Chasing Forever, page 17
I clear my throat. I didn’t see her last night, didn’t realize she was even around. “Well, Brooks is my husband.”
Her head snaps up, and she scans the length of my body, looking at me as though she’s at a flea market and I’m the dirty old blanket no one wants to buy. “I suppose he is. I’m not sure how you were able to swindle yet another one of my sons into marrying you.” Her gaze zeros in on my stomach.
Bull’s-eye. That’s one, but I’m sure she already has another arrow ready to fly.
My hands drift to my abdomen.
Her smile is worse than any insult—it’s mocking. A slow twist of the arrow. Worse than just shooting me again.
“I’m not pregnant,” I bite out, the familiar shame and pain turning my stomach.
“Such a disaster that was. I will say, it’s impressive. You trick my first into marriage by getting pregnant, and now you get my second son drunk so he’d marry you. Have you thought about writing a book about all the ways you trick men into marrying you?”
My fists clench at my sides. “I never asked Holden to marry me.”
She hems. “You didn’t say no when he proposed.”
“Because I loved him. The pregnancy was a—” My voice collapses. I won’t say mistake. I won’t. But I also can’t say we’d still be together if I hadn’t lost the baby. It all moved too fast. Even though it’s the early days with Brooks, I don’t remember feeling so myself around his brother.
“Yes, dear, better that it happened early.”
At the time, she told Holden the miscarriage was for the best. As though my grief wasn’t warranted and losing our child saved her from everyone finding out it was the only reason Holden was marrying me. I have no proof, but I’m pretty sure she tried to talk him into calling off the wedding immediately. It drove her crazy when Holden didn’t abandon me after my miscarriage. That he still wanted me. That her version of the story—the one where I trapped him—wasn’t proven to be true.
But the girl who once nodded politely while this woman shredded her confidence doesn’t exist anymore. I’m not going to let her interfere and destroy what I could have with Brooks. “Did you come here just to insult me again? Try to scare me away from Brooks?”
“I just wanted you to know that I’ve figured out your game, and my son might think he loves you, but he just wants to heal you, shelter you… fix you.” Her eyebrows raise at that last one.
I clench my jaw and tell myself I am not broken.
“Think about it. All the horrible trucks no one wants that he refurbishes. Taking Mack in. You know how he was the runt of his litter and no one else wanted him, so of course Brooks had to have him.” She stares at me with a pointed glare, then continues to walk around the store as if she’s actually going to buy something.
“I blame myself really. All the nature walks we used to go on… This one time, Brooks found a bird on the ground that we thought was dead. When it moved a little, he scooped it up and took it home. Guess what happened?” She doesn’t wait for me to respond before she continues. “The bird just got up and flew away. He fooled Brooks, but of course, like any good mother, I praised him for saving the bird’s life. I think that’s where his need to take in old, used-up things people don’t want came from.” Again, her gaze lands on me. She’s nearing the door. “I thought maybe he’d be a doctor, but he’s just a sheriff. Another fix-it profession. Such a savior complex, that one.”
She inches the door open with a satisfied grin. She knows she hit her mark. I’m pretty sure it’s all over my face.
“Well, have a great day, Lottie. Tell Brooks to bring you to the house for dinner sometime. I’m sure Mr. Watson would love to catch up.” She waves.
I remain quiet because nothing I say will matter. The damage she did isn’t fresh. She just reopened an old wound, and she knows it.
“Done,” Saylor says, coming out from the back.
Isn’t that the truth? I’ve been gutted in my own store.
“Who was it?” she asks.
I don’t answer. I can’t. My voice and pride are somewhere locked in my throat, but my sorrow and shame are spilling out of me.
I turn, grab my phone, and type before I can talk myself out of it.
I’m really sorry. I can’t do tonight. I forgot I’m babysitting Daisy.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Brooks
Fucking hell. I slam my tool drawer shut, and Mack whimpers, moving away from me.
Where is the woman who was all over me this morning? These past couple weeks—hell, this morning it felt real. Felt like maybe she was letting me in. What the hell changed?
“God damn it.” I clench my fists, my short nails digging into my palms.
I told her I’d be happy to go with her to watch Daisy, but she said no. Maybe the Ghost reference was too much. Too presumptuous. It was a harmless joke. Not that I’d mind her in a white button-down shirt and nothing else as I got behind her and got us all dirty and wet. That image brands into my skull, and I can’t stop thinking about it. And now I want to beat off to the image of her. God, I’m pathetic.
My phone dings on the worktable. I pick it up and see that it’s Lottie. My stomach flips, hope rising inside me. Please be asking me to come over.
Date three is booked. You’re off tomorrow, right?
I’m free right now.
I just got Daisy down and I want to keep it that way. But tomorrow, you’re available?
There’s an urgency in her texts I don’t love. Like she’s trying to get something over with, check the box.
Yeah.
I just scored us tickets to Zander Shaw’s show. I know it’s last minute, and we have to go to Lincoln, but you good with it?
How the hell did she score tickets this close to the concert?
Sure.
YAY! I’ll pick you up at three. That work?
