“You want to go bye-bye?”
Griffin, excited to go anywhere, claps. “Go. Go. Go!”
I stand, pick him up, and head for the stairs to do a quick diaper change. “But you have to promise to be my shield tonight. Trig is freaking me out by being nice and I don’t know what to expect. Okay?”
He giggles.
I kiss his chubby, sweet cheek. “Give your mama a fist bump.”
And Griffin seals the deal, promising to protect me from all the personalities of my first and only real love.
* * *
June 17th —
It’s official. I had my oncologist follow-up appointment today. All the things that people beg and pray and bargain to be negative are positive.
All of them.
Not only are they positive, but they’re really darn positive. To the power of four.
I had my breakdown when I got home. It was ugly and dramatic and I’m not proud of it. The good Lord knows, I’ve weathered uglier storms than this. Heck, I survived Ray and made the choices no one should have to make, let alone carry out.
Three months without treatment. My fifty-six-year-old brain checked out after that. I agreed to a treatment plan, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what it is. Probably because they found a spot on my brain.
But summer is practically here and my garden is bloomin’.
Easton will be home for a visit tomorrow and I need to get my act together. He’s miserable enough as it is, even though he doesn’t take the time to realize how he’s let that evil take over his life. I guess I have three months without treatment, or who knows how long with, to get him to move on.
I’ll tell him before he goes back to that rat-race he calls a life. This isn’t going to ruin our visit.
I pull my T-shirt up to wipe my tears when a tissue box appears in front of my face.
My eyes follow his hand and veined forearm all the way up to where his thick bicep disappears into his T-shirt that professes his love for baseball. Closing the journal where I’ve been lost in Faye’s mind for over an hour, I pluck a tissue and wipe my eyes. I need to blow my nose but I don’t want to wake Griffin who’s sleeping on my chest.
Trig settles himself into a chair across from my sofa and takes a long pull from his beer while speaking in a low voice. “There’re boxes of those. Did you know she journaled?”
I wipe my nose before returning my hand to Griffin’s back, rising and falling with tiny breaths, and gaze across the dimmed space to the man I’m failing to hate. I’m doing such a shitty job of hating him right now, it reminds me of when I was failing high school trigonometry.
When Griffin and I walked through the front door that was left unlocked for us, it was a throwback to our visits with Faye. It was always unlocked for us and we knew to walk right in. Shortly after we rekindled our friendship, she point-blank informed me I wasn’t a guest—I was family—and I’d better waltz my skinny behind into her house on my own because she most likely wouldn’t feel like stopping whatever she was doing to just walk to the front door to let me in.
Today, the door was unlocked like her ghost was lurking, so I took a chance and waltzed in like normal. Trig was in the kitchen unearthing box after box of Chinese take-out. I stopped in my tracks at the sight of him. Since his return to Texas, I’ve only seen him in a suit. Or, at the end of the day, when he’s lost the jacket and tie and his perfectly tailored dress shirts were rumpled.
But not tonight.
Tonight, he’s in a pair of jeans topped with a Dodgers T-shirt. Casual, comfortable … familiar. Seeing him like this—looking so similar to when I met him when he was barely a man and I was still a girl—is … intimate.
It’s almost too much, especially standing in his mother’s home—a place that became a refuge for me since I moved back to Texas. Thank goodness I have Griffin to focus on. Otherwise I might’ve turned around and run straight to the border, to a place where CPS workers have no jurisdiction and Trig wouldn’t be in my face at my every turn, reminding me of everything I lost.
But running from reality only plays out on Netflix and in romance novels. Griffin made sure real life smacked me in the face because, when we arrived, he wiggled out of my arms and crawled straight to the closet where Faye kept the garage-sale toys she bought for him to play with when we came over. Being the straight-talker she was, she didn’t even stutter when she told me her dream was to have a home where her grandbabies loved to visit.
That pinched my heart and I knew she could see it. Her only apology was telling me by my giving her Griffin, I fulfilled her dream.
Then she told me to quit crying and fed me cookies with my tea.
Griffin made an enormous mess, pulling every single truck and block out of that closet while nibbling off my plate where Trig and I sat on the floor eating Chinese food. I picked around the meat while Trig ate two platefuls.
Trig and I hardly exchanged words besides him asking mundane questions about Griffin, like his birthday and what he likes to play with. But I broke a little while watching Trig interact with my son. Between feeding Griffin bites off his plate to rolling a ball back and forth, I could tell Trig was trying even though it’s plain to see he has no experience with babies. Then he cleaned up dinner and I wandered Faye’s house.
Now, Trig’s focus is lasered on me and I don’t have a babbling baby—fussy or happy—to avert my attention.
“You’ve read them all?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I just found them last night. They’re boxed up in her junk room. I don’t think they’re even in order. Organization was not my mom’s strong suit.”
I wipe my eyes again. “She was clean but she liked her things around her. I loved that.”
He leans deep into his chair, legs set wide and arms sprawled, taking up every inch possible. “That, she did.”
