Unworthy

by Cassia Brightmore

  She worked until her fingers started to cramp and she was almost out of black paint. Switching off the music app on her phone, she stood back to study the painting. It was really coming along, and excitement danced along her spine. Brant, for all his faults, was really very handsome. She should consider herself lucky that he was hers, even if the bad times outweighed the good. Staring at his profile, her thoughts turned to the gorgeous stranger she'd met at work just a few days earlier. Now there was a man that exuded sex appeal. He seemed to have a good sense of humor as well, a trait that was hard to find these days. Did he have a girlfriend? Of course he did, he probably had several. She was shocked at the tiny spark of jealousy that lit inside her at that thought. Shame quickly took over, she had no right to even be thinking about another man, much less be jealous that he was likely taken.

  After rinsing out her paint pots and brushes, she stored them back upstairs in the attic. Her gaze fell on her camera, and with a quick glance at the sun shining through the tiny window, she grabbed it off the shelf. Since there was still a few hours until she had to be at her parents' house for dinner, she had enough time to spend some time at her favorite park.

  Tacoma was a beautiful city. She'd grown up there and had only fond memories of the area. When the Pierce's adopted her, she knew they'd thought about moving to a different city, but had decided against it due to her father's work. Maisie didn't have many memories of her life before joining the Pierce family, the moments she did remember left her feeling nauseated. Her biological mother didn't have a caring bone in her body, a fact she proved over and over by her vicious treatment of Maisie. No matter how hard she tried, she never managed to be a good enough daughter to receive the one thing she really needed. Love.

  The park was busy for mid-afternoon. A few small children were being pushed on swings, dogs were walked and a few people even made use of the outdoor gym equipment that was available. She spent several moments snapping a few shots of a young man doing chin-ups before wandering off to hopefully catch a few birds in the nearby trees.

  "So, you're not just a coffee barista, you're also some sort of secret spy?" Maisie spun around at the sound of a male voice. It was him. The stranger from the other day. He was standing there holding a red leash for a rather large, brown dog that was seated faithfully at his side. His other hand was stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans.

  "Um, no? I'm just taking pictures," she answered, feeling her cheeks heat. What was it about being in his presence that caused her to blush like a schoolgirl?

  "And spies don't take pictures?" He smirked, and Maisie found prickles of temper rising at his attitude.

  "Well, I'm sure they do, but I'm not spying on anyone. I hardly think Mr. Tweety Bird over there would have anyone to complain to even if I was." She jerked her thumb in the direction of the trees.

  He chuckled and Maisie found herself smiling back at him, a real smile. Not a fake one that she plastered on her face to disguise the pain. It was strange to feel actual happiness, but she had to admit that she liked the feeling. Realizing that she was just standing there, staring stupidly at him, she cleared her throat and broke eye contact.

  Looking down at his dog, she dropped to one knee and gently scratched behind his ears. "And who's this good boy? Ohhh, do you like that? You are a good boy aren't ya?" she cooed to him, loving the way he turned into her palm before covering her face in kisses. "What's his name?" she asked, glancing up. "And while we're at it, what's your name? You know mine from the coffee shop, but I have no idea what yours is."

  "This champ right here is Chance, my main man," he answered. Hearing his name, Chance's ears perked up and his tail started wagging even faster, if that was possible. It was obvious that he had a lot of love for his owner. Maisie's family had always had dogs, they held a special place in her heart. She'd hoped her and Brant would adopt one once they moved into their own home, but he quickly shut that idea down, claiming her attention was better spent the upkeep of her daily chores and not looking after a pet.

  "Hi, Chance, it's nice to meet you, fella." She swung her camera up and snapped a few quick photos of him, one of them hilarious as she caught his big tongue licking his entire face. "Now that one's a keeper," she said on a giggle. "And...are you going to tell me your name or do I have to use my newfound super sleuth skills to figure it out?"

  He flashed her a grin that stopped her heart in her chest. Lord, he was sexy. As soon as the thought entered her mind, she cringed. She had to get away from him, her actions were despicable. She stood, and pulling her lens cap from her back pocket, slipped it into place.

