Faking it with #41

by Piper Rayne

  “Knock, knock. I heard Gregg had a guest.” A male nurse with olive skin and dark hair comes in wearing scrubs with little Santas all over them. “Looks like Santa delivered your gift.” He takes a cloth and wipes my dad’s mouth. “If I’d known, I would’ve gotten you all dressed up and ready.”

  Is there judgment in his tone?

  “I’m sorry. I moved out of state recently.” I feel like an idiot for voicing my lame excuse.

  He smiles at me. “I know.”

  “You know?” My forehead wrinkles.

  The nurse checks Dad’s vitals and situates my dad just so. Dad doesn’t fight him, nor does he acknowledge we’re in the room.

  “I do read magazines. Congratulations.” Then he turns to my dad. “I told Gregg about it and shared some pictures with him.” He nods at the nightstand where there’s the People magazine with our Christmas pictures in it that came out a few days ago.

  “Oh.” Guilt weighs heavy in my stomach.

  “Relax. You look all pale and like you’re gonna throw up. And I clean up enough messes a day. I don’t need to clean up after healthy people too.”

  “You probably think I’m a horrible daughter,” I blurt.

  “I think you have a life, and I think it’s hard to see a loved one in this state. Then you come here and you’re left feeling unfulfilled because he doesn’t interact with you.”

  “He was an alcoholic.” I want to take back the words as soon as they leave my mouth. This man doesn’t care about my issues.

  The nurse stops fussing with my dad and sits in the chair next to me. He holds out his hand for mine and I place it in his.

  “Listen. I’m not judging you. I’m sorry, I get a little protective of my patients. I’ve only been with your dad for about nine months. But I do understand that things happen in people’s lives. Things people can do to others that cause them pain. And just because his brain no longer functions like it did once doesn’t mean those things are any less painful for you or that you have to forgive him. In fact, it probably makes it harder because now you know you can’t get what you need from him—his acknowledgment of whatever he put you through and his apology for doing so.”

  “How much do you know?”

  “We have case files, Lena. You’re his only living relative. Your mom died young and… I don’t need all the specifics. I can put two and two together. Most relatives either come daily or not at all. Rarely do I see the in-between.” He pats my hand. “But talk to him and have a nice visit. I know you think he doesn’t remember, doesn’t know who you are, but do any of us really know for certain?”

  He stands and pats my dad’s leg. “Now be nice, Gregg, so that maybe she’ll come back again.” He stops just shy of the door. “I’m Bruno, if you need me.”

  “Thank you, Bruno.”

  After he leaves, the room is silent and I glance at the magazine. Sliding my chair over closer, I lean in and whisper, “It’s fake. The engagement. I’m getting married but only for a short time, then I’ll be getting a divorce.”

  There’s no emotion on his face and his eyes continue to stare at the television.

  “But it’s complicated. Twisted really, because I fell for him. I fell for a man who breaks hearts and carries on his way. He says I’m different, but why would I be so special to be the one to lock down a man like him? Why me?”

  Still nothing.

  I sit in the chair, staring at a man I don’t really know anymore. Picking up the magazine, I scroll through the pictures.

  “We sure sell the happily ever after,” I say, running my hand down the page with Ford, Annabelle, and me. Shutting the magazine, not wanting to torment myself any longer, I toss it on the table.

  Everything from my childhood swirls around in my head. All the shit Dad put me through, and here I am taking time out of my day to make sure he has a visitor. He didn’t care when he left me in that car parked in the back of a factory lot. He didn’t care when I wouldn’t hear from him for an entire week. When I had to make excuses to the landlord about the rent, had to find a way of feeding myself. Where was he for me then?

  “I always thought I had good confidence. Especially given my childhood. Hell, I’ve fought for every damn thing I’ve accomplished. I’m an incredible woman and I know that. Deep down, I know. So why am I doubting that I can be enough for him to remain this new version of himself?”

