Standing By: A Knight's Tale #2 (22 page)

“I can’t do much about the watch,” he responds and brushes some strands of hair off my face. “One thing I can guarantee you, there won’t be any guardianship shit. You know what we need, Haysy? DTR—Define The Relationship.
Eminence Magazine
is right.”

“Haysy? That sounds worse than Hay-Bear. You need to stop reading my magazines and taking those quizzes, Mitch. I’m about to revoke your man license.”

“I’m in touch with my womanhood,” he says kissing the side of my neck. “Because I can’t touch any woman and Liam discovered that he is ready for the next stage, but he hasn’t found Mr. Right.”

“Did he read them too?”

I picture them sitting around the dining room table drinking a beer and asking each other what their answer for number seven was, or lounging on the couch bored to tears and mocking the questions or the articles—like Mitch usually does.

“I told him to leave them alone,” Mitch traces my collarbone with his lips. “Since he didn’t listen, well we had a nice round of tests. We did learn a few new poses and how to bring our girl to the Ultimate O. Want me to demonstrate?”

Before I can do severe damage to his hard appendage, a nurse waltzes into the room.

“We agreed,” the nurse says. “You can’t have sex while she’s hospitalized, Mr. Knight.”

“You and the doctor agreed,” Mitchel says, a seductive smile touching the corner of his eyes. “Though, if you must know, we haven’t reached second base yet. Now if you don’t want me to finish what I started, call that doctor and tell him we need to talk. I need my wife at home.”

“Forty-eight hours,” the nurse informs him. “Now get off my patient or I’ll call security.” Then she looks at me. “You have a consult scheduled for nine o’clock. The cafeteria will deliver your breakfast in a few minutes.”

Mitch grumbles some nonsense and pushes himself off the bed.

“Hay-Bear,” I roll my eyes, cursing the moment I told him that nickname. “I like that one. I’m going to make a few calls and find out what I need to do to release you today. You need me to bring you something?”

“Bring her clothes,” the bossy nurse answers for me. “She might like something more comfortable than the hospital gown for the tests she has scheduled for today, after that she’ll see three different counselors to help her find the right treatment.”

“More than one?” my question comes as a surprise, since I expected to talk to just one other shrink, not three.

She gives me a shrug, which I take as
What are you going to do?
“Your husband here demanded we clear you or prove that we have to put you under conservatorship.”

“Can you give us a moment?” He clenches his jaw, and his ears turn red. The nurse nods and leaves the room without saying a word. “Your dad wants to have the conservatorship; I thought you wouldn’t want it since he drives you crazy with all those mixed signals. Hell, the way they all treat you upsets me, I can’t imagine how you’ll feel being under his care.”

“Tortured.” I try to sip some air as my lungs compress by the idea of being under Dad’s care.

“Exactly,” says as he rubs his face. “Which brings us to; the tests or fighting your father about who’ll become your guardian. I’m trying to fight for you, Hayes. Please tell me if you want something different.”

“Are those my only two options?”

He gives me a stiff smile as he lightly moves his head.

“I’ll take that as a
yes
.” As I don’t have many options, I don’t take long to respond. “You know me well; I’d rather go through a day of whatever doctors have in store for me.”

“I got you, Hay-Bear.” His shoulders loosen as he walks toward me and gives me a hug. “DTR when you’re out.”

“Can you say Define The Relationship?” my question holds a mocking tone.

“
Eminence
calls it DTR, then it’s DTR, Hayley. So are we doing it?”

“What’s there to define, Mitch?” I ask him. It’s just what it is and shouldn’t be anything more than that. “I need my friend, don’t taint what we have.”

“Hay-Bear, trust me.” He sucks my lower lip, then deepens the kiss. “I ordered your father to keep whatever happened yesterday between us, not a word to your mother or your brothers. It’s up to you to change your mind.”

*

“This is the
result of my bad choices,” Dad says to the counselor.

It’s our third appointment as father and daughter. My second day of torture. I simply want to stop and disappear from this hospital.

“My cowardice, for never wanting to have a real relationship with anyone, not even my children. Parker says it all the time. ‘
We don’t need money or your approval
.’”

“He’s right.” I agree, trying to change my whispery voice to a normal tone. “We need your love, Dad. I need you to stop telling me what I’m doing wrong, making me feel inadequate.”

“Hayley Bear, I love you.” He said. “I’m trying and I never thought … I just want what’s best for you. I wish you understood me. I didn’t think the consequences of my acts would have an impact on my children. I shouldn’t have changed my attitude towards you after I broke up with your mother. I just wanted to be away from her. It was a mistake; don’t punish me because of that.”

Punish him?
I hug my legs tight to my body and close my eyes because he’s doing it again, making me feel guilty for his sadness, his unhappiness. As if he needs to be consoled because of my bad choices.

“I only wanted your company, your support but everyone in the family has more pressing things than to be around me.” I follow the counselor’s instructions, to let everything out—or at least as much as I can release. My entire body trembles by the thought of Dad lashing back, maybe not now when I’m in a safe environment, but later. “Everyone except Melanie made me feel unwanted, alone. Isn’t that ridiculous, that your first wife was the one making sure I had a birthday cake every year that I felt loved… until she died—stupid cancer.”

“You should have told me, Hayley.” His eyes fill with such pain that it shreds my heart.

“I tried to fix it my own way, to try to forget what it’s like to feel lonely.” I finally found my voice. “No matter how deep, long or painful the incision is, the pain reappears and so does the sting of every word you say to me:
Not enough, you’re a failure, you can’t, if you try harder, look at you…
I push myself, try harder, and nothing makes any of you accept me for who I am. Love me, make me feel as if I belong to the family.”

