“Which is why I’m worried about you.”
“Ah.” I lean back in my chair. “Finally, the reason why you’ve dropped by.”
“Look, I know it’s an adjustment. Hell, I wouldn’t be adjusting near as well. I think you’d still be finding me at the bottom of a bourbon barrel.”
“Get to the point, Ash.”
Ash rests his elbows on his knees and gives me the serious eye. He’s not one to be grave, but when he wants to, his dark blue eyes, framed by the multiple tattoos on his neck, arms, and chest, create a sinister effect. “Figuring out how to raise a kid is difficult enough. But now you have a girl living with you, someone you don’t really know but who’s obsessed with Lily.”
I scoff. “Obsessed? Dude, she raised her for the first nine months of her life.”
“What’s stopping her from kidnapping Lily and taking her to a country with no extradition?”
My brows jump. “Money, for one.”
“Maybe she’s staying with you to steal your savings and then go.”
I point in the general direction of the hallway. “Remember seeing all that shit out there? Is that the sign of a woman making plans to steal from me?”
Ash falls back against the couch and crosses his arms. “You don’t know her.”
“I don’t know a lot of women I get involved with.”
“So you admit you’re getting involved with her?”
“Oh, come on.” I’m close to standing and walking off the static energy Ash has caused. “She was Lily’s second parent for almost a year, then suddenly, after losing Paige, she’s told she no longer has rights to the kid. I felt sorry for her, okay? You didn’t see the way she was saying good-bye to Lily. What man am I for deliberately ripping a child away from the only other person they’ve ever known? Not to mention,” I add when Ash opens his mouth, “I have no idea about Lily’s habits, her wants, needs. Carter’s been essential in helping out with that.”
“You’re giving her too much credit.”
“This is stupid.” I stand and pick Lily up. She drops the empty bottle with a clatter. “I’m putting her down for a nap. Whether you’re here or not when I come out, I don’t give a shit.”
“Don’t be like that, Locke.”
I pause near Lily’s door. “You come into my home, questioning my decisions, questioning how I’m choosing to raise my kid, Ash. How do you expect me to react?”
“I’m watching your back.”
“No, you’re waiting for me to fuck up, just like you always do.”
“Not fair. And don’t swear in front of the baby.”
My mouth thins.
“You didn’t see yourself six months ago, but I did,” Asher continues. He lifts from the couch. “And the moment you get right, a baby’s dropped in your lap. Then a woman who doesn’t want you to have that baby wants to crash at your place for who knows how long. You have no clue about her motives because you don’t know her. You can’t blame me for wanting you to be careful.”
“I’m doing fine, Ash. Lily wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”
“I saw the way you looked at her the other night.”
“Lily? Of course, I’m lookin’ at her.”
Ash’s stare goes flat. “You know who I mean.”
I do. But I don’t feel like talking about it. “I’m handling myself, man. You came here to make sure of that, so go and tell East and Ben the same. Make sure to tell them—and you can quote me on this—I’m not fucking Carter. There. Happy?”
“Are you feeling guilty? For not knowing Lily’s mom well enough? And now Carter is some sort of penance?”
“Ash, just shut up already.”
“Why do you need to prove to her you’re a good guy? It’s not your fault, Locke. What happened to Paige.”
“Apparently, it is. We didn’t use enough protection. I used a condom, but…”
“Mistakes happen. That doesn’t mean you deserve to suffer for it.”
“I’m far from suffering.”
“You’re going through a lot right now, bud. Don’t add proving some dumb shit to Carter to the mix—”
I’ve had enough. “Dude. You’re not my therapist. You’re a chef, so unless you’ve brought those maple bacon cupcakes you excel at as Lily’s housewarming present, you can show your ass to the door.”
Asher doesn’t relent. “When is Carter leaving? Because it looks like she’s moving in.”
“She’s selling the damned paintings… You know what? I don’t need this.” I storm into Lily’s nursery, but gently. I also quietly shut the door even though I want to slam it until it cracks down the center. After I put Lily in her sleep sack and turn on the white noise machine and lay her down, as instructed, I reenter the main room, but Ash is gone.
Thank fuck.
If there’s one person to make me face my demons, it’s him, and at the moment, living in the present is working out just fine.
Now that Lily’s gone to sleep without a peep, I make a little more noise, stomping around the apartment, ignoring the warning flares my left knee keeps sending out. I fling the front door open and carry Carter’s paintings in.
Then, angry at Ash, at myself, at Carter, I decide to rip open one of the packages and see why these wrapped frames caused such concern with Asher.
The paintings are packed in twos, and there are three flat boxes. I choose the first, setting it against the arm of the couch and tearing through the tape on strength alone. I reveal the first painting on top.
This one is of flowers, no idea which kind, but they’re white, framed with a lot of green. My amateur eye can catch the details, the small brushstrokes versus the big, and I’m happy to spot a small bee nestled among the petals, like a fancy version of Where’s Waldo I’ve just won.
With one hand, I’m holding the top of the painting, but I step back to get a better view, and that’s when I see it. A face, hidden in the flowers—made of the flowers. The bee is in a skull’s eye socket, petals flaring where the nose hole is. Thorns make up the teeth. There’s a lot more depth to this picture than I initially thought. Instead of a nightmare within the plants, it’s strangely alluring.
