Your Hand in Mine (Blackbird Series Book 2)

by Lily Foster

  I back up a step on instinct, but then cross my arms, ready to square off with him. I’m too angry and hurt to be intimidated. “Now I’m sweetheart? I’m not kiddo anymore? Sweetheart, is that what you called your lawyer tonight?”

  “She’s not my lawyer.”

  He takes another step closer and now I’ve got nowhere to go. My back is up against the kitchen counter and he’s essentially got me caged in. I raise my chin in defiance but when I speak all that false bravado I had a moment ago is stripped away. “What is she to you?”

  I hate the sound of my own voice. I sound hurt. I sound like a child.

  “She’s nothing to me.”

  I look down at the space between us, watch as his right hand moves slowly and lands on my hip. His thumb moves up and down, brushing just close enough to make me shudder. I want to look at him, to get a better handle on what’s happening here, but I don’t want to ruin this moment. If he’s on the verge of losing control I’m not going to stop him.

  I want some of whatever is in that crystal tumbler. I want to loosen up and be that girl I was in the club again. I want to turn my body around so that his front is pressed up to my back. I want to reach up and lace my arms around his neck and lean back into him, just like I did that night. I want him to remember. I want him to touch me the way he did that night, and this time I won’t run away.

  He leans down and angles his face like he’s going to kiss me, but his mouth goes to my neck instead. His lips brush over the sensitive skin beneath my ear and then he breathes in deep. Every nerve ending in my body is on high alert, primed and ready for what comes next.

  I take his hand and slowly guide it up from my hip, up the curve of my waist and to my breast. I lead him, cup it with him hand over hand, and when we make contact he lets out a quiet moan of desperation. He still doesn’t kiss my lips but lays open mouth kisses down my neck, one by one to my collarbone. I’m practically shaking. I want his mouth on my tits and his hand between my legs so badly that I’m on the verge of begging.

  Sliding my hand between us, I reach down to stroke him. Hard and eager, he moves his hips to urge me on. Up and down. Once then twice then—

  “No.” He backs up shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  My voice sounds small when I ask, “Why?”

  “I just…I didn’t mean to—”

  “Touch me?” It’s taking everything I have in me to keep from crying.

  He backs up another step and turns away. “I’m so fucking sorry, Skylar. That was so wrong.”

  “Why is being with me so wrong? What’s wrong with me?”

  His eyes are soft when he turns back to face me. Two, maybe three feet separate us now, but we might as well be standing on two opposite shores with an ocean between us. He reaches across, puts a hand on my cheek, but I can’t. I can’t stand here and let him stutter through the speech he’s about to make.

  He’s about to let me down easy, to tell me how wonderful I am and remind me of the bright future that’s just waiting for me beyond the fucking horizon. That I’ll have my pick of men to choose from someday. For good measure he might even throw in some nonsense about not being good enough for me.

  He goes to open his mouth but I won’t listen to this bullshit. “Don’t.” I brush his hand off my cheek. “Don’t say a word, and wipe that look off your face right now. I don’t need your pity.”

  “Skylar.”

  It’s almost comical, the way he says my name. He doesn’t know what to make of this Skylar, doesn’t know how to handle her. She’s angry and no one wants that, do they? He likes the Skylar who makes his life easy, who acts like she doesn’t have a care in the world, who floats in and out with a smile on her face every damn day.

  He acts like he’s looking out for me, doing me a favor, that he knows better. I let out a cheerless laugh as I imagine what’s going through his head right now. Maybe he thinks I’ll look back on this moment ten years from now and say to myself, You know what? Leo was right. Whew, I really dodged a bullet there.

  Every look, every time he says my name it stings, so now I want to hurt him back.

  “You don’t remember me from that night in the club, do you?”

  I can see the wheels turning. A long minute passes before—jackpot!—the color begins to drain from his face. I’ve hit my mark and it feels good. So good that I can’t stop.