  “Oh, Bruno said Gregg had a visitor?” A man walks in dressed in jeans and a Christmas sweater that could win first place in an ugly Christmas sweater contest.

  “Hi,” I say tentatively.

  “You probably don’t remember me. I’m Ivan.” He stops by my dad. “What’s up, Gregg?” He sits in the chair next to me. “Looks like you were in a confessional or something.”

  “Should I know you?” I ask.

  “Back when you were younger, I was your dad’s sponsor… for AA.”

  I rock my head back, not really remembering him.

  “I think we only met once. He was protective of you.”

  “You come and visit him?” I ask, surprised.

  “Try to once a month. It’s a good reminder for me, which I know sounds bad.”

  I shake my head. “If it stops one person from drinking and driving, then it’s worth it.” And I mean that wholeheartedly.

  “He used to talk about you at the meetings.”

  “For those split seconds he was clean?” This is why I never come. All seeing my dad does is remind me how horrible my childhood was and the fact that I couldn’t get him to clean up his act.

  “How about we take a walk outside?” Ivan stands from his chair.

  “I should get going,” I say, standing and grabbing my purse.

  “I think there are some things you need to know. Humor me for a few minutes.”

  Since I never took off my jacket, I nod, and he leads me out of my dad’s room and out a side door.

  The wind whips my face. “I think we could’ve talked in there. He doesn’t know what we’re saying.”

  He’s quiet and I regret my comment. “I was the child of an alcoholic mother. And I swore to myself I’d never drink, but obviously you’ve guessed that I’m a recovering alcoholic, so that didn’t work out so well for me. But growing up, I always wondered why she couldn’t stop. I assume you’ve had similar thoughts?”

  I shrug and stuff my hands into my pockets.

  “You’ve done amazing things in your life. Your dad was so proud when you graduated high school and got that scholarship to college. He said he had nothing to do with it. That it was all you.”

  It was all me. Everything was always left up to me. All my success—me.

  “He’d brag about you, but after you left for college, I think he got lonely.”

  “I was lonely my entire childhood,” I snip, feeling defensive.

  He glances my way. “The road you were on was a hard one. I’m not here to say how great of a father you had. Having a similar path to adulthood as you, I understand your bitterness. You’re pissed off. Why weren’t you good enough for him to stop?”

  I stop walking, repeating the words over in my head. “Why wasn’t I?”

  “Lena, it took me decades to figure out what I’m about to tell you. And now that you’re engaged, I’m hoping to spare you the heartache I caused myself.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He stops at the now empty fountain that has a sculpture of a koi fish at the top. In the warmer months, that fish would spray water out of its mouth. I wait for him to give me his other piece of advice.

  “Your dad failed you.”

  I wrap my arms around myself. That’s not news. “I know.”

  “But him failing you has no bearing on you. Do you understand what I mean?” Ivan turns toward me, his breath coming out in white puffs. “Failing you was his decision, not yours.”

  “I know that.”

  “Do you? If so, then you’re a lot smarter than I was. I always felt like I wasn’t good enough.
Why would anyone waste their time on me? My own mother couldn’t clean up her act to give me a half-decent childhood, so why would a stranger who has no obligation do right by me?” His bushy eyebrows rise. “Took me two divorces and a long stint in rehab before a therapist got that through to me. I’m a product of my mother’s failure, but I was worthy. Her failure as a mother had nothing to do with me.”

  I go back over his words in my head.

  “Not to mention the fear of being rejected.”

  I hold up my hand. “I get it. I know what you’re saying.”

  He bends down, lowering his voice. I’m not sure if he’s worried the concrete koi fish might hear him or what because there’s no one else in this garden. “I’m sorry for eavesdropping outside Gregg’s door, but when I heard what you told him, I couldn’t let another one of us drown in self-doubt.”

  My gaze flies to his. He overheard what I told my dad.

  I open my mouth, but he shakes his head. “I’ve kept many secrets in my life, believe me. Yours is safe with me.”

