Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
EMILY
“He doesn’t know, does he?” Holly says as I drink cold water per her instructions when we reach the kitchen.
“He found out Mike lives downstairs.” I slap the half empty bottle on the counter a little too hard.
“That’s not what I’m talking about, but we need to talk about him, too.”
“All this talk, talk, talk,” I groan. “I know how to take care of them. I don’t need money. I need him to show up. He can’t have it all.”
Holly walks closer to me and leans on the counter. “He’s only asking to be a fair share partner with you. You’re not letting him in, so he’s trying to shove his way in.”
“Because I don’t need his help.”
“You are a true Taurus.” Holly’s mirthless laugh is the only sound in the kitchen besides my heart thumping in my ears. “Sit him down and tell him you don’t need his money. Tell him he’s right, Mike should move out. He’s almost forty and can afford his own house.”
“You’re right.” I almost laugh. “Mike is a man child. Needs to leave the nest. ”
“I really want to know why you’re resisting being with a gorgeous man who obviously is madly in love with you.”
“I told you.”
“I know. You said James was completely heartbroken. But it seems he’s forgiven Derek. What about you?”
“I can’t.” On some level, she’s right, but there are things Holly can’t see. “I let things go too far. Us living with him? I’m confusing the kids. I was being selfish, thinking about what I wanted and look what happened.” I lower my voice. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting him. But it’s not enough. I have to be the anchor for James and Victoria.”
“You’re allowed to want things for yourself.” Holly tilts her head to the side. “Huh. That’s why.”
“Why what?”
“You thought Ryan was being selfish by volunteering. And I’m sorry he didn’t come home, honey, but those are two different things.” Holly places her hand on my shoulder, delicately, as if I could shatter from whatever she’s about to tell me. “Death and heartbreak can feel like close relatives, but you can only have a second chance with one. Wanting Derek for yourself isn’t being selfish, it’s quite the opposite, its making room for one more. It’s about sharing not only your life but James and Victoria. Sharing is the antidote to selfishness.”
“You make it sound so easy.” It’s like I’m two different people. One wants to run down there and scream yes at the top of my lungs, and kiss Derek until he forgives me. The other me is still standing in this kitchen, with my feet buried in the foundation, struggling with the idea of living out the rest of my life independently. “I can’t,” I say to Holly and give my weak heart a pep talk to remind the beating Judas to woman up and build itself a fort. Cuz it’s staying in there until Derek leaves for wherever he has to on Monday.
Holly drops her chin and releases me. “Okay. But it has to be said. If I were you, I’d choose happiness. ”
The vise around my heart tightens. Why does she have to say that? Like a stab to the gut. “I am.”
Instead of more words, she purses her lips, and her eyes narrow. I know that look. She’s scheming up something and I won’t like it. She crosses her arms. “You’ll forgive me for this one day.”
As she turns around heading to the door leading to the basement stairs, she stops and says something to whom I assume is someone coming upstairs. “Thanks for saving me the trip.”
She backs up and looks at me as if giving me time to reconsider and stop her. I don’t know what she’s about to say, and if I did, I doubt I could stop her.
Derek runs a hand through his hair. “I need some air.” He points at the front door.
“But you’ll want to hear this.” Holly gives me her final warning glare. I barely blink before she turns to him. “This house? She almost lost it. Ryan left her in the hole for a shit ton of money. Not because he was irresponsible, but because his mother needed it.” Holly glances back at me. “He volunteered because he needed the money, not because he was running from his family.”
My breath gets caught in my throat.
How did she know? I never told anyone. And Ryan, volunteering because he needed the money? Oh God. I’ve been so angry with him. But he was being a good man. The one I loved. Every argument we had, it was because he must have been feeling the pressure, not because he didn’t love me or wanted to leave us.
“Oh, honey,” Holly is in front of me, with Derek at her side, both of them looking at me like I’m some fragile little thing. “You found a way to save this house. You found a way to get yourself out of debt and,” she turns to Derek, “she doesn’t need your money. She’s got this, it’s you she needs.”
Derek’s throat works like he’s swallowing something.
I’m considering demoting her to former best friend. “Holly.”
Her smile turns mischievous. “I’m done.” She leaves .
Derek stares at the doorway Holly disappeared through. “Is it true?” he asks after the last of Holly’s steps fade.
I don’t look up from where I’m staring at my sandals. “Yes.” I cautiously drag my eyes to him.
He doesn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he runs a hand down his face, closing his eyes as he tilts his head toward the ceiling and covers his mouth. He stares as if the answers were written up there.
He slowly lowers his chin, and his burning gaze lands somewhere over my shoulder. His left brow arches high before he speaks. “What else are you hiding? After three months together, you didn’t tell me he was your tenant. You didn’t tell me you were struggling.”
A sadness passes behind his eyes, like there’s something about to break inside him.
“No one’s business but mine. And like Holly said, I handled it.”
That gets his attention. He faces me. “What matters is that you’re honest with me. And you make a damn decision to stay.” He grabs at the back of his neck.
“I didn’t tell anyone about the debt. I can take care of myself and the kids. I want you. But I can’t—I got distracted. What I want doesn’t matter. It’s what’s best for James and Victoria.”
He shakes his head at the floor. “For all your talk about how they needed stability. I’m ready, Emily. Like Tyler, I could do it. I could give it all up for them, too. But you can’t find a single reason to forgive me, to be with me, when they’re all staring you right in the face.”