There’s so much more I want to say. I want to ask her to come over after Jude and Sadie get home and spend the night with me. But I also don’t want to push her. Maybe she needs a little time to figure out her feelings. She’s finally softened. Lottie probably already feels pressured because of my confession about how I’ve always felt about her. We’ve gone farther physically in the past few weeks. Maybe she needs to take a step back. More pressure won’t help my cause.
Definitely. See you then. I hope Daisy doesn’t wake up.
It’s an opening to keep this text exchange going if she wants it to.
Me too. Okay see you tomorrow.
I don’t respond, just toss my phone on the table and fall onto the bench. The silence that follows feels deafening.
Mack comes over as though he senses something is wrong and puts his head on my leg. I pet him mindlessly as my mind races like a storm chaser going after a tornado. Will it ever just be easy for us?
At least we’re doing another date. That has to be a good sign. Right?
God, I hope so.
Sunday at three, it’s not Lottie’s small SUV that pulls into my driveway, but Romy’s truck.
I give Mack the chance to run down the stairs and greet them all as they file out of the vehicle. They each take turns petting him and saying hello. Lottie lingers behind her sister and cousin, gaze fixed on anything but me. Fear rises to the surface again. Something’s shifted between us, and I can’t figure out why or if I’m too late to fix it.
“Are you ready?” Romy asks excitedly. She’s wearing jean shorts and a Zander Shaw shirt that’s shorter, so it shows off her stomach. She’s paired it with cowboy boots.
Poppy and Lottie are dressed nearly the same, but it’s Lottie’s frayed shorts and those legs I want wrapped around my waist that I can’t stop looking at. She doesn’t come up to me to kiss me though, and it guts me more than I care to think about. I only had her for a matter of weeks and already she’s pulling away.
I head back inside and grab my keys off the hook. “I’m driving.”
“No, I’m driving.” Romy dangles her keys off her finger.
“And what will happen if you somehow swindle your way backstage?” It’s never going to happen, but I’m sure it’s a dream she’s envisioned already.
“Good point. Okay, let’s go. I want to get there early. I’m hoping to find the other groupies and get noticed by Zander.” Romy skips over to my truck.
“It’s probably never going to happen. You know that, right?” Poppy says, pulling back her long blonde hair into a ponytail.
“Let a girl dream,” Romy says, then laughs.
“How did you score these tickets?” I ask Lottie, following her to the passenger side.
“She didn’t tell you?” Poppy asks.
“No.” She didn’t even tell me that it wasn’t going to be just the two of us. That stings the worst.
“I was searching online on the off chance there were some available and found them.”
“You must have paid a lot.” I open the door for her to climb into the passenger seat.
“It’s a fun date. Worth the cost.” She climbs in and situates herself.
Still no kiss. Barely any eye contact. Zero excitement to see me again. Her walls have been firmly erected once more.
I’m grasping at straws, trying to believe that it’s just that she doesn’t want to show me affection in front of her family. That once we’re alone, she’ll lean in again and press her lips to mine.
We drive to Lincoln as Poppy and Romy go on and on about Zander and all the facts they know about him. The biggest thing Romy’s concerned about is that he’s single. She’s living in a dreamland if she thinks she’s going to get backstage. Then again, Romy believes in signs and soulmates, so maybe Lottie got these tickets more for her sister than anything else.
“I still can’t believe we’re going! Tickets sold out within minutes. I’m still upset with that couple for all their damn questions. Our appointment at The Knotted Barn ran long, and I couldn’t get online to buy them. They’re lucky I didn’t miss ordering their cake or something.”
Lottie glances at them in the back seat. Her hands are clenched in her lap. “You need to get this crush under control.”
“Why? It’s endearing that she believes she’s meant to spend the rest of her life with the most famous country singer in the nation.” Poppy reaches to the front seat and turns up the music. “Let’s get ready.”
I didn’t even notice it was Zander Shaw on the radio.
I lean back in my seat, letting them sing and dance, feeling like the fourth wheel.
I want to ask Lottie what changed. Hell, I want to beg her to look at me like she did yesterday morning. But I keep my mouth shut and let them have their fun.
I’ll get her alone eventually. I just hope there’s still something left to salvage.
I park, and we file out of the truck and get in line with everyone else. There’re more cowboy hats here than at the rodeo. Lottie doesn’t pull away when I place my hand on her lower back, and I’m pretty sure she leans into my chest a bit as we wait through the excruciatingly long security line. I tell myself these are both good signs.
Poppy looks over her shoulder a few times, smiling up at me as if she couldn’t be happier I won the girl, but she’s wrong. This isn’t the Lottie I’ve had on my arm recently. Or from the store yesterday. Hell, she’s not even the Lottie from before we got married in Vegas. I’ve never seen this quiet and reserved version of Lottie. She’s lost in her head somewhere. And it’s killing me that I don’t know where her head is at.
Once we find our way to our seats, Romy walks over to the security people along the edge of the stage.
“We all knew she was going to try,” Poppy says, shaking her head.
A couple minutes later, Romy walks back to us with slumped shoulders. “No luck.”
