight out the windshield, watching the first of the white flakes fall from the sky. They’re not much if you look at them from a distance, but up close, they have more of a pattern. They say no two snowflakes are the same, which is amazing if you really sit and think about it.
I attempt to lose myself in their design, their intricacy, but it doesn’t work. After every snowflake is a vision of Cory, then a vision of Cory and Madison together, and it makes me sick. So freaking sick. How can two people who are supposed to have your back do the worst freaking thing imaginable? I could never, ever do something so callous. What would be the freaking joy in that?
Cars are starting to disappear. Once everything closes downtown, it becomes a ghost town. The few people still lingering are looking at my car sideways. I haven’t looked in the mirror, but I probably look like hell. I feel like hell.
After what feels like hours, I start my car and put it in drive. Maybe I shouldn’t be driving, but I know exactly where I’m going, and the path to get there is etched in my memory. That’s one of the best parts of living in a small town; you can drive almost anywhere on autopilot.
THERE’S A SHORT DIRT road that leads to the fields. It’s easy to travel on right now, but once the snow becomes a weekly thing, it’ll be impossible. My feet aren’t too tired to walk out here, but my mind is. I’m drained. I’ve been sucked of all life. I don’t feel human anymore.
I put my car in park and turn off the engine. Mindlessly, I walk to the line of trees, sliding down against my favorite oak. The air is bitterly cold, but it doesn’t faze me. Nothing can right now.
I have no hat. No gloves. No boots. But I want to be out here more than I want to be anywhere else. The cold awakens me. Makes me feel like I’m anything but dreaming.
I rest my head back against the rough bark and glare up at the night sky. The stars are hidden behind the clouds, which is a shame because I could spend hours identifying them. Since that’s not an option, I let my eyes drift closed, and my mind starts to wander … I should have kept them open.
This party is exactly what I wanted to avoid. A bunch of my old high school classmates falling over drunk, slurring their words, and even a few hook-ups. Cory disappeared more than twenty minutes ago to find us drinks. If I had a few drinks in me, I could ignore it, dull my senses, but I can’t now. I just want Cory back so we can leave.
“Hey Rachel, where’s Cory?” It’s Kyler. He’s someone who Cory hung out with a lot in high school. A nice guy but he lacks some common sense.
“He went to get us a drink. How’s Northern Iowa treating you?”
“It’s good. It’s good,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I have everything for lemon drop shots over by the cooler. You want one?”
I scan the crowd again. No sign of Cory. “Why not.” At least the alcohol will help me tolerate this scene.
Following Kyler to the back of his pick-up truck, numerous sets of eyes follow me. It’s not abnormal … it happens a lot, especially when I’m with Cory. Tonight, they just feel different, though, and I can’t put my finger on
why.
“Don’t tell anyone I said this, but the only reason I bring all this shit is to get girls to talk to me. I give them a couple, and they tell me just about anything I want to hear.”
I watch him fill one of the tiny, cheap shot glasses he always brings with him. “Nice, Kyler.”
“Some of us haven’t been dating the same person since freshman year in high school. We need all the help we can get.”
“Some things never change, do they, Kyler?”
“You haven’t,” he remarks, looking deep into my eyes. “Wrist.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve taken a shot from Kyler. I know the drill. I lick my wrist, and he uses a small shaker to pour sugar on it. He places a lemon slice in my left hand and the full shot glass in my right. “If you weren’t Cory’s girl, I’d let you do this off my abs.”
“I’m sorry I’m missing out on that,” I say, licking the sugar from my wrist. I quickly chase it down with the shot, then take the lemon between my teeth. I wince. These things aren’t my favorite, but they’re still better than the beer they usually have on tap.
He grins. “Want another?”
“No,” I reply, handing him back his shot glass. “I need to find Cory.”
“Rachel, I—”
I raise my hand and walk away. “Bye, Kyler. It was nice seeing you.”
After walking the perimeter, I still can’t find him so I head off toward a grove of trees. He’s probably not in here, but I’ve looked everywhere else. It’s dark. Too dark. I walk around the edge, scared that if I walk between the trees, I’ll trip over branches or God knows what else people left in here.
When I’m on the far side, the one you can’t see from the party, feminine moans fill the otherwise quiet night. I step in past the first line of trees, more curious than anything. The moans get louder, and now, I hear a male whisper accompanying them. Step through one more line of trees, I tell myself. One more.
I immediately wish I’d stayed back. Cory is wearing the light blue polo shirt I bought him for his birthday, but it’s pulled up along his waist. His shorts and boxers are down at his ankles. I can’t see his face, but I know it’s him. Thin bare legs are wrapped around his waist.
Living With Regret (Rains Series Standalone Book 3) Page 23