Mirrors (Reflections Book 1)

by A. L. Woods

  Dougie smoothed her back, giving her a shy, reassuring smile as they telepathically communicated with each other. She nodded at him, though he said nothing, and I watched as her rounded shoulders dropped just a little, relaxing against the seat.

  Penelope’s short fingernails drummed across the table, her eyes working the room, a smile still occupying the real estate of her face like she didn’t know what else to do to pass the time. And then in an instant, as if someone had come in and told her that Santa Claus wasn’t real, the warmth of that smile slipped, her eyes locking. Dougie’s eyes flickered in that same direction, causing my stomach to drop.

  I tilted my head just enough to see Raquel shooting Penelope a look that made me think she was one breath away from hyperventilating right in the middle of the bar.

  “What’s she doing?” Penelope murmured, her lilt more Bostonian than Connecticut, anxiety coming to life on her blueblood face, her cheekbones as sharp as her shrewd, icy eyes.

  I glanced at Hemingway again, almost feeling bad for the horror that narrowed her gaze and strained the length of her jaw. She swung her stare from Penelope to Dougie. The way her lips pursed tightly together told me everything I needed to know: She had been expecting Penelope, but not Dougie.

  The surge of her anger was rolling off her in suffocating, violent waves that I felt even ten feet away from her. The fingers of the hand not wrapped around the strap of her bag were curling and uncurling into a tight fist against her thigh, her knuckles whitening from the strain, her fingernails undoubtedly leaving crescent moon shapes on her palm that I decided would have looked better against the length of my spine.

  The thought was not helping my mild case of blue balls. With a slow shake of my head, I spoke through a chuckle, ready to answer Penelope’s rhetorical question. “By now?” I pulled a clean glass toward me and filled it to the brim from the pitcher of beer, leaving just enough for Hemingway to start drowning her sorrows in when they unleashed their ‘surprise.’ “She’s realizing it’s not girls’ night and is about to lose her shit.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” Dougie bristled, cluing in. He exhaled loudly, rubbing the bridge of his busted nose, his stare directed downward.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  “What are they doing here?” Raquel stood in front of the booth, giving Penelope a pointed look.

  “No ‘hi-how-are-ya?’ What’s it been, like, five minutes since you two last spoke?” I coolly jabbed, the moment we shared only minutes earlier gone. I masked the smirk playing on my lips from behind my glass.

  “I’m not speaking to you, Slim,” she snarled, looking like she wanted to throttle me.

  “Sit down, Kell,” Penelope said, the plea in her voice not wasted on me. I took that as my cue to slide over for Raquel.

  “I’m good where I am, thanks,” she snapped back, leveling her stare at her best friend. I wondered how far back they went, if they had as long a history as Dougie and I.

  If their friendship was as solid as it should be, it would be able to exist after something as innocuous and fortuitous as this.

  It was a baby, not a terminal illness.

  Penelope looked like she was on the verge of tears, and that got Dougie’s hackles up. Sweat broke out across his brow as he stirred in his seat, lengthening his spine as he attempted to take control of the conversation.

  “We…we wanted to…to talk to you both at the same time,” he interjected with a stammer. I’d never heard the poor bastard so nervous in my life. I wondered what it was about this woman that evoked such profound and intense feelings of fear from people that they felt the need to tiptoe around her like she was a bull in a China shop.

  “I wasn’t talking to you, either.”

  “Raquel, just shut the fuck up and sit down a minute, would ya?” Penelope barked, her WASP descent leaving her for the single beat of a millisecond. Embarrassment overtook her face, her cheeks growing ruddy. She murmured out the “please,” her upbringing clearly getting the better of her before tipping her chin downward and avoiding eye contact with anyone at the table.

  I thought Raquel was going to bolt; her nostrils were flaring, her breaths hard and loud. Her gaze was fixed on Penelope, spine stiff and shoulders shot up to her ears, just like they had been weeks ago in my office.

