Frayed Read online

  “Hey, champ, slow down,” I call as he hurtles past me.

  “Daddy, Daddy, I did it,” he says as he comes to a stop next to me.

  I look down at his flushed face and brush his blond hair from his eyes. “What did you do, champ?”

  “I roared. I roared,” he says with a gleam in his eye.

  With a huge grin on my face, I bend down to pick him up. “You scored, little lion, you scored.”

  The little boy’s laughter morphs into mine. His eyes look just like mine. His voice sounds like mine. Then all of a sudden, I become my father and the little boy becomes me.

  Fuck, I wake up with sweat pouring from my brow. I look out into the ocean in an attempt to calm down. I couldn’t sleep, so I moved out to the deck early this morning to listen to the sound of the water crashing against the rocks.

  “Ben?” a voice calls from somewhere below me.

  My head thunders in pain as I quickly sit up in the lounge chair and look into the sky, assessing the time. The sun is overhead. Looks to be around noon.

  “Ben?” the voice says again.

  “Up here, Serena.”

  I can hear the thumping of her sneakers against the weathered wood of the stairs and I see her dirty blond hair, much shorter than the last time I saw her, blowing in the wind. “Are you ignoring my calls?” she asks, taking the last step.

  I shade my eyes with my hand. “No, I just have a lot going on. You cut your hair?”

  She looks down at me in the lounge chair. “Yes, I did, and don’t change the subject. Do the words let’s have lunch tomorrow ring a bell?”

  I throw my head back against the chaise. “Sorry.” I grimace. “Your hair looks nice.”

  She kicks my leg off the lounge. “Thanks. Now come on, let’s go for a walk.”

  I stare at her a beat, but don’t move. “Could you turn the volume down a notch?”

  Her eyes widen in disbelief. “Are you hungover?”

  I slowly sit back up, still squinting to see her through the brightness of the sun. My head feels as if someone is pounding a hammer right in the middle of it. “Yeah.”

  “Get up. I’m not leaving until you talk to me.” There’s an angry edge to her voice.

  I shake my head and another crack of thunder explodes inside it.

  She stretches out her hand with disappointment more than evident on her face. “Come on.”

  “Let me brush my teeth first at least.”

  She crosses to the glass doors. “I’ll make us a cup of coffee.”

  “Thanks.” I grimace as I stand.

  Water gushes from the faucet as I try to scrub last’s night drunken encounter from my mouth. I hop in the shower, hoping that will make me feel better. When I head to the kitchen the smell of freshly brewed coffee assaults me, turning my stomach. I’ll pass on a cup this morning.

  My sister rinses her empty cup and places it in the sink. She turns around. “Are you drinking again?”

  “No, not really. I needed a release, so I went out last night.”

  Her eyes glisten with tears.

  “Serena, I’m doing okay. I’m not going down that road again. I promise.”

  “I hope not,” she says, handing me a coffee and heading for the door.

  I take a gulp and follow her. The heat burns my tongue and I leave the cup on the deck, taking two steps at a time to catch up with her. We walk the beach for a long while without conversation until she turns to look at me.

  She finally breaks the silence. “I went to the cemetery yesterday and saw the seashells you put on Mom’s gravestone.” I glance over at her. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately.”

  She takes a deep breath and inhales the fresh sea air. “Me too.”

  “I’m sure she must miss the beach.”

  She nods.

  I stare out into the distance and catch sight of a sailboat going by. I point to it. “Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you could go back and change things?”

  She bends down in the sand to pick up a seashell. “No, I don’t. There’s no sense in doing that.”

  “Sometimes I do. I think it’s the littlest things that could make the biggest changes.”

  She makes a face of contemplation but doesn’t answer. We walk for a bit and then I decide to just tell her. “I started seeing S’belle while you were gone,” I blurt out.

  She stops to pick up another shell and when she rises she hands it to me. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  Brushing the sand from it, I examine its beauty and think about its uniqueness. No two seashells are ever the same. I look at my sister. “She told me something yesterday that caught me completely off guard.”

  “Would you like to tell me what it was?”

  I’ve gone over in my mind who must know about the baby. I’m guessing S’belle’s family and more than likely Dahlia. What I’m not certain about is if Dahlia would have told Serena. I turn toward her. “Did you know about the baby?”

  Her eyes widen. A look of shock crosses her face. “Do I know about what baby?”

  I toss the shell I’m holding into the ocean and watch it hit the water.

  She grabs my arms. “What are you talking about, Ben?”

  I feel my throat tightening. “My baby.”

  She stares in disbelief, her mouth open. “Your—your ba-a-b-b-by?” she stutters.

  I nod. “S’belle, Bell, I mean, got pregnant that night I spent with her in college. She had the baby and gave it up for adoption.”

  My sister’s hand flies to her mouth.

  “Yeah, I was a little shocked too.” I try to keep the edge off my sarcasm.

  “Let’s sit down,” she whispers, walking toward the rocks and choosing one. I sit beside her and bend to sift the sand with my fingers.

  “How do you feel about it?”

  “How do you think I feel?”

  “You’re upset?” she asks.

