Riley's Pond (New Adult Romance) (34 page)

“Thanks. I needed that. I needed you to be ‘Riley’. Not some cautious version.” Taylor stepped closer, reaching for my hands. Our fingers reacquainted, loosely intertwining.

“Riley, things will never be like before.”

“I know, but we can start over.”

“You know too much. Things might be too awkward.” Our fingers wrapped, unwrapped, and wrapped again.

“What do you mean?”

“The stuff I left in your truck—”

“Is locked in the evidence room at the station,” I said over her. “Taylor, I only saw the first three pictures. I couldn’t take seeing what he did to you. I gave your phone to my dad along the pillowcase. I never looked inside. You said we’d be through if I did, and I needed you to trust me one last time.”

Taylor’s delicate fingers wrapped my rough, calloused hands and drew them against her lips. Her eyes pinched, brows wrinkled, and red blotches dotted her cheeks. Tears rained from beneath lashes already glistening.

I couldn’t move, my own world blurred behind a veil of water. The stream of tears from her eyes mingled with the water from her nose, both covering my hands, but I didn’t pull away. What someone else might think gross, to me, felt wonderful. She held tight to me, not worrying about stupid stuff like snotty noses or mascara streaks—exposed and trusting me enough to let her guard fall away.

“I love you,” she mumbled between sobs. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. Don’t leave me, Riley, don’t hate me.”

My arms cradled her against me, her cries muffled in my chest. I kissed the strands of hair knotted in my fingers, laying my cheek on her head, sighing when her arms finally locked around my waist and pulled me into her. We swayed back and forth, crying, kissing, hugging…loving.

“I hate to break it you, baby, but I’m not going anywhere. I don’t scare that easy. You’re stuck with this ‘country hick’ forever.”

Forty

FACING DOWN THE DEMONS

Taylor

Everything looked the same. Everything looked different. The blue rockers on the porch ghostly rocked with the cold wind swirling and biting my nose. Icy shards of frozen grass crunched as we approached the front steps. My feet fused to the cement walkway and stopped moving.

“Taylor? Honey, come on. It’s going to be all right.”

“You don’t know that.”

Dr. Shephard or
Marshall
, now that my mother’s finger sparkled with a diamond crusted band, gaudy enough to work in her society circle, stepped beside me. I couldn’t help but like the guy, and hated that I felt more at ease with him than my real father.

Marshall served as a shield between my fragile emotional state and my mother’s “
stop wallowing and get on with life”
attitude. Her level of compassion dropped drastically after my allotted four week self-pity party expired.

“True, we don’t, but as you and I have talked, until you face down the demons here, Michael still retains a hold on you.” He carefully patted my back, not quite comfortable with showing affection, even though in three weeks, I’d be his stepdaughter.

“Remember, you’re not alone in this. We’re here to help, aren’t we Grace?”

Mom’s eyes rolled, having heard this speech countless times. “Yes. Of course we are. Now can we go inside before my skin is permanently chaffed?”

Stepping over the threshold into Grammy’s house brought a flood of emotions attacking. Memories swamped me, fast forwarding in my brain, each one making my heart race so fast I became dizzy…
Riley
holding fresh flowers for Grammy and bedroom eyes for me…
Michael
clamping my arms, forbidding me to move away until he said so or slapped me.

Mom and Marshall walked into the kitchen, chatting nonchalantly about the smell of the turkey cooking, whether apple or pumpkin pie tasted best, and how long they’d be required to stay before returning to the hotel.

I couldn’t breathe or find a place to sit. The sofa held the vision of Michael leering at me when Grammy closed the door and left me alone with him that fateful afternoon. The wingback chair next to the piano was where Riley always waited for me so he could see me the minute I came down the stairs.

My stomach lurched and I grabbed the baluster, dropping to the first step.

“Taylor? Are you okay?”

I turned toward the voice—the first demon to deal with. Grammy.

She descended the stairs slowly, considering me when I rose and scrunched into myself under her stare. She remained a stair above, her hand reaching but stopping before touching my hair like she used to.
Changes
.

“I-I’m fine.”

“Grace and her new beau in the kitchen?” I nodded. “I hope he knows what he’s getting into.” We both half laughed and a piece of tension fell away. She stepped in front of me, her voice quieting. “Cupcake, I’m so sorry for what’s happened. I didn’t know.”