  Then she did something that surprised the hell out of everyone at the table.

  She sat down.

  Her fingers were taut on her bag that she kept in her lap, her shoulders hunched forward, a spaced-out look in her eyes, as if she was reconciling what was happening, why we were both called here at the same time, to the same place.

  “Beer?” I offered, sliding the one remaining glass in front of her.

  “Fuck off.”

  God, she had a hell of a temper on her. I barked out a short-lived laugh that faded out into nothing when a strangled sob left the back of Penelope’s throat and she lifted a hand to shield her eyes.

  “For fuck’s sake, are you crying?” Raquel complained, throwing her head back against the banquette, looking up at the ceiling tiles.

  “You’re ruining our moment.” Penelope sniffled, wiping under her eyes with a curled finger, her mascara smearing.

  Dougie cooed beside her, and now I wanted to throw up. The chaste moment between them made me squirm in my seat while observing it unfold. I could deal with them looking loved up, but I was out once the waterworks started and the woman across from wasn’t my sister or partner.

  They needed to just spit this shit out so I could congratulate them and go deal with the case of blue balls that was happening in my pants. I winced, my junk screaming in protest as I adjusted myself. The proximity of Raquel and her scent wafting through my nose right now was not helping the cause by any means. My fingers strummed against the base of the glass, my hands needing to keep busy to ignore my desperation to touch her.

  “Go ahead, have your moment.” Raquel finally spoke, her voice unnaturally even, her whole face twisting with pained concentration. Her features were all muddled, lips flat in a tight line and eyebrows raised with the disapproval of a nun who just told you that your kilt was half an inch too short.

  “We’re pregnant!” Dougie cut in, saving Penelope from having another meltdown at her best friend’s clear insolence and lack of social or emotional intelligence.

  “You grow a uterus recently?” Raquel chuckled sardonically, a half smile lifting her mouth.

  Dougie’s features twisted, his jaw ticking in a way that I knew meant that everyone needed to get the hell out of his way.

  He never had his chance, though, because his baby mama beat him to the punch. Her pointer finger shot at Raquel with imputation that felt unbecoming from her. “You are such a foul and nasty piece of work, Raquel.”

  “You knew that about me from day one,” she calmly replied, picking at her nails, countenance remaining expressionless, like she couldn’t be bothered with this conversation anymore.

  “Well, I didn’t think you would grow up to be this much of a fucking jackass.”

  Raquel paused, lifting her chin just enough to make eye contact with Penelope. It was impossible to figure out what was going through her mind at that point. Was she insulted? Caught off guard? Did she care what her best friend had just slung at her? Was their relationship recoverable? Dougie and I had said a lot of fucked-up shit to each other in the twenty two years we had known one another—but we always let bygones be bygones after the exchange of a couple of beers and thrown fists.

  Raquel’s impertinence and Penelope’s need for everything to be as pristine as a sheet of unmarred printer paper didn’t reassure me that they would be okay after this.

  That is, until Penelope let out another one of those choked, high-pitched sobs, her hands clapping to her mouth, alarm blooming on her face at the unnatural vitriol that had left her mouth. I couldn’t imagine her parents would have felt particularly happy that their daughter was slinging shit at people like someone who hadn’t s
pent the better half of their life attending posh, private boarding schools—the kind that would have secured her admittance into an Ivy League college, had she actually given a shit about making Mr. and Mrs. Cullimore happy.

  Raquel’s eyebrow had risen a little less than an inch, her lips twitching like she wanted to say something. I held my breath, waiting for whatever nasty thing the spitfire was going to unleash on us next, like a barrage of errant bullets fired by a shitty marksman.

  “Congrats, and good luck.” That was it. That was all she managed to express, and with the stiffness of a piece of lumber.

  “Kell, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” Penelope whispered, holding out a hand that went unaccepted.

