Dear California (Martin Family Book 2)

by Brooke St. James

  I nodded, still trying to appear tired rather than sad.

  "I didn't know if you wanted breakfast or not, so I—"

  "It's okay," I said. "I'm usually not hungry first thing in the morning." I left out the fact that I felt sick at the idea of being separated from him. I came to stand in the kitchen, setting my coffee cup on the counter. "Thanks for this," I said.

  Cole took a step toward me and reached out to take me into his arms for a hug. He had on dark fitted jeans with a belt and a light colored, plaid, button-down shirt, and he smelled like he had just taken a shower. I rested my face on his chest and relaxed into his embrace, wrapping my arms around him. Neither of us said anything—we just stood there, holding on to each other for what must have been at least a minute before he pulled back.

  "We better go," he said.

  I nodded and managed a smile even though I felt more like I wanted to cry. I knew it was stupid for me to come out and say I had fallen in love with him when he was fine with leaving.

  I always carried oversized sunglasses in my bag, so I put them on as we were headed to the elevator. Cole had a heavy-duty duffle bag strapped over his shoulder, and he moved it so he could put an arm around my shoulder. We rode down the elevator and navigated the lobby and valet without anyone noticing me or paying any attention to us. I was thankful for the excuse to keep my head down because it was difficult for me to pretend not to be heartbroken.

  His car had dark tinted windows, so I took my sunglasses off and propped them on top of my head once we were on the road. I wanted to leave them on just in case I started crying, but they were so big and dark that they felt like an unnecessary wall between Cole and me.

  We had a twenty-minute drive to my house, and we talked the whole time about his cousin, Alex, who had just gone into labor that morning. He had gotten a text from his mom saying there might be a new baby by the time Cole got back that afternoon. I was happy that he had something exciting waiting for him at home, but that did nothing to change how sad I was that he was leaving.

  Cole pulled into my driveway, and the hard reality hit me. There was no more delaying goodbye. This was it. He would stop the car, we would say a few words, and then he would leave.

  He put the car in park but left it running, and he shifted in his seat to look over the console at me. I stared at him, taking a long, unsteady breath as I tried to figure out what to say.

  "I'm glad I met you," he said.

  I did my best to smile. "I know, me too," I said. "That was a fun day."

  "Was that just one day?" he asked.

  "Just a day?" I asked, incredulously. "To me, it went too fast."

  He let out a little laugh. "I see what you're saying," he said. "It was too fast on one hand, but at the same time, it seems like I've known you forever."

  I breathed a humorless laugh as I nodded. "Exactly," I said. My expression was serious as I gazed at him. "I guess you're going back to Louisiana," I said, even though it was just about the stupidest thing I could have come up with.

  "Yep," he said in a quiet tone.

  His phone was in the console, and I reached down to grab it. "Can I take a picture?" I asked, glancing at him before doing anything with it.

  "Of course," he said. "Especially if it's of you."

  "It's of us," I said. I held out the phone with my right hand and leaned over the console to put my face next to Cole's. I could see our image on the screen, and like the professional selfie taker I was, I adjusted my hair and the angle of the camera to capture the most flattering image possible.

  I was looking at Cole's face on the screen when I took the first picture. The sight of it made it impossible for me to resist kissing him. I stared at his smile, thinking if I didn't get my lips on him soon, I might just burst into a thousand pieces. I turned and took a second selfie of us with him looking at the camera, and me kissing his cheek.

  I clicked the picture, which only took a second, but it felt so good to kiss him, that I let my mouth linger there on his cheek even after I snapped the photo. My right hand (which was holding his phone) still hovered in the air in front of us, but I wasn’t snapping pictures. I was leaning over the console with my mouth barely touching Cole's cheek.

  I let it linger there for a few seconds before he pulled back just enough to turn to face me—we were face-to-face, staring into each other's eyes in the closest proximity we'd ever experienced.

  "I can't," he whispered.

  "Can't what?" I whispered back.

