Stripped Down (5 page)

His dark eyes surveyed me, dropping from my gaze to the sparkler on my finger. Then he held up his own left hand and the solid band there. “That’s a wedding ring. Same as this one.”

“Yeah... Yeah, I...figured that part out.” I cleared my throat. “I’m gonna need some elaboration.”

“Do you want some coffee?”

“Uh, no. I just wanna know.”

“Sure.” He ran his fingers through his hair and waved at me to follow him.

I dropped my shoes at the bottom of the stairs and padded barefoot across the black, tiled floor of the hallway and into the kitchen. It was almost entirely white except for the gray, marbled counters and chrome appliances. Black stools lined up in front of an island, and there, I saw my bag and my purse. My phone was lying next to it, and I snatched it up.

“Sorry—it kept ringing,” Beckett said with a small grimace as he handed me coffee anyway. “I thought someone might be worried about you.”

I swallowed. “Did you answer?”

“Yeah... It was your mom. Don’t worry. I told her you stopped off with a friend who’d just broken up with her boyfriend and I was her brother.” He linked his fingers in front of him and stretched them, a light frown marring his forehead. “She said she was taking CiCi to the store with her because your dad wanted pancakes, so there was no rush in you getting her.”

I glanced down at the screen. Eight thirty. “Right. Okay. She wasn’t mad?”

“No, not at all. Although I don’t think she believed my story.” His lips tugged slightly on one side. “I also found this.” He slid me an envelope emblazoned with a wedding chapel logo in the top-right corner.

The scrawling handwriting addressed it to Mr. and Mrs. Cruz.

Bile rose up my throat as I opened it and pulled out a flier and a wedding certificate.

A fucking wedding certificate. Signed by us both.

I clapped my hand over my mouth, shoving the flier down, and ran for the sink. Vomit felt like it was scratching the back of my throat as I threw up into the shiny, chrome sink. Hands came behind me and scooped my hair back as I vomited again, my stomach convulsing painfully.

I threw up twice more then spat excess saliva onto the plug hole when I was done.

Vomiting.

I guess that’s not the usual response to finding out you’d drunkenly married a hot, rich guy.

Probably the right one when you find out you’d drunkenly married your boss though.

“Sorry,” I whispered, taking my hair and straightening up. I ran the tap to clean the sink out and wiped my mouth with some tissue Beckett had handed me.

“Not the response I was expectin’, not gonna lie.” His lips quirked again, and this time, he passed me a small glass of water. “Here. Sip this.”

“Thanks.” My voice was weak. “I have hair ties in my bag. The side pocket. Could you grab me one?”

“Sure.” He unzipped the small pocket and handed me a black one.

“Thanks,” I said again, taking it. I set the glass on the counter as I reached behind me and scooped my hair on top of my head in a messy twist. It probably didn’t look better than just letting it go free, but at least it was out of my face. “How did it happen? The...” I couldn’t say the words, so I just pointed to my hand.

“If I knew, I’d tell you.” He leaned against the island and folded his arms across his body.

My eyes were drawn momentarily to his biceps. Good. God.

“It’s a blank. But I called the chapel this morning and confirmed it and checked my transactions online. It’s all legit, Cassie.”

I felt sick again. I sipped the water in the hope it’d keep the bile and vomit down. “How do we make it go away?”

“I hope we can get an annulment.” He scratched at his collarbone. “I’m not sure since we had sex after, but we were both under the influence of alcohol, so I’m hoping that my lawyer will give me that as a viable reason when he’s in the office in thirty minutes.”

Good. That was good. I didn’t see any reason why the alcohol wouldn’t be a good enough reason to void the marriage. Or, rather, “marriage.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“What do you mean if that’s what I want?” My skin prickled at his insinuation. “Are you suggesting I did this deliberately?”

He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not. I did when I realized what had happened, but I know you’re not that kind of person.”

“I don’t want anything you have, Beckett. This”—I gestured between us—“never should have happened. Honestly, I’m not even sure how it did. I can’t remember. I want nothing except for it to go away.”

