Nothing But Trouble (A Saratoga Falls Love Story Book 2)

by Lindsey Pogue

  “I was losing control of everything, and although I didn’t realize it then, I was clinically depressed, and it only got worse as the years went on.” She glances between us again, and I can tell she’s deciding how much to tell. “I thought about ending my life so many times. I knew it wasn’t healthy—for you kids or for me. The day I hit David for demanding a peanut butter sandwich instead of the ham and cheese I’d made him, the moment I felt hate in my heart for my own child … that was the day I urged your father to take you all out to a movie, to cheer him up, and that’s when I left.”

  My heart breaks for David, for the torment of years feeling the tension between my parents, for the things my mom said and did. My heart even breaks a little bit for her.

  “Where did you go?” Bobby asks, his voice husky with the painful emotions that simmer in the air around us.

  “I took a few hundred dollars I’d stashed and jumped on a bus. I headed back to my hometown, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually go home. So”—her gaze shifts between us—“I walked into a hospital and asked for help.”

  Though it’s all true—I can see it in the shimmering rims of her eyes—it’s difficult to reconcile the woman sitting across from me and the broken, ill woman she describes.

  “I called your father after a week of being in a program and told him I was sorry and I needed to leave to keep our children and myself safe, but I was ashamed to tell him much else. It was two years before I was out of the program and felt well enough to attempt to start my life again. I knew your father was angry with me—what my leaving must’ve done to you kids—and I was too scared to come back. Well, that’s only partially true, I think.” She pauses and shakes her head. “I was mostly scared that if I went back, I would get sick again, despite the medicine and therapy. It was easier to reinvent myself and make sure I was capable of living a normal life before I returned to my old one. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. Anyway”—she shrugs and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear—“I sent your father the divorce papers with my contact information, sort of my cowardly way of seeing what his reaction would be and if he even wanted me to be a part of his life anymore. When he just signed them and sent them back, I took that as a no. I told myself you kids might be better off without me anyway, that I would reach out to you as soon as I was back on my feet and could be a suitable mother. But another year turned into two and it grew harder and harder to see myself in your lives, to face you and your questions and your anger.”

  She clasps her hands in her lap and searches our faces for a minute before she continues. “I moved to San Francisco, worked, had an apartment, met a man I eventually married with no children, and seven years ago we moved to Chester, a few hours away.”

  “And now you’re back,” I breathe and sit back in my chair. I fold my arms over my chest and stare at my half-empty coffee mug. It’s suddenly too sweet and cold to drink.

  She nods. “Yes. But I’m not asking you to think of me as your mother, Machaela, I hope you both realize that. You can call me Katherine or—well, whatever you’d like. I’m not expecting to fit into your family if you don’t want me to. I just wanted to give you the option of knowing me. You’d be surprised how quickly regrets seem to pile up.”

  “Both of my best friend’s parents are dead,” I say, surprising myself. Understanding and frustration and some sense of bleary numbness settles in. “I’ve had to watch her suffer and struggle the entire time I’ve known her, missing the parents who were taken from her, all the while knowing my mother didn’t die, she left.” I glare at her, angry with her for being a coward and angry with myself for wanting to forgive her so easily.

  “I’m sorry about your friend. I—”

  I hold my hand up. “I thought for months that you would come back.” I lean forward and stare into her wide, sparkling eyes. “How hard would it have been to call? This whole time I’ve assumed you never even looked back.” I can’t help the sting of tears as they burn and flood over my eyelashes. I dab them with my napkin, willing myself to pull my emotions together long enough to get out of the café and away from the patrons mingling inside.

  “I don’t expect you to believe this,” she says softly as she straightens in her seat, “but I thought about all of you all the time.” She begins to twirl her ring again. “You can hate me. You can yell at me. You can do whatever you need to do to feel better, I just need you to know that I’m sorry and I am here now, if you ever need anything. More than anything, I wanted you to understand that none of it had to do with you kids. I’m a sick person, no matter how much I try to feel normal. I have to live with what I did, I know that, but I want you to know that, too.”

  My eyes shift from hers when I can’t take it anymore and I dab my cheeks again with my napkin. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, but I still feel sympathy—for David and how broken he was the night she left; for my dad, who I know loved her no matter what she thought all those years ago; for Bobby for being too young to remember what it was like at all to have a mother around; and even for her, for feeling so trapped she thought ending her life and leaving were her only two options. She’s led a life I can’t fathom, and I can’t hate her for it, even if she’s caused irreparable damage.

  She wipes a stray tear from beneath her lashes, and I can see it written all over her face, the sorrow and regret. But knowing she was out there all this time thinking about us but was just too selfish and scared to reach out doesn’t hurt any less. “Dad knows all of this now?”

  She nods. “As you know, we’ve been talking for a few weeks. He knew some of it before, but he knows everything now.”

  I look at Bobby. “Do you have any more questions?” I ask, feeling suddenly like a caged bird.

  He shakes his head and leans forward, bracing his elbows on the tabletop.

  When I look at my mom, I see the vulnerability in her eyes and she glances between us, like maybe she’s holding her breath.