“So, she told you that summer, like the journal said?” I speak softly. “About the cancer?”
He nods. “I knew something was off. I was supposed to fly back to L.A. a couple days earlier but was able to extend my trip. I made some calls to her doctors and when I realized it was even worse than she made it out to be, I tried to get her to move to California. She refused. That’s when I started looking for a job here.”
“She never told me you moved back.” I try to keep the hurt out of my voice but it’s hard. I shouldn’t be upset about it, I made my choices. I was married and I’m sure Faye knew it would only cause me turmoil. She barely spoke of Trig around me as it was.
“She never told me she all but adopted you as the daughter she never had. I guess we’re even.”
“She had secrets,” I whisper as I push Griffin’s pacifier back into his mouth when he starts to stir.
“Apparently.”
“When are you putting her house on the market?” I’m dreading it but also ask because I have no clue what else to say. I need to get up and go home and tell Trig that from now on, I don’t want to see him anywhere but in court and I need to mean it this time.
But I just can’t make myself.
His eyes are darker than normal in this room lit by only two lamps. “I guess as soon as I can get it ready. She’s got shit everywhere and I don’t know when I’m going to have a chance to go through it.”
A weird silence blankets us and Griffin sucking away on his pacifier might as well be a locomotive.
“You’re a good mom.”
My breath catches and I don’t answer. He’s creeping into territory that scares me.
“Griffin is a good kid. He’s happy. After all you’ve gone through, that’s all you.”
My eyes start to glass over and I whisper, “Stop.”
He lowers his voice. “Don’t like seeing you cry, angel.”
“Yeah, well, I cry when I’m sad or pissed or upset, which seems to be often lately.”
“I really don’t like being the one who causes those tears.”
Shit.
No. I really can’t do this.
Hate and love—the deepest of all emotions are the ones that can wreak havoc on your soul. How many nights did I wish for an apathetic heart?
I drag Griffin up to my shoulder and stand. “I need to get him to bed. I’m sure he’ll wake up and I’ll never get him back to sleep.”
He follows. “Wait. You didn’t take anything.”
I balance Griff as I grab my bag. “Figure out what you don’t want and leave something for me. Give it to Jen and I’ll get it eventually.”
“It doesn’t matter. You can have whatever you want.”
I shake my head and head to the door, desperate for an escape. “Anything is fine.”
“Don’t go.”
Spending time in Faye’s thoughts was hard enough. I can’t sit around with Trig Barrett and talk about why my emotions are always on the brink of eruption.
Not looking at him, I push my way through the front door and try to steady my voice but it doesn’t work. “I can’t do this. I’m done pretending this shit between us isn’t raw. I have too much to worry about and everything to lose. My priority is Griffin and I can’t juggle anything else—especially you—without falling apart.”
Griffin starts to fidget and fuss as I try to wrestle him into his car seat. Trig is on my heels the whole time. Griffin’s cries escalate so I slam his door and yank at mine, but before I can open it all the way, Trig grabs it, holding it where I can’t get in. “Dammit, Ellie. Griffin is upset. Come back in, let him sleep, and we can talk. It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“It does,” I insist.
Just when I don’t think I can take another moment in his presence, he steps in and puts a hand to my face. It’s not rough and it’s not gentle. It’s just like Trig always was when we were together—commanding but not controlling. Caring but not mushy. Strong but not forceful.
Just fucking perfect.
He doesn’t stop. He presses his body to mine, big and strong and he feels good.
He’s going to kill me.
He drops his head and our foreheads touch, and just when I think he’s going to kiss me, he demands, “Come inside.”
I realize I’m gripping his shirt at his abs as his heavy breath sweeps my skin. I shake my head and make myself push away because Griffin is tired and needs his bed. “Let me go.”
“Ellie.” My name is a plea and I wish I knew why.
I shake my head and shove at him one last time. He groans but steps back.
I get in my car, slam the door, and throw it in reverse. I do my best to ignore everything—Griffin crying and Trig calling for me. And I don’t allow myself to look into my mirrors because I know he’s there, standing in the middle of the street, watching me speed away from him.
Fuck. I can’t get a handle on anything.
15
Life Altering
Tuck the hate away and let your love shine like a beacon.
Ellie
“Are you okay, Ellie? You’ve been quiet. I’m at a stopping point and might grab a coffee. Can I bring you anything?”
I look up from my laptop and Quinn is standing in my office doorway. I am quiet because I’m tired. It took forever for Griffin to fall back asleep after I left Trig last night. I shouldn’t have stayed so late. I tossed and turned into the morning hours. If I got a couple hours of sleep, I’d be surprised. “I’m good. You go. Get some fresh air.”
Hands down, Quinn has been my best decision since I bought this building. She already has the payroll software up and rolling, she’s taken over coordinating the painters and electrician, and she’s sweet, fun, and didn’t run away or judge me after witnessing my drama with Trig the other day.
Because, really, who wants to see their new boss being carried away during a crying jag by a strange man in a suit?