“I know. I believe you. I’m...sorry. It’s a reflex to assume the worst of women.”

“Yeah, you call that a reflex—I call that being an ass.”

“You’re probably more right than I am.”

I tugged the ring off my finger and rested it on the counter next to him. “I sure as hell didn’t buy that, so here. Will you tell me tonight what you need me to do to end this?”

“You’re not going to wait until my lawyer calls?”

“No. I have to get my daughter. My dad has an appointment at lunchtime. I don’t have time to talk to you until work tonight.” I pushed a loose hair I’d obviously missed back behind my ear and grabbed my things. “Assuming I still have a job,” I added, my back to him.

“Cassie.”

I heard the shuffle of his sweats as he moved, and then I felt his hand touch my upper back as his bare torso appeared in front of me. I forced myself to look away from the tightly packed muscle that decorated his stomach and met his eyes.

Indigo blue blazed at me. “I’m not firing you for a mutual mistake. You still have your job, and I’m still going to look at getting you more shifts like I promised.”

A lump formed in my throat, and worry I hadn’t even realized had settled in my heart swiftly disappeared. “Thank you.”

“How are you getting home? Is your car at the club?”

I opened my mouth then licked my lips before I could speak. “I don’t have a car,” I admitted. My cheeks lightly flushed with embarrassment.

This house was probably worth more than a million dollars, yet there I was in clearance jeans, admitting I didn’t have a car.

This marriage had to end quickly, one way or another.

We were worlds apart.

“Let me get a shirt and some shoes and I’ll take you home. What about your daughter?”

“I can get a cab.”

“Cassie, babe, let me take you home.” His gaze didn’t falter as he repeated his offer—or his demand. They sounded the same to me. “What about your daughter?”

“I don’t live far from my parents’. CiCi and I usually walk.”

“If you’re sure...”

“I’m sure.” I looked down. “But, if you insist, I won’t turn down a ride home. I don’t even know where I am.”

Beckett tilted my chin up and smiled. “Give me two minutes. You’re not gonna be sick again, are you?”

I shook my head, attempting a return at the smile, and he turned away. I felt sick, but not the oh-my-god-I’m-gonna-be-sick kinda sick. I was just nauseated, and that was more down to the fact that I had to wait close to twelve hours to find out how to fix this mess we were in.

Please be as simple as an annulment. Please, please, please.

“Mommy!” CiCi screamed almost the moment I walked through the door of my parents’ house. She flung herself at me and wrapped her arms around my legs.

“Hey, baby girl!” I bent down and lifted her up.

She squeezed me tight, wrapping her legs around my waist. One day, we’d do this and we’d both fall over.

“How are you? Have you been good?”

She leaned back and looked at me with her big, brown eyes. Her blond hair shook as she nodded. “Uh-huh. Grandpa’s asleep, so we made him cookies,” she answered in a conspiratorial whisper. “And don’t tell Nanny, but I ated one.”

Her grin was so innocently sweet that I couldn’t help but give it right back. “Really? You wanna show me?”

She nodded. “In the kitchen.” She wriggled down and grabbed my hand.

I met Mom’s eyes as CiCi dragged me into the kitchen and caught her eye roll.

“Here,” CiCi whispered. “You see? They’re super yummy.”

“Do you think Nanny will notice if we steal one each?” I whispered, bending down.

She looked around and, obviously seeing that the coast was clear, shook her head. Then she grabbed two of the chocolate chip cookies off the cooling rack. She handed me one, immediately biting into hers.

“Mmm,” I said, taking a big bite. “Yummy.”

Mom’s horrified gasp echoed around the kitchen. “CiCi! Are you eating Grandpa’s cookies?”

CiCi turned, her eyes wide open, cookie crumbs all around her mouth, and frantically shook her head.

I wasn’t sure who she was trying to kid. She still had half the damn cookie in her hand.

“It was Mommy,” she said around a mouthful of chocolate chips and crumbs.

Mom swung her eyes to me. “Cassie! Are you eating all the cookies?”

