Paisley
Why’s this appointment making me so damn nervous? I’m here to answer questions, nothing more, but I’m still a wreck with anxiety. My leg shakes, bouncing up and down. I don’t know what to do with my hands. I place them in my lap. I move them and fidget with my clothing. I pick up a magazine on the table beside me, flip through without reading it, and put it back down. I’m being stupid, but sweat coats my skin.
Maybe it’s not the appointment making me crazy. Maybe it’s the office. It’s all dark colors and sleek furniture, and even the damn paperweight on the receptionist’s desk screams money. There is no way Burke told me the truthful amount of what he’s paying this private investigator.
I fidget some more, stopping just short of standing to pace.
I still haven’t spoken to Burke since last night when he brought me back from the hotel. Kai was waiting in the kitchen for me this morning with his signature smirk, fresh coffee, and the most delicious croissant I’d ever eaten. It wasn’t awkward like I’d thought it would be. He hugged me, told me he was glad I was okay and that he was sorry for almost shooting me. I don’t know why, but when he said it, I laughed.
Then, we just sat at the table together in a comfortable silence until I was done eating, which was when he told me I had an appointment with J. Spencer. Kai told me to be completely honest. They also had been, and this man was aware of every gritty detail of the situation. I wasn’t hiding secrets like killing a man, but laying my life on the table to a stranger didn’t seem like a pleasant task. On top of that, the answers he may find from my information scare me just as much. Not knowing my own history is a crazy feeling, but actually learning the answers seems like an even more outrageous concept.
A door off to the side opens, and the secretary behind her desk stands smoothly. A man I recognize waves her off. His face remains stoic as he looks me over, but the corners of his mouth turn up in a slight smile. He reaches his hand out to me, and I take a step forward to introduce myself. The contact is firm but only lasts a brief moment before his hand slips from mine.
Does he remember me? Will this be awkward?
“Hi. Um, I’m . . . well, I’m your next appointment today.” My words fumble from my mouth and hang awkwardly between us.
“Follow me to the back.” He gruffly dismisses my stumbling introduction and proceeds to his office, which is just as impressively overwhelming as the reception area.
The smell of paperbacks that line the floor-to-ceiling shelves calms my racing nerves slightly though. In a time where physical books are becoming obsolete, the smell of the real thing only gets better. The chair I sit in on the opposite side of his desk looks heavy and masculine, making me feel like a small child in a chair too big for my small limbs. J. Spencer takes his own seat and shuffles the papers in front of him. My eyes move with his hands as he organizes the structured chaos atop his desk.
“It’s good to see you again, Paisley. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
So, he does remember me. He also remembers that I lied to him the first time we met.
“Yeah, I didn’t make the connection. Burke and Kai always refer to you as J.”
“Professionally, I go by J., but you can still call me Jacoby.”
The man from the hotel bar that night months ago watches with curiosity.
“Should we get started?”
Jacoby puts me out of my misery and begins throwing questions my way. He doesn’t start off easy either. It’s a litany of personal questions I am not entirely capable of answering. Everything from what I remember before being placed in foster care to my relationship history—or lack thereof.
It feels invasive.
He sits across from me, writing notes, while I purge things to him I’ve never said aloud before, never mind told to an almost complete stranger.
“Do you remember anything from before you went into foster care?”
“No.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“I didn’t.”
“What was your time like in foster care?”
“I bounced around, never staying anywhere very long.”
“Any past romantic relationships of yours end particularly badly?”
“There wasn’t much before Burke.”
The whole thing makes me uncomfortable in my own skin. The questions keep coming, and I keep answering as best as I can.
Eventually, he places his pen on the pad he was writing on and relaxes back in his chair. “The police should be contacting you soon. I have it on good authority, their crime scene examination of the farmhouse is done. You’ve been cleared of any wrongdoing. They are going with your self-defense statement. The man inside couldn’t be identified, and my opinion is that they’ll probably never learn his identity. He was burned too badly.” Jacoby raises an eyebrow my way.
What does he want me to say? That I’m relieved? That wouldn’t be the right word, but I’m not torn up about whoever the man was who died in the fire. I can take a breath, knowing the police aren’t trying to drag me down for doing what needed to be done.
“Is there anything else you need from me?”
He shuffles more papers, and the look on his face becomes hard for me to read. “Normally, I wouldn’t divulge this to anyone but my primary client, but due to the personal nature, I’m extending you a courtesy by telling you what I’ve found. I need you to know I’ll be calling Mr. Hensley in here to tell him everything I’m about to tell you.”
“Okay?” It sounds more like a question than an acknowledgment of my understanding.
I nod my head at him, but he doesn’t speak. We stare at one another across the desk. It takes a minute for me to understand. I’m pretty sure he’s waiting for me to verbally tell him I’m ready. I’m not, but I have to be.
“What did you find?”
If I thought I was close to an anxiety attack before, then I’m well on my way to a heart attack now. My heart beats wildly from my chest. My pulse pounds through my skin. Sweat forms on my forehead, and the muscles around my neck and back tense. My rigid posture does nothing to help or ease the tension building along my spine or the nausea rolling in my stomach.