  “I know what your hands feel like, Leo. What you just did a few minutes ago? You did a whole lot more out on the dance floor that night, didn’t you?” I watch as he swallows, watch as he stands there struggling for something to say. My tone is hard when I command, “Look at me,” and he obeys.

  “You know every curve of my body. And I bet you still think back to that night. When you’re all alone in that big bed I bet you touch yourself remembering exactly what it felt like. The weight of my breasts in your hands, my fingers fisting your hair.” I fix my eyes on his on his crotch and see that he’s still hard. “Do you still think about how good it felt to grind against me?”

  He’s shaking his head, so confused. He doesn’t know who I am anymore and neither do I. This Skylar is hateful, she’s bitter, and after the volcano inside of her is done erupting, she’s just done.

  I walk back to the living room and grab my bag from the couch. He calls after me when my hand is on the doorknob, “We need to talk.”

  I won’t look at him, not now. “No, we really don’t. I’ve been through much worse, Leo, so don’t worry, I’ll get over this. And don’t you dare make any stupid decisions that will hurt Olivia. I’m still working for you. My feelings won’t get in the way so don’t sweat it.”

  My hands shake violently as I turn the key in the ignition and shift into gear. I drive slowly, so wound up that I know I have no business being behind the wheel right now. By the time I reach campus my breathing has evened out more or less, and I’m thinking more clearly.

  He’s probably going to fire me, and Lord knows he’d be justified. I raise up a silent prayer to God, as if He can control Leo and make him see reason. Still sitting there in the parking lot, I can’t help but cry when I think about the potential fallout from what I’ve just done. I’m not tooting my own horn or anything when I think about Olivia, but I know she’ll be devastated if I just up and vanish from her life. He won’t do that to her. He can’t.

  My bag feels like it weighs a hundred pounds as I trudge up the stairs and open the door to my dark, quiet room. My roommate left for home yesterday after she took her last final. It was the flattest, most blah goodbye I’ve ever participated in. All this year, the two of us have just come and gone, saying hello and goodbye, polite and impassive. I feel the way I did in September. I feel alone.

  I’ll be going home after I watch Olivia on Tuesday if I still have a job. Right. And where is home? Is that what I call Garth and Sienna’s place now? I’ll stuff my bag into the back of James’s closet, I’ll sleep on the couch, I’ll be taking up too much space and overstaying my welcome. They would never make me feel that way, I know that, but the truth is that I don’t belong there.

  It’s only for two weeks. Figured I’d spend some quality time with James while Leo takes Olivia down to visit with her grandparents. Then I’m moving into an off-campus summer sublet with a friend of a friend of Simone’s.

  The thought of that place does nothing to lift my spirits.

  I was happy to find the last-minute house share until I pulled up outside to leave my deposit with the girl who arranged it. It looked like a frat house, with garbage littering the front yard and beat-up upholstered furniture on the porch that no one saw fit to protect from the elements. It smells like mold when you stand on the porch and weed once you step inside.

  Holly—I only know her name from Simone’s text—followed the path my eyes took after she let me in. I’m guessing she was probably worried I was about to back out when she said, “We had a party last night. It usually doesn’t look like this.”

  I took he
r word for it and handed over my share of the rent for June and July. It’s just a place to sleep, I told myself. I’ll hardly be here at all.

  But now, flopping down onto my bed, I’m not sure what my immediate future looks like. Even if Leo does keep me on, is he going to pull what he did last week? Cutting my hours and making excuses because the mere sight of me makes him uncomfortable? I lay one arm over my face, trying to block out the image of that scene in the kitchen. If he was uncomfortable last Sunday after that non-event, imagine what he feels like now?

  I try my best to shake it off and start with the positive self-talk. I tell myself Leo’s a reasonable person, and above all else, that he loves his daughter. The odds of me being fired are low. And if he cuts my hours I’ll find a second job. Keep busy, keep plugging along. That’s what I’ll do.

