by Kim Karr
CHAPTER 19
Pain
Ben
The beach is quiet as I sit outside on the deck and sip a cup of coffee. After I left S’belle’s house I decided to come home and change quickly and then head into the office before going back to get her.
I can’t help thinking about her while I scan the ocean view. She’s just so fucking sexy all I have to do is glance at her and I’m hard. Everything about her captures my attention—from her cute quirky personality to the sex kitten underneath it. I’m so hot for her I can hardly stand it. The strange thing is our day at the beach was so much fun and last night, although not what I planned, was still memorable. And I actually think that running into her mother and stepfather this morning didn’t turn out to be so bad. She’s been so determined not to tell her family that maybe this was the best way for them to find out about us.
Heading inside, I rinse my cup and walk into my bedroom. My dirty clothes are in a pile on the floor and I stop while picking them up to look at the picture on my dresser—my mother, my sister, Trent, and me just before my mother died. It’s hard to believe she’s been gone a year. I pull my phone from my pocket with an urge to talk to my sister.
“Hello,” she answers sleepily.
“Hi, it’s me. Did I wake you?”
“It’s okay. I have to get up anyway.”
“When did you get back?”
“Late last night.”
“How was Hawaii?”
“Oh, Ben, it was beautiful, fun, and amazing.”
“So, how does it feel to be a married woman again?”
She sighs happily and I can feel her smile through the phone. “The same but different.”
She’s always so matter-of-fact.
“Why don’t you come by for dinner tonight?”
“I can’t. I have plans,” I say.
“Oh yeah, what kind of plans?” she asks curiously.
“How about lunch tomorrow and I’ll catch you up?”
“That scares me.”
“Why?”
“I wasn’t gone that long and I talked to you a number of times. So the fact that I am unaware of something and need to be caught up kind of scares me.”
I chuckle. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning. I gotta run into the office now.”
“Okay, Ben, love you.”
“Love you too.” I hang up and can’t help wondering how she’s going to react to hearing the news.
• • •
Typing a response to one of the dozens of e-mails in my in-box, I click SEND and close it down. My crystal typewriter award is sitting on my desk and the way the sunlight hits it creates a mock rainbow around it that mesmerizes me. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t keep my glance from shifting to the screen of my phone for the umpteenth time. S’belle hasn’t contacted me yet and it’s killing me. It’s been more than six hours—I ran home and showered, came here expecting to stop in for only a few short minutes, and hours later I’m still here.
“Hey, man, you’re here,” Beck says from the doorway just as I pick up my phone to call S’belle.
“Technically I’m not.” I shove away from my desk.
“Yeah, right. Well, anyway, I want to show you this. I came up with it yesterday but couldn’t get it quite right until this morning.”
He sits down with his laptop in front of him at the conference table in the corner of my office.
I join him. “Okay, show me what you’ve got.”
“Be prepared for your world to be rocked,” he gloats.
I shake my head, thinking how much my world has already been rocked and how right now I’m tipping over the edge waiting to talk to her. As Beck walks me through a very detailed and complete design of how he plans to simultaneously launch all of Plan B’s holding into the social media arena, I sit back in awe, genuinely impressed by not only his skills, but his visionary talent. But when my phone chirps from across the room, my attention wanes.
“Hot date?” Beck asks as he catches my gaze drift to my desk.
“I hope so.” I grin. “Give me a minute.” I cross the room to grab my cell.
“No worries, mate, it’s not like it’s a Saturday and I am working or anything.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with Alexander. Only difference is you sound like a douche bag using the word mate.”
“Fuck off, at least I’m not a pansy ass who can’t go after what he wants.”
I sit back in my chair. “Ah . . . that’s where you’re wrong. I have been going after what I want.”
“Glad to hear it. All right, then I’ll leave you to it. I’m heading out, working a shift at my old man’s tonight. Need anything before I go?” Beck asks.
“I’m good.”
“And, Ben,” he says.
I look over at him.
“If I were you I wouldn’t take too much longer. She’s liable to move on to a douche bag like me who never would have taken six weeks to close a deal.”
“Thanks for the advice, mate.”
He throws me the finger.
“Close the door.”
He laughs and walks away, leaving it open. Fucker. I read the message from S’belle.
Can you meet me at Pebbles?
I can pick you up and take you out to dinner.
I’d rather meet you there.
Okay, but I’m pretty sure we broke through that wall yesterday. What’s going on?
Can you just meet me there?
You’re not fucking with me, are you? 50 First Dates is not what I have in mind for tonight.
Please.
Sure, when?
Two hours?
See you then. And, S’belle, I can’t wait.
I want to fuck with her some more, but something doesn’t seem right. Her text messages are too straightforward, too direct, so I stop. After I read through a few more work e-mails and forward some of them on to Aerie for her to follow up on, my attention level is close to nil and I decide to call it a day.
Once I open the glass doors, the cool, crisp breeze assaults me. The air is much cooler than yesterday. Fall is definitely here. With plenty of time to spare, I zip up my jacket and decide to cruise up to Mulholland Drive. Having switched to my bike when I went home, I take the winding roads at a speed I’ve come to love. It looks so different up here during the day but equally as breathtaking as when the sun falls off the cliffs and into the ocean at sunset.