  “I appreciate your story,” I say finally say. “I can’t imagine living a life the way you have, even if I believe I would’ve done things a little differently.” I’m not sure what else to say, so I stand. “I just want … time.”

  With a slight nod, she stands up. “Please don’t take me being here as a request for anything from you. There’s no pressure or expectations.”

  I feel a brush of anger. “Is that what you’re hoping for now that you’ve gotten everything off your chest—now that you feel better, you can go home and get on with your life?”

  Bobby rests his hand on my shoulder but I shrug it away.

  “Not at all,” she says quickly. Although she looks taken aback, her voice is strong and certain. “I would do anything to be a part of your lives in even the smallest way. But I’m under no delusions.”

  My gaze sears her a second longer before I collect my things. I shrug on my jacket and pull my purse strap over my shoulder.

  When I look at her again, she seems more anxious and worried than when we walked in. “Thank you, again, for meeting with me. It means more to me than either of you can imagine. I haven’t heard back from David,” she says, almost to herself.

  “Join the club,” I bite out and hastily wrap my scarf around my neck.

  To my surprise, Bobby leans forward and gives our mom a stilted hug, surprising even her. Her eyes lock with mine before I head for the door, my head and heart screaming inside.

  Sixteen

  Mac

  Sitting at my work desk, the only familiar place that seems to be left in my life, I stare at my blank computer screen. My mom’s eyes keep flashing to mind and I can still smell her lilac perfume. It’s a scent I’ve found comfort in all my life, but now, it hurts my heart. She’s actually back. She actually wants to be a part of our lives, something I never even considered a possibility.

  My vision blurs, and I reach for another tissue. All the nights I cried myself to sleep, wishing she was still around so I could confide in her, become this heavy burden I hadn’t r
ealized I’d been schlepping around all my life.

  Dabbing the sensitive skin beneath my eyes, I glance at the clock, wondering if I shouldn’t head back to the apartment. It’s still early, though, and I don’t want to risk interrupting Nick’s time with Savannah. They’ve barely seen each other save for last night’s party, which I don’t even want to think about—not what happened with Jason and how I overreacted.

  I fist the damp tissue in my lap and wonder if that unnervingly visceral reaction I have to guys will ever go away. I’m sure, along with hating me, Jason thinks I’m crazy now, too. Nick told me nothing happened after I left, that Jason and Colton went their separate ways, but the fact that Colton stepped in at all still annoys me.

  Letting out a steadying breath, I lean back in my swivel chair and stare around the office, a white-walled room with automotive posters, a rack of air fresheners, a few pints of oil on display, and a parts catalog I could probably recite verbatim. Other than the afternoon light filtering in through the glass door, everything is dark and closed up, rare for a Saturday. I stare at the lonely, unlit Christmas tree in the window and wonder if the Christmas magic I once felt is gone now forever.

  I jump when something crashes in the back. When I hear it again, I realize it’s coming from the alleyway. For a brief moment, I wonder if my dad’s here, which wouldn’t be surprising in the slightest. Especially if he’s trying to take his mind off of our meeting with Mom this morning. Though I don’t really want to talk about it, I know he’s been worried about me.

  Resolved, I stand and take a deep breath before I fling the office door open and head through the shop. It’s dreary inside, the only light filtering in through the skylights above. My boot steps echo in the empty space as I stop to open the back door.

  The moment I fling the door open, I freeze in the doorway. Colton pauses mid-motion with a pallet half lifted over his head.

  “It’s you,” I say in surprise.

  “Wow. Nice to see you too,” Colton mumbles, shaking his head with an annoyed sort of laugh as he drops the pallet in the back of a Tundra. He glances at me again, about to say something when his eyes widen a smidge and he freezes. I watch his expression shift from tense and glaring to soft and concerned. “Are you okay?”

  Though I’m a little stunned by his quiet tone, my hackles raise. Am I okay? “You didn’t think to ask me that last night before you inserted yourself in my business.” I take a step toward his truck. “I can’t believe you caused a scene. Jason probably hates me now.”

  “Oh, and that would be a bad thing?”

  The cold air of the afternoon bites at my nose and I lick my dry lips. I wasn’t planning on confronting him about this today, but I’m suddenly up for it. “Yes. He’s my friend.”

  A sneer stretches across Colton’s face and he takes another pallet off of the garbage pile and tosses it in the bed of the truck. “Oh, he was friendly alright,” he says with enough acid to erode a hunk of metal.

  “He wouldn’t have done anything. I had it under control.”

  “You’re right,” he says dropping a pallet in the truck bed, making it shake. “Next time I’ll just stand aside and watch.” I’m fighting the urge to hurl every hurtful comeback I can at him when he takes a step toward me. “You were clearly uncomfortable, Mac. I don’t think my actions were uncalled for.”

  “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

  He makes a derisive noise and closes his tailgate.

  “You know what, Colton? Screw you!” The months of stewing resentment toward him surface and I let them out this time. I want to be angry. I take an obstinate step toward him. “God, you’re so arrogant; it’s unbelievable. Since when do you care, anyway?”

