Swoon (8 page)

And then brushed past, nodding in the direction of my father’s study.

I followed behind her after a pause. She’d left the door open, and my eyes widened as I crossed the threshold to see her standing in the middle of the room.

Gone were the leather-bound books, the dark wood, the heavy desk and the old-school green lamp. Now the walls were yellow, and there was wainscoting brightening up the space. The inscribed titles that used to line the shelves had been replaced with flowers, framed photos, and various figurines. The photos weren’t of people, of course. They were mostly of scenery, some dogs. Holy crap, there were ceramic clowns.

My eyebrows drew together. “What happened here? He had a heart attack a week ago and you’ve remodeled already?”

My mother looked around, slightly baffled. “I redecorated this room two years ago. After your father left.”

I blinked three times. One. Two. Three.

“Left to go where?” God, I felt stupid.

She shook her head slightly and waved a hand in the air. “We divorced. After you moved out.”

I felt my lips moving, sort of like a fish. “And you never told me?”

“You never asked.”

I nodded. “I never really thought to.”

Her shoulders rose in a small, prim shrug. Then she walked behind her own glass-topped desk to rifle through some files. She pulled out a folder and handed it to me. “It’s only right that he left you something, I suppose.”

I flipped through the papers and stifled a gasp at the numbers I saw flash across my vision.

My mother continued. “There are plenty of phone numbers within that file of people you can talk to about the ins and outs of the account. Just call them with any questions.”

I looked up at her. “That’s it?”

“Mmmhhmm.” She kept digging through her desk.

“Really?”

She raised her eyes to look at me. “What else?”

I stepped forward and sat in an empty chair, at least crossing my legs in front of me. “So my parents weren’t married anymore,” I mused to myself.

“Does it matter?”

I considered that for a while. “It probably shouldn’t. Why did you organize the whole service then?”

My mother let out a small sigh. “Look, Stephanie, you have your own life now. What I do with mine doesn’t concern you.”

The hackles on my neck rose with her words, starting when she said Stephanie. “You’re my mother.”

“You’re an adult.”

“So you’re just done with me? What kind of family does that?”

She leveled me with a glare. “Our kind. The kind who raises an independent daughter who can take care of herself.”

“Yolanda.”

“What?” she asked sharply.

“Yolanda actually raised me to be independent. I suppose I should thank her then.”

She waved me off again. “If you can find her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I think she went back to Mexico, or… New Mexico. I hardly kept track.”

I nodded in silence for a moment, realizing that further conversation was futile. Finally I stood, squaring my shoulders.

“Okay,” I said, brightly, pasting a smile to my face.

And turned and walked out, grabbing my purse in the front entryway and closing the front door behind me. I drove the two miles to my hotel and left the car with the valet, walking straight into the bar. Sliding onto a stool, I ordered two drinks and set my purse on the seat next to me. The bartender placed the beverages down like I was waiting for someone else, but I grabbed both and slid them together in front of me. He raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

I started sipping slowly, in no particular rush to get drunk, but enjoying the security of knowing that’s exactly where I was heading. Feelings were bubbling up inside me. Feelings I didn’t want. Girls with emotional daddy issues don’t typically manage well in life. Mommy issues probably aren’t much better. I didn’t want to be that girl. It shouldn’t matter. My parents haven’t ever been significantly involved in my life… ever. Why should this matter? My dad was dead. I shouldn’t feel any different about him now than I did last week, which was neutral. Whether or not my parents were married? My mom was right. It shouldn’t affect me. I just needed to turn it off. Turn myself off.

I texted Lissa to let her know that things were fine. Despite her protests, I hadn’t let her come with me to the service. She was pregnant and didn’t need to make this quick a turnaround trip. Nor should bad vibes be around the baby. Couldn’t be good.

I put my phone down and kept sipping. It buzzed a few times with condolence messages from old high school friends and acquaintances around the area. With every hard swallow of alcohol, I deleted them with a tap of my finger.

Suddenly a text from Lawrence popped up, almost making me spill my glass when his name flashed across the screen.

How are you? Can we talk?

I stared at it for a long, long time. Too long. He didn’t know about my dad. He didn’t know about Henry and the shit storm that was awaiting me back home. I’d made Lissa promise not to tell. I never wanted pity or an obligatory call from a man. But… how was I? Not sober. Could we talk? I could hardly feel my tongue. And there was nothing really to say.

