Love Rekindled (Love Surfaced) (4 page)

“He’s just going to hurt you, Tay. I’m not sure why you would put yourself through that.”

“I’m not going back to him. But she’s his daughter. It was his decision as to how he’d handle it, and I took that away from him, and I had no right.” I turn to face him and his hand grabs mine on the back of the couch.

“I don’t want him to hurt either one of you.” Sincerity shines from his eyes, and I wish for the same thing I do almost every night. Why can’t the heart take advice? Weigh the pros and cons? Because I know Sam’s love has a ton more pros than cons, whereas I’m unsure about Brad’s.

“He won’t hurt me, and as far as Em, I have no control over it. Two and a half years ago, I thought, by stripping her away from him, I was saving her from the despair I was positive he would inflict on her, but I can’t. Because as she gets older, she’s going to ask.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess I can see that.” His hand lets go of mine. In this moment, I know he thought he’d fill that spot for her.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

He stands, straightening his jeans, down to his workboots. “You have nothing to apologize for. I should really get going.” Without so much as a backward glance, he rounds the couch, grabs his jacket, and walks to the front door. “I’ll pick her up from daycare after work tomorrow.”

“It’s okay, Sam. She has swimming lessons tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to go with you? I know you hate having to get in the water.”

Sure, let’s bring up the ten pounds I’m self-conscious about, which I haven’t been able to lose since Em was born.

“I want you to go out tomorrow. Don’t worry about Em and me, okay?” I follow him to the door, and his knuckles turn white on the knob.

“I’ve never wanted anything different,” he whispers. “Catch you later, Tay.” He swings the door open, and the squeaking screen door opens and shuts behind him.

I watch his truck pull out of the driveway as I worry about him. He’s a great man. He doesn’t rev his engine or leave skid marks on the road as he speeds off in a trail of hurt. Instead, his truck slowly moves back, and he doesn’t turn on his headlights until he isn’t facing Em’s bedroom anymore.

I shut the door and lean my back against it. “I’m a complete and utter bitch,” I whisper to myself.

I venture back to the kitchen and busy myself with the dinner dishes as my phone, laying on the counter, plays havoc with me. I wonder if he has the same number, or if he’s changed it.
No,
I think to myself,
I cannot contact him.
All those reasons I never told him I was pregnant rush to my mind, seeming like excuses now. Justifications for being spineless. Then a bowl slips from my wet hands and shatters to the floor, and I’m back in that room.

My eyes were blotchy and red from crying most of the day, because I knew Brad wasn’t ready for a child. His dreams had just crashed around him weeks before, and it spun him into a tailspin, like a damn fighter jet hit by the enemy. He wasn’t even looking for an eject button. He was happy to spin, uncontrolled, letting the alcohol and drugs kidnap him far away from everyone he loves, including me. Tanner had skipped walking in graduation and left for Colorado the week before. Their apartment was filled with fast food, empty cigarette boxes, and an array of beer and alcohol bottles.

Finally gaining the nerve to approach him after the fight we got into the night before over the cocaine I’d found, which he swore was someone else’s, I used the key he’d given me a week earlier. The door softly opened and I dropped my purse on the breakfast bar. His Mustang was parked outside, so I figured he was home and probably asleep. In my mind, I imagined sliding into bed with him and finding some way to tell him we were going to be parents. The news would sober him, make him have something to live for.

I walked into his bedroom, and within a second, moans filled my ears. A blonde was straddling him as she rocked back and forth. My water bottle dropped from my grip and crashed to the floor with a bang. Brad sat up, his eyes glossy, his pupils pinholes. It wasn’t the Brad I loved.

“Taylor,” he mumbled, barely audible, and my heart shattered in my chest. This was it. The moment that sealed our love for good, and of course, Brad did it with finality. Didn’t he always do everything over-the-top?

“I’m pregnant,” I whispered. At least I think I did, but maybe I said it internally to myself, because after I fled the room, he never came after me.