  We were so close that I could barely breathe.

  "I can't keep from doing it any more."

  "Then don't," I said.

  Cole reached out and wrapped a hand behind my head, pulling me toward him. I pressed the button to take a picture the instant his lips touched mine, but the sensation was too overwhelming… just after I snapped it, I lost grip of his phone, letting it slide down my legs before falling to the floorboard. We both heard it fall, but Cole could apparently care less about his phone.

  With what seemed like superhuman strength and agility, he somehow pulled me across the console and positioned me on his lap. I ended up sitting halfway on his lap and halfway on the console with my back to the steering wheel.

  He leaned forward to kiss me again, and this time there was no console separating us. Our lips touched gently, but the way he held me close made it apparent that he didn't want to let me go. I had studied his lips for hours the night before. I knew they would feel right. I knew they would taste good. One, two, three, four, five gentle, stomach-flipping kisses. He had one hand wrapped around my knees and the other around the back of my head, and he pulled me close with ever increasing urgency.

  It was, hands down, the best possible thing that could have happened in the front seat of his car. Cole's grip loosened as he pulled back to stare at me. "Olivia, I know this just makes me leaving even harder. I tried my best to keep my hands off of you, but I just couldn’t let you leave without—"

  "Why'd you want to keep your hands off me?" I asked. "I thought you were gonna kiss me like twenty times last night."

  "Believe me I wanted to," he said, absentmindedly rubbing my knee with his hand. "But I knew it'd make leaving that much harder."

  "Leaving's gonna be terrible either way," I whispered.

  "If that's how you feel about it, then I'm gonna do it right one time," he said.

  I barely had time to say, "Do what, kiss me right?" before he leaned toward me, allowing our lips to touch again.

  "Uh-huh," he replied, not bothering to pull his lips from mine. He used the hand that was on the back of my head to pull me toward him as he opened his mouth to me. His tongue slipped into my mouth, causing a gut-clenching wave of love and desire to wash over me. I got lost in his kiss for several long seconds.

  Sometime during those seconds, I had placed my hands on his cheeks, because they were there by the time I could think again. Both of us struggled to catch our breath as I pulled back just far enough to focus on his face. The base of my hands were on his jaw, and my fingertips were near his temples.

  "You were right," I whispered.

  He smiled, which caused his cheeks to shift and stretch under my palms. I loved the feeling of it.

  "I usually am," he said, "but about what?"

  "About this making goodbye harder."

  He stared at me with a serious expression as he shook his head. "Nu-uh," he said. "You were right. It would be bad either way."

  "What are we gonna do, Cole?"

  "I don't know," he said. "I didn't expect this to happen."

  That statement caused me to let out a little laugh since Cole Martin and this whole host of emotions that came with him was the last thing I expected. I let my hands fall from his face, but kept my arms on his shoulders since we were squeezed into the driver's seat.

  "This is a hard goodbye," he said.

  "The worst," I agreed.

  "Did you ever think about coming to Louisiana?" he asked.

  I smiled. "Bef
ore yesterday, no, but since yesterday about two-hundred eighty-six times. Pretty much non-stop."

  He chuckled, which caused his chest to shake. "Come," he said, using a finger to tuck my hair behind my ear. "Seriously, you should come see me."

  "I know," I said, feeling too nervous to think straight, let alone calculate something good to say. "I got your number, so I'm gonna have to look you up if we ever check out Mardi Gras," I said, trying not to break down and cry.

  "Olivia," he said.

  "What?"

  "Don't act like you might just look me up sometime if you happen to be in the neighborhood."

  "What do you want me to say?" I asked, hoping he'd say, "Marry me," or at the very least, "Come with me now."

  "I want you to promise you'll come," he said. He paused and shook his head, glancing at the console, which had a clock. "I can't believe I have to leave you right now. I don't want to do that."

  "I don't want it either," I said, my voice coming out no more than a vulnerable whisper.