  "It was nice to see you again, I have to go," she rushed out, moving a few steps away.

  "Hey, wait a minute." He grabbed her arm and she visibly jumped, and he immediately let her go. "It's okay," he said in a soothing tone, his eyes fixed on her. "Ridge. My name is Ridge Buchannan." Her breathing had sped up and she closed her eyes in an attempt to steady herself.

  She nodded and tried to not let her embarrassment at her reaction to being touched show. His eyes were assessing, causing her to squirm under the force of his stare. It was as though he could see right through all her pretenses, like he somehow knew her.

  "Maisie." At the sound of her name being spoken behind her, she froze. Every nerve went on high alert and a cold sweat broke out instantly on her brow. Trembling, she turned and faced Brant. He was a few feet behind her, his hands in the pockets of his work pants, giving off a casual stance. But Maisie knew better, his features were smoothed into that of mild concern, but she could see the rage burning in his eyes. He was pissed.

  "Brant, hi. I was just taking some photos in the park and I ran into one of the customers from work," she tried to explain, knowing it was useless.

  "I see. I thought you might be here, I had an early day and was worried when you weren't home. I thought I'd join you and walk you back home," he replied, the intent behind his words evident. Get your fucking ass home now.

  "Right. Of course, I was just on my way home anyways, I have dinner at my parents in an hour or two." She slid that information in, in hopes that he might leave her be if he knew she had to go out in public. "Oh, this is Ridge. Ridge, this is my boyfriend, Brant," she introduced. She briefly met Ridge's confused stare, pleading with him to understand. She really wasn't a horrible person, her interactions with him had just been new to her. Ridge took pity on her and offered Brant his hand.

  "Nice to meet you, man. Construction?" he asked, looking at Brant's work clothes.

  "Yeah," Brant answered rudely. "Maisie, we better go." She nodded at Ridge as a goodbye and then fell into step with Brant as they headed back towards home. She could feel Ridge's eyes boring into her as they walked, but didn't dare turn back around. It was better for both of them that way.

  The silence stretched out between them and with each step Maisie's fear grew. He was angry, so angry. Should she try to explain again? Was it better to be quiet? Maybe if she went straight to the kitchen and made his favorite meal, meatloaf, he'd listen to reason. They ascended the short concrete steps of their house and Brant unlocked the door, waving her in ahead of him. The second the door closed behind them, he lashed out and kicked her in the back of the leg with his steel-toed boot.

  Crying out, she fell to her knees, pain radiating all the way up her leg to her thigh. She had enough sense to cradle her camera, landing hard on her knees instead on the tiled floor. The jolt ran all the way through her body as she hadn't used her hands to brace her fall out of fear of her camera smashing to pieces.

  Scooting forward, she managed to put the camera safely in the cupboard by the door that held her basket for mail, before he was on her again. "What the fuck was that, Maisie? I come home from slaving my ass at work all day and find you at the park with another fucking man?" He grabbed her by the hair and hauled her to her feet, ignoring her yelps of pain when a few strands ripped free.

  "I had an early day, thought I'd take you out for a nice dinner, just the t
wo of us. Instead, I come home and you're nowhere to be found. Off doing God knows what with that prick. Un-fucking-believable. You fucking whore." Brant ended his tirade with a backhand that again had her hitting the floor, this time landing on her hip.

  "Brant, no. I wasn't doing anything. I wanted some fresh air, to take some pictures and just ran into Ridge. That's all. I would never—" Two swift kicks to the ribs cut off her desperate attempt to explain.

  "Ridge? Ridge, huh. Already on first name basis with that fucker. You make me sick. You think I can't find a woman that would satisfy me a hell of a lot better than you? You bet your ass I can. But I don't do that, do I? No. I'm a nice fucking guy and even though I'm stuck with your stupid ass, I'd never be as inconsiderate as you. I can't even look at you right now. Quit that pathetic sobbing and clean yourself up." He left her there on the floor, wheezing and struggling to breathe. He stomped into the kitchen and a few seconds later, Maisie heard the top pop on a bottle of beer, the cap clanking on the floor.

