That One Night (That One Series Book 1) (3 page)

After I change his diaper, I sit us down on the bed, my back against the headrest and put on some soothing music on my phone. It helps him calm down while breastfeeding, and it has a calming effect on me as well. After everything going on today, this is exactly what I need.

Although some people, including my mother, disagree with me still breast-feeding him at nine months, I think the possible health benefits for his immune system are worth it. I promised myself to try and do it until he starts getting teeth. I might be a lot of things—a masochist, I am not.

As usual he falls asleep and after burping him, I put him in his travel crib and watch him for a moment. He’s oblivious to the chaos around him. I envy that kind of peace. My mind feels like a million ants have decided to have a party in there.

Trying to concentrate on anything but who is in my parents’ house, I head into the shower. I think even as a teenager I wasn’t this thankful to have my own bathroom. The thought of leaving my room sends me into a frenzy of anxiety, making my heart pound, and my palms sweat. The hot water of the shower would normally relax both my body and my mind, but today it doesn’t do anything for me. My muscles are so tense, I’m surprised my skin isn’t ripping in places, yet I stay here until all the warm water runs out. Drying myself off, I walk back into the room, grab a pair of sweatpants, panties and a tank top from my bag, put them on, and climb under the covers.

I want to text Dean and tell him to come here and save me, but I know rehashing the current situation right this moment will keep me awake all night. Instead I grab my phone and decide to listen to a meditation CD. Shortly after, I’m out until morning
—
a restless kind of sleep with the past and present replaying in my dreams over and over.

***

When I wake up in the morning, I feel like I’ve been run over by an eighteen-wheeler and the day hasn’t even started yet. The long drive and the emotional chaos have drained all my energy. Archer is still sleeping soundly. I guess yesterday must have worn him out. I go to brush my teeth and dig a bra out of my bag. No way will I go downstairs and greet my family and Ben with the twins roaming free.

I grab the baby monitor and decide to brave the storm. I straighten my shoulders, hold my head high, take a deep breath, and open the door.

I can do this. I’ve given birth to a child; this is a walk in the park in comparison.

Walking down the stairs, I need to force myself not to turn around and barricade myself in my room until the holidays are over. Dealing with my disapproving parents is hard enough, but with Ben here
—
it feels like my emotions and self-restraint are going haywire.

Yet, when I get downstairs everything seems fairly deserted and the relief from not having to socialize with anyone right now washes through me. I sigh loudly and make my way into the kitchen.

“Still tired?” I startle at the sudden voice behind me and jump slightly.

“Not after the heart-attack you just gave me, Dad. Where is everyone?” He is sitting at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper. How I didn’t see him is beyond me—but then my thoughts are all over the place right now.

“Your mother went to the store. Last-minute shopping for the holidays. And the boys went out for breakfast. They said something about wanting a real men’s breakfast and not cereal or toast.”

“So, it’s just us two, huh?” I try to keep the conversation going. After announcing my pregnancy, most of the words spoken between my dad and me were shouted, yelled, or drowned out by doors slamming. When I was little we used to get along well. We can do it. We just need to try. At least that’s what I tell myself.

“Looks like it.”

Despite the conversation feeling forced and awkward, I plan to make the best of it.

“Did you have breakfast yet? Or should I make us something?”

He looks up at me with confusion written all over his face, with his eyebrows drawn up in question. I suppose he might be wondering if I’ll try to poison him. Right now, he reminds me of a fish out of water. He probably also can’t remember the last time we were friendly or polite.

“Yeah, why not? Is it going to be one of your healthy, hippie things? I’m not sure my body can handle the shock of healthy food that early in the morning.”

I chuckle. “Did you just make a joke, Dad?”

He tries to hide his grin behind the newspaper.

Well, that wasn’t so bad.

I decide to go with it, instead of firing back one of my sarcastic comebacks.

“How about I make the healthy food for myself, while you get your scrambled eggs and bacon?”

