“See you tomorrow!” Aria calls out as she digs into her breakfast. Isaac takes off like a shot.
When Sebastian emerges from the back, I make myself scarce by taking an extra-long bathroom break. When I return, Aria hops down from her chair as Seb helps her put her book bag on. He leans down, and she whispers in his ear. He watches me the entire time, his eyes changing from bright to the deepest of chocolate. His faces goes slack, and Aria runs away before he can respond. I raise my eyebrows in question, and he crosses the room to meet me.
“She uh …” he says in a froggy voice, then clears his throat. “She said that you’re not mad, so it’s okay if I’m her daddy now.”
I reach for his arm and squeeze. He runs a hand over his scruff and lets out a relieved laugh. It’s funny how one sentence from a little girl can untangle a slew of complication. So much is still unresolved, but the most important thing, our daughter, is happy and loved. What more can we ask for?
I don’t dwell on that particular question, because the answers are equal parts scary and exhilarating.
“Well, I—”
“Momma, hurry up,” Aria calls from the door. “Manda’s bringing her guinea pig for show-and-tell today, and I want to be early.”
We both sigh, shrug, then laugh. Because interruptions have been the name of the game lately. Whether it be school, or Aria, or a raging virus, there’s always something keeping Seb and me from talking things through.
I toss a thumb toward the door and scowl. “I guess I better—”
“Mom!”
“Aria!” I fuss, and she’s got the nerve to giggle.
I grumble when I see Seb’s admiring grin—at Aria, not me.
With a grudging wave and a parting mumble about two peas in a pod, Aria and I head off to start our day. I don’t notice Sebastian’s text until I sit down in my bio lecture.
Seb: To be continued. Yesterday, this morning … five years ago.
Chapter 32
Sebastian
Present Day
Haven, LA
“You got only,” Aria says, pointing at my piles of cards, then whispering, “One, two. Two tricks. I got … one, two, free. Free tricks. I win!”
She smiles smugly and corrals all the cards into a pile. After five games in a row of losing my shirt, I admit defeat. Aria is the princess of bourré, and I bow down to her majesty.
Win or lose, I never want this day to end. An afternoon, just my daughter and me.
“I win,” she singsongs, counting off each treat with her fingers. “Ice cream, hot fudge, whipped cream, sprinkles, and a cherry.”
“Yes, Princess Aria, you win all the things,” I chuckle, straightening the cards and putting them back in the box. “Why don’t you go wash your hands while I fix your sundae.”
“Wif soap?”
“Yes, with soap.”
She releases a labored sigh and wriggles off her chair. “Okay.”
Turns out, getting the green light from Aria on the daddy front isn’t quite the same as getting a membership to the gym—it’s definitely not an all-access pass. Much like before, she doles out her acceptance in tiny slivers, but somehow, I find them much more satisfying than before.
That chunk of muffin she saved just for me at breakfast? It was an eight-tier birthday cake in my eyes.
Begging Autumn to do her homework at the coffee shop with me after school? It felt like a million “I love yous.”
And I have to admit, making these tiny steps forward is much more satisfying than an all-access pass. I don’t mind working for it. It’s the ultimate labor of love.
Aria may be opening the door to her heart a centimeter at a time, but her mother? She’s not budging. At least I don’t think she is, but she’s avoided every situation that may give us even a second of alone time. Ever since our breakthrough … breakdown … whatever you want to call it, she’s eternally indisposed. Studying … class … dyeing her hair. I thought the hair excuse was just a joke. Shit, maybe it is …
She’s not openly rude to me, but she’s been way too unavailable this week for it to be a mere coincidence. My mouth waters as I grasp for what I’ve always wanted, only to have it slip through my fingers again and again.
I’m determined to open her eyes to the possibility of us. Hell bent and unwavering. I’ve come way too far to walk away now. I’ve been starving for the past five years, and I refuse to go hungry again.
Never again.