Fuck.
It’s beautiful. Beautiful and sad.
Just like her.
And I’m forced to admit, just as Asher predicted, I’m in for a world of trouble because of it.
The buzzer sounds and I’m jolted from the couch, laptop clunking to the ground as I fly awake. The constant thrum of the white noise machine is still going in the nursery, meaning Lily’s still asleep.
I stand, wincing at the sudden, crushing pain in my left leg. I should’ve stretched before I went prone, but I didn’t expect to fall asleep, and now my knee will make me pay for it.
I limp over to the door and press the button to open the downstairs entrance. Soon, I hear clomping steps and the creak of my apartment door as Carter steps in.
She took the stairs too fast and didn’t give me time to settle. I’m still favoring my leg in an attempt to get back to the couch.
“I knew you were doing too much this morning,” she says as a greeting and shuts the door. “Let me help.”
“I don’t need it.” I brush off her helping hands.
“Quit being so stubborn—”
“I said I don’t need it.” My halting arm is coupled with a glare and Carter gets the message.
Kind of. “Fine. Then I’m getting some ice.”
Groaning quietly, I lie back on the couch, lifting my leg to rest on a pillow.
“Do you have any pain meds anywhere?” she asks as she approaches with ice wrapped in a towel.
“No.”
“Seriously? With an injury like that?”
“No pain meds.”
“Not even ibuprofen—?”
“I said no, Carter.”
“Okay, sorry.” She raises her hands in surrender, looks to the nursery, and, seemingly satisfied, takes a seat in the chair I never slid back to the table when Asher lef
t. “Did I do something?”
“What? No.”
“My paintings.” Carter’s distracted, at last noticing the stack of cardboard propped up near my head.
She heads over, bringing with her a wafting scent of roasted coffee beans and fingers a loose strip of tape. “You opened it.”
“You had it shipped to my home, and it was blocking my hallway. I wanted to know what it was.”
I’m being a dick. I don’t care.
“That’s fair. I just…it’s kind of embarrassing. I don’t show a lot of people…”
“I can see why.”
She blanches, and I ignore the punch it causes to my gut.
I forge on. “It’s a little dark, isn’t it? And dreary. Will the coffee shop really want something like that?”
“I…” Carter’s looking in every direction but at me. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried to showcase my work before.”
“You have anything happier in there?”
Her brows come down, shadowing her eyes, as she caresses the corners of the packages. “Probably not.”
“Well, it was a lot to ship over here. I hope it works out.”
I lay the bag of ice on my knee, grateful she brought it but refusing to say thank you. It would mean I have to look at her again, pretend I don’t see the hurt fissuring through her wide eyes.
“Is this what you do when you’re in pain?” she asks quietly. “Lash out at people?”
“You don’t know me.”
“You’re right about that,” she says.
We hear Lily’s cries at the same time, and Carter’s hand drops from her work. “I’ll get her. And take her for a walk. It’ll give you time to…rest.”
“That’s a great idea.”
“Great,” she parrots and goes across the room. She disappears behind Lily’s door.
I remain splayed out on the couch, and I’m not happy about it. Asher got to me. The painting got to me. Carter’s fucking getting to me. And I’m pissed off at all of it.
My phone buzzes in my jeans pocket. I finagle it out after a few grunts and answer. “What.”
“Jeez. I haven’t even said anything, and already you’re down my throat.”
My head falls back against the pillow. “What else do you have to say, Astor?”
“Well, I was going to apologize for how I acted with Carter. I know I was rude. Couldn’t help it. But seeing you with Lily…I can see she’s been helping you through a tough time.”
“At least someone can.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Anything else?”
Astor goes quiet on the other end. She’s dealt with my moods before. “I wanted to ask you if it was okay to take Carter out.”
“Out where?”
“Drinks. Dinner. Socializing, Locke.” Astor loses all hesitation. “Poor thing is cooped up in there with you, Mr. Grumpy Pants. Can’t be good for her health. I thought I’d show her some city nightlife.”
I pause. When Astor offers to do something, it’s never for the recipient’s benefit. Usually, she needs a favor. Or is looking for leverage.
I stare at the wall, where on the other side, Carter is changing and crooning to Lily, maybe singing that lilting, addictive song of hers, and I can’t help but agree with my sister.
I hate agreeing with my sister.
Carter doesn’t have anyone here, save for a baby who only speaks in babble and a roommate with a lame leg. She deserves some fun, and if my sister can give her some, who am I to stop it?
I don’t define it as guilt over my current behavior.
“I’ll ask her,” I say to Astor.
“Good. Let me know. Or give her my number, whatever you want. Tomorrow night, in Manhattan.”
“Sure. I’ll tell her.”
Astor’s likely rolling her eyes on the other end. “Thanks, oh benevolent one.”
“You’re welcome. Talk later.”
“Go take a nap with your daughter.”
I click off and let the phone topple to the floor, angry that I can’t roll over, face the couch cushions, and get lost in the dark.