“Sounds like a plan,” he looks up from his newspaper and smiles at me.

As I busy myself in the kitchen, I hear Archer stir through the baby monitor. I’m about to clean my hands, when my dad stands up.

“You take care of the food and I take care of my grandson.” With that, he disappears and I enjoy a moment of silence.

But as with most things in life, it doesn’t stay that way for long. Dave and Ben barge through the door, talking football. I don’t want to see Ben right now. I don’t want to deal with all the stuff his presence causes me to feel, but unless I abandon the breakfast and run from the room like a lunatic, there is no real escape, so I take a breath instead.

“Hey, guys.”

“Hey, Stinker, you finally up?”

“Been up longer than you. Just didn’t want to see your face first thing in the morning.”

My brother laughs, getting a glass out of the cupboard and filling it with tap water, before gulping it down.

“Morning, Frankie. How did you sleep?” Ben asks and I instinctively react to his voice, looking up and straight into his eyes. I look away again just as quickly.

I know it is ridiculous, but I want to punch him for talking to me like nothing ever happened. I want to slap some sense into him. I want to somehow hurt him, the way he hurt me. And I really hate that I still get goose bumps all over my body hearing his raspy, hoarse voice. He has always sounded like he smokes a pack a day and drinks a bottle of whiskey.

“Good, thanks.” I keep my voice even, void of any emotion.
That wasn’t so bad. I believe I sounded fairly civil.

I don’t look at him, instead I turn back to finish preparing breakfast. Dave heads to the fridge, searching its contents. He pulls a slice of left-over pizza from its box before closing the fridge. The way he eats, I swear he must have a tapeworm.

“Didn’t you just come back from eating out?” I ask, giving my brother an incredulous look.

“Like that’s ever stopped him,” Ben says, snatching the pizza from my brother and taking a bite, but staring at me, a smile tugging at his lips. Because my body is a damn traitor, my eyes move to his of their own accord, and when our eyes meet, his smile grows bigger and I just know he did this to get a reaction out of me. To make me pay attention to him. And of course I did. I could kick myself right now.

Thankfully my brother comes to my rescue, unknowingly but nonetheless helpful. He elbows Ben in the stomach and grabs the pizza out of his hand, taking a bite.

“Dude, you eating the slice of pizza I just took a bite out of is like you’re French-kissing me.” Though he’s talking to Dave, Ben is still only looking at me.

“Not cool, man. Not cool.” Dave drops the pizza slice into the trash, glowering at Ben, and I finally look away.

Just when I think the situation is under control and I can relax, Dave turns to Ben. “I’ll quickly hop in the shower, but then we’re on for our gaming session.” He turns around and leaves the kitchen.
Asshole.

Suddenly, the air feels heavy. Our breathing and the sizzling of the bacon are the only sounds in the kitchen. I bite the inside of my cheek and pick at my thumb nail, like I always do when I’m nervous. I don’t want to talk to him or be alone with him. I know we’ll have to talk at some point. But not now. Not today. Maybe not this month, or this year. Not even this decade, if it’s up to me. I had imagined so often how it would be if we saw each other again and what I would say to him. None of these fantasies had me being ambushed with his presence in my parents’ house. There is no way I can talk to him here. But he doesn’t seem to feel the same way.

While I concentrate on the scrambled eggs and bacon, he suddenly stands next to me, close enough for me to feel the heat of his body. His closeness throws me off, causing me to tense up and clench my jaw.

“Frankie, I think we should...”

I don’t let him finish, instead I yell like a banshee “Dad, breakfast is ready.”

Thankfully, my dad must have been just around the corner, as he strides into the kitchen not a second later with Archer in his arms. It really makes for a change that I’m happy to see him. Ben gives me a pained look, but doesn’t say anything else.

I put a plate full of food in front of my dad and grab Archer.

“I will go meet up with a friend for a bit. I’ll help mom in the kitchen when I get back.”