My finger swiped sideways and hovered over the red button as I chewed my lip. But I didn’t touch it. I swiped the other way and locked the screen, then threw the phone in my purse. In the morning I’d need to deal with everything. Tonight I tossed back the remains of my drink and ordered another.

* * * *

Lawrence

It wasn’t like I expected a call right away. Or for her to show up on my doorstep. But… nothing? Not a text back? Not a fuck you? Or some stupid joke brushing me off? My phone was eerily silent.

“Don’t touch it.” My little sister Tessa glared at me as I attempted to pull my phone out of my suit pocket yet again.

She knew the story. Sort of. As much as I’d admit to my younger sister. Or any sister for that matter.

“I’m just checking my phone. You do it all the time,” I pointed out as I loosened my tie.

“One, you’re out to dinner with me and it’s rude.”

I rolled my eyes at her haughty tone.

“Two, stop checking. If you keep checking she won’t text back.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Has she gotten in touch with you?”

“No.”

She held up her hands. “That’s my point.”

I shook my head and started to laugh despite the ridiculousness of the conversation. “You have no point.”

“Just stop. Trust me. I’m the perpetually single one in the family. I know.”

“I’m as single as you are.”

“You’re a guy, so it’s different.” She held up a hand when I started to interrupt. “No, it’s different. I spend my life in a man’s world, more than you can even imagine. I’m well aware of the different standards.”

I sat back in my seat and studied her a little. Being a woman jockey had to be one of the roughest things out there. Even in this day and age, you had to be one tough bitch to get the job done and have others take you seriously. I worried about my sister. A lot. Then again, sometimes she was one tough bitch.

“You good?” I asked.

She rewarded me with the blinding smile that I hoped she’d never lose. “I am. I can handle idiots at work. I’m too damn good for them to push me around much. How was your meeting tonight?”

I nodded with satisfaction as I thought back to just an hour ago. I was only sitting in our local bar wearing a suit because I’d come straight from a much swankier place where the food was better but the company was not. Still, business was strong. “Good. Productive. Expensive.” I winked at her.

I jumped in my seat when a large hand clapped me on the back. Tessa’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before her expression changed back to normal.

My good buddy Jace flopped into a chair at the end of our table. I kept seeing Tessa flick her gaze to him and then quickly away. My eyes narrowed. Jace was a good-looking guy, I guess, but it was the fact that he looked like a vagrant surfer, in fucking Kentucky, that had women pawing at him all the time. The Southern girls around here would kill for his blond, wavy hair. And, in fact, many had tried to replicate it to no avail. He had a permanent smile on his hardly ever shaven face, and he wore flip-flops year-round. He did some computer-security stuff that I hardly understood and worked from home, so he never really had to get dressed. I’d met Jace in high school and I’m not really sure how we became such good friends, but we probably always would be.

“What are you doing here, man?” I asked.

“Just out for a drink, saw my favorite people.” He winked at Tessa, and I watched as she rolled her eyes.

“What’s going on here?” I asked, suddenly suspicious. I wasn’t typically the most protective brother, mainly because I was well aware of my sisters’ abilities to take care of themselves, but… this was my best friend and my sister. And… fuck, that was just weird. Shit.

“Nothing is going on,” Tessa stated adamantly. Then she stood and grabbed a handful of Jace’s shirt, dragging him to his feet. “I just need to talk to your friend for a minute.”

I raised my eyebrows as they marched off and watched as they argued about something at the back of the bar. It involved Jace relaxing against the back wall, a smirk on his face, and Tessa waving her arms around in agitation. I turned my back to them when she started to quiet down, automatically reaching for my phone once again. It’s called denial.

But the device was plucked from my hand as my meddling sister stomped back to her seat.

I glared at her. “Wanna tell me what that was all about?”

“No. I really don’t.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Then hand me my fucking phone, you brat.”

She laughed and tossed it to me.

No messages.

Chapter 10

Four Months Later

“Y
ou’re firing me?” My heart was pounding in my chest, making it hard for me to catch my breath. I felt panic, the same kind I’d felt as a kid when I was called into the principal’s office, except so much worse.

My boss, Patricia, leaned back in her chair with a long sigh. She looked tired, even more than usual. As bad as I felt for myself, my sympathy for her overwhelmed me. After all, it was my fault.