“No one did,” I replied, staring at the floor. “I take responsibility for that. I never said anything until it was too late.”

“Still,” I heard the hard swallow, “I should have believed you when you
did
tell me.”

“Yes, that one is yours.”

She moved a few inches closer, her lavender lotion and green tea breath mixing into the familiar scent I smelled every morning when she woke me and at night when she kissed me goodnight. Tears came without warning and she wrapped me in her arms, stroking the length of my hair to calm me.

“Shhh, little one. It’s over. You’re safe now.” She held my damp cheeks in her palms, a twinkle in her eye suggesting mischief. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh, Grammy, I don’t know…”

“Hey, baby.”

Riley.

Grams kissed my forehead and walked away, squeezing Riley’s arm as she passed.

“Hi,” I said, feigning a smile. I felt confused. I loved that he was here and hated the reason why. Riley closed out the awkward space between us, drawing me close, but not tight. The kiss on my lips was soft and quick. Careful.

“I’m invited to dinner, if you’re okay with me being here.”

I swiped a wayward tear with the back of my hand. “Of course I’m okay with you here. I wanted to see you.”

“Good, because you can smell Grammy’s rolls cooking a mile down the road…or did
you
bake them?” We both laughed, reliving the memory of blueberry muffins being passed off as my handiwork.

“Is your mom okay with you spending Thanksgiving with me?”

“As long as we go there for pie later. Mom’s kind of bummed out with Jax gone, so Dad’s taking her and Dirk out for dinner at some swanky restaurant in Hamilton. She did make pumpkin and pecan pie because she said she couldn’t take too many changes at once.”

“Yeah, I know how she feels.”

**

Mom and Grammy sparred over whether Grammy should come to Boston in the spring, but the “garden” won out. I knew Grams hated flying and the fact she came to my farce of a wedding proved difficult for her, in a lot of ways.

When the chaos erupted at the wedding, I vaguely remember her calling out to me just before Riley tackled me to the ground. Afterward, I became such an emotional disaster that Dad forbade visitors. Mom brought her to the hospital to see me, but at that time, I hated everyone, especially her. She went home and never came to the house.

Riley and I volunteered to do dishes in the kitchen, leaving the “Bermuda Triangle” in the dining room. We kept things light, laughing and painting each other’s noses with soapsuds, but an invisible wall separated us.

“Taylor, have you been up to your room yet?” Riley caught the goblet I dropped before it hit the floor.

“No. I can’t. I’m not ready.”

“Babe, you have to sooner or later. Why don’t we sneak up the backstairs without an audience watching?” I just kept shaking my head, feeling the panic bubble in my chest. He looped the dishtowel around my waist, tugging me close.

“I’ll be there with you. We’ll face the ‘boogey-man’ together.”

“That’s not funny, Riley. What’s you’re asking is hard. The memories are too fresh.”

Riley lifted my fallen face and held my gaze. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I can’t begin to understand how hard this is for you, but seriously, Taylor, until you face
all
the memories, you’ll remain frightened. Please, let me help you with this one?” He placed a tender kiss on my mouth. “Please?”

He echoed the good Dr. Shephard’s sentiment. If I didn’t deal with the demons locked inside my old bedroom, Michael still owned me. I didn’t want to be connected to the evil asshole anymore, and in Boston, I managed to handle the news reports, the preliminary hearing at the courthouse, and the stares, both real and imaginary.

My throat closed off. I did want to handle this without my mother judging or my step-daddy-to-be, analyzing. Grammy would shadow me and force me to take in every inch of the room, where Riley wouldn’t. If I opened the door and couldn’t handle it, he’d step away and let me run. Trust. I needed to trust in people again. In Riley.

“Okay,” I whispered, “but I’m only opening the door. I’m not going inside, so don’t try to make me.”

“I won’t.”

We tiptoed up the back stairs, remembering to avoid the center of the steps that creaked from age. My body trembled when I faced the wooden barrier, chipped and in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint. Riley hesitated, watching me reach two or three times for the doorknob, only to pull my hand back. When he offered to open the door, I agreed, shutting my eyes tight when the latch released, not wanting to see the faded yellow walls…the daisy wallpaper border…the
bed
, before I felt ready.

