My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3) (5 page)

BOOK: My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3)
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Henry looks at me, confused. “Ms. Daniels, Riverside is a retirement home. Both John’s grandparents are well into their eighties. His grandfather is long gone mentally and suffering from dementia, and his grandmother, well, she’s a feisty thing, but in no condition to be on her own, let alone look after a child.”

His little breakdown of my plan, which is apparently
not
a plan anymore, stuns me speechless.

“We were under the impression you knew this,” Officer Belmont continues. “We thought you would be taking the little girl.”

“Take her where?” I want to stop staring at him, because I’m probably starting to creep him out, but I’m also having a hard time registering this recent turn of events.

“To live with you, of course.”

Huh?
I almost laugh. By all means, I want to do what’s best for my sister’s child and do right by my niece, but I’m not in a position to look after a child.
Ha!
I mentally scoff just thinking about showing back up at Brent’s place with a four-year-old in tow. That would go over well. He doesn’t even like dogs.
Hey, babe, oh, why yes, that’s a child I have with me. Now do you want to give in and end things? Great!

And can I also mention I’m only twenty-six, for God’s sake! How would I care for a little girl? I’m barely a grown-up myself.

Officer Belmont pats me on my shoulder. “I’m sorry to give you so much upsetting news at once. I’m sure once you meet your niece you’ll know what’s best.”

He removes his palm from my shoulder and stands. I rise along with him, adjusting my top and placing my arm through my purse strap.

“Can you please tell me what is next? I would like to get my sister the proper burial so we can all move on from his tragedy.”

“Yes, of course. Visitation is scheduled at the funeral home for tomorrow afternoon. I assume you’ll be staying at your sister’s house with your niece. John’s cousin is at the house watching her. So we can head over there now. He’s spent a lot of time with the family, so we thought it best to have him close right now. Keep some sort of familiarity in the girl’s life.”

“I understand.” We walk out of the station and he instructs me to follow him to the house. I replay the comment about keeping familiarity in the poor girl’s life. How do you do that when she’s just lost her parents? Does she understand what’s happened? Does she even
know
about me? How does me landing on her front steps equal familiarity in her little life?

The whole drive is spent agonizing over meeting this little girl who scares me more than a technology outage. What exactly do I do? Introduce myself?
Hi, I’m your horrible aunt who never came around. And I think your mommy hated me, so how about we figure out where to put you for the rest of your life?
Vomit in a handbag, I am in official freak-out mode.

Don’t yack . . . don’t yack,
I coach myself as I try and calm my nerves.

Just as I feel I’m coming back down to stable ground, a car full of off-tune singing teenagers swerves into my lane, causing me to jerk out of their way. “Learn how to drive the speed limit, gramma!” a snarky little teenage diva yells out the window as they pass by.

“Oh, hell to the no,” I grumble to myself.

My patience, along with some coffee from the container in my hand, goes spilling into my lap. I mean who seriously drives like that? Society has really lost their hold on the youth today. Teaching them nothing about the rules of the road. There are lines there for a reason, people! I take it into my own hands to provide proper demonstration of how to be courteous to other drivers. Unfortunately, I plan on doing it in the proper way
next
time. This time, of course, once we hit the stoplight, I sledge my Starbucks coffee container out my window, making its new home in a splattered mess on the mini prima donna’s windshield. As the light turns green, I enjoy the shocked faces of all the divas-in-training. I make it my job as a safe driver to give them my parental advice by pointing at the speed limit sign . . . with my middle finger.

S
AFELY GETTING ME OFF
the road, we finally pull into the driveway of a one-story brick house. I put my rental car in park and wait for Officer Belmont to get out of his cruiser. I feel my phone buzz in my lap and I jump.

Nope, not nervous at all.

I need to seriously pull my shit together. I am Christina motherfuckin’ Daniels. I can do this. I pick up my phone, denying the shakiness in my hands. I’m sliding the lock off when tapping at my window startles me senseless again. I send my phone into the air, and it nosedives down into the tiny crack between the door and the driver’s seat.

I look up to see Henry instructing me to roll down my window.

“We’re here. Are you coming?”

“Yes, sorry, I’ll be right out,” I say.

“All right. And Ms. Daniels?”

“Yes?”

“In case you have forgotten, throwing coffee containers is strictly illegal in Ashford. We do not litter here.”

“Oh, my God, I so agree. I was horrified when that gigantic bird just swooped down and knocked my poor coffee out of my hand. That was a double-shot espresso caramel-mocha latte.”
Wait for it. Wait for it.

Looking semi-confused, he nods once and steps away as I roll the window back up.

I lean over and try to feel for my phone, now playing hide while I’m unable to quite seek in that narrow space at the side of my seat. “Where are you?” I mumble to myself, or to my phone, hoping it will respond and pop into my hand. Just when I’m about to abandon my mission, I feel the cool metal brush my fingers.

“Gotcha!” I go to slide the bar once again, and I realize my engagement ring is missing. The diamond must have slid off between the seats.
Shit.
I’m bending sideways, feeling around again when there’s more tapping at the window. This time I whack my head on the steering wheel.

“Oh, for feck’s sake.” I rub my now throbbing head and see Henry motioning at me to move it along. “I’m coming!” I shout through the glass. Geesh, relax, Mr. Pushy Pants.