  She took several deep breaths, trying to block out the pain in her ribs, her face, her leg. It could have been worse. It had been worse before. Brant was right. She'd fucked up by interacting with Ridge that way. She deserved his punishment for making him so angry. She gained her feet and teetering for a few seconds, found her footing and then limped upstairs to the bathroom. Gazing in the mirror, a bruise was already starting to form on her right cheek. Her face was flushed and tear-tracked. She had her work cut out for her hiding all this in time for dinner with her parents.

  The small amount of happiness, of carefree fun she'd felt while joking around with Ridge drifted across her thoughts. That wasn't her life. She wasn't afforded those sort of moments, she'd done nothing to earn them. Self-loathing and disdain for the person she was, the things she did, ate away at her. Worthless, that's all she'd ever been, that's all she'd ever be going forward. Maybe one day she'd find the strength to leave Brant and build a better life for herself, but that required courage that she didn't have.

  Arriving at her parents' house at a little after six p.m., she put her red Chevrolet Equinox in park and pulled down the visor to check her appearance in the mirror one last time. Brant hadn't spoken to her since the scene in the hallway. She'd whipped together a quick chicken alfredo and brought him a fresh beer before she left, a grunt and a glare his only thanks for her efforts. After spending more time than she had covering up the marks he'd left on her with make-up, she hadn't had time to make dessert. Instead, she'd swung by the store and picked up apple pie and ice cream, hoping that her family wouldn't be too disappointed with store-bought instead of homemade.

  Satisfied that her handiwork with make-up had successfully covered up the bruising on her face, she straightened her black blouse and got out of the car. Her parents lived in the suburbs, in the same house they'd brought her home to after the adoption. It was much bigger than the home she shared with Brant, three bedrooms, a fully finished basement, two bathrooms and sat on a large corner lot. Memories of following her mom around the garden in the summertime, desperate to learn to be just like her, of throwing the ball in the backyard for all of the family dogs they'd had over the years washed over her as she stood in the driveway studying the brown brick house with its white window panes and doors.

  This was the first home she'd ever had. The only, if she was being honest. She might live in her own house now, but it was far from a home. It was a prison. Shackled by shame and chained by self-doubt, she was trapped in a life that afforded her no happiness. Only torment. Shaking off the self-pity, she crossed the walkway and entered the house. At least she'd have a few hours to relax before going back home and facing the lingering remnants of Brant's wrath.

  Skipper, her parents' German Shepherd came bounding towards her, tail wagging and ears flapping. Maisie put the pie on the counter next to the stove and deposited the ice cream in the freezer before dropping down and giving Skipper the attention he was begging for. Forgetting her injuries for the moment, she winced and let out a tiny whimper when her banged up knees made contact with the granite floor in her parents' kitchen.

  "Hey, boy. Missed you," she whispered to him as she scratched behind his ears and planted kisses on his snout. He seemed to know that she needed a little extra love and attention and allowed her to lean forward and bury her face in his soft fur, seeking the comfort that only a faithful pet could provide. Unconditional and unwavering.

  She glanced up as her mother came around the corner, an apron tied around her trim waist and carrying an armload of serving dishes.

  "Hi, sweetheart. You're just in time to help put the food out," she greeted her. Maisie stood and brushed a kiss over her mother's cheek before taking the dishes from her overloaded hands.

  "Who mashed the potatoes?" she asked, cocking a brow at her mom. Her mom was an amazing cook, but mashed potatoes were Maisie's love and she was very picky about how they were done. Since she was late, she feared her sister, Blake, who didn't have a culinary bone in her body, would have taken over what was usually Maisie's job.

  "I did. Don't worry, I shooed your sister out before she got any ideas of helping," she reassured her with a sparkle in her brown eyes. Her mother, Caroline Pierce, was beautiful with short, curly, blonde hair and brown eyes. The years had been kind to her with not many wrinkles on her skin to show her age of sixty-seven. She and her father, Neil, had moved to the United States from Britain when they were still in their twenties, in search of a different life than what England had to offer them. Her father had first started out in real estate before finally finding a successful job as a foreman at John Deere. He'd been there ever since; his fair income had allowed her mother to be a stay-at-home mom, being there to raise the two girls.