He finally returns my nod and passes something over to me while he speaks, “This is your birth certificate. Well, a copy of it anyway. I had to pay off some very big people to get this, but there’s more information missing than there is filled in. The issue date is years after you were born, about five years after your birth certificate should’ve been dated and signed. There’s no information filled in about your birth parents. This document basically gives us nothing, which tells us what we really want to know; there’s something not typical about your life before you went into foster care and how you ended up there.”
I look over the paper, and my heart thumps a sluggish pace as I try to understand.
“I do have a bit of good news.”
My eyes flick up from the sheet of paper. “There is good news?”
“Since the hospital that issued the birth certificate is listed, I was able to get their employee records and find the nurses who worked there during that year. I found out that you were admitted into that hospital just before the certificate was issued.” This is good news? “One of the nurses remembers you and is willing to talk to me.”
“That was over fifteen years ago. How could she remember me?”
“It could be a coincidence, but I have to think she didn’t see many kids come through there that fit the description of your situation. She seemed cautious of answering anything I’d asked her. Eventually, she confessed she’d signed a nondisclosure after treating you in the hospital. Professionally and legally, she can’t say much. She cautioned me that you may not want to learn the truth, and when I pressed, she told me one thing. She said that, besides the injuries that landed you in the hospital, there was signs of malnutrition and physical abuse, years of healed evidence.”
So, one or both of my parents abused me as a child. I
remain quiet, not wanting to share my emotions with this virtual stranger. They run too deep. But I’d be lying if I said my heart wasn’t a little crushed. The dreams that I had come from a happy home and had two parents out there who loved me and were looking for me are crushed. Just like that, the one thing that had kept me going through my horrid childhood in Joe’s house is gone. I feel sick and empty and lost.
“I wanted to ask you if you wanted me to keep digging or not. This is your life, and while I was hired by Mr. Hensley, I would feel more comfortable with your permission.”
“Ye-yeah, you have my permission.”
“And you’ll be able to handle knowing what I find? Even if it’s bad?”
I nod, completely unable to take my eyes off the paper in my hand.
His words float around in my head. I didn’t really find out any new information, but at the same time, I did. I don’t know who my birth parents are or where I came from, but I do know there’s something more to the story. Something I never expected.
“Thank you. I’m grateful to know more is at play here ahead of time, but honestly, it’s not really surprising when I think about it. Are we done, or is there anything else you need from me?”
He stands, and when I stand as well, his professional demeanor cracks for the first time. It’s not an obvious shift, but it’s there, and I don’t ask him why his mood has changed. He leads me out of his office in silence, and I stop short.
“Sorry, I should probably—”
“It’s yours. You keep it. I have other copies.”
I tuck the piece of paper into my purse and leave his office. Burke is waiting for me outside in the parking lot. Kai dropped me off this morning. So, without asking, I figured he’d be waiting when I returned. I guess I was wrong. That’s not to say that seeing Burke standing against the outside of his car, waiting for me, doesn’t steal my breath away for a quick second. It does. The man is fucking beautiful. The sight of his face brings peace to my soul. I’ve pushed him away, but I think my internal reaction to seeing him here is a pretty clear sign I’m an idiot for that decision.
There is a difference in his posture toward me compared to yesterday. The closed off version of Burke is gone, and he’s giving me one of his rare, genuine smiles that I haven’t seen since before I was abducted.
The self-made walls around my heart crack just a little as I walk toward Burke. He pushes from the car, and I stop short. His smile broadens even further, but he doesn’t say a word. He walks to the passenger side of the car and opens the door for me with playfulness in his eyes.
I slide into the car, and he closes the door behind me. I’m not sure what to say to him. Apparently, he feels the same way because he’s just as quiet as I am while he drives.
When we don’t head to the house, I turn to him and arch my eyebrow. “Where are we going?”
Burke smirks, and he glances at me before looking back to the road. “Let me have this. Sit back and come along for the ride. No questions.”
The drive continues, and the smile Burke put on my face lingers. It feels like forever since the last time the muscles in my mouth performed this action. It feels good. It feels right. Burke pulls down a road I’m familiar with, but I’ve never taken the time to venture down it myself. The locals call this beach Blind Man’s Pass. During busy season, this beach is packed with tourists looking for the newest seashells to add to their collections—or so I’ve heard—but today, on this warm sunny day in the middle of summer, I don’t see another person in sight as we pull up to the sand’s edge.
A blanket is set up close to the water between four unlit tiki torches stuck into the ground. A basket, a fancy bucket filled with ice, and a couple of bottles of wine are sitting in the sand. Burke watches me from his side of the car with his arms folded against his chest and his eyes focused on my face, checking for my reaction. I don’t know how to react. Is this for me? Did Burke set this up for us? There’s literally no one else here, so the answers to those questions must be yes. But why? I don’t deserve for Burke to do anything nice for me after the way I’ve treated him. I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve this. Whatever this is. Whatever he’s planned. Maybe that should be the real reason I stay away from him.
Not because I can’t trust him, but because I can’t trust myself.