With that, I storm off upstairs to feed, change, and dress Archer and get dressed myself. Faster than a whirlwind I’m out the door, needing some air to breathe. There were too many emotions swirling inside of me in the past twelve hours, and for once, I have a hard time tackling them head on. I would much rather stick my head in the sand and wait for it all to be over.

Obviously, I don’t want to show up unannounced at anyone’s door on Thanksgiving. Instead, I drive to the mall and have a stroll through it with Archer. A lot of fond memories come to my mind as I walk through the stores. I had spent countless hours with my friends here, shopping or just hanging out. We were such a crazy bunch, always up to no good—nothing illegal—but we were mischievous little assholes.

After two hours of aimless wandering and buying a few books for Archer and me, I decide to hit the road.

Just as I step into the parking lot, I hear the tell-tale noises of a good old-fashioned Harley. I can’t help but grin when it stops in front of me.

“Drake,” I smile up to the guy straddling the Harley. How he’s not frozen to the bone on top of that thing, with nothing on over his jeans and sweatshirt but a leather jacket, is beyond me. His dark hair is short on the sides and a bit longer on top, tousled by the wind. His brown eyes always seem to hold an invitation to get down and dirty with him.

“Frankie, you still remember me.” It’s not a question but a statement.

“Um, well, I don’t suffer from Alzheimer’s and it hasn’t been that long. And you know, the guy that deflowers you on top of his Harley isn’t that easy to forget.”

He starts laughing and it sounds a little bit like the roar of his machine.

“Yeah, it was a few damn good rides. Care for another? The seat is still warm.”

“I’m sure you managed to keep it warm and busy. But I’ll have to decline. My ride is a bit more soccer mom, and a bit less wild thing these days.”

He just now seems to notice Archer for the first time, who is hypnotized by the sound and shiny chrome of the bike.
Yeah, you are definitely your momma’s boy.

Drake’s eyes shoot to me and he looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

“It’s not mine, is it?”

At this, I can’t help but break out into a fit of laughter. I laugh so hard I can barely breathe. Archer looks at me a bit puzzled, like he’s unsure if he should be scared and cry, or if he should laugh along. When I look up at Drake and find him glaring at me, it doesn’t really help with the laughing. The big bad biker is shitting his pants because he might be a daddy.

“No, I can guarantee you that you are not this baby’s father. I can’t say that about all the other babies in this town, but mine isn’t yours.” I honestly question his math skills, considering the last time I was on top of that Harley and underneath Drake was before I went off to college.

“Thank fuck. Can you imagine me changing diapers?”

I shake my head. He definitely isn’t father material. Not yet, at least. But then, you never know what talents lie dormant inside of you until you are forced to use them. I wouldn’t have seen myself as a mother two years ago either, and look at me now. Archer is all that matters to me these days.

After a few more minutes of small talk, Drake and I say goodbye. It was good seeing him again. He brings a kind of lightness into your life, no matter the situation. He’s the type to just go with the flow and see what the day brings. That tends to rub off on the people that meet him, and it gives me a bit of a break from the emotional roller-coaster I’m currently on.

We had been dating for quite a while when I was sixteen and he was eighteen. He was the typical bad boy and my teenage rebel heart couldn’t come up with a more romantic boyfriend. But then you get older and realize living into the day just doesn’t work all that well in the long-run, no matter how positive the attitude. But today, I soak it up and take it with me as I make my way back to my parents’ house.

I sing to Archer the whole way home. Not some children’s songs. My son grows up with decent music. Well, at least when he ignores my voice and just listens to the song. During the short ride, he’s had to listen to my rendition of “Sweet Dreams” by Eurythmics, Eric Clapton’s “Tears In Heaven,” that was interrupted by my sobs that are usually brought on by this song, and “Try” by Pink. He seems to find my singing amusing, if his giggles are any indication. Or what’s more likely, he is laughing at me. Either way, we arrive at my parents’ house laughing and giggling.