I abort my mission and snatch my purse. I’ll just have to locate the ring later. It’s not like it’s going anywhere. I get out of the car and hit the locks.

The house, no bigger than the one we grew up in, lies on a small plot of land in what seems like a newer developed neighborhood. Toys cover the lawn and it’s obvious by the perfectly trimmed bushes and blooming flowers that someone in the family had a green thumb. Henry leads me up the concrete driveway and down the stone path to the front porch.

It’s no lie when I say I am nervous as shit. And by definition of nervous right now I mean I could probably yack in my Prada bag at any moment. As Officer Pushy Pants presses the doorbell to announce our arrival, I take the opportunity to bend over and suck air into my suffocating lungs. I said it before, but I really don’t want to barf in my bag. I just got this bag. And I seriously love it. Like I’m five again and it’s comparable to a PB&J love-it.

One more breath. Inhale, exhale.

Before I make a move to rise, because sadly enough I think I’m stuck in this position, the door opens and a large figure stands before me. I don’t see much yet, but at kneecap level what I
do
see is a set of nice muscular legs clad in a pair of what he makes look like the hottest jeans I’ve ever seen. I mellow out my breathing and slowly raise my head for a better view. It’s like I’m riding an upward escalator. The higher I go, the clearer the image I get of the person standing at the top.

And boy oh, dreamsicle boy.

Strong legs. Check.

Lean waist. Check.

Oh, Lord. Strong hands on lean waist. Check.

Yep, moving upward, even better. A gray, long-sleeved Henley hugs his abs and chest, and my lady bits wish they were hugging him. I may or may not begin to break a sweat at the tall drink of manliness before me.

I blame this strange reaction on my lack of sleep
.
First official day I’m on my relationship
break
and I’m already drooling and gah gah-ing over the first built male I come in sights with. Deciding I’ve embarrassed myself enough, I stand tall, my posture the picture of the successful art pro that I am, and I get a good look at John’s cousin.

And I gasp.

Then swear.

And swear again.

The last word that leaves my mouth is a name that hasn’t left my lips since the day I left this town.

“Ian?”

I gape at the face of a man much older than the boy I remember. I scan those strong hands I dreamt about night after night and imagined touching me during my teen years. Those perfect lips that shared my first kiss. The last sad smile I saw before I turned my back on my life in this town and never looked back.

Ian Whitman.

My first love. My only love.

“Welcome home, Chrissy.”

H
IS VOICE, MUCH DEEPER
than I remember, sends a vibrating spark to my heart. One that ignites my past, setting my insides on fire. His gentle smile touches a place in my heart I thought would never truly work again. His nervousness seems to match mine as he tucks his large hands into his jeans pockets.

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

Ian Whitman.

I fought to forget the events that finally led up to my departure. It was, I swore, the last day my mother would ever lay a hand on me or wound me with her words. The last time I would listen to my sister defend her.

And Ian. The last time I saw him was the day I left everything in Oregon behind, including him. The day Ian told me if I got on that bus, he would never forgive me.

Henry breaks the silence. “Ms. Daniels, could we go inside? I surely do smell an overwhelming scent of skunk.”

Oh, blast! I forgot about my
scent
issue. I rip off my jacket as if it were last year’s art fashion. The two men stare at me like I’m mad, which may be the case. If I never cross paths with another skunk again, it will be too soon.

“Well, please, come on in.” I hear Ian’s invitation but it’s Henry’s push to move that snaps me out of my frazzled state. Unable to ditch my coat in the bushes, we enter the small but cozy house.

I allow my eyes to wander around the space, trying to survey the memories that my sister had made in this house. My eyes travel around the room, returning to the person in front of me. Ian is somehow related to Amy now through her husband. So many questions are twirling in my brain I don’t even know where to begin.

“Can I take your jacket?” Ian asks politely, stretching out his hands.

“No!” I reply too quickly. “Um, I mean no thanks. I’m okay.” Even though my automatic response wants to be
you can take my body,
getting him closer to me and my unfortunate new skunk-scented perfume is not the way I want to reintroduce myself.

“Pippa’s already asleep. She wanted to stay awake, but I thought rest was best under the circumstances . . .”

My head whips around at his words.

That name.

“What did you just say?” I ask, stunned at what my ears just heard.

“She’s confused about her parents. Pippa doesn’t understand why they aren’t here, but she was excited about meeting her aunt—”

That’s about all I take in. The continued conservation echoes in my ears, but that name.

The past.

The memories.

I blame it on the long day and lack of power drinks. The memory shoots into my frontal lobe, spinning the room, and I nosedive into blackness . . .

“Amy, wait! Wait for me, please!”

“No, Chrissy, you need to go back home.”

“No, we don’t want to. Please, please, let us come with you.”

“Chrissy, you can’t come with me this time. I am going to meet a boy. And I prefer not having my little sister and her invisible friend tagging along.”

“Don’t make us go back home alone. Please,” I beg.

“You’ll be fine. You two just run home and hide in our special place. I won’t be long, I promise.”

“But what happens if she comes looking for me?” I cry.

“She won’t. I checked on her before I left. She’s sleeping. She probably won’t wake up until morning.”

BOOK: My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3)
11.96Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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