  I don’t have any other choice.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Leo

  I pull her text message up again, read it for what’s probably the tenth time.

  I was out of line last night. I’m sorry.

  I don’t know how to reply. I can’t just write that it’s fine, or Let’s just forget about it.

  Believe me, I’d give my right arm to develop a sudden case of amnesia right now, but I can’t forget one word or one look that passed between us last night.

  I hope she’s not looking at her phone, because I’ve started typing and then stopped myself three different times. She’ll be thinking the worst looking at the dialogue bubble popping up and then disappearing again and again and again.

  I know I should call her, and I’m just about to bite the bullet when my phone starts ringing. Coward that I am, I’m actually relieved to see that it’s Max calling.

  “So how did it go after you two left last night?”

  Max sounds hopeful, so I’m thinking I must have given off the impression that I was somewhat interested in Lexie. I don’t see how that can be, though. My head was all over the place, to the point where I can’t recall a single thing we talked about at dinner last night. I just wanted to leave.

  “I dropped her at home. And not that I’d ever tell you shit about my private life, but there are no sordid details to report.”

  “She liked you. A lot, from what my girl says. I have four tickets to the Pirates game next Sunday so let’s go...The four of us.”

  “That’s Mother’s Day. I’m taking Olivia out of school a few days before the term ends and flying down to Florida for two weeks. And,” I pause for a second, “I don’t think it’s going to work out with Lexie. She was nice and I had a decent time, but I’m not looking for anything like that now.”

  “Like what? Sex, companionship, fun? Leo, you’ve been living like a monk for the past three years.” Four years, I silently correct him. I stopped sleeping with Carrie once she told me she was pregnant. Her decision, not mine. “Just saying…Your junk is going to shrivel up and fall off if you keep going on like this.”

  “Nice visual. Thanks.”

  “Wait…Did you hook up last week when you were away in Miami? I knew it! You’ve been holding out on me, ya dog.”

  “Didn’t hook up with anyone.”

  As long as you don’t count the babysitter.

  “You didn’t shag that company rep you were telling me about?”

  “Who?”

  “The one from Jaguar who’s been trying to lure you over to their team.”

  The one who’s been emailing and texting non-stop? The one who practically offered herself up on a silver platter for me last weekend?

  “Sorry to disappoint, but no.”

  “Whatever, I’m just looking out for you. Hey, don’t close the door on Lexi, on Miss Jag, or on anyone else right now. Just leave yourself open to the possibility of something good.”

  “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re in love, Max.”

  “You know what? I just might be.”

  “Yeah?” I’m legitimately surprised.

  “Nadia is different. She’s as fun-loving and easy as the women I usually go for, but I’m loving the fact that she’s got her own thing going on. She’s smart, has a good career, she’s confident...”

  “She seems great.”

  “She is. And I want that for you, Leo. I was joking before, but I mean it when I say that I’m worried you’ve been out of the game for so long. I get it, you have Olivia to worry about. And I’m not a parent, but I get that she’s your top priority. But I think you shy away from meeting anyone new because of what Carrie did to you. Not every woman is Carrie.”

  It’s taking everything in me not to unleash on him right now, so I end the call with some bullshit about keeping an open mind.

  I didn’t think it was possible to feel worse than I did before that call, but it is.

  Not very woman is like Carrie. Translation: Not every woman is a dishonest gold digger out to screw you over.

  That’s how Max sees her. He was the only person who warned me off her in the very beginning. And when I was going through the worst of it, caring for an infant in the aftermath of Carrie’s death, scared out of my damn mind that I might lose Olivia—that she might not be mine—I didn’t have any kind thoughts to spare where my wife was concerned either. But that burning hatred I had for Carrie has started to fade. The years have lessened the sting of what she put me through.