  I release a breath, hoping he doesn’t run to the press. They’d pay a lot of money for this intel, and I barely know this man.

  We walk back inside while I sort through everything Ivan said and the feelings that go along with our conversation. I didn’t realize I had so many issues from my childhood until someone else I cared about wanted to be a part of my life. Here I’ve been blaming Ford, accusing him of being the problem, but really, it’s on me. I’m the one who messed this whole thing up.

  I’m going to be honest, I’ve never “wooed” a woman before. I’ve never bought flowers or chocolates for someone I’m sleeping with. But then Lena doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who would like the cliché and I’m sure anything cliché wouldn’t change her opinion of me. I have to go outside the box, something to really show her I’ve changed.

  I know we need to be seen in public but I don’t want her to think I’m doing this for the press and I sure as shit don’t want to spend my night signing autographs.

  So, while Morgan once again watches Annabelle, I go into my parents’ media room, setting it up for a movie night—and not the Netflix and chill kind. I’ve picked all the classic romance movies like Casablanca, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Sleepless in Seattle, and When Harry Met Sally. I make some popcorn and arrange every candy imaginable since I don’t know what she likes. Then I arranged some blankets and pillows on the couch.

  I knock on her bedroom door, hoping the element of surprise works in my favor.

  “Come in,” she says and disappointment floods me as I creak the door open.

  In my head, she was going to be lounging on the bed in lingerie. No such luck. She’s sitting cross-legged on the four-poster bed in her usual matching pajama pants and tank top with a sweater over it.

  “Hey,” she says, looking up to see me. “Everything good?” She glances over her shoulder to the clock. It’s later than I would usually bother her, but I didn’t want my family interrupting. Since I pocketed Morgan some money, we should be good.

  I break the distance, holding on to one of the poster bed rails to inspect what she’s doing. She has a magazine spread out in front of her.

  “It amazes me the shitty job some PR reps do for their clients. They could control some of the crap that ends up in here.” She flips the page. “You’re lucky to have me.” Then she chuckles.

  “I am. We are.”

  She raises her eyes to meet mine. “Thanks.”

  “Will you come with me somewhere tonight?” I ask, my patience wearing thin and wanting to get this date started.

  “I’m in my pajamas. Where did you want to go?”

  I love the way she doesn’t give me a straight-up no, but rather an “is it worth it” question.

  “You don’t have to get dressed. We’re not leaving the penthouse.”

  She tilts her head and does the whole chewing her lip thing that drives me crazy. “What is it?”

  I nod to the door. “Come and find out.”

  “Ford,” she says with a hint of unsteadiness in her tone. “What are you doing?”

  I walk to the side of the bed and hold out my hand. “I already warned you, I’m wooing you.”

  She stares at my hand for what feels like a lifetime before sliding her palm into mine and allowing me to help her rise off the bed. “You’re really doing this?”

  I stop her once she’s off the bed and before she can walk away. Her sweater is slightly open and gives me a glimpse of her hardened nipples poking through the thin fabric of her tank top. Pulling my gaze so she doesn’t think I only want sex from her, I focus on her eyes. “I warned you I was. Did you not believe me?”

  A breath releases from her. “I do now, but I…”

  I press my finger to her lips. “No Lena. I don’t want to hear any of the bullshit. At least allow me to prove you wrong.”

  “Okay, but…” she starts.

  I give her a stern look, resulting in her concerned expression turning into a smile. She nods.

  “Good. We’re on the same page now.”

  I take her hand in mine, leading her out of her room. “Wait, my phone.” She turns back, but I grip her hand harder.

  “You do not need your phone tonight.”

  “Okay,” she says way more freely than I thought she would.

  I walk us out of her bedroom. As quietly as I can, I guide her down the hallway so as not to wake anyone because I don’t want to answer any questions or have Imogen thinking she can join us.

  Heading downstairs and past my dad’s office, I open the door to the theater room. A room my parents converted from a library because they were sick of hearing loud televisions blaring in the middle of the condo.

