My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3) (21 page)

“Oh, come on. It’s not like you’ve never slipped while we’ve been together. I’m sure there’s been someone. It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me. Let’s just move on from this little hiccup and go home. I have Charles waiting. Actually, he can grab your things.”

I want to punch myself more than I want to punch him. How could I have been so blind about this guy for the past three freakin’ years? Remind me to send a very big—no,
huge
—flower arrangement to Lexi for at least being the only sane one to try and point out the obvious.

“Brent. I’m going to say this one more time—”

The door opens and in walks Ian. “I got the car returned, but they found this ring in the”—he stops in his tracks—“floorboard of the car . . . hey,” he says to our guest, looking completely confused at why there’s another guy with me.

He turns his focus on me. “Everything okay here?” He looks back and forth from me to Brent.

“Yep,” I chirp. “He was just leaving.” I go to grab Brent’s shoulder, possibly to body slam him out the door.

Brent’s gaze swings from my left hand to the ring Ian is holding up between his fingers.

Oh, feck.

“Babe, what’s this guy doing with your ring?” Brent snatches the ring from Ian and attempts to grab my hand, no doubt to shove the ring back where he wants it.

I swat him away as I stare at Ian, who looks stunned.

Poor Ian.

“Who is he?” Ian asks me, but his expression says he suspects.

“Brent, Christina’s fiancé,” my ex introduces himself. “Hey, thanks for finding her engagement ring, man. I didn’t even know she lost it.”

“Fiancé?” Ian turns to me with hurt in his eyes and waits for me to deny it.

I’m screaming in my head that I’m not engaged. But I
was.
And I didn’t tell him. “We’re not engaged anymore,” I finally manage to choke out.

“Yes, babe, we are,” Brent says. “Stop being so stubborn.”

I can’t form another word for the life of me. Ian’s look.
That look
is strangling my vocal cords.

“Where’s Pippa?” he asks.

“What? She’s in her room.”

“Okay then, it looks like you are all set.” He pivots toward the door.

His emotionless voice scares me far more than anger would. Anger I could deal with.
Throw something at me, Ian.

“Wait! Where are you going?” I rush toward him.

He holds up a flattened palm to halt my advance. “Don’t.”

One word. Tons of POW.

Don’t.

I stop at the daggers he’s shooting me. The look in his eyes says even more. Betrayal, disappointment, hurt. When he walks out the door, I want to run after him, but I don’t want to leave Pippa alone with Brent.

“Babe, what’s the deal with that guy? And you should have let him take that little monster, too. I can’t imagine why people have those things. They’re little terrors.”

Oh, that is
it!
I turn and my fist is up and flying. I catch BTD square between the eyes, hearing bone crack.

His nose or my knuckles. TBD.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” he yelps, holding his face, blood dripping through his fingers.

“Out! Out! Out!” I scream, grabbing him by his jacket and dragging him to the door. Then I go one step further by opening the door and kicking him out.

Literally. Straight in the butt, so he stumbles out the door.

Landing in the bushes.

I slam the door shut and try my best to catch my breath. That did not just happen.

Then I pinch myself. And swear.

It did. Forget hot diggity. Fuck
. Fuck
fuck fuck.

I go running to the bedroom to grab my phone. I go to dial Ian’s number only to realize I don’t even have it! “How do I not have his number?” I cry out.
Well, because you haven’t been separated from each other since you set foot back in Oregon, so you haven’t needed it.
Oh, gee, thanks conscience. Oh, and hot diggity, fuck off!

I go running into the kitchen. I’m searching for the keys to Amy’s car. They have to have a junk drawer. In and out, I frantically pull out drawers in search of the keys.

Then bingo. And there’s the garage opener, too.

I sprint to Pippa’s room and bust open the door. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, still sporting her pout.

“Honey, we need to take a trip really quick. Let’s go.”

“No.”

Oh, no no no, please not now.

“Honey. Please. We need to go get Ian, okay?”

“You hurt Eeen’s feelings. I heard it. That bad man hurt Eeen’s feelings, too.”

So young. So smart.

“I know, baby, that’s why we need to go and say sorry to Ian, okay?”

She doesn’t look like we’re BFFs again yet, but at least she allows me to scoop her up. With Pippa in my arms, I head toward the back of the house, through the kitchen and out to the detached garage. I press the garage door opener . . .

And discover the worst thing ever.

A minivan.

“
Really,
Amy?”

“I don’t feel vewy good,” Pippa chimes in.

“Oh, honey, it’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

“No, I won’t.” And then she proceeds to vomit down the front of my shirt.

Worst. Day. Ever.

I’m forced to wave my white flag. I take my vomit-soaked, defeated ass back inside. I help Pippa get cleaned up and lay her down with some water and a cold towel on her forehead. I watch her slip into a nice REM state, then leave her to her dreams.

A lot of shit went bad today.

And fast.

And I’m not really too sure how to process it all. I drag my feet slowly to the bathroom and start the shower. Without waiting for it to warm up, I step inside and allow the water to beat down on my face.

What I do know is that Ian is gone. This is the first time I have felt truly alone since I got here, and I don’t know how to fix what I just thoroughly broke.

I
WAKE UP TO
a nudging of my shoulder. I peel my eyes open to see Pippa a hairsbreadth away from my face. Startled, I jump back.

“Geez Louise, Pippa. A little warning, huh?” I wipe at my eyes. I look at the clock. It’s past three in the afternoon.

“My name is not Louise. And I’m hungry. When is Eeen coming back?”

Good question. Do I say probably never? When he doesn’t feel like hating me anymore?