“This is where you need to decide how to approach your future, Hayley,” the therapist says. “I’m your guide; we’ll take whatever route you choose. Grow to find your place in the world, understand and live who you are, mend your family ties, accept them or if you prefer, detach yourself from them. It’s up to you to come up with the map. That’s your homework for our next one-on-one session.”

“I’d like for us to continue these family sessions,” Dad adds, my heart clenches as I look at those red eyes.

“Hayley,” the doctor calls on me. “What do you think? Are the two of you willing to come twice a week?”

No?

Hayley

“Y
es, of course,”
I’m willing to take this first step while I trace that map the doctor is talking about. “As long as your disposition doesn’t fade, Dad, I’ll be here.”

Dad lets out a big breath out, and the tension on his face disappears as I say that, then he grabs my hand and pats it.

“Let me take you home.” I accept because even when Mitch came last night to feed me and sleep, I didn’t see him leaving and we didn’t agree on anything for today. It’s only a few blocks, but that’s a good first step, to accept willingly what he offers.

“Hayley, I’ll be here tomorrow at three for our appointment,” my father says right as his driver parks in front of the bakery. “Your angst is understandable but I won’t let you go until we have a close father-daughter relationship.”

“A little too late,” I snarl. Once we closed the office door, he told me that I needed to grow up and take responsibility for my actions instead of doing stupid things to myself. Parker shook his head as he was waiting outside the counselor’s office. He arrived yesterday morning and has helped Mitch with the bakery too. “Thank your lovely ex-wife for making my enchanting life even more magical.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Dad takes a deep breath, before he continues talking. “Mitch had a judge issue a restraining order against her; she can’t get close to you or any of his family members.”

Wow, the entire Knight family is Bridget free. I lift one arm and shrug before stepping down from the car.

The two-story building with the lilac sign that reads
Pieces of Heaven
, cheers me up. I take the a few steps, push the door and listen to the bell that announces my arrival. Green and lilac stripes sooth the anxiety of not being in the store for the past two days. According to Parker, Mitchel Knight has everything under control. Parker even helped him with opening earlier today. I wonder if Mitch is disappointed, thinks less of me or… No time like the present. Let’s see what he has to say about my episode. I can only keep that mouth of his shut for so long. As I enter, I find Liam, a replica of Mitch with darker hair combed to the side, clean-shaven and peering at me through amber colored eyes instead of the rich green I see daily. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that defines each one of the fine muscles on his torso and arms.

“May I help you, Mrs. Knight?” The corner of his mouth lifts upward in a charming smile, then I notice the t-shirt depicts a white muffin line drawing on top of a cloud with steam coming out of it spelling
Pieces of Heaven Bakery
.

“Who are you, my new customer service rep?” I enquire using a professional tone. “No really, Liam Knight, why are you behind my counter and where did you get that t-shirt?”

“Your husband enslaved me.” He grins. “I’m Liam—no last name.” He points at a badge. “I’m your friendly customer service representative for the day and I made the t-shirts; like them?” He points at the shelves where I used to keep frames. “There are several more of them in black and white colors. They are a big seller, and I’m placing an additional order for lilac ones, several customers have requested them. I created them while my brother was doing his happy baker thing two days ago after I became bored and realized you didn’t have a logo. Yesterday when Mitch said I needed to wear a tiny, feminine apron, the idea hit me. You needed
heavenly wear
.”

“
Heavenly Wear
, great. Please tell me this isn’t happening.” They’re taking over my store. Though the logo is cute, and I could wear one of those t-shirts when I’m not in the kitchen. “Aren’t you supposed to be away in London, what happened to the family free summer?”

“Liam,” Mitch shouts from the kitchen. “Are you upsetting my woman? Because her eyes are twitching, and she looks like she wants to run away from us.” I hate when he makes stuff up; he can’t even see me.

“I can only imagine her reaction when Mother arrives to inspect her house,” Liam says.

“What?” I ask, as a knot in my stomach tightens my insides and make me want to run away. My eyes are, in fact, about to start twitching, then I realize that Liam wears that distinctive mocking grin Mitch wears when he’s taunting me. “Get out of my store, you two.”

“Liam,” Mitch comes out wearing the same t-shirt under a white apron that has our logo. I have an official logo; I want to clap my hands. “Don’t start, you asshole.” Then he turns his gaze on me, and his lips automatically flash me a lopsided grin.

“You.” He points at me. “You left me for two days to deal not only with your store but with this guy. What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?”

“Hi.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Last night you said you had everything under control.” I remind him and then point to his shirt. “Do those t-shirts come in a smaller size?”

“Give me a kiss and I’ll find you a few.” We walk toward each other and he traps me with those big limbs of his and kisses me lightly. “Shit, I missed you so much. Next time, don’t let there be a next time. Just don’t leave me again. Got it?”

I squeeze him tighter inhaling that spice and wood scent—his signature aroma—not wanting to leave it just yet.

Soon after, Mitch formally introduces me to a funny looking man who wears a heavenly t-shirt and an apron that is almost as tall as him. He has dark hair, a mustache and a French accent, Jean, my new cake decorator.

We exit the kitchen and head to my studio, which Mitch converted into an office a month ago. They ripped apart the kitchen and replaced it with a copy machine and where my bed used to be there’re two desks. He kept my leather couch and coffee table, added a filing cabinet and a working table with a printer and office supplies.

“You’re not happy,” he states the obvious.

“Not necessarily, more like, blindsided. There’s a stranger in my kitchen.” I say. “Your brother is there too. He made t-shirts and a logo—”

“Which you love.”

I smile.

“But I’m guessing that it’s the idea of having others invade your space that’s overwhelming you?” I grin because he gets me, which causes my heart to flutter. “Understandable, I tried my best to cover every detail of your daily list. We planned to hire people before the incident… Believe me, I picked the one I thought you’d work with the best.”