  "What are we gonna do?" he asked. Our eye contact communicated our mutual disappointment. We had no plans to keep in touch, so I felt like I was really taking a chance by saying, "Maybe you can call me when you get home."

  "Okay," he said, sweetly.

  "And maybe I can think of how I could get down to New Orleans to see you."

  "I think you should start thinking about that right now and not let it leave your mind until you come up with something."

  I smiled as I reached up to touch the side of his head with my fingertips. "I guess I have to let you go," I said.

  "Uh-huh. Unless you want to grab a few things and come with me now."

  I smiled since I'd been waiting for him to mention that. "That's a little last-minute," I said.

  He glanced away with a smile. "I know. I just thought I'd give it a shot."

  "We'll talk soon," I said. I leaned forward to kiss him again, letting our lips touch three times. I pulled back, but Cole made a grunting sound of disapproval and tossed his head back, telling me to kiss him again. I smiled as I let my lips touch him two more times before pulling back.

  "I'll miss my flight if I stay," he said.

  "I know," I said, shifting as I started to make my way back to the passenger's side. I was temped to tell him I loved him, but I talked myself out of saying that.

  "I'll let you know when I get back," he said.

  "Tell Alex and Jacob I said congratulations."

  He smiled. "I will."

  "I'll talk to you soon," I said, patting his arm as I opened the car door.

  It was bright, so I pulled my shades back onto my face. This was convenient, because I couldn’t hold back the tears as I waved to him and got out of the car.

  Chapter 11

  I felt physically sick as Cole pulled out of the driveway. Tears fell down my cheeks in an uncontrollable steady stream. What in the world had happened to me during the last twenty-four hours? I honestly felt like I was in some alternate reality. I walked up the steps to my front door, having the sensation that I had never been to this place before—like my surroundings were unfamiliar and uncomfortable even though I was at home.

  "Where were you?" my mom asked when I came in.

  I hoped I wouldn't run into anyone on my way to my room. I had already taken my sunglasses off before I saw her, so I did my best to not make eye contact and play it off like I wasn't crying.

  "Nowhere," I said, feeling sick and mad. I wanted some privacy. The only reason Estela and I still lived with our parents was because we were never in Los Angeles. I wanted my own house where I could cry in private.

  My mom was staring at her phone and speaking absentmindedly when she said, "Estela was looking forward to you going to some party with her last night. She tried to get your dad to call that guy from his business meeting. She thought that's who you were with. She was afraid he kidnapped you or something."

  "I would have gone with him willingly," I said in a quiet daze.

  "You would have what?" she asked, not quite hearing me from the kitchen.

  I walked toward her as I replied, "It wouldn't have been kidnapping because I wanted to go." I was numb, sick, and disappointed, all at the same time as I shuffled toward the kitchen.

  She had been looking at her phone, and she looked up with a confused expression that led me to believe she didn't hear me again. Her face shifted to one of concern the moment she saw me.

  "Oh, honey, are you okay?" she asked, crossing to me instantly. She took me into her arms and I let my head fall onto her shoulders. She took me by the shoulders like what she was about to say was a matter of great importance. "Is that who you were with? That guy? We need to get your father if he hurt you, Livy. Something's got to be done."

  "Mom, I feel crazy right now," I said dazedly.

  "Olivia Jane, tell me what he did to you!" she said, urgently as she pulled back to stare at me.

  "Mom, he didn't do anything. I love him. I know you're going to think I'm crazy for saying that, but it has to be the truth." I stared straight ahead. "I've never felt like I was going to be sick when I said goodbye to someone."

  I took a deep breath but I didn't feel like my lungs were functioning properly. I started feeling weak, like the world was literally closing in on me. I leaned into my mom, feeling like I couldn't support my own weight. I heard her say my name, but it sounded like it was way off in the distance. I saw grey spots before my vision closed completely.

  "Liv, Liv, honey, Livy, baby."

  My mom's voice sounded scared and desperate, and felt like I needed to reassure her I was fine.