  I know that being angry at Max for speaking ill of Carrie makes me a hypocrite. I still say those words to myself sometimes, still look at the picture in my daughter’s room and tell that woman that I hate her. But now I also tell myself that there are good and bad in all people. And she was twenty-five when she died. How sad is that? We may have ended under the worst possible circumstances, but Carrie wasn’t evil and I don’t like talking about her that way.

  “Daddy, look at this.”

  Turning to see my little girl coming down the stairs, who’s sure to be the spitting image of her mother someday, I can’t feel anything but love. I’m not all the way there, but all that bitterness and hate is slowly giving way to gratitude.

  “Watcha got there?”

  “It’s for Skylar.”

  “You’re getting to be a great artist, Libs.”

  Pointing to each figure she says, “That’s me and that’s Skylar.”

  I’m focused on the sun taking up a prominent amount of space on the front of the card and the tiny hearts she drew all around the figure that is obviously Sky.

  “This is nice. I think she’ll be really happy when you give it to her.”

  “I’m gonna give it to Sky on Mudder Day.”

  I smile to myself listening to that one last remnant of baby talk she’s still struggling with. She sounds out the th fine in some words, but mother and father always trip her up. She sounds so cute that it takes me a second to process what she said.

  “On Mother’s Day?”

  Should I remind her again that Sky isn’t her mother? That this isn’t appropriate? I just don’t have it in me.

  “Libs, we’re going to be in Florida with Grammy and Grampy on Mother’s Day. Remember? We get to ride on the big plane this Wednesday.”

  Her eyes light up. “I forgot!” Wiggling off my lap and heading back upstairs she says, “I gotta make Grammy a card, too!”

  “Good idea. And you just reminded me I have to buy Grammy a card and shop for something special.”

  She stops in her tracks and then turns. “And I’ll give Sky her card on Special Person Day.”

  “When is that?”

  “Today!”

  “Uh, no Libs. Sky doesn’t come here today.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “No, and she has a test the day after tomorrow.” Her smile drops and my heart sinks along with it because I know that seeing Skylar before we leave means…I’m going to have to see Skylar before we leave. Fuck me. “She’s coming here on Tuesday and that’s the day before we go to Florida. Is that good?”

  “Yes!” And then she rattles off her crazy list of things to do as s
he takes the stairs one by one. “I make Sky a cake. A present. I make a Happy Grammy Day card…”

  I’ve got a pit in my stomach the size of a boulder. I look to where my phone sits on the table. You’re eventually going to have to talk to her so just do it. I reach for it and then put it back down again. This isn’t going to get any easier so stop being a pussy.

  I’m praying it goes to voicemail when she picks up. I can hear her take in a deep breath before she says hello, which tells me she’s not exactly jazzed that it’s me on the other end of the line.

  Now I’m thinking I should have planned this out a little better because I don’t have a clue right now. I don’t know what to say and she obviously doesn’t either. An uncomfortable moment passes before I say, “I got your text.” I clear my throat because I’m really fucking nervous right now. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  “I feel awful.”

  “You shouldn’t,” I tell her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”

  “Sky…I just…I never knew it was you. I’m sure you know that…I mean, I hope you do. And I’m beyond ashamed of myself that I laid a hand on you last night...That I ever laid a hand on you.” It suddenly occurs to me to ask, “This whole time, did you know it was me? That I was the guy you danced with that night?”

  The guy you danced with. I go with that instead of the guy who groped you like a perv.

  “No, not at first. One night when you were washing the dishes you pushed your sleeves up and I saw the tattoos on your left arm. That’s when I knew.”

  “Oh.”

  “So where do we go from here?”

  She’s asking the million dollar question. “I don’t really know. Do you still feel comfortable working here? If you don’t, I’d totally understand.”

  Her voice trembles when she asks, “Do you not want me to work with Olivia anymore?”

  “Sky, you know I think you’re great with Olivia.” I hesitate for a second before adding, “You’re the best thing that’s happened to our family in a long time. I hope you know that.”