  I felt bad for her in that moment. She hadn’t deserved her best friend’s insolence and selfishness. Penelope was worthy of a hell of a lot more than what she was getting from Raquel right now, no matter how I felt about her. Maybe Raquel didn’t need to order her a mariachi band or perform an interpretive dance to express the sincerity of her happiness for the next chapter of her friend’s life—but she sure as shit didn’t have to make it all about her.

  “You don’t owe her shit, Penelope,” I said, tossing my beer back. “You need people who are going to be genuinely happy for you.”

  “Oh, give me a fucking break,” Raquel spat out, rolling her eyes. She slid out of the booth like she had finally hit her limit.

  “Where are you going?” Penelope squeaked, ignoring me. Her bottom lip trembled, fear rearing its ugly little head again in her eyes.

  “Home.”

  “Raquel, c’mon, sit down,” Dougie implored, panic vibrant in the depths of his green eyes at the shitstorm we were both watching unfold.

  “Shove it, Douglas,” she snarled, jabbing her finger in the air at him, “Ideally somewhere that you can’t impregnate her again.”

  I winced, knowing that would be the comment that derailed this train.

  “You know what?” Dougie began, vaulting upward from the booth. His biceps strained under the short sleeves of the black t-shirt that was melded to his stocky frame, his fingertips pressing against the lip of the table to steady himself.

  “What?” Raquel’s eyes lit up like she was finally going to get the bloodbath she craved because there was something just a little not right with that head of hers. “What would you like to say to me?” she baited.

  She was the type who lived for the rush of dancing in the middle of an open field during a thunderstorm.

  She just wouldn’t get struck this time.

  Penelope’s hand clutched Dougie’s forearm, murmuring a plea for mercy while pulling him back down to his seat. His eyes continued to point laser beams at Raquel, his teeth baring like he would rip her head off clean if he was given the opportunity. Raquel gave him a derisive smile, as if she was happy he was pussy-whipped and would do anything to appease his significant other.

  She thought that made him small. I thought that made him the bigger person.

  “Typical,” Raquel drawled, disappointment and boredom in her lilt. She leveled her stare with Dougie while she grabbed her handbag from the banquette and slung it over her shoulder. She disappeared through the crowd, and because she was an arrogant little shit, she didn’t give us the satisfaction of looking behind her to ensure we were watching her depart into the sea of people.

  She knew we were.

  Fraught silence filtered between the three of us. I split the rest of the pitcher of beer between Dougie and I. Penelope sniffled some more, her head sunk as low as her shoulders, as if she was ready for the banquette to just swallow her up.

  “It’ll be okay,” I offered. “I’m sure she’ll come around.” The lie felt effortless, but it was enough to garner a small nod of gratitude out of Penelope and a tiny smile.

  “And congrats, you two,” I added.

  She preened a little in her seat, suddenly remembering that in spite of Raquel being an asshole, she was going to be a mom. Dougie threw me a look of thanks for bolstering his efforts to make her feel better…and for keeping the knowledge that I had already known to myself.

  He wrapped a protective arm around Penelope’s shoulders and threaded his fingers through his hair with the other. His stare was a little vacant, as if he was running through the events of the evening again, his teeth finding his lower lip, gnawing the skin.

  He didn’t have to say it, but I knew he hated Raquel for sure now. I knew my best friend better than Penelope knew his left testicle. He had patience for a lot of things, but blatant disrespect was not one of them. Especially when it involved his heart’s desire.

  I just wish I could have said the feeling was mutual, because despite her cold and callous demeanor…

  …I wanted her more than ever.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I wasn’t going to even attempt to rationalize what had come out of my mouth.

  It was a new low, even for me. I had said my fair share of dumb things to Penelope over the years, and she had always taken it with a stiff upper lip and a wave of her hand, as if those manicured fingers expunged every shitty thing I had ever said or done to her.

  Somehow, I didn’t think that was going to apply in this situation.

  I rubbed the span of my face with both palms, the heels of my palms digging into my eye sockets and the tips of my fingers pressing into my forehead to slow my racing mind. My stomach roiled with about as much contempt as my brain did, an overwhelming amount of guilt suffusing through me, settling into all the hairline cracks of my ego and heart.