  "I'm fine," I said. I tried to say it, at least. I could hear as I regained consciousness that it didn't come out like I wanted it to. "It's okay," I said, blinking as I took in my surroundings.

  My mom was sitting on the kitchen floor with me on her lap. She stroked my hair, rocking back and forth as if trying to comfort me.

  "What happened, Livy?" she asked, softly.

  "I think I passed out," I said, sounding uncertain since that had never happened to me before.

  She let out a relieved giggle. "Yeah, you definitely passed out, baby. Are you sure you're okay? Did that man give you a roofie or something?"

  "Mom, I'm just heartbroken right now," I said. I hadn't planned on saying that, and hearing it come out of my own mouth made my face scrunch up with tears. I felt like my body wasn't cooperating with me. My heart was racing, and my throat was closing up.

  "Mom, I feel sick, but I promise he didn't hurt me," I said.

  My breathing became shallower and more panicked as the seconds passed.

  "I'm sick, but it's nothing he did, I promise."

  My heart was definitely having trouble pumping blood. I felt weaker and weaker by the second. Dying. I was dying.

  "Olivia do you need to go to the hospital?" she asked.

  I was trying to nod when I passed out again. I'm sure I was only out for a few seconds, because I remember most of my mother rushing me to the hospital, which was a short distance from our house. I remember her talking about how she could get me there faster than an ambulance could come, and leading me to the car. She called my dad when we were on our way to tell him what was going on.

  Three hours later, I was leaving the hospital to head home. Apparently, there was something called an anxiety (or panic) attack, and it was normal to feel convinced you were truly dying when having one. I had a few nervous episodes in my lifetime, but never one where I actually thought I was dying. This was new for me.

  The doctors, however, seemed to think it was a routine thing, and they sent me packing with a clean bill of health only hours after I arrived at the hospital. I felt a little silly for putting us through all the trouble, but at the time, I thought I had no other choice but to seek medical help.

  My mom stayed with me the whole time. She asked the doctor more than once if Rohypnol could cause these effects, but I insisted I had been given no drugs of any kind, and the doctor ag
reed with me, saying my symptoms were textbook anxiety. It gave me a new respect for people who told me they had anxiety attacks. This episode was something I hoped never happened to me again.

  I spent the better part of that afternoon in somewhat of a dreamy state as a result of that whole incident. Fortunately, the hospital we went to was discrete, so my visit wasn't leaked to social media.

  Estela missed the whole thing. She had been out partying the night before and didn't get home till that afternoon when I was sitting on the couch in veg-out mode. "What happened to you?" she asked, coming to stand at the foot of the couch.

  "What happened to you?" I asked, knowing she was wearing the clothes she had on the night before. I glanced at my own chest realizing I was, too. Actually, I was wearing the same thing I'd been to Dad's office in the morning before. Gross. I had the sudden urge to take a shower, and wondered why I hadn't already.

  "Your sister had to go to the hospital," my mom said, from the other side of the room.

  "For what?" Estela asked, regarding me with a shocked expression.

  "It was just a panic attack," I said.

  "Oh, I've had that," she said.

  "Not like this," I said. "I thought I was dying."

  Estela regarded me cautiously as if I might be contagious, and I rolled my eyes at her. I stood up, intending to go take a shower.

  "How long did you stay out last night?" my sister asked. "It was almost midnight when we left, and you still weren't here."

  "I stayed with him," I said.

  She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

  "It's not like that," I said.

  "She loves him," my mom said.

  I hadn't expected my mom to say it, and I glanced at my sister to gauge her reaction. She screwed up her face like what she was hearing couldn't possibly be true.

  "It's true," I said, because I was in no mood to beat around the bush after the morning I had. "I might not be going to Dubai or anywhere else," I said, numbly.

  Estela laughed at first, but her smile fell once she saw that I wasn't kidding. "You can't possibly be serious," she said.

  "I was serious about it before I met him. I was already on the verge of telling you I wanted out; he just pushed me over the top. I think I want to be with him, Estela."