Tears escaped my eyes, as my feet scurried out of the room. I grabbed my purse and slammed the door behind me. We graduated the next week, and he never even approached me. Just stood in line and got his diploma as though all was right in his life. Delaney and Ashby weren’t that far apart in the line of graduates. Piper tried to talk to me to see what happened, but I just confirmed what she assumed. Her brother wasn’t meant to be with one woman. Her brown eyes, a mirror image to Brad’s, tried to figure it out, but with her being heartbroken over Tanner, she didn’t fight it. Neither one of us believed much in love at that point.

Now I see her and Tanner on that laundry commercial—a happy couple ready to be wed. It’s no doubt a sponsorship since he’s going to the Olympics next year.

Reliving the single worst moment of my life is never good for my ego. I pick up my phone, and without thinking, I text.

Me: Can we meet tomorrow to talk?

I wait a few minutes, figuring his number would have changed.

Brad: Name the time . . .

Me: Seven o’clock

Brad: In the morning? I’m still not a morning person, but for you, it’s worth it.

I press my hand to my stomach to demand it stop flipping.

Me: Evening. Come to my house. 6453 Valley Rd. in Roosevelt.

In my mind, I rationalize the situation. He’ll meet Em, and then I’ll put her to bed and we can talk about what will happen now.

Brad: Can we make it eight? I would normally ditch my commitment, but I promised someone.

Jealousy takes residence in me, wondering if it’s another girl. Then I slap myself, because if he was seeing someone else, he wouldn’t be coming after me, right?

Me: Sure. We can meet another day instead?

Brad: No. Tomorrow.

Me: See you then.

Brad: I’m sorry.

My thumbs rest on my screen and I have no idea what to type back.

Me: Me too.

Tomorrow will be the day he’ll find out he’s a dad and hate me for stealing over two years of his child’s life from him.

Brad

THE OFFICE IS EERILY QUIET
when I step through the glass doors. Liz, the snippy secretary, rolls her eyes. “Nice of you to show up.” The twenty-year-old packs her plant in a box. Maybe her incompetence got her fired. Should I remind her now how she hit on me during her first month here? Nah, who gives a shit. After today, this place will be in my rearview mirror.

I weave past the abundance of men carrying desks and chairs to the elevator.

“What the . . . ?” I press my back to the wall as two guys carry Jim’s, my boss, desk out of the corner office.

“Excuse us,” the one says.

My eyes dart around the fourth floor office, noting the cubicle walls lined along the window and stacks of desks piled on top of one another on the opposite wall. I find my cubicle spot and see the only thing left is my latest Sport Illustrated, laying abandoned in the middle of the floor.

Dodging the men, I roll up the magazine and shove it in my back pocket.

“Brad?” Jim questions, as though I shouldn’t have reported for work.

I break the distance between us and he waves me into what used to be his plush corner office. Now, it resembles my college apartment when I moved out. Papers lie sporadically on the floor, and an array of paperclips were spilled in one corner; even the dust bunnies look confused on which way to clutter together.

“I hadn’t expected you to return.” Jim leans against the ledge of his office window.

“Did I turn in my notice?”

His eyes pierce into mine, not thrilled with my attitude.

“You’ve missed, what, five days in the last few weeks, and usually come in late or skip out other days.” His suit sleeves pull as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’ve had a few personal problems.”

“Maybe that’s why you never made it to the Olympics. Can’t commit.”

This jackass is going to go there? By his lack of muscles, I’d say he shouldn’t be pointing a finger to others for not pushing themselves.

“So, I’m guessing I’m fired.” I change the subject before I add jail time to my list of regrets.

“No. You’re laid off. We’re moving to Chicago and only bringing a select few with us.” My jaw drops to the floor, because somehow I’ll bounce back on my feet, but what about Dylan?

Just as the worries for him flicker to mind, I hear his voice past the door. “No, I’ll take that myself,” he tells the movers and grabs one of his small plane models. I shake my head at how many hours he wastes putting all those things together. At least it appears he still has a job though.