15
Carter
I left Locke and Lily at the zoo, conscious of my growing feelings for Locke and come back to a different man, conscious of what I’ve done wrong.
And I hate that.
The growing, nauseous sway resulting from the guilt over merely existing next to a person. Because that’s all I’ve done—been beside him, functioning through Lily and refusing to be regarded as a pimple growing on his chin, or worse, a freeloader.
I remember how his gang of buddies looked at me. What they think.
Paige always made fun of me for caring too much. Being too much of a people pleaser. Yet here I am, changing Lily on autopilot, my mind distracted by the guy lying on the couch in the other room, clearly in pain.
But did that give him an excuse to be a dick to me? Hell, no. And as soon as I finish wiping one human’s bum, I’m not about to kiss another.
The meeting at the cafe went well enough. I was lucky Pierce, the owner, was open to another artist. I was even luckier to have Pierce express interest in the artwork, a few pieces of which I showed him on my phone. I was lucky Locke took pity on me and let me stay for a while longer with Lily.
This past week, I’ve been really lucky.
Maybe, it’s time for it to run out.
“Baby,” I whisper, and pull Lily close so I can smell her sweet smell. She coos, grabbing for my hair.
Laughing, I pull back. “When are you gonna talk to me, huh? Or grow some teeth?”
She grins at me, displaying her full, pink, toothless mouth.
“God, I love you.” I hold her tight until she demands I don’t and balance her on the floor, taking her hands.
“How ‘bout we show Dad your catwalk?”
“Ahbahdahba.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Keeping a hold on her like a puppeteer, I prop the nursery door open with my foot while Lily and I toddle out.
We come into view before Locke notices, and I take in his dark frown, his thousand-yard stare into the wall, and I want to know everything he’s thinking.
Does he regret having me here? Is he gearing up to ask me to leave?
“Hey, Dad,” I say with forced cheer.
Reluctantly, Locke uses his neck, but when he lands on Lily, she can’t help but crack through his barriers.
“Look at you!” he says, propping himself up. He covers it well, but I notice the grimace and wonder, again, why he won’t take any medicine for it.
“Walk to Daddy,” I say to Lily, and let go.
Tentatively, she takes a few steps and watching Locke’s face go from depressed to brooding to ecstatic, I want to kick myself for not showing him sooner.
“She’s got her sea legs!” he says, and claps when Lily does. “C’mere, little sputnik.”
She screeches and walks faster, then topples to her hands and knees.
“Whoops,” Locke says.
It pains him, but he moves his legs off the couch, then gets onto the ground with her, worsening the strain.
Jesus Christ, I’m an idiot. I can’t do anything right, not even cheer him up properly without forcing him to use his knee.
“The coffee shop was a dumb idea,” I blurt out.
Locke glances up. “What?”
I gesture to the front door. “The art display, all of it. It’s so stupid. I don’t know what I…” I shake my head, resist the urge to cover my face with my hands. “What am I doing here?”
To prevent further injury to Locke, I scoop Lily, bring her to the door, open it, and jerkily drag the stroller in. Locke’s attempting to stand, using the ottoman as a prop. “Carter, wait. I need to process what you’re saying.”
“See?” I say with high-pitched strain. “I come into your apartment, clearly interrupting your quiet time, and when I notice you’re sad, all I want to do is make it right, and what’s better than a ba
by fresh off her nap? But instead of making anything better, I hurt you further.”
“I don’t…” He shakes his head as if dislodging cotton balls. “Speak slower.”
“All I’m doing by being here is creating hurt. For you, for Lily. For me.”
Locke huffs out a breath and rakes one hand through his hair as he falls back onto the couch. “You’re not creating a problem by being here.”
The whole thing comes out as a sigh. “Yeah, you’re really convincing me right now.”
His hand falls from his head, and he asks the ceiling, “What is it you want from me?”
“To…to…” I have no idea. I left the cafe feeling pretty good about the present, falling into a routine and looking forward to having dinner with Lily and Locke. Locke. He’s an unexpected addition in my happy family imagination, but I don’t mind it. I want to hear his lame jokes over dinner and watch him spoon-feed Lily when she’s finished flinging pasta at the walls. I want to see him laugh over something I said and look at me a little too long over his forkful of food that I made.
Except, what I walked into was the exact opposite. Locke, angry, alone, and wallowing. Lily, asleep and unable to create an amusing buffer between us. He’s angry at me. Locke’s angry at my presence.
And that doesn’t just hurt. It destroys.
“I’m taking her for a walk,” I say instead, even though I’ve already mentioned it to Locke. “We’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Shouldn’t you stay?” But he doesn’t mean it. I can tell. His eyes are hooded, and he appears to be ten seconds from passing out.
“Nothing more needs to be said.” I can’t look at Lily for this part. “I’ll start looking for flights.”
Locke jerks upright. “Carter—no. How I acted before, I was an ass. I don’t want you to leave.”
“But I have to,” I say and hate how I tremble. “This isn’t real. We’ve been play acting.”
“What about all these paintings?” He motions to my stack. “Your plans here? You don’t need to leave. We’re having a fight. That doesn’t mean I want to kick you out.”
Trusting You Page 11