I spend half my time walking on clouds of cotton candy and little girl glitter, resisting the urge to stop people in the street and show them pictures of Aria, and the other half scratching my head and wondering where I went wrong with Autumn. I can’t put my finger on it, and I’m not sure how to fix it, but something’s got to give.
“Hey, hey, hey, where’s my favorite niece?”
Brady’s voice booms through the house as he wheels through the front door. I grin as part one of my plan tosses his duffel bag in the corner.
“Uncle Bray!” Aria shrieks as she bounds down the hallway, her hands dripping the entire way. “I didn’t know you were coming to see me.”
“Forgot to dry your hands, little one?” He laughs as he dusts water off his suit jacket.
Aria’s eyes widen, and she covers her mouth with her hands. “I forgot,” she mumbles through her damp fingers.
He waves off her worries and attacks her belly with gusto. Curls fly everywhere, and giggles ricochet off the living room walls.
“And yes, I came to see my favorite girl.” He looks across the room at me and winks. “Among other things.”
“Well? How did it go?”
“Great. Better than great. The dean started the conversation by telling me it was more of an invitation than an interview. And it got better from there.”
“I should have known. Who wouldn’t want you?”
“Who indeed?”
“Cocky much?”
“Why shouldn’t I be? I’m awesome.” He shrugs, then resumes the tickle fest to a rain of laughter. “Tell him your Uncle Bray is awesome.”
“No, no, no,” she chants, trying to get away. “I’m gonna pee.”
He drops her onto the carpet and scowls. “Way to break up a party, Aria.”
Then she darts off to the bathroom.
Brady wasn’t lying when he said the apps he’s created really took off. He’s made quite a name for himself as a freelancer in the industry. Recently, Southern Louisiana University contacted him about heading up a student think tank to bring together different departments of the university in the creation, implementation, and marketing of apps. The teams would be made up entirely of Southern U students with the guidance of the think tank team leaders.
“You gonna take it?”
He pokes out his lower lip and nods. “Sure, why not?”
“Don’t get too excited, douchebag.”
“What? It sounds like fun, and I can do my own shit from anywhere, so win-win. They’ve got on-campus housing for me that’ll accommodate the wheels, so I wouldn’t even need to drive to work. But we’ll see.”
“Sounds like a winner.”
“Yeah,” he whispers and then sighs. “Truth is, I just want to be where y’all are, so they could have told me I’d be shoveling shit at the uni stables and I would’ve said yes.”
His words hit me square in the chest, and I’m left momentarily speechless. In a matter of weeks, a family exists where for so long there had been nothing but tumbleweeds and hard feelings.
A family … my family.
“You all set for tonight?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows like an idiot. “Gotta say, for a guy trying to land the girl, I’m dressed a helluva lot better than you. You plan on winning my sister in flannel?”
“I’m going to shower now, ass. You’ve got Aria, right?”
“Shut up.”
I’m halfway to my bedroom when Brady calls my name.
“Hey, didn’t you say Lexi’s last name was Lansard?”
“Yeah, why?”
He shrugs and scratches his face, looking confused. “I don’t know. It’s just that—well never mind. But … I mean, is that the name on her W-2?”
I flinch, aggravated, and more than a little put out by his questions. I also hate to admit the truth to him. “Well, I kind of, sort of pay Lexi in cash, so she never filled out a W-2?”
It comes out as more of a question than a statement, and Brady’s eyes widen at my confession. He huffs and shakes his head.
“Are you shitting me?”
“Look, it’s not a big deal. When I bought the shop from Joe and Marge, Lexi was the only stipulation. She kind of came with the business.”
“Like the espresso machine?”
“Yes … but not nearly as amenable,” I joke, but Brady doesn’t laugh. “Aw, come on, it’s not that big of a deal.”
“She could be one of Charles Manson’s followers.” A look of sheer fright takes over his expression, and I roll my eyes.
“She’s about forty years too young.”
