My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3) (6 page)

“I’m scared. Who’s gonna protect me if she comes looking?”

She finally stops walking and turns around to allow my little feet to catch up to her.

“Chrissy, you will be fine. Just read a book to Pippa. Tell her all the things you want to do when you grow up, like you always tell me. And then you two can make our special fort in the closet. I will be home before you know it.”

“But you said Pippa isn’t real.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just can’t see Pippa, but she is your special friend, so I love her too. She will help protect you. I know it. Just hurry home before it gets dark, okay? I don’t want to worry about you not finding your way.”

I stare at her as long as she will let me. She reaches out to give me her signature bear hug and kisses me on the cheek.

“You two behave. I want to hear all about your night when I get home. I love you both.”

“Chrissy? Chrissy, can you hear me?”

Warm breath brushes against my cheek. I start to come to at the voice murmuring in my ear. The warmth I feel turns out to be the embrace of a male body cradling me in his strong arms. I blink away the fogginess and see Ian’s face peering at me.

God, he is still beautiful. Strong facial features. Thick, dark hair, deep-set green eyes.

“Pippa.” I whisper the name, the memory still surrounding me.

“Pippa is fine.” His deep voice confirms her name as he studies me, his eyes concerned.

God, those eyes.

“She just wore her little self out,” he explains. “She was going bonkers waiting for you.” He doesn’t take his eyes off mine.

It’s seriously doing funny things to me. I know that look. After I left, it haunted me for years every time I closed my eyes. The look that said I was the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

He shifts, and I think he’s going to touch my face, stroke my cheek maybe. I lean toward his hand, almost yearning for it, but instead, he just tucks an unruly strand of red hair behind my ear.

I sigh, then hope he didn’t notice.
Why does it feel like I’m in the best place on earth right now?

What am I even doing? I need to have a sit down with my body and the strange reactions it’s having to a person I haven’t seen in years. Ugh, stupid heart. You can put a ton of years and a million miles between you and
the
one,
but the heart doesn’t forget.

Thankfully, Henry clears his throat and throws much-needed water on this fire, breaking the connection.

Focus, Christina, focus.

“I should probably get off . . . I mean get up! Up. I should get up.” Someone just punch me so I black out again.

“Oh, yeah . . . um right . . . here, let me help you up.” He assists me to my shaky feet. I feel like this trip has been one blow after another. I wasn’t planning on a KO round with my past. First Ian, then my niece’s name. My sister named her daughter after an invisible person whom I loved and latched on to as a child. Why would she do that?

“Are you okay to stand on your own?” Ian breaks into my thoughts. I notice he has yet to unlock his arm from around my waist.

“Oh, um, yeah. I’m good now. That power blackout did wonders.” I try and fake-chuckle because there needs to be some humor in this messed-up situation. I look down pointedly at the strong arm still holding me around the waist. “Ian?”

“Yes?”

“You can let me go now,” I point out.

This gets his attention and he immediately releases me. “Yep, sure, you bet.” He stumbles over his words and backs away toward the sofa. Pathetically, my body feels the absence of his warm grip.

“Guess you didn’t need an escort after all,” Henry grumbles. “I forget that you two knew one another back in the day. I’ll be leaving you to discuss family matters. Patti is expecting me home.”

Ian sees Officer Belmont to the door and the two men exchange a few words about Amy and her husband, John.
Tragedy. Funerals.
Sheer panic sets in when I realize all I have to deal with.

And then I’m alone with Ian.

What in God’s name am I supposed to do now? I’ve never experienced a panic attack before, but I feel like this might be it. My heart is racing. I attempt to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. I try and think back to my first month as a gallery assistant and try and rehearse some ice breakers, questions they taught us when speaking to clients.

I hear the door shut, and as Ian turns my way, I blurt out the dumbest thing ever. “So what brings you in today?”

“Huh?”

Exactly. Huh?

“I’m sorry. This is not what I was expecting,” I admit. “You. Seeing you here.”

He smiles softly and directs me to take a seat beside him on the couch. “I just want to help any way I can.”

“You do?” I ask, stunned. “But I walked out on you.”

“That was a long time ago, Chris. I’m glad to finally get to see you again. I just wish the circumstances were different. I’m really sorry about Amy.”

“Yeah, me too.” I look down at my lap. I can’t talk about
that
yet
.
I don’t even want to think about it.

So I focus on other stuff. Like the way his smooth, deep voice feels like it’s stroking me when he says my name. And did he just say he was happy to
finally
see me? As in, he was hoping for this moment someday?

I can’t decide if I’m in a horror flick or a fairy tale right now. Both have me wishing I swallowed the other pill. The horror portion portrays my current appearance and scent. Trust me, in my dreams of ever crossing paths again with Ian, I looked like I just stepped off the runway. Right now? I’m the lead in a Jason flick. The fairy tale is how nice he’s being to me. Which is also kinda scary. Because he shouldn’t be.

“I know you declined before, but any chance you want to give me your jacket? I can put it in the laundry room. Possibly spray it and let it sit for some time.”

Speaking of scent. Oh, kill me now.

“Yeah, so there was this battle with some skunks. I took on a whole family and almost snuffed some out. Hence the stench. I may have a skunk APB out on me.”

His soft smile grows wider. “We better help get rid of the evidence and get you away from the windows before someone sees you and calls it in.”

The official icebreaker. Thankful for the breath of fresh air, Ian’s playfulness eases the tension for both of us. This time I willingly hand over my jacket. He takes it, holding it away from him, and walks down a hallway.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

“Okeydokey,” I return.