Riley took my hand and gently tugged me. “No,” I hissed, my eyes still pressed so tight, tiny stars twinkled behind my eyelids. His arm circled my waist, pulling me against his body.

“Trust me, this once, Taylor. It will be all right. I promise.” The floor creaked when my foot touched the planked floor and I jumped, startled by the noise. My eyes opened in a reflex reaction. The breath I drew hurt it filled my lungs so fast.

The yellow walls had been painted sage green. The white eyelet curtains were replaced by sheer purple gauze panels, puddling on the floor to the side of each window. Wooden roman shades folded halfway up, framed a view of the meadow. A wide, palm-blade ceiling fan circled lazily overhead, replacing the antique glass fixture with faded painted rosebuds.

My feet disappeared in the curly plush purple and green rug at the foot of the bed…
Riley’s
bed. Gone were the remnants of my nightmare. Earthy tones and warm woods replaced the pastels and white provincial accents. Various sizes of pillows in gold, maroon and rust complimented the deep purple velvet bedspread, turned back just enough to reveal grass colored sheets matching the walls.

Suddenly, the peculiar questions asked in telephone conversations over the past few weeks made sense. What were my favorite colors? The last place I felt safe. The night I spent in Riley’s bed had been the first good night’s sleep I’d had in months, and in his arms, he kept me safe from all the bad attacking. That night I discovered the meaning of unconditional love, of sacrifice…of true meaning of love.

The salty taste of unacknowledged tears dripping onto my lips brought my world into focus.

“Did I get the colors right? Is velvet okay? If not, I can take it all back. We’ll find something else you like better…”

“It’s perfect. All of it. You.” I was about to rush into the arms gesturing to everything in the room and end his obvious worry, when our private world became invaded by my mother’s sneer.

“My, this is beautiful. You never did anything like this for me Mother.”

“I didn’t do a thing. This is all Riley’s doing. All I did was well…have the room cleaned out.” All eyes centered on the bed and their thoughts screamed loudly in the sudden silence.

“This is
my
bed,” Riley quickly offered. “My brother’s moved out and his bed is bigger, so I’m giving this one to Taylor,
er,
Mrs. Daniels to use.”

Marshall’s mouth opened to ask what I knew would be a slew of questions, destroying the picture.

“Don’t!” I warned. “Don’t ask, don’t judge…just don’t
speak.
Please. Don’t ruin this for me by tainting this with anything remotely associated with Michael. He’s dead to me. Dead! I don’t even want to hear his ugly name again. Got that?
Never
again.”

Forty-One

MIXED BLESSINGS

Riley

Taylor’s laugh sounded natural like before. She and Dirk played some racecar video game, knocking shoulders and shouting when they crossed the pretend finish line. I sat mesmerized, watching from the sofa. Taylor sat on my floor, in my world again. Safe. With me.

Dad received a call in the middle of pie and ice cream, so our being here helped keep Mom’s mood light and Taylor away from her overbearing family. Mom curled into the opposite corner of the couch with a paperback. After a few minutes, she motioned for me to move closer.

“Is she doing all right?” Mom whispered. Taylor and Dirk were too engrossed in their game to notice our private discussion, let alone hear anything.

“I’m not sure. She’s guarded.”

“Did she like your surprise?”

“I think so. She walked around the room touching everything and she looked okay. She loved the palm tree rugs and shower curtain. Thanks for the idea.”

“Is your savings drained?”

I gave her a disapproving scowl. “Have I asked for any money?”

“No. I’m sorry. I worry that you’ll skip a year before going to college to work, that’s all. Once you do that, it’s hard to change courses.”

“I have every intention of going to college. ‘Barney’s’ is not my dream career choice. Don’t worry. I’m keeping
all
my options open.”

Taylor turned toward us, her brows puckering. “You two talking about me?”

“We’re discussing that sweet little butt crack showing with you sitting that way. Mom’s jealous of your pink thong.” Taylor gasped and slapped her hand to her backside. Everything was covered, but when she joined Mom in a pillow attack against me, her shirt gaped enough to let me know my educated guess was right on. Pink bra meant pink panties, and a familiar longing to touch her again awakened all key body parts. Headache tomorrow for sure. No way could I even think about getting remotely intimate with Taylor right now. The thought that maybe I’d never be brave enough, or that she’d never let me try, scared me. She was right. Things were different.