Stopping at my favorite overlook, I take the time to get off my bike and climb the two flights of wooden stairs to the top. From up here I have to admit glancing around downtown Los Angeles during the day is a sight. It’s one huge conglomerate. Tall buildings, freeways that sprawl for miles, homes, trees—it’s a view one could get used to. But I’ve lived there and good and evil lie hand in hand—although I suppose that might be true of anywhere. Shaking away the thought, I stride back down to my bike and head into the city.
The parking garage is empty, but the streets are full. I make a quick stop in Fiction Vixen for a purchase and then head to my destination. I’m one of the first patrons to arrive at the restaurant, so getting the same table as our first date is easy enough. I set my package on it and order two sparkling waters, with lemon. The thought of her squeezing the juice over her arms last night makes me laugh to myself. Moments later the door opens and there stands the hottest little number—her red hair tumbles in waves around her shoulders, her short green dress is anything but modest, her gold necklaces drape her neck, and she looks sexier than hell. Fuck me. I have no doubt now she’s trying to kill by asking me to meet her in public—yet again.
Trying to vanish my shit-eating grin, I rise from the table and stride over to greet her, but some older guy has his hands around her before I even make it over to the door. With the giant’s arms still enveloping her tiny body, I clear my throat. She breaks free of his hold and with a glint in her eyes she looks at me.
“Ben, this is Pebbles. Well, really his name is Rocko and he owns the
place,” she says with an upward tilt of her lips.
I begrudgingly extend my arm. “Nice to meet you.”
He nods. “Same here. Heard a lot about you.”
“Really, don’t believe it all.” I grin.
“It’s all good, man,” he says as if I need the assurance.
Dropping my eyes to S’belle, I bend my elbow toward her. “Shall we?”
She gives a little wave to Pebbles or Rocko or whatever he goes by and then wraps her arm through mine with the most effervescent smile.
“Who is he?”
“A friend,” she answers.
“You know I’m jealous as fuck, don’t you?” I growl in her ear.
She tilts her head and lifts her hand to my face. Cupping my jaw, she whispers, “You have no reason to be.”
Heat surges between us before I even pull her chair out and I wonder why she insisted on meeting at a restaurant. As she sits, I lean forward and brush my mouth over hers. A slight tremble rocks her shoulders. “S’belle, what are we doing here? I thought the next time I saw you you’d be in that bikini sprawled out on your bed.”
She tosses her head from side to side as if trying to break free of the vision I just created. “I need to tell you something and wasn’t sure how or where to do it. This place just seemed right.”
She sets her napkin on her lap and immediately starts nervously clicking her fingernails against the tabletop.
I take a seat and grab her hand. “Okay. We’re here now, so tell me, let’s eat, and then I want to take you home and fuck you.”
She swallows and I notice her hands trembling.
“Maybe that was a bit crass. Let me try again. Okay. We’re here now, so tell me.”
She grabs for the water in front of her and drinks it down, all of it. Her eyes lift to mine. “I’m not sure how to tell you this.”
I can feel confusion wrinkling my brow.
Her gaze falls. “But I know I have to. I have a confession to make. Something from a long time ago. And I’m not sure how you’re going to react.”
My fingers creep up her arm to her chin.
She leans into my touch and her face looks almost pained.
“I already know what you’re going to tell me.” I try not to laugh as I reach for the wrapped brown package I set on the table.
She stares at it.
“Since you lent me some of your books, I thought it was only fair I return the favor. Although I’m not sure reading Fifty Shades of Grey is my thing,” I chuckle.
Her eyes widen like saucers as I hand her the package. She takes it with trembling fingers.
“It’s safe, I promise. You can open it. I’m cool with your half-truth.”
The waitress approaches our table and refills both our sparkling waters. “Are you ready to order?”
“Two peppered beef skewers with rice,” I tell her, and turn my attention back to S’belle. “So, go ahead, open it.”
Tearing open the wrap, she stares at the first book, Everything You Ever Need to Know About the French Riviera. Her eyes dart to mine.
“I know you never went there.”
She sits motionless.
“That first night we were together, when you told me all about what it was like on the French Riviera, I knew you’d never been there as soon as you said you went.”
She scrunches her eyebrows and purses her lips.
“It was written all over your face.”
Tears fill her eyes as she sets the stack on the table. “You’re right, I never went to the Riviera.”
Feeling like a real asshole, I pull her to me. “Come here. I’m only playing with you. And I got you some other books as well.”
She sits on my lap and buries her head in my neck, not even looking at the other titles. Her lemon scent assaults me and her mess of wild hair brushes across my skin. I breathe her in. “Don’t cry about it. It’s nothing to cry over. I think it’s funny.”
She buries her head farther in my neck. “I’m not crying about that. But I can’t believe you knew the whole time. You should have said something and not let me go on and on.”
“But that wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun.”