  "Hey, I heard that!" Blake complained as she came up the stairs from the basement, her father on her heels. Maisie laughed and moved to embrace her. Blake was everything she wasn't and everything she wished she could be. Confident, beautiful and kind, she was a force of nature unlike no other. Four years her senior, at twenty-eight, she had yet to settle down and instead flitted from one job to the next, enjoying life to the fullest. Her newest endeavor was dog walking, a job she was loving, if her Facebook and Snapchat updates were any indication.

  Blake's long blonde hair was weaved into some kind of intricate side braid and today she was wearing her glasses over her sparkling blue eyes, instead of her usual contacts. Maisie suspected that was due to an intense night of drinking and partying with her friends the night prior, as was somewhat usual for her fun-loving sister. Blake squeezed her too tight and inadvertently pulled a yelp from her as her bruised ribs protested at the harsh contact.

  Her sister stepped back and looked at her in concern. "Are you okay?" she asked, running her gaze up and down her.

  Maisie let out a laugh that turned into a cough and waved her hand. "I'm fine, you just don't know your own strength," she teased, praying that she bought it. Blake shot her a skeptical look, but let the matter drop. The three of them loaded up the rest of the meal onto overflowing dishes and moved to the dining room where her father was just finishing pouring them all a glass of wine into sparkling glasses.

  "Tell me you made the Oreo dessert," Blake said, excitement dancing in her eyes as she took her seat. Maisie shook her head and took a long sip of her wine before answering.

  "Not this time, I didn't have the ingredients in, and by the time I realized, it was too late to get what I needed from the store. Dad, I got us your favorite instead. Apple pie and ice cream," she told him with a smile, suppressing a giggle when Blake looked as though she'd just kicked her puppy.

  "No complaints here. Thanks, sprog," he told her with a wink. Sprog was a nickname he'd always had for her and her sister, it had a way of making her feel included. Not an outsider in their family. When she'd first come to live with them, it had taken months for her to transition into being a part of their family. Caroline and Neil had opened their hearts to her straight away, but that did little to wash awa
y the feelings of abandonment and unworthiness that grew bigger inside her each day. As much as Allison had been a terrible mother, she was the only mother Maisie had ever known. She'd spent her entire young life fighting for her approval, desperate and clinging to the hope that she might once, just once, get a tiny glimpse of love from her. Instead, all she received was disappointment and pain.

  Building the bonds of family had taken time, and while Maisie had no doubt in her mind now as an adult, that they loved her unconditionally, there was still those parts of her that felt like a guest in their home. The blood ties that the three of them shared at times didn't reach to her. She had no specific examples as to why, as she'd always been accepted into the entire family, but regardless of that, being an adopted child wasn't easy. The feelings were difficult to explain, and not wanting to hurt her parents, as she truly did love them, she mostly hid her feelings of loneliness from them. Hurting them with how she really felt would serve no purpose and she didn't want to seem ungrateful. The fact was, they'd rescued her from what would have been a horrible life. Allison Gallagher was a woman who should never have been a mother. Had Maisie remained with her, her future would have been a bleak one, if she survived at all.

  Realizing that she'd been sitting frozen with her fork in her hand and her family was staring at her, Maisie gave her head a shake and came back to the here and now. "Sorry," she gave a nervous laugh. "Got lost in thought for a minute." Her mom kept her gaze locked on her, and she knew that she could guess there was more going on with Maisie than she was letting on. While they may not be blood, she still had mother's intuition when it came to her. A fact that she knew first hand from when she went through her rebellious teenage stage.

  Blake began chattering on about a hilarious family that had a dog walker just so that they could have time to do their laundry. Apparently, their black lab was famous for trying to eat their freshly washed clothes. The meal continued and Maisie finally relaxed. Her mom's cooking always had a soothing effect on her. The traditional English meal that consisted of roast beef, mashed potatoes, corn, cauliflower, brussel sprouts, stuffing and Yorkshire puddings with gravy was her absolute favorite. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't replicate her mom's Yorkshire puddings, she just seemed to have that magic touch that made them rise to the perfect height.