My veins burn hotter than the salsa macha I blended this morning. “Do you think I can walk away from this house?” I point at the door frame where the marks rise with the date and name on them. The tallest one drawn weeks ago when we came back from California. “My life is here, Anderson. My friends are here. The people who have been here for me every day since Ryan died. It’s the only home they’ve known. ”
Heavy footsteps pound up the stairs.
“Everyone can hear you,” Mike appears from the doorway. “Kiss and make up or don’t, I don’t care, but there’s a little boy who is asking if everything is alright. He’s asking for you.” He squares Derek with the look of a drill sergeant.
Derek shoves past him, heading downstairs.
“You okay?” Mike crosses his arms over his chest like if I said no, he’d go after Derek.
“I’m sorry, I need time alone. You got this?”
“Everyone is here.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t stay.” I grab the car keys from the hook by the door and don’t look back. I don’t want to see Mike’s judgy face. I don’t know where I’m going, but I don’t get in the car. I walk. It’s hot and muggy today, weighing me down and clouding my head.
I get as far as the end of the driveway, stopping before I reach the sidewalk.
You’re running, again. A deep voice plays in my head like a damn recording. Is it Derek or Ryan? It sounds like both. And they’re right. I am running. But I don’t know what else to do. I turn around. The first time Ryan and I saw it, we both knew. It was the perfect size for us, the blue and tan trim making it stand out from the rest, the open floor plan, the cozy backyard and the balcony offering shade to everyone outside. It fit perfectly with our plans. Instead, he’s gone, and I’m running. Running from the people that love me.
When I walk back inside, the living room is empty, and a child’s giggle floats up through the basement door. Victoria. When I turn from the bottom of the stairs, she’s absorbed Derek’s attention on the couch while the boys play outside, and the adults chat on the outdoor furniture. He has a toy in his hands, his eyes laser focused on whatever part needs to be fixed. When he finishes, he hands it to her, and she rejoins her brother and Holly’s kids.
I take a seat next to him. “She has you wrapped around her little finger.”
He keeps his gaze on my daughter outside. “She asked why I didn’t invite her to the sleep over with her brother.” She did? I don’t have time to respond because Derek keeps talking. “If you don’t mind, when she’s a little older, maybe she could come, too.”
I blink trying to hold back tears. “She’s not your?—”
“Neither are you, but I still want to take care of you.”
I am yours. If I don’t get this gaping hole in my chest stitched up, feelings will keep oozing out, and I’ll bawl like a child in front of everyone.
“It’s not the most comfortable, but you could sleep in Victoria’s room, and she can bunk with James. She won’t feel left out if you stay here.”
He slowly turns in my direction, a question in his eyes, and I know the answer I want to give him, but I also know the one I should. Because offering my bed will lead to clothes coming off, and orgasms, and overall bad decisions leading to pleasure and heartbreak.
Again.
“If you don’t think they’ll mind.”
And that’s how he ends up sleeping in Victoria’s twin bed, waking up before all of us, and going to the store to make us French toast. We watch movies together in the evening, and Victoria falls asleep with her head in his lap halfway through. When the movie is over, Derek offers to carry her to bed while I pick up the empty popcorn bowl.
“Em,” Derek calls out, and I walk back to the living room. “She’s burning up.”
I place my hand on her forehead. I strip her. “I’ll run a bath for her. Can you grab some children’s fever reducer from the cabinet over the fridge?” Victoria’s cranky meter skyrockets as I wake her in the bathroom. The meds don’t kick in fast enough.
Nothing works. I take her temperature again, and it’s too high.
“Stay with James,” I tell Derek, not leaving any room for arguing. He helps me settle her in the car seat and kisses her forehead assuring her she’ll be alright.
While we’re at urgent care, he checks in via text, and I respond with what I know. The clinic is busy, and she’s fussy, crying from discomfort and clinging to me one second and the next, pushing me away. The evening shifts to late night as they run tests and monitor my daughter. By the time I walk through the front door of the townhouse with a sleeping, less feverish Victoria slumped over my shoulder, the house is silent and dark except for a light in the kitchen I’m sure Derek left on for me.
I lay Victoria down in the center of my bed, and head to James’ room. I push the door open to find a much larger body in his bed. As I approach, Derek’s curled up around James and his torso hangs off the edge.
“Hey,” I gently shake his shoulder.
He groans much like James does when being unexpectedly roused.
“Hey.” He lifts himself up without falling or waking James. When he joins me in the hallway, I can’t help but giggle.
A brow shoots up, but it’s still a little sleepy in its ascent. His hair is a mess, and it reminds me of the way I’d leave it after running my fingers through it.
I lick my thumb and wipe at the top of his cheek where there’s smeared make up. He runs the back of his hand after it. “We, uh, were practicing some dances.”
“You got into my makeup.” I can’t help but release another smile. This man. He’ll do anything for James. Anything. Ryan nor Mike would never talk about learning to French braid or wear make up for James. But Anderson would be brave enough to let his son paint his face with cosmetics. My heart pitter patters. My hero.
“How’s Vi?” he asks peering over my shoulder as if he could see Victoria, and the worry on his face warms my heart.
The exhaustion of the day slams into me, breaking the spell. I let him know it’s a UTI like little ones get when potty training and say goodnight. If I stay any longer, I’ll ask him to, I don’t know, stay? But staying leads to having hopes and expectations.
“Em,” he calls me before I open the door to my room. Please don’t say anything to tumble the wall I’m barely holding up. “Let me take the night shift. You rest and take over in the morning.”
My breath stutters in my chest as his offer blows a hole through the wall.