You know what? Fuck that! I’ve pushed Burke away because I am an idiot. That ends today. No more stupid drama. Burke wants me, and I want nothing more than to be with him. So, why the hell am I denying myself that? It was immature for me to run away after the hospital. It was evil for me to sleep with him the day I went to go get my stuff. I’ve never been happier than when I’ve been with him, and that’s saying a lot with all the other stuff going on. So, why have I been pushing him away? I have no clear idea anymore.
I’m done being the bitch who keeps us apart.
Burke
Paisley is beautiful, and she’s smiling, so that’s even better. I’ve missed her. I’ve missed the easiness between us. I’ve missed the time when she wasn’t pushing me away. There’s a lot of shit going on in our lives, but Teagan’s right. If I don’t fight for Paisley, then I don’t deserve her. Her trust in us has been broken. So, I need to rebuild it.
Starting today. Starting now.
I want this to be perfect.
I need this to be perfect.
I get out of the car, ready to show her what I have planned, and move to open her door for her. Paisley looks up at me, and there’s emotion swirling all over her face. While I’m not positive if her reaction is good or bad yet, I hold my hand out for her to take. A few days ago, she’d have ignored the gesture and pushed to brush past me, but today, she takes my hand. It’s a small victory but hopefully one that hints at how the rest of what I have planned will go. Keeping my hand locked around hers, I lead her toward the white sandy beach.
“I love the sound of the ocean.”
“Then, I’m glad I brought you here. This beach and I have a lot of history. I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. This is my place. The place where I did things I shouldn’t have as a teen, the place I would go to when I needed a second to refuel when things got hard, the place I’d watch Teagan build sand castles as a little girl.”
This is my place, and today, I want to share it with Paisley. My thumb lightly brushes the back of her hand in a continuous circular motion. It’s been too long since I’ve been able to touch her, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to let go again if today doesn’t go well.
“You brought me to your place? Why?”
Paisley withdraws her hand from mine, and I’m disappointed. She takes in the scene before us. Her eyes bounce from spot to spot, taking everything in. I wait for her to react as my fucking stomach knots, a sensation I’ve never felt before.
“I brought you here because I have some things I’d like to share with you. At first, when I went to your hotel the other day, my only intention was to get you to agree to leave there. I wanted you safe. I was going to put everything between us to the back burner because I couldn’t stand the idea of you alone.”
I kick off my shoes and hold my hand out again to her. The wind picks up around us, and Paisley’s hair blows every which way. She follows my lead, kicking off her shoes and putting her hand in mine. I lead her to the center of the blanket and motion for her to take a seat.
Once again, she breaks our physical contact and sits on her knees. I keep my distance from her for now and sit facing her with my legs stretched out in front of me. She’ll be in my arms by the end of the night if I have my way.
“I can’t put everything between us aside. I’ve tried. I’ve tried because that’s what you said you wanted, but, Paisley, I’ve never felt like this. If I let you push me away, then I’m not being myself. I go after what I want, and what I want is you. I wouldn’t be the man you deserve if I sat back and let us fall apart.”
I reach for the wine chilling in the ice and then the plastic Solo cups in the basket filled with food and sup
plies. Wine isn’t really my thing. Whiskey, bourbon, and beer are more my style.
This isn’t about me.
It’s about so much more.
It’s about us.
I want her to know I’ve thought about every detail. I want her to feel like I’ve created this night for her. I need her to know I’m serious. Wine may be more appropriate for tonight, but we’re still drinking it out of disposable cups. I have no idea if this shit I bought even tastes good, but it has a twist top, which makes opening it and closing it on the beach so much easier. I pour Paisley a glass and hand it to her before pouring my own. I take a sip, and I try not to make a face. This shit tastes like slightly spoiled juice. Who the fuck wants to get drunk off this? I set the cup aside while Paisley waits for me to continue my little speech.
“You’re afraid. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared, too. I’m more scared of losing you. That’s my biggest fear. So, I planned tonight because we need it. I need you to know me. I need to know you. And I need you to trust me. I may not always do or say the exact right thing at the perfect time. I have to learn to be the man you deserve, but I can promise you I’ll always try to do right by you. I can’t promise I won’t fuck up, but I can promise it’ll never be intentional. I don’t want you to get hurt. Hurt by me or hurt by anyone else. I want to do everything in my power to make sure you’re always happy and safe. With me.”
Paisley isn’t an overly emotional girl, but as she scrunches up her nose to sniffle, a single tear drops to her cheek. The sight makes it impossible for me not to comfort her. I open my arms to her, and she comes to me without hesitation. My arms lock around her tightly, and my hand moves along her back. I kiss below each of her eyes and then her forehead. Her arms twist behind my back, and I sit, holding her, with my chin resting on top of her head.
Paisley has barely said more than a few words since I picked her up, but already, we’re worlds closer than we were yesterday. She’s not pushing me away. She’s embracing my touch. I’ll take that. I shift, so we are both facing the water while I still keep her positioned between my legs. With my arms around her and vanilla wafting from her skin, we watch the sky turn every shade of pink, purple, orange, and red.
Vengeance in Bloom (The Love Unauthorized Series Book 2) Page 8