  The positive about not immediately fleeing the bar and racing back to Dorchester was that the emotional part of my brain was comfortably suppressed thanks to Ronan O’Malley, the owner/barkeep, and his steady flow of strong drinks. I liked him, had known the Einstein-looking old man for the better half of my life thanks to Dad, which meant that he didn’t ask questions, and I didn’t offer him unsolicited answers.

  He just let me sit and brood while staring at the mirrored wall of liquors, wines, and spirits and pretend that the whole thing had come crashing down on me, burying me in my own glass house. Ronan hadn’t even flinched when he brought me my first drink and overheard me on the phone asking Cash for a ride.

  The only person who despised Cash as much as Penelope did was Ronan. It’s a long story.

  The way I saw it, I was already up Shit’s Creek without a paddle in Penelope’s books, so I may as well make it count. What better way to do it than getting into a car drunk with the ex-boyfriend that she despised? He might make a pass at me, and I might make an early exception to our annual fuck because I was feeling particularly fucking pathetic.

  I was asking for trouble. I knew it, Ronan knew it, and Penelope would have said the same. I just didn’t care.

  Call it loneliness, or downright stupidity. Whatever ended up happening after he came to get me, I deserved it.

  Penelope would never forgive me for what I said to her. I may as well check off all the boxes on the destructive coping mechanism chart, since being a venomous bitch to her about being pregnant was the hill I had decided to die upon tonight.

  Could I still call her my best friend after the way I’d reacted? How could I have done that to her? Who gets mad about their best friend’s pregnancy?

  Me. That’s who. The insufferable.

  I just hated change, and babies changed people. It was a baby today, and then...my chest squeezed in protest, not wanting to hypothesize what ‘then’ left me with.

  Penelope had been a dependable constant in my life, the beacon of hope in my otherwise darkened night sky. And what had I done to that impressive structure? I lit it on fire and watched the flames become engorged from my safety in the body of water that I stood in the middle of with my airs of righteousness.

  Sean had been right; she did deserve better. How much had she endured from me over the years? How much had she turned a blind eye to and tolerated because it was me? I didn’t want to consider it, because somehow, I suspected it was
more times than not. Maybe this was for the better.

  Penelope wasn’t meant to be part of my world, not forever. She was good. Honest to God good. She had never seen the difference in our social class or bank accounts as a boundary. Never frowned at me for my shoddy family legacy. She loved me, blindly.

  And I, in so few words, had expressed contempt toward her and Dougie for getting pregnant. My fear had driven that conversation right off a damn cliff, and no one would be sending down a rope to save me.

  I didn’t deserve it, anyway. I was so far away from a redemption character arc that I couldn’t even manage a laugh at the notion.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” That baritone voice set my nerves on end. I tossed the drink back, knocking a fist against the bar top. Ronan cocked an eyebrow at me like he couldn’t believe how quickly I was sucking them back, and didn’t that make two of us.

  I’m in mourning, old man. Keep ’em coming.

  Ronan decided he didn’t care enough to challenge me. I slid the glass away from myself, observing the bob of his head that told me he would be with me in a minute…which gave me enough time to deal with the nuisance to my right.

  This was a party for one, no gate crashers welcome.

  “Sean, please.” My eyes squeezed together for a moment, the sound of gravel in my voice almost too much for me to bear. “If you like me even just one percent, go away.”

  “I like it when you beg.” He chuckled, the sound resounding in his ribcage that elicited a desire to beat him with a chair until I could Ctrl+Alt+Delete him from my life—or at a minimum, lose my pants and hop up on the bar top with parted legs and a hope that he fucked as well as he spoke.

  The prior was definitely the priority here.

  The vacant barstool opposite me slid back against the old hardwood floor, the cushion huffing to accommodate him. I listened to the sound of his glass settling against the bar top.