“She could be the daughter of El Chapo … or Pablo Escobar.”
“Or she’s more than likely a kid who needed a fresh start. And now she’s an adult, living that life. Leave it alone, Brady. I know you mean well but leave it alone.”
“Fine,” he grinds out, shaking his head in aggravation.
“El Chapo … where the hell do you come up with this stuff?” I chuckle as I head to my bedroom.
“The ID channel, dude,” he hollers down the hall. “Maybe you should watch it.”
Chapter 33
Autumn
Present
Haven, LA
“One more run through before we pack up?” Mary asks, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and chewing on her pen cap.
“No, nope, no way, I’m done,” Marcus chants, waving his hands in defeat. “My brain cannot accept one more ounce of information. I literally need to plug my ears to keep words, letters, and anatomical phrases from falling out onto the floor.” He leans over and scribbles on his notebook. He lifts it up, proudly displaying his “closed” sign. “Marcus’s brain is closed for business. With the appropriate amount of beer and wings, I may open the doors tomorrow.”
I toss a crumpled piece of paper at his head, but he ducks just in time. “You’re such a doofus.”
“Me need beer. Me need hot wings. You come,” he says, gesturing to me while doing his best Tarzan impersonation.
I shake my head as I pack my stuff. “Sorry, no can do. I’ve got a little princess to pick up. It’s been hours. Aria probably has Seb’s nails painted and a clown-worthy amount of lipstick on his face by now. He’ll need rescuing.”
“I bet he will.” Mary waggles her eyebrows and nudges Marcus.
“It’s not like that,” I say, trying to figure out how to explain the unexplainable. “It’s … complicated.”
“I bet it is.” More eyebrow waggles and lascivious smirks.
“Shut up.” Mary chuckles. I frown.
My phone lights up as if on cue, displaying my parents’ home number. A perfect example of how complicated all of this really is. I decline the call and toss my phone back into my purse. One of the many things I’ve been avoiding like a boss.
And when I pick up Aria in just a few minutes, I’ll come face-to-face with the other object of my avoidance. I doubt I’ll get away with it for much longer, but I’m not ready to have my heart broken just yet. I saw the look in his eyes when I told him about Aria’s birth. I could feel his anguish like a living, breathing thing. It’s not behind us—it’s alive and well in every fist he pounded and breath he dragged into his ragged lungs. He’ll never truly forgive me, and I don’t blame him in the least.
The part that kills me is I know he wants to let this go and move on together. Hell, I bet he thinks he has. But it will always be there, waiting to rear its ugly head during a fight or pop up when we least expect it. Some ghosts can’t be exorcised. Some ghosts linger for a lifetime.
“Come on. All work and no play make Autumn a dull girl,” Marcus chants, bringing me back to the present.
I toss my book bag over my shoulder and stand.
“That’s what a bachelor like you doesn’t understand, Marcus. Being with my daughter? That is the fun part.”
Marcus’s face scrunches in confusion, like he honestly can’t think of anything that would be more fun than alcohol and chicken legs.
Mary’s face goes soft. She and I were in undergrad together in Providence, so she’s met Aria a time or two.
“Aw, give that cutie a kiss and a cheek squeeze for me. Her butt cheeks, I mean. She’s got the cutest little hiney I’ve ever seen.”
* * *
I leave the library in a rush, digging my keys out as I head out to the parking lot. I debate texting Seb to tell him I’m on my way, but it would only give him the opportunity to ambush me when I arrive. Avoidance is key, I remind myself.
“In a hurry?”
I stop short at the sound of his voice, gravelly with a hint of mirth. I whip around, and my mouth drops open at the sight of him, propped against the building, arms crossed and smirk firmly in place. He’s dressed to perfection. Dark jeans hugging his trim thighs, midnight blue button-down tucked into his cinched waist. Shirt sleeves rolled up showing corded forearms dusted with dark hair and a bundle of leather straps circling his wrist. His dark, tousled hair is damp, probably from the shower, and begging for my fingers to dive in and tug. Hard. I’m ten feet away, but I imagine he smells like he looks. He’s a deadly combination for a reluctant romantic like me—pure temptation with a pinch of the boy I used to know.