“Sounds good, Jim.” He stands right before I wave him off.

“Brad?” he calls out, but I ignore him, wanting to catch Dylan.

What more can Jim really say? The unemployment line will be waiting for me. I could stay around and let him insult me a little more, but fuck that. The asshole is a weak son of a bitch, who’s enjoyed glaring down at me way too much over my short time here.

“Dyl,” I holler, and he stops in his tracks, turning around.

His smile fades and he nibbles on the inside of his bottom lip.

“Don’t bother feeling bad. It’s probably for the best,” I say, catching up to him in the hall.

“Still. It sucks. Not only do you lose your job, you lose your roommate.”

Shit, I hadn’t thought about that.

“It’s good news for you though.” I plaster on a fake smile. Not that I’m upset that he gets to keep his boring-ass desk job and I get the boot, but because he’s finding his way and I’m still roaming around town trying to find a goddamn map.

His fingers thread through his wavy hair. “Yeah. I’m pretty stoked.” He shrugs, but the perma smile on his face speaks much more than his timid eyes.

“You deserve it. You bust your ass here.” I clasp him on the shoulder. “What about Bea?”

I no sooner ask and she appears—her blonde hair colored with pink tips for Breast Cancer Awareness month.

“Heard you didn’t make the cut, sorry, Brad,” she says with fake concern. Everyone knows Bea and I aren’t exactly friends in any sense of the word. She’s Piper’s, my twin sister, best friend.

“At least you get a few hundred miles closer to my sister. However, I’ll add again how happy she is with Tanner.”

Her fake nails pinch the flesh of my arms, and I step out of her reach. “I’m not a lesbian, jackass.”

“Really? Could have fooled me?” She narrows her hazel eyes like she’s conducting some voodoo shit on me.

Honestly, I don’t think she’s a lesbian, but for some reason, it riles her up, and that’s enjoyable to me.

“So, you guys are moving to Chicago?” I ask, raising one eyebrow to Dylan.

He shrugs, and Bea’s lips cringe like she ate a bug.

“Somehow we’re both supposed to be working for the same person.” Bea snatches a pad of Post-it notes from a departing box as a mover walks by.

“You can never have enough of these.” She raises them in the air, and Dylan rolls his eyes.

“You can. I swear, if I get one more damn Post-it note on my office door . . .” He holds his model steady with one hand and digs out his phone with the other. “See this? You can text, email, and even call someone on it.” He jiggles it and Bea seizes it from his grip.

Her thumbs quickly move through the screens.

“Whoa now,” Dylan says, reaching for it, but Bea pivots, and unless Dylan wants to take a chance of losing his prized model, his hands are tied. “Help a brother out,” he softly says to me.

I read over Bea’s shoulder, but she turns on her heels again. The girl has better moves than most wide receivers in the NFL. “Who’s Kali?” She raises her voice and enunciates the I.

“No one. Give me my phone back.” He holds his hands out.

From what I know, Dylan and Bea aren’t a couple, and not from Bea’s lack of trying. It’s Dylan holding up the process, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. I might razz Bea, but she’s a hot piece of ass. Too much of a smartass for me, but Dylan and her have this odd turn-on with it. I could ask Dylan why he hasn’t tapped that, but I don’t give a shit. If Dylan wants to talk about it, he knows where to find me.

“She wants to meet you before you leave for Chicago.”

I shake my head at Bea for intruding on Dylan’s text messages.

“What? It popped up when it was in my hands.” She holds her hands up in the air in a defensive pose.

“It’s not her.” Dylan speaks only to Bea, and suddenly I’m caught in what should be a private conversation.

“I think you’re lying.” She turns her eyes to me—sad eyes with a hint of anger. “Sorry you got the boot, Brad, but I figure you can find someone else to bug the shit out of at a new company you never show up for. See you, boys.” She waves and grabs a slice of pizza from another co-worker walking down the hallway.