  He stills, his chest heaving. “I shouldn’t care that he had his hands on you?” he grinds out, taking a step even closer.

  “What?” No.

  “You were practically shaking—”

  “I had it under control!”

  He shakes his head. “Fine. I’m sorry I cared.” He turns his back on me.

  “What is with you? You can’t stand me one minute—you can barely bring yourself to talk to me—but you’ll be my knight in shining armor when you feel like it?” My thoughts are swirling and I shake my head.

  Colton’s closer, only a few inches from me, his eyes ablaze with an unwarranted anger. “That’s what you think?” he practically growls. “That I can’t stand you?”

  “What, you think giving me the cold shoulder and ignoring me half the time should make me feel any different? You look at me like I’m a leper and—”

  “Oh, and you’re a princess, right? You’re so sweet and pleasant all the time, I forgot.”

  He wins. In that single moment, the sting of his words renders me gutless all over again. I try to hold it together as the past flares back to life, but I feel the heat of tears surfacing as I try to gulp them away. “I’m not a princess,” I seethe. “Don’t ever call me that again.” I take a step backward. “God, you’re such an asshole,” I say, a little breathless, and turn to go back inside before I start bawling in front of him. “You don’t even know me—”

  Colton’s fingers wrap around my arm. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Mac,” he says boldly.

  I glance at his fingers and look at him. “And you don’t know me! You think you got Miss Princess all figured out, but you’re fucking clueless.” My chest heaves. His fingers tighten, but it’s our proximity that infuriates me. “Let go,” I demand.

  In an instant, he lets go and stares down at his hand. He flexes it, and when he looks at me again, his gaze is enlivened and unwavering, a sapphire blue that shimmers like a gem in firelight. “I like you too much,” he finally says. My eyes widen, confused, and before I know what’s happening, his lips are against mine.

  I’m stunned, frozen as my body shakes with anger and surprise and exhilaration. Part of me wants to push him away, but I can’t. His kiss is unexpected, but not unwanted. It’s hard and unyielding at first, but warm, and when I kiss him back his lips part and mold to mine.

  The weight of the day evaporates, and I’m sated and floating, like sunshine on a breeze. It’s a buoyant feeling that makes my knees weak and my heart race and my insides molten. I bump into something, sending it crashing to the ground, and Colton pulls away, hesitant.

  I stay as I am, my mind reeling and my eyes closed. Did that really just happen? A gust of cold whips by me in his absence, forcing me to open my eyes.

  Colton’s watching me. His eyes are different, storming with questions, perhaps, or worry or concern.

  I open my mouth to break the silence when his phone beeps. Startled, I pull in a much-needed breath. I’m not sure why, but part of me expects him to ignore his phone, to be present with me after what just happened between us. But he pulls his cell from his back pocket. When his eyes narrow on the screen, I can’t help but glance down at it. Upside down, I read the text message.

  Kylie: Have you left yet?

  All floating sunshine dances fade away and the chilled winter breeze rakes over me again, through me, ringing me raw and making me feel empty and sick to my stomach. I’d forgotten about her, yet this is the second time she’s unknowingly ruined a semblance of a moment between us, and I’m plummeting back toward reality.

  “Is she your sister or something?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

  Colton shakes his head as he texts her back. His mind is clearly elsewhere, and his hesitation to me starts making sense. Of course he’d push me away if he liked me, especially if he has a girlfriend.

  “I have to be somewhere”—he looks at his watch—“shit, in ten minutes.” He looks regretful, like he feels bad, but I don’t stick around to chat. “Go,” I say and turn to head back inside. I refuse to be the other woman, and the remaining energy I have left needs to be spent running. I don’t care how cold it is or if it’s going to snow. I want to run until my legs no longer wo
rk and my lungs and throat no longer feel like they’re on fire.

  Seventeen

  Mac

  A long, hot shower after a long, exhausting run always seems to put things in perspective.

  I tug the towel I’d draped over the shower door around me and step out onto a squishy floor mat. Staying at Nick’s apartment is sort of like being on vacation in some ways—complete with all of Mrs. Turner’s special touches and conveniences that I didn’t have at home, adjustable showerhead and memory foam mats included. When you’ve lived with all guys your whole life, there are some things that you forget to want or think you need, especially in a house where everything is about cars and sports and processed foods.

  With a yawn, I pat my sore body dry. My muscles are spent and my head hurts a little, though I’m not sure if it’s because of the raucous thoughts that have been pounding away in there or being on the constant brink of tears today.

  Wrapping my hair up into the towel, I hurry over to my pile of clothes folded on the toilet seat. I wince a little as I slip on some undies and socks and pull on my sweats and a long sleeve. If I’m going to search for apartments tonight, I might as well curl up on the couch with a glass of wine, too. And a pizza with bread twists. I salivate at the thought of medium pepperoni and olives, or maybe I’ll splurge and surprise Nick by getting meat lover’s toppings this time instead.

  I’d like to think of anything other than the details I still need to figure out for my big move, like what I can afford to pay each month, a deposit and utilities, groceries and furniture … pizza seems to make everything a little bit better.