  “Fuck yes, I’m upset. There’s been a kid out there in the world for the past six years that’s mine and I never knew he or she existed until yesterday.”

  She takes my hand. “What did she say?”

  “She told me she gave birth on St. Patrick’s Day and gave the baby away.”

  She looks at me for the longest time. “Are you sure it was yours?”

  “Yes, I mean no,” I stammer.

  “But she told you it was?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you believe her?”

  “I have no reason to think she’d lie about that. What would be the purpose now?”

  She nods, agreeing. “What else did she say?”

  “She said she didn’t want to tell me. She wanted to leave the past in the past.”

  “Why didn’t she tell you before?”

  “She said she tried to contact me, but I didn’t call her back.”

  “Did she?”

  “Serena, come on. Yeah, she called me, but . . .” I stop, not really sure what the but is. That she didn’t try hard enough, try often enough?

  “Where did you leave it?”

  I drop her hand and cradle my head. “Nowhere. I left her standing there. I was so fucking pissed. I had a right to know.” I glance over at her. “I had a right to know.”

  “Yes, you did, but put yourself in her place. You were with someone else. She was young and I’m sure she was scared. It must have been hard for her. Shit, it was hard for me when I found out I was pregnant. I was twenty and scared shitless—scared to tell Jason, scared to tell Mom, and so scared to have a baby.”

  “Yeah, but you had him. And you kept him . . . .” My voice trails off.

  “Yes, but my circumstances were different. I was with Jason. He was there to help me through all my doubts.”

  I run my hands through my hair. “Are you defending her?”

  She gives me a stern look. “No. I’m not. I just think maybe you should think a little more about her and a little less about yourself.”

  CHAPTER 22
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br />   Burn

  Bell

  Guilt chased me for years. Guilt for pursuing a guy that belonged to someone else, guilt for asking a friend to drive me home from a bar and being oblivious of her drunken state, guilt for giving up my baby. It was a domino effect—I chased someone I shouldn’t have and wound up pregnant. When I found out, I couldn’t wait to tell him in hopes he might be as thrilled as I was and that it might change things between us. But in my haste to get home to meet him, one of my friends died, and the guilt was more than I could stand. How could I raise a child? I was irresponsible and incapable—I was sure of that. And with that realization came the certainty that someone else could give my baby the life I knew I couldn’t.

  I never blamed anyone for my actions but myself—not my dead father, not my mother, not my brothers, and not any former lover. I just swam in my own self-condemnation. It hung around the fringes of my very existence. For years, it teased me, taunted me. It haunted me to the point that it almost dragged me under. But then something happened, something that made me realize I could let it go. That something was a friendship with a very special person—Dahlia London. Her kindness and understanding helped me see through my pain and made me understand it was okay to move on. With her support and that of my family, I finally found direction in my life. I stopped flailing and decided it was time to grow up.

  Don’t get me wrong—the constant guilt is still there. Time can never fully heal those wounds. But I had come to accept my decision and because of that, I was able to start anew. It hadn’t been easy. My wounds ran deep. Yet somehow I was confident that I could continue to heal. My choices had led me to where I ended up. I had accepted that. When I started down this path, I was a young, immature woman. And once I made my decision, I was a lost girl who looked for love in all the wrong places.

  Now I’ve turned my life around. I’m doing great—well, not great but really well. Sure, my job sucks. Working for Tate Wyatt started as a dream job, but the novelty wore off the more his attention toward me bled into possessiveness. I am handling it, though. And I don’t really love living here. However, I’m not home that often and my family stops by or I visit them often.

  But the hardest thing about telling Ben is that I’m feeling lost again, and I can’t shake the feeling. All the memories keep swooshing around in my head and I can’t get them out. I spent all day in bed and called in sick on Monday, but Tuesday comes way too fast. I wake up from a dream. The same dream I always have but this time instead of smiling I yell, “Damn you, Ben Covington, you came back into my life with all your charm and turned my world around one minute, then upside down the next just like you did to me before.” My mind keeps repeating over and over, You should have known better. You did know better. You kept yourself at a distance. You tried so hard to stay aloof. But the more time you spent with him, the more time you wanted to spend with him. I shake my head, saying to myself, “Yeah, it’s all true but it doesn’t make it any better.”

  My legs swing onto the floor and I push myself into the shower, drag myself out of it, force myself to dry my hair, dab on a minimal amount of makeup, and dress as casually and comfortably as I can for work and still get away with it.

  With coffees in hand I enter the showroom. Tate is standing at Josie’s desk with his arms crossed talking to her. His head snaps up.

  I cross the room, stopping at Josie’s desk. “Coffees for everyone.” I manage a smile.

  Tate takes his and with a huff he storms off. His door slams, but before I can say anything to Josie, it reopens. “Bell, I need you in my office in fifteen minutes.”

  I nod and his door slams again.

  “What’s going on with you?” Josie asks, clearly concerned.

  “Nothing.” I take the lid off my coffee.

  “You look like shit.”

  “Jeez . . . thank you.”

  She laughs. “Seriously, where have you been and what’s the matter? I left you a message and yesterday Tate was the biggest asshole that ever walked on the planet. Did something happen?”