Then the thought strikes me. “Hey, Pip. Where do Mommy and Daddy keep their important numbers? Like when they need to call someone? Do they have a list?” I ask, praying she picks up what I’m throwing down.

“It’s by the phome,”

It’s like pin the tail in the donkey.
Nailed it!
“Good work, Pip. For that, you can have anything your little heart desires for lunch. Let’s go.” I jump off the bed and head toward the kitchen.

“Yay! Can I have cookies?” Ugh, anything but that.

“Anything else. Anything.”

“But you said I could have anything I wanted?” She pouts right back at me. Because I can’t let anyone else down today, I give in, of course.

“Okay fine. But this is between you and me. Our secret. We can’t be making a habit of cookies for meals. Got it?”

“No, I don’t got it. Where are my cookies?”

“Never mind. Sit tight.”

As I grab any box of cookies in the pantry I can locate, I dump them on the table and head toward the house phone.
I didn’t even know they made these anymore.
I locate the ‘in case of emergency’ Post-it taped on the wall and scan the numbers.

No, no, no, no . . . wait . . . bingo!

Ian Whitman.

I dial the ten digits that will take me to my future. Nervous beyond belief, I pace the kitchen. What in the hell I am going to say? I should have rehearsed this before calling.

Like a billion times.

Hi, Ian, I’m sorry I forgot to tell you I was engaged.

Ian, hey, it’s Christina. I just wanted to call and say sorry about my ex, who I swear is my ex, just showing up. And oh, yeah, I used to be engaged.

Ian, what’s up! Oh, yeah about that fiancé, yeah, he’s out of the picture, no worries!

Every time it rings, it’s like a deafening sound, blaring for me to upchuck my breakfast.

Finally I hear the click. “Hi, this is Ian—”

“Lies! All lies!” I spit out.
Wow, I didn’t just panic there.
“Leave a message and I will return your call. Thanks.” Fuck. Voicemail. The line beeps, indicating it’s my turn to speak.

“Umm, hi, Ian, this is Christina. Christina Daniels. Or Chrissy. Or, well. You know who I am. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what happened today. And I really wish you would give me a chance to explain because that looked
waaaay
worse than it really is. And—”

Beep.

Hot fuckin’ diggity. The voicemail cut me off!

Only an insane person would
not
call back and finish that message right?

Same song and dance. At the sound of the beep, I go off.

“Hi, Ian, it’s me again.” Pause. “Christina. Listen, I was hoping you can come back so we can fix whatever just happened here because that seriously didn’t come out like I was hoping it would and maybe if you just came back here we can talk about this then everything will be—”

Beep.

“Fuuuuuuuuu—” I look at Pippa staring at me like I’m a madman. “—uudgcicle! Fudgcicle.”

“What’s a matter with you?” she asks.

Pretty normal question. “Oh, nothing, sweetie, Ian’s phone is being silly.” I turn around and slam the numbers back into the phone. Ring ring and AGAIN! Voicemail. I’m starting to feel like I’m getting the end button here.

The second I hear the beep that’s cue, it’s on. “Ian, Christina, listen, come back. Right now. We can talk like civil adults. I’m serious. Get over here right now. Cause if you don’t, Ian Whitman, I swear I’m going to—”

Murder this motherfudgen phone! I do believe I officially black out for a few seconds because when I come to, I’m wrapped up in the cord, fighting tooth and nail to rip it out of the wall.

I stop momentarily to take a peek at Pippa, who is gaping at me, mouth full of cookie.

“So I think Ian is busy.” Inhale. Exhale. “Looks like it’s just us for a bit, kiddo.” I remove myself from the ancient cord like it’s a skirt and untangle it from my legs. I step out, place the phone back on the wall base and sit down at the table.

I think that went well.

There looks to be nothing left to do but eat a cookie lunch and wait.

I
ENDED UP DOING
a lot more waiting than I planned on, because it’s now Monday and still no Ian.

Talk about the cold shoulder. Geesh. I mean, I get that he’s mad but come on. To ditch us all night is way not cool. Luckily, the Internet and Pippa’s intelligence guided us through the rest of our Sunday. I got her through her bath and safe and sound to bed and spent the remainder of my time lying in my own bed wishing I wasn’t alone. I started to get a little worried that Ian isn’t just cooling off and he might not be coming back at all. Thankfully, a little bit into my sudden freak-out Pippa came pitter-pattering into my room, asking to sleep with me, and I welcomed her with open arms.

It’s now Monday and I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off
and
shoved up my rear, trying to get Pippa ready for school. We wouldn’t be rushing if she didn’t fool me first into agreeing to let her wear a princess dress to pre-k camp. That took another ten minutes to convince her to take it off and wear normal clothes. Of course now we’ll be having pancakes for dinner as well.

With Pippa gone, the house is super quiet and eerie. I debate calling Ian, but I decide to hold off. I’m not sure how long guys fester for, and I really don’t want to interrupt. The silent treatment tells me I should probably not show my face at the center to volunteer for the art program either, so I take a pass on that. If Ian was so
worried
about the kids, he would come and get me. I sit down to watch some TV, then realize I don’t really have anything I particularly watch besides
Mickey Mouse Clubhouse
nowadays and that doesn’t start until 11 a.m.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick . . .

Oh, screw this waiting crap. I get up and head back toward my bedroom. Nothing like sending a few naughty
I’m sorry
pics to seal the deal without having to grovel too badly. Don’t get me wrong, I’m willing to do a lot right now. I just want him to come back so I can explain. Then possibly let him chew my black stockings off my legs. I miss that mouth. Just thinking about it makes me sad. I miss every single part of him.