Cameras are on everyone, scanning the crowd on the jumbo screen. Even though it isn’t exactly comfortable with Lottie at the moment, it’s nice to feel the excited energy of everyone here to experience the same thing.
The lights dim, and I take a chance and put my arm around Lottie, pulling her into my side. She doesn’t fight me, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The stage lights up and cheers explode around us, but I only look at her, staring into her eyes as though they hold the answers I can’t get her to say out loud.
Her hand lifts, and she cradles my jaw. The pain in her eyes hits me like a two by four to the head. She doesn’t feel it, and she doesn’t want to hurt me.
She’s done with me.
I bend down and kiss her forehead, trying like hell to tell her it’s okay, even though my heart is cracking into pieces and in jeopardy of splintering apart. Then I lower my head and say in her ear, “Enjoy the concert.”
She nods and turns to Poppy, who is jumping up and down to better see the stage.
I release my hold on Lottie and draw in a deep breath.
The three of them scream even louder when Zander comes on stage. The cameras scan the crowd, stopping on a few people who cheer excitedly at their moment in the spotlight.
Romy hops up on a chair, flailing her arms, and when she pops up on the screen just as Zander strums his guitar, he looks at the screen and points out to the audience as if he can see Romy through the mass of people.
Then the concert begins, and I figure it’ll be two hours of torture here, and another hour to get home before I can get the space and courage to ask Lottie what’s changed between us.
An hour into the concert, Romy is tapped on the shoulder and asked to go with someone from security.
Poppy grabs Romy’s arm. “You can’t go by yourself.”
The security guy looks at Poppy and shakes his head.
Romy waves and holds up her phone as if to say, I’ll text you.
Poppy jumps on a chair to follow her. Grumbles from the people behind us start, but then the chair buckles, and Poppy goes with it.
Fuck, this night just got a lot longer.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lottie
We arrive at the hospital to find a packed waiting room. Coughs echo throughout. A kid cries while his mom rocks him. It smells like antiseptic and old coffee. When Brooks drops us off, he’s silent, his jaw tense as he lifts Poppy into a wheelchair, telling me to check her in while he parks the truck.
His eyes don’t meet mine. Not even for a second. And I know I only have myself to blame.
“What’s going on with you two?” Poppy asks as we wait in line at the receptionist.
“Nothing. Why?”
“You haven’t kissed. You’re barely looking at him. After the way you guys were the night of the softball game, I thought for sure you’d be all over each other tonight.”
I should probably talk to someone about what Mrs. Watson said to me. Although I’m sure they’d say not to take her seriously. Probably call her a bitch. But they weren’t there. They didn’t hear her voice, calm and cruel, as though she enjoyed gutting me with every insult. Each word was calculated. Measured. She knew exactly how to inflict as much damage as she could. How do I marry into that and live every day waiting for another blow to hit? The alternative is to be the reason Brooks cuts off his family. It’s a no-win situation.
“Did you want me to bang him in the middle of the concert?”
She gives me the look. The one that says to stop being so dramatic and tell her what’s bothering me.
“I’m done being the fix-it case,” I say.
Which has nothing to do with Mrs. Watson and her pretty much telling me that Brooks looked for the most broken girl to put back together, and I was the winner—as if I’m a charity project. It’s the way everyone sees me since Holden left me at the altar. The scorned girl. The broken one. I’m exhausted from everyone looking at me as if I’ll never be whole again.
“You’re not a fix-it case.” Poppy grabs my arm.
What else is she going to say though?
Thankfully, we’re next and I check Poppy in to be seen by a doctor. The sound of phones ringing and names being called over the PA system swirls around us like white noise. Brooks joins us the minute we step in, and a nurse comes out of the back to ask the receptionist a question.
“Tegan?” Brooks says, and I turn to him and back to the nurse.
The cute brunette with curly hair glances up. She smiles. It’s not a polite, professional smile, but one that says, Damn, you still look good.
“Brooks.” She takes in that Poppy and I are with him, and suddenly that glow on her face flickers, and she realizes there’s more than just her and Brooks here.
Poppy glances at me, but I ignore her stare I’m sure is asking if I know who the woman is.
“How are you?” Tegan asks.
“Good. You?”
I step back as if I’ve disappeared and been replaced by Little Miss I’ll Kiss Your Boo-Boos.
“Working.” Her gaze falls to me then Poppy.
Nice of her to notice us again.
“Who do we have here?” She glances at the room full of people behind us.
“We were at the Zander Shaw concert, and she fell off a chair. I think her ankle is broken,” Brooks answers for us.
I’m so not jealous. Not at all.
“It might just be sprained,” I say, and they all look at me. “I mean, he’s not a doctor or anything.”
Tegan glances at Brooks like, Who is this girl?, and I deny the urge to raise my hand and say I’m the one he’s pined for since grade school—so ha.
Jesus. Who am I right now?
“Not a doctor, but I have seen my share of car accidents, and I did carry her through the entire arena, so I’d say my prediction is more than just a guess.” Brooks’s eyes are glued to mine.
I roll my eyes, turning away from him.
“Is she all done checking in, Rosemary?” Tegan asks.