  I don’t want to break down at work. “Oh, Josie, so much has happened, but Tate is the least of my worries. He showed up at my event on Friday with Romeo.” I lower my voice. “I think they may have been having a threesome.”

  “With you?” she asks, shocked.

  “No!”

  “Holy shit, those are two hot men. I bet they both have big—”

  I cut her off. “Ewww . . . don’t say it. I am not interested in either of them and definitely not the two of them together.”

  “But you’d be in between.” She tips her coffee cup in my direction.

  I start to walk away. “Not interested.”

  “What happened to Glow Boy?”

  “Glow Boy?” I toss over my shoulder.

  “The one who had you glowing brighter than a firefly for the last few weeks.”

  “He dumped me.”

  “So you were shagging him,” she says, not exactly quietly.

  “Shhh . . . And I was not.”

  “Well, whatever you were doing it’s better than what I’m doing.”

  “And since when do you say shag?”

  She smiles and shrugs. “Seemed appropriate.”

  I toss my stuff on my desk and flop in my chair. “Hey, are you doing okay?”

  “Me? Ha! Me and Bob are doing great.”

  “Bob? Who’s Bob?”

  “B.O.B.,” she spells out.

  “Oh.” I laugh, thinking I haven’t used mine in so long I kind of forgot about it.

  “Oh is right,” she says, turning around.

  I turn on my computer and think that at least work will take my mind off Ben for a little bit.

  “Bell, are you coming?” Tate’s voice booms from his office door.

  “Yes, let me grab a pad and pen. I’ll be right there.”

  Josie turns around. “Just remember, big . . .”

  I cover my ears. “Don’t say it.”

  She doesn’t know we dated, because I ended things before she started work here. And although I never actually had sex with him, I am very well aware how big he is from the couple of times he shoved my hands down his pants during some heavy make-out sessions. The thing was, I’ve never needed more than first base with a guy. I do like to feel wanted, but the actual sex part isn’t important to me—until Ben. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve slept with my fair share of men. Any boyfriend’s end game is to score, but I don’t always let them win. Sometimes I cut them loose because I just don’t feel any connection, but there are times when I’ve drunk enough to get myself in the mood and then I feel something, and something is better than nothing. But those times are past.

  I keep my eyes down as I pass Josie’s desk for fear she’ll make me laugh. Tate’s door is cracked open. I knock. “Can I come in?”

  “Yes,” he says in a cold tone.

  I step in and leave the door open.

  “Shut the door and take a seat.”

  I inwardly roll my eyes at his dramatic behavior, but I do as he says.

  “What the hell were you thinking? When a client asks you to come meet him, you don’t say no. Was it because you didn’t want to run into that boy toy of yours so you didn’t come?”

  Boy toy? I have no idea what he’s talking about, and the blank look on my face must register with Tate.

  “Romeo told me he saw some guy’s name on your phone and that same guy was at Beck’s with his face buried in another girl.”

  Tears sting my eyes and any energy I had managed to muster up this morning is depleted immediately. Ben already found someone else? I should have known. I sit up straight, knowing I am not going to allow my boss to see my weakened state. “No, Tate, that’s not what I was thinking. I was actually thinking how inappropriate it was for you to tell our client where I live and for said client to call me at the last minute and expect me to drop everything to come running.”

  He clears his throat. “Well, moving on, the Johnsons are having some
issues with the florist. Can you see if you can help them out?”

  I jot it down on my pad, trying to control my furious shaking. He continues with a list of items that need to be taken care of and I write them down, never once lifting my head to meet his scrutiny. About twenty minutes later he finishes.

  I stand up. “I’m still not feeling well, so if you don’t mind I’m going to take care of these issues from home.”

  He nods. “That’s fine.”

  I walk out of his office on trembling legs and go to my desk, collect my things, and make my way to the door. As I step out onto the sidewalk I realize I never said good-bye to Josie. I didn’t even notice if she was at her desk.

  • • •

  My grandmother loved to go places but hated to drive. She didn’t think it an extravagance that she had a driver take her where she wanted to go, and neither did any of us. My grandfather used to joke that she was like Driving Miss Daisy. I own that movie now and watch it whenever I want to be close to her. I stop it and rewind before it gets to the sad part, though. I don’t like sad. My grandmother had her license and she could drive; she just chose not to. She told me she liked to ride in the car and look out the window—that was why. In fact, the only time I remember her being behind the wheel was the night my father killed himself. She came to pick up River and me, but I didn’t know why at the time. It wasn’t until much later that night that my mother and brothers told me my father was dead. I blamed myself, Xander blamed himself, we all blamed ourselves for our fractured family, but we stayed close, maybe even closer because of what had happened.

  My father’s death made River and Xander stronger but not me. Somewhere along the way I let everyone shelter me, coddle me even—after all, I was the baby of the family, the younger sister to two older brothers, the girl who couldn’t make her daddy happy when all he wanted was for her to play the guitar, and the young woman who got pregnant and who lost her direction at the same time. I might look like my grandmother—the red hair, the shorter stature, the curvy form—but unlike my grandmother who loved to go places and found an alternative way to get to them, I’m struggling finding my own alternative way in life.