Okeydokey?
What’s wrong with me?

I cross my legs. Then uncross. I cross again and place my hands in my lap. Then I remove my hands. I follow that up by fixing my hair. Then cough into my hands. Breath questionable, no shocker. I try and focus on something other than becoming a hot mess of nerves and study my surroundings. The small living room is decorated with homely knickknacks. Some look familiar and some were obviously created through years of my sister building memories with her family. My eye catches the wall of family photos. One thing that silences my nerve endings is the family photo where my focus lands on my sister. Amy. She was stunning. Her auburn hair matched mine, but longer like she always wore it, falling in those perfect soft waves. Something I could never get a handle on.

Just as I stand to get a closer look, Ian reappears.

Straight back down I go.

He walks around the couch and takes a seat next to me. The space between us is small and I feel the heat radiating off him.

“I would ask how the drive went, but I feel like I don’t want to ask.”

“If my jacket smell is any indication, then you don’t want to know,” I say, laughing.

A moment of silence falls upon us.

“I’m sorry again about Amy. I know this has to be really hard for you.” His eyes are sad.

“I know. Me too.” My response is somber. Amy’s death is definitely not the reason I ever thought I would come back home.

“So, how are you?” and “So what have you been up to?” blurt out of our mouths at the same time. I think we both want to ease the awkwardness of our situation or the sadness of the reason for our reunion. We both laugh.

“You go first,” he offers.

I open my mouth to share that I’m engaged, which seems pointless, because I am one stern phone call away from nixing this
break
nonsense and officially not being, but the smile sitting on Ian’s face tells me now is not the best time. So I don’t. “Okay.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. “Well, things are good, I guess. I’m in Northern California still. San Francisco.” I hesitate to go on. I feel horrible saying that since that’s where I fled to when I left him. “Um . . . well . . . and work is really great. I work at an art gallery. I landed an important account and just had a huge show opening last night. It’s really going to do wonders for my career.” I don’t need to pretend to smile. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished and how much I’ve pushed to be successful.

He smiles at me. “Yeah, with Alfonzo Del Ran. That’s great, Chris, I’m really happy for you.”

Did I catch that right?
“How do you know the name of the artist?” I ask curiously.

Ian shifts. “Sometimes big news still makes it to small towns.”

Touché.

Is it sad that a small part of me wished he confessed Amy secretly kept tabs on me and knew about my career?

“Okay. So how about you? What have you been up to these past few years?” I’m eager to take the spotlight off myself.

“It’s been more than a few, Chris. It’s over six years since you left.”
Okay, pal. Put down the verbal weapons.
He recalls his verbal sucker punch instantly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that as an accusation. It’s just been some time, you’re right.”

“It’s totally fine.” I definitely deserved that.

“I ended up finishing my degree at the local college in Oregon. Majored in Social Work actually. I spent a few years working with the Oregon Prevention Programs for local towns, and eventually landed a permanent spot running the CAICO as the head residential counselor.”

“Oh, wow, that sounds great.” I praise his accomplishment. “But what happened to your scholarship? You planned to transfer to Oregon State once you finished two years at Ashford Community College.”

His face is impassive. “Plans change. I didn’t have the passion to leave anymore.” The guilt hits me that his choices may have been a result of my own.

Trying to avoid that confrontation, I say, “I see. So tell me about your job. What exactly does CAICO stand for?”

He hesitates before responding. “Child Abuse Intervention Center of Oregon.” He waits for my reaction.

“What the . . . Ian, why?” He watches the immediate guilt wash over my face.

“Chrissy, it’s not what you think,” he replies, worry forming on his face.

“Oh, Ian, you didn’t pick that profession because of me did you?” I ask, shocked at his career focus. He was so smart and had such potential to be anyone. Why social work?

“No,” he answers just as quickly. “Well, not exactly.”

“Then why?” I am starting to get upset. My heart hurts to think my past changed the course of Ian’s future. And to hear he turned down a full ride to Oregon State to stay home and work with disadvantaged kids.

“I did it because kids in those situations need an advocate. Someone to help them when there’s no one else.” That comment further confirms he’s now referring to my past.

“Are you referring to me? What I went through? I didn’t need help, Ian. I had Amy and you.”

“I know. And that good enough because you still ended up leaving. I know what those kids go through. And I know what they need.”

“And what is it that they need?” I ask softly in the midst of tears.

“A fighting chance,” he says simply.

How do I respond that I got mine? It took me leaving to get it.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. This is obviously not the way I want to start after us being apart for so long. How about this; why don’t I put a pot of coffee on and we can continue to catch up? On a lighter level.”

I wipe at my eyes and nod, accepting his offer to change the subject “That would be great, thanks.”

“All right, good.” He nods and gets up. He starts walking toward what I assume is the kitchen. Before he hits the entrance, he turns to catch my gaze totally focused on his tight butt cheeks.

“For what it’s worth, it’s really good to see you again, Chrissy.” His sweet words, dipped in chocolate and rubbed all over my heart, strike me speechless.

He disappears into the kitchen, leaving me in a puddle of some serious emotional confusion.

I
’M DREAMING. I KNOW
this because I’m back in Ian’s teenage bedroom, wearing only my white cotton panties and bra. Even in my dream state I blanch at the poor set of undergarments.

“Chrissy, relax.”

“I can’t,” I say with a shaky voice.

“Don’t be nervous. I promise, Chrissy, I won’t hurt you. I’ll only cherish you.”

His words sink into my soul and allow me to release my tight hold on his flannel sheets.