  “We’re watching a movie?” she asks, walking in and her hand running along the edge of the gray couch. In front of the couch, I placed a few big LoveSac bean bag chairs and blankets. The tray of candy and popcorn is behind us.

  “Movie night.” I hold my hand out. “Pick your seat.”

  “This is fun. What are we watching?” She sits down on the LoveSac for two.

  It’s the first time I’ve ever second-guessed where I should sit with a woman, but I’m in this to win it, so I sit next to her. She doesn’t look upset so I take it as a good sign.

  “I have a few classic romance movies ready to go.”

  “Oh…” Her tone doesn’t have one hint of excitement.

  “I thought…”

  She shakes her head to stop me. “It’s great.”

  I pick up the remote and turn back to her. “Clearly, it’s not.”

  She smiles and nibbles her bottom lip. “I just…”

  “Spit it out, Lena.”

  She shrugs. “I know you don’t want to watch that kind of movie and I’d rather we both enjoy tonight.”

  “I’ll enjoy just being next to you.”

  She chuckles. “What did you just say, Ford Jacobs? That’s some swoon-worthy lingo.”

  I grin at her. “What can I say, you pull the romantic out of me.”

  She shakes her head and peeks up at me through her hooded eyelids. Damn, she’s beautiful and if I don’t win her over, I’m clearly a pathetic loser. “And they keep coming.” I watch her for a moment, waiting for her to continue. “I appreciate the sentiment and the gesture, but let’s watch Yellowstone.”

  I’m not complaining at all. Hell, lately with Annabelle and games, I’ve had no time to catch up on the show. “You sure?”

  She wiggles her butt into the cushion and grabs the popcorn. “Definitely.”

  I press a few buttons on the remote to bring up Yellowstone, then stop for a moment. “Wait. Is this because you want to see Rip?”

  Her head falls back in laughter. “He does make the show more appealing, but don’t worry, you’re a lot like him.”

  My forehead creases. “I’m nothing like Rip.” The man is alpha times ten. I like to think I’m a catch, but damn, Rip is a man’s man.

  “
Sure, you are.” She leans forward, her hand on my chest and her lips millimeters from mine. “The exterior might be hard to break through but once you get inside, you see how soft and mushy you really are. Beth is his soft spot.”

  I inch forward and kiss her lips briefly. “And you’re my soft spot.”

  She says nothing and I can still see doubt in her features, but there’s also hope there now, too. That’s a good sign. “All right, let’s watch.”

  She turns away to face the television and snuggles under a blanket. I click the remote to start the episode. She opens the blanket and pulls it over me, positioning the popcorn between us. A man could get used to a life like this.

  My stomach is crazy with butterflies when our hands brush in the popcorn and I internally tell myself to calm the fuck down. I’m not thirteen years old. I’m Ford fucking Jacobs, right wing for the Florida Fury. I’ve got game.

  So, I slide my hand under the blanket, landing on the soft fabric of her pajama pants. I don’t think it’s my imagination that she opens her legs, welcoming my touch. I run my hand up a little higher and through the light of the television, I glance over to her, but her eyes are solely focused on the television.

  As though someone up there is on my side, Rip and Beth start going at it on screen. My hand slides farther north on Lena’s legs and she pretends to be watching the episode, not paying any attention to me. I’m starved for her touch and I want her again. This wasn’t my plan, but it feels impossible to keep myself in check when she’s this near. I want her all the time. Which I never thought would happen to me. To want the same woman repeatedly, never getting enough? Of course, she doesn’t believe me, I barely believe it myself.

  I continue my venture, a soft breath falling from her lips and this time when I look at her, her eyes are poised right in my direction. I’m sure there’s an invitation there, so I don’t stop until she clamps her legs shut, locking my hand between her thighs.

  “We should go for a walk. Have you ever gone for a walk in Central Park?”

  “Lena,” I say her name with the clear indication I know what she’s doing.