She gives a faint smile and wipes her tears, but then she stands up and goes back to sit in her chair. She takes another gulp of her water and then looks at me.
I soften my voice. “Please tell me.”
She nods. “Do you remember yesterday when you asked me what the shamrock I wear is for?”
My mind recalls vividly the green emerald in her belly button and the thoughts I had about running my tongue around it. With a devilish grin I answer, “Yes.”
She sets her glass down. Her hands are shaking and she’s unable to speak.
I suddenly lose any sense of fun in this conversation. “Hey, look at me,” I say, leaning over the table and taking both her hands.
Her eyes cut to mine, the fire now dulled and consumed by sadness.
“What is it? Just tell me.”
She stays silent and draws in a breath as if gaining courage.
“S’belle? What the fuck is it?” My impatience is getting the better of me.
Her stare searches the table. “The shamrock represents St. Patrick’s Day.”
I nod, agreeing with her that it does.
Silence falls again for another few short moments and then she looks up at me. “That’s the day I gave birth to our child.” Her voice is shaky and broken. Her words come out in alternating whispers and squeaks.
The floor drops from beneath me. My ears ring and the room doesn’t seem quite so square anymore. I take a deep breath, replaying what she just said in my head, but it doesn’t make sense. I sit there motionless. I couldn’t have heard her correctly. When my senses recover, I flash her a look that seeks answers.
Through gritted teeth I ask, “What did you say?”
She squeezes my hands, but I jerk them away. Unbearable silence passes between us, and nothing except the overhead music of Frank Sinatra crooning a love song can be heard. There’s a look of desperation on her face, but there is no way I can help her.
“What did you just say?” My voice takes on an aggressive tone I’ve never used with her as her words register in my brain—I have a child out in the world.
Tears now slide down her face. She leans forward and through sobs says, “On March seventeenth, almost six years ago, I gave up my child, our child. I gave it up for adoption. That’s why I wear the shamrock. It symbolizes the love I have for the baby I wish every day I never let go.”
My body goes limp. Looking around, I can’t figure out why she’d tell me this in a public place. Oh God, my stomach lurches when I think about how I wanted to run my tongue over the sparkling green emerald in her belly button. I start to get up but sit back down, needing a chance to understand what she’s telling me. The words catch in my throat and nothing comes out. I stare at her in disbelief for the longest time, trying to see anything but the truth, but I can’t find it. I glance around at the empty restaurant and feel as if I’m suffocating.
“I . . . I . . . didn’t want . . . I didn’t want to have to tell you, but I knew I couldn’t start this relationship with a lie. That’s—that’s why I wanted to keep it casual. I . . . I thought you’d get me out of your system and move on,” she stammers.
My eyes flare to hers, but the fire I feel is not from want or lust. “Why didn’t you tell me then? Why?”
She holds my gaze. “Because I didn’t think you’d care.”
“Then you don’t know me at all,” I spit out.
“No, I do know you. I do.”
“So what? Is this one of those half-truths? Because I’ll tell you something—you’re only fooling yourself.”
Standing up, I reach in my pocket and toss a fifty on the table. With her chest visibly rising and falling, she watches me silently. She stares at me with a blank expression and says nothing else. I look at her one last time and then walk away, leaving her sitting there. As
soon as the cool air hits my lungs, I feel I can finally breathe. I pace the sidewalk with my hands behind my head and stare through the glass at her. A few seconds later she’s standing in front of me.
“Ben, let’s talk about this. I want to explain everything. It’s not easy for me, but I understand you’re upset.”
My eyes burn into hers with an anger I’ve never felt for anyone. “What exactly are you going to explain? Explain how you had a baby, my baby, and gave it up without ever telling me?” I hiss.
“It’s not like that. It wasn’t that easy.”
“Really? What part wasn’t easy? The part you skipped about informing the father?”
Her eyes drop. “Please, Ben, let’s go back in and sit down.”
“Why would you think you should tell me something like that in a public place?”
“You said you wanted to put the past behind you. I just wanted to meet somewhere neutral and do the same.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? That is not the past.”
“It is. It’s mine.” Her voice is a whisper.
My voice is tight. “How could you not tell me back then?”
“I tried. I called you twice.”
“I remember your calls. You called and left a couple of messages that said to call you back. There was no urgency in your tone. You knew I had a girlfriend. I couldn’t call you back. That wasn’t trying.”
“I called,” she cries again, her voice fading.
I throw my hands up in the air. “You knew I couldn’t see you again. You had to know that’s why I thought you were calling. So you may have called, but you didn’t try to tell me this. Don’t fool yourself.”
“What difference would it have made if I had told you?”
“What difference?” My voice spikes up in anger.
“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
I stare at her with coldness in my eyes. “Fuck, is that another one of your half-truths?”
“No guy wants to hear he got a girl pregnant,” she says, her voice raspy.
“How would you know what I wanted to hear when you never gave me the chance?”
“What would have been the point?”
“The point in telling me we conceived a child? The point in telling me there’s a part of me out there in the world? I don’t know, maybe that I deserved to know.”