I wish I were the girl I used to be. The girl who would break out into a run at the mere sight of him, electricity crackling over her skin and horses galloping in her heart. I wish I could wrap my legs around his waist and bury my face in the warmth of his neck. Feel his strong arms envelop me, crushing my torso to his. That girl was impulsive and foolish. But she was also loved.
I wish that girl, sitting in the dark corners of my mind, whispering that anything is possible, that love should win out in the end, would rise up and punch logical Autumn in her smug little face. Logical Autumn sucks the fun out of everything.
When he sees the question in my eyes, he pushes off the column and walks to me. “She’s with Brady. He came into town for business and wanted to spend the evening with her.”
At my doubtful expression, he smirks. “I may have suggested it, yes, but it’s not like I twisted the guy’s arm. Have you met our daughter? She’s pretty irresistible.”
Our daughter…
“Yes, she is,” I whisper. I bite my lower lip to rein in the smile pulling at my lips.
“Her mother is irresistible, too. When she’s not running in the opposite direction, that is.” He stops, looks up at the sky and shakes his head. “I take that back. You running in the opposite direction gives me a great view of your ass.”
“Shut up.” I bark out a laugh and shove his shoulder. “You clean up nice, Kelly.”
Understatement of the year.
“Thanks. I have plans.” He grins, then shakes his head at what I assume is my fallen expression. “With you, doofus. Plans with you.”
Crossing my arms and shrugging, I lower my head in an attempt to hide my reddening face. “I don’t remember agreeing to any plans.”
He tips my chin and meets my eyes, his soft and warm and everything I want to dive into. As his smile spreads, I feel the fall—my resistance, my resolve … my heart.
“Come on now, Autumn, when did we ever need to make plans? You and me? We just are.”
It’s a simple thing, saying words so true, they’re written in the stars. Seb stands in front of me, wide eyes, open arms, exposed heart, and the tears well inside me. What I long for and what I know play tug-of-war with my heart, leaving it with that all familiar ache I’ve lived with since moving to Haven.
My uncertainty is met with Seb’s obvious determination, as
he’s showing no signs of backing down. He grabs my hand and tugs. And that’s all it takes.
“Where are we going?”
He squeezes my hand and bounds forward, to the parking lot. “You’ll see, soon enough.”
He opens his car door, and I slide inside, my nerves river dancing in my stomach. Before I get ahold of myself, he sits in the driver’s seat and closes the door.
“I feel underdressed,” I say, tugging at my worn, denim sundress, wishing I was wearing something else. I look across at him and feel muted.
“You look amazing.”
I smile, loving the closeness and the opportunity to inspect him. “Did you trim your beard?”
He turns the ignition and chuckles. “Like I said, I have plans.”
Cue the encore of frenzied river dancing.
* * *
“Seb? Should I be worried?” I ask as his car ambles down a deserted dirt road, reeds of overgrown grass scraping the undercarriage as we go. “Kind of looking like the latest horror movie set up, from where I’m sitting.”
The farther we go outside the city limits of Haven, the higher my curiosity piques. I have no idea what Sebastian has planned.
His eyes dance as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the shift. So nonchalant and cool. His stick shift hand reaches over to my knee for a gentle squeeze. My breath hitches and my whole body locks. His hand is warm and calloused against my bare knee.
Why did I wear a sundress today? Thank God I wore a sundress today. Gah!
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”
“That’s what all the serial killers say.”
The tremble in my voice is mortifying. Seriously, who gets hot from a simple squeeze of the knee? Obviously that girl is me, but also, nothing with Seb is ever “simple.”
I watch his hand with complete focus as it drags across my skin and back to the shift, a trail of sizzle left in its wake.
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