“It’s a condition of the settlement, Steph. I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll find something else. I’d be happy to write a letter…”

“A letter? I don’t think a letter is going to find me a job. I’ll be a pariah. I don’t even think I could move out of the state and have someone hire me. What would I put on my résumé?”

“It wasn’t your fault. I know that and I could…”

“It wasn’t my fault? Oh, okay. That’s what I’ll write as my opening line.” I was being petulant and overall shitty. What was she gonna do? Fire me twice?

But I’d worked for Patricia for years. She was in her late sixties with curling gray hair and thick-rimmed glasses. On the other side of those glasses was a pair of chastising eyes. I’d interrupted once too often. It didn’t matter. I was done. I stood quickly, my chair scraping loudly on the concrete floor.

“I have to go. I’ll figure it out. I guess—” I sighed, dejected and deflated, and met her eyes. “I’m sorry. I really am. Despite what you say, this was my fault. I wish… well there’s so much I wish. But thank you for the past few years. I really enjoyed my time here.”

I spun to leave, but her voice gave me pause.

“Wait,” she said, and I heard her rustle around in her desk drawer before I turned back around. She was holding out a card and I walked back to take it from her hand.

I took it and tilted my head to study it.

Paris Girls
’
Academy

Paris, VA

I looked back up at Patricia with a questioning look.

“It’s a private school. All girls. They’ve started a riding team and they need a coach. I know it’s not what you want to do, but think about it. I went to college with the woman who runs it. If you can’t find something else within a few weeks, call her. She’ll hire you before the fall semester.”

I looked back down at the card, chewing my lip. “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll keep this in mind.”

“I wish I could do more.”

I felt the corners of my lips curve into a sad smile, and I shrugged and walked out.

I was home in under a half hour. My house felt lonely. It’d never bothered me to live alone before. But it wasn’t cheery anymore. It didn’t feel like home.

I puttered around, making myself a sandwich and pouring a glass of wine. Sitting on the couch, I turned on the TV for background noise and pulled out my laptop to start searching for different therapy centers in the area, or anywhere.

Two hours and at least one bottle of wine later, I’d come up empty. Unless I wanted to move, which at this point didn’t seem too bad, no one was actively hiring. And nothing… interested me. I had had such a passion for helping people. Those kids had felt like family. Their families had felt like… family. I felt betrayed, burned.

Though why I’d put any stock in familial relationships, I don’t know. It wasn’t like I’d had the best example to pull from.

I looked down to the business card I was flipping around in my fingers and studied the script until my vision blurred pleasantly.

* * * *

Lawrence

I’d never been more furious at a woman than I was at Steph, not even one of my sisters. Four months later and I could hardly think about her without getting pissed off.

The truth about the night we were together? I was… not sober. I wasn’t completely drunk, but just enough so that desire had overtaken sanity. One head overrode the other, so to speak. God, I just wanted her any way I could have her. But lying in bed after, my body wrapped around hers, I’d started to think maybe we had a shot.

Her attitude the next morning ruined that. The girl had no heart.

I hadn’t hung around her house. I’d gotten dressed and left before she was even out of the shower. There was nothing more to say, and I was officially done.

Unfortunately, I did have a heart, and it hadn’t gotten the memo. Pulling into Lissa and Ethan’s driveway with an empty rig to pick up the two-year-old Thoroughbreds, even months later, the stupid organ was pounding away at the memories.

I was gonna be lucky if Lissa didn’t rip my balls off. According to Ethan, she was really pregnant and not terribly sensitive toward others. If I drove this rig out of there with my manhood intact, I’d call it a success.

I pulled up to the loading ramp as the sun was setting. The barn was quiet, horses in their fields for the night. Early morning and the end of the day were my favorite times to be in a barn. I felt that peace in my soul.

When I was little, I used to wake up ridiculously early. Shane would take me down to the barn almost every day. I think it was just to give my mom a break, but we’d help feed the horses and do some morning chores before school. The morning air was so quiet, and dew and mist would cover the fields. All you’d hear was the occasional stomp or nicker or clang of a bucket when the horses started to hear grain being poured. We’d worked together, probably just getting in the way of the staff, but at least we were trying, and Shane would talk to me about girls and school and all kinds of cool guy stuff. He was six years older than me, so I had revered him.