I did the exact same thing my daughter had just done. “No. It was CiCi.”

“Mommy!” she cried, tapping my hand. “It’s not nice to tell tales!”

Mom laughed. “Sssh, chicken. You’ll wake Grandpa.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth. The one with the cookie. She still wasn’t fooling anybody, although I did appreciate her attempt at it.

Only because it was toward Mom. Toward me would have been a different story.

“Sowwy, Nanny,” CiCi rambled out through a mouthful of cookie.

Mom rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you go and get Cookie and make sure your pajamas are folded up ready for tonight, okay? And brush your teeth before you come down.”

“‘Kay.” She ran through the kitchen at a million miles an hour, but when she reached the stairs, she was much, much quieter.

I felt my mom’s eyes boring into me as I reached for another cookie. She slapped her fingers against mine then pulled a Tupperware box out of the cupboard.

“How is your friend?” she asked, glancing at me with amused eyes. “It sure was nice of her brother to answer the phone this morning.”

I coughed as she put a handful of cookies into the tub for us. “She’s fine.”

“Mhmm.” She snapped the lid in place. “You ain’t fooling me, Cassie Gallagher. Were you careful?”

“Mom!”

“What? Mother or not, you’re still my baby.” She thrust the tub toward me, concern in her brown eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. I finished work early and got with a couple friends. I had fun,” I lied, guilt eating away at my insides.

Ugh. This was horrible.

“As long as you were safe.”

“I was safe. I promise.” I supposed getting drunkenly married was safer than forgetting a condom.

At least I knew that didn’t happen—forgetting, that is. The wrapper on the floor this morning confirmed my fleeting memory.

“I’ll bring her back after dinner. Oh, I spoke to my boss,” I added more quietly. “He’s going to see about more shifts. So I can help more.”

“Cassie, listen to me.” Mom cupped my face with her hands. “It isn’t your job. We’re just fine.”

I swallowed. “But you’re not. Are you?”

Her smile was sad, and her heartbreak glimmered in her eyes. “He ain’t going anywhere until he’s damn well ready to. Your father is as stubborn as a mule, and he isn’t done with his doctor. He’s getting a second opinion about treatment on Monday. He decided last night. He’ll give up trying to live the moment he dies.”

“I know. I figured as much.” I sighed and put the tub in my purse. Two folded twenty-dollar bills caught my eye, and I held them out to her. “Then, while he’s busy being stubborn, take him to buy one of those plane kits he likes. That’ll keep him quiet for a couple of days.”

“Cassie...”

“Mom, please. CiCi likes helping him do the building and painting, and I don’t know how long they’ve got left together. I want her to have as many memories as possible.”

“I don’t want to take your money.”

“You never do, but it’ll be busy tonight. You take her when you don’t have to. This is my way of thanking you.” I thrust the money at her. “Please?”

Guilt shimmered in her eyes, but she took the money I’d offered and hugged me tight. I forced myself not to let the sting of tears overwhelm me, so I just squeezed her and pulled back before that could happen.

Thankfully, CiCi appeared with her matted, old stuffed cat, Cookie, and broke through the emotion of the moment.

“Mommy?” CiCi looked up at me with her soft, brown eyes. “Ready?”

“Sure. Did you fold up your pajamas and brush your teeth like Nanny said?”

She nodded right before she skipped across the room and hugged Mom’s thighs. “Thank you, Nanny. See you tonight.” She turned to me and grabbed my hand, her pudgy fingers wrapping around mine. “Come on, Mommy. Grandpa said, if I clean my bedroom, I can help him paint his plane before bed.” She grinned up at me, her six-year-old excitement apparently stronger than her hatred for putting her toys away.

I said goodbye to Mom, told her to kiss Dad for me, and let CiCi lead me out of the house. CiCi’s desire to get home so she could eventually help Dad reminded me why I had given what cash I had spare to my mom to buy the model plane kit. Sure, if I hadn’t, I’d probably have been able to afford the new
Frozen
bike she’d begged for after she’d outgrown the last by now, but the memories of her with Dad would last longer than a bike.