It wasn’t my best showing, that’s for sure. If she had any qualms about my abilities to run a business before, that scene should’ve sent her running for greener pastures. But she didn’t. When I explained everything to her the next day—okay, fine, I lied and made up a story that made me seem much less pathetic than I really am—she gave me a hug and wished me sunny skies and good wine.
Those might not have been her exact words but that was the gist of it.
She flips her dark hair over her shoulder. “Call me if you change your mind.”
I start to look back to my computer when I hear, “Is Ellie in there?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer because the quick tempo of my sister’s heels click against the floor heading my way. If I know her at all, I’d say she’s either in a hurry or means business—which otherwise means something’s got her fired up.
When she appears at the door to my office, I know I’m right.
“You’re here,” she exclaims, exasperated. “Do you know?”
I frown. “Know what?”
“Baby.” Before I have a chance to say anything, Eli is standing at her back and wraps a hand low around her hip. “Wait.”
They glare at each other, carrying out a telepathic conversation—and probably not about centerpieces for their upcoming wedding for which they refuse to set a date, in essence driving my mother mad.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Nothing—” Eli growls.
At the same time Jen clips, “Everything.”
I sit back in my chair. “Lovers spat? Because, if so, you’re in the wrong place for help. My track record is both tragic and fatal. Either way, you’re better off on your own.”
“Don’t,” Eli warns her without offering me a glance. “Let me talk to him first.”
“Sorry, but sisterhood trumps your new bromance.”
His hand tightens on her waist and he pulls her into his body, but this time he sounds amused. “Are you shitting me?”
“No. I love you so I’m absolutely not shitting you. You cannot tell me something like that and expect me to keep it from her. Since you know everything, you shouldn’t question this, nor should you ask me to keep quiet. Not even for a couple of hours.”
I stand and put my hands on my hips. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Jensen.” Eli lowers his voice. “Let Trig be the one to tell her.”
I walk around my desk and cross my arms. “Let Trig tell me what?”
Jen turns to me even though Eli keeps her where she is. Leveling her dark eyes on me, she takes a breath. “Ray Barrett was paroled.”
That name … one I haven’t heard uttered in such a long time but will stay with me forever, hits me like a sledgehammer. Leaning back against my desk, I grip the edges for support. Memories flood my brain and wash through me, bringing the filth he left in his wake to the surface.
“When?” I watch Jen push away from Eli but my questions keep coming. “How? I thought he still had another few years?”
“I don’t know how, but he’s been out for a week or so. Trig told Eli yesterday and asked him not to say anything. Trig wanted to be the one to tell you but I can tell he hasn’t done that yet and you deserve to know.”
Shit. Last night. It’s why he asked me to go to Faye’s.
“Ellie, there’s more,” Jen adds.
My sluggish senses lag and I have to catch my breath before I drag my eyes up and look between Jen and her fiancé. “More?”
She steps forward, the clicks of her shoes only barely audible over the sound of blood pulsing through my ears. She grabs my hand and squeezes. “He’s moving back to Dallas. He might be here by now.”
Eli steps in beside Jen. “Trig wanted to tell you. He planned to tell you.”
My ass. He should’ve told me the moment he found out. Someone should’ve told me. I’m not stupid enough to think the court system would, but I deserve to know.
I’ve had it. Trig has done nothing but put me into a tailspin of emotions and now I
find out he’s hiding something from me? Hiding this from me?
No fucking way. Not anymore.
I pull my hand from Jen’s, push between them, and grab my bag on my way out the door.
“Wait, where are you going?” Jen runs after me, but I’m faster. I’ve always been faster than her. A ballerina might be dainty and lithe, but my body can stand up to any athlete. Cam was a wide receiver and I could almost keep up with him.
The fact I’m wearing flip flops to her four-inch heels doesn’t hurt, either.
“Ellie!” she calls after me but I don’t answer. I push through the front door and I’m halfway to my car when I hear her say to Eli, “Dammit, my keys are in your office.”
I’ve had it. Trig Barrett is going to come clean about everything. I don’t care if I have to drag it out of him. His hot-and-cold bullshit is bad enough, keeping shit like this from me is not going to happen.
Not anymore.
* * *
Trig
“I’m sorry your schedule is tight tomorrow morning. Your meetings are across town from each other, but it was the only time he had until late next week and I know you want to get the terms settled as soon as possible.”
“It won’t be a problem.” I look from my laptop to Jessica. She’s been with MI for more than ten years and worked under Patrick, the previous lead counsel, the entire time. She’s had an adjustment since he was killed mere months ago. I have no problem keeping my own schedule and she helps with that. She’s smart, efficient, and is way more than an administrative assistant—she’s also a paralegal. What she’s really good at is research and knowing the process. “Can you email me the financials and assets for the last year on the Corpus refinery? And is Ellie’s court hearing on the calendar? I want mid-morning through close of business blocked for that.”
“I blocked your entire day just in case.” Jessica doesn’t look up as she taps away on her tablet. “Just sent you the financials. I have the research on the—”
Broken Halo: The Montgomery Series, Book 2 Page 14