36. BELLA
36
BELLA
R eturning to my childhood home wasn’t the homecoming I imagined. The white paint on the modest house flaked like old memories, and as I stood at the door, I hesitated.
I’d left for a reason.
One deep breath and I pushed the door open, the smell of old books and my father’s aftershave hitting me like a wall. They said that smells often brought back good memories.
But they brought back bad memories, too.
“Bella,” my dad said from the living room.
I left my bag in the hall and went to him.
“Hey, Dad.” I’d called ahead so they knew I would be coming. That had been a big decision, too—knowing to prepare for me staying for a while was important to my mom, but it gave my dad time to gear himself up, to have ammo against me.
It was always like that. I couldn’t ever win.
“Didn’t think you’d come back here,” Dad said. He didn’t even glance up from his newspaper.
He’d gotten old—his hair was gray now, his face wrinkled but his eyes were still gun-metal gray and his gaze just as dangerous, his words sharp and ready to kill, not maim.
My mother appeared from the kitchen, a dish towel in her hands, worry flickering across her face like a fleeting shadow.
“Bella,” she said, offering a thin smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You must be exhausted from traveling. Let me get you something to eat.”
I nodded, grateful for her attempt at warmth. And the escape it offered. “Thanks, Mom.” I turned to follow her out of the living room.
Dad folded his paper with deliberate slowness, finally looking up. His gaze was cool, assessing. “How long are you staying?”
“Just until I get back on my feet.”
He nodded, his expression giving nothing away. “Good. You’ve always wanted to figure things out on your own, this shouldn’t be any different.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to let his words slice through me. I was just here to have a place to be until I could find my feet again. I’d known it would be hard coming back.
It hurt, nevertheless.
Mom’s hand brushed my shoulder, a fleeting gesture that felt both comforting and sad. “Come on, let’s get you settled.”
The kitchen table felt smaller than I remembered.
The overhead light buzzed faintly, casting shadows that stretched and shrank with every movement. Dad sat at the head of the table, as always, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud.
“You’re lucky we haven’t converted your room into a study,” he said, cutting into his roast chicken with precise motions.
I swallowed hard. “I appreciate you letting me stay.”
“Don’t misunderstand,” he said, his tone even. “It’s temporary. You need to have a plan.”
“I do,” I said quickly. “I’m already looking for work.”
He nodded, his approval as begrudging as ever. “Good. Responsibility is important.”
Mom shifted in her seat, her gaze flitting between us. “Bella’s always been resourceful. She’ll be fine.”
“Yes, that’s what she needs the world to believe, isn’t it?” Dad’s eyes slid to me and I steeled myself, fighting the urge to shrink away from him. I wasn’t the teenager who’d run away in the middle of the night to get away from the hell that was my father’s expectation. I was a grown woman. I’d made a life for myself. I’d done something.
But then again, I was back home now, pregnant and with no idea where to go next.
I wasn’t going to tell them about that part. The pregnancy would be a secret for now. As long as I was in this house, I would do what I needed to protect myself. I would only tell them when I was out and on my own again, and I could protect myself from my dad’s judgment.
I was too vulnerable right now.
The sound of forks against plates filled the silence, and I focused on my food, the lump in my throat refusing to go away. I struggled to swallow. On top of it, I felt sick to my stomach.
Morning sickness popped its head out at any time of day, and I hoped to God I wasn’t going to throw up at the table.
The rest of dinner was strained and painful, with my dad making underhand remarks that sounded normal on the surface but cut deep in their subtext. My mom didn’t rise to the occasion. Instead, she was ever the submissive wife, pretending like there wasn’t anything more to what my dad had to say.
He was the head of this house, and my mom was the quiet little mouse who stayed away from the crossfire.
Later, after Dad went to bed, Mom and I sat at the kitchen table. The dim light overhead gave the room a softer glow, but the tension from earlier was still there. I still didn’t want to be here. Home was a relative term.
Mom poured tea, the clink of the cup against the saucer unnervingly loud in the quiet. I didn’t look over my shoulder to see if we’d woken him up because I kept telling myself we were all grownups now, and I didn’t have to keep looking over my shoulder to see if he would scowl at me with disapproval.
Or disappointment.
“Your dad means well,” Mom said softly. “He’s just… concerned.”
I snorted, shaking my head. “Concerned? No way he’s anything other than controlling. That’s all he’s ever been. He doesn’t care about anything other than being the one calling the shots.”
Her hand trembled slightly as she placed her cup down. “It’s just how he is. He worries about you. He’s worked hard to give us everything we could possibly need, and that’s noble. He cares about us in his own way.” She put her hand on mine. “About all of us.”
I looked down at our hands. “I don’t know, Mom. I think you don’t want to see what he really is. And that’s fine, if this is the life that makes you happy. But it’s not the kind of life that works for me. He’s always had a way of making me feel small, like nothing I do is good enough.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It’s really not the way you think it is. I wish I could change things for you, make you see the softer side of him. But it’s not always that simple, is it?”
I shook my head. “No, I guess it’s not,” I said tightly.
My mom wouldn’t change, the same way my dad would never change. He was controlling and she was submissive. He would always be mean and she would always try to keep the peace instead of crossing him.
That’s the way things were. That was what I left rather than trying to fight it for the rest of my life. Some battles just weren’t worth the effort.
Some battles could never be won.
“I won’t be here for very long,” I said. “A couple of months, maybe. Then I’ll have found something and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“I never wanted you out of my hair,” my mom said softly and my heart twisted. When I’d run away from my dad I’d also run away from her. But she’d chosen the side she wanted to be on, and I had to choose, too.
“I don’t understand why you can’t work on the yachts anymore,” Mom said. “Just because one yacht owner didn’t like your work, that doesn’t mean you can’t work somewhere else, right?”
I hadn’t told her the owner had been Chris, that he’d fired me because of what had happened between us.
“It’s just worked out that way,” I said. I couldn’t work on yachts when I was pregnant, when my belly got bigger and I threw up all hours of the day.
When I had a baby I needed to take care of.
Mom shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s just time for change,” I said. It wasn’t a lie. “I’ll be okay.”
“I know,” she said. “You always manage to figure it out in the end.”
I nodded, and we sat together in silence. I wanted to tell her about the baby, about the future I had to build for myself, but I couldn’t. Not yet. She would be more excited about it, she would understand how it had happened.
But she would tell my dad, more than likely, and I just wasn’t ready for that.
Finally, after we’d made small talk for a while, touching on nothing that really carried weight, I excused myself and headed to my room.
My childhood bedroom was frozen in time, a museum of who I used to be.
Posters of bands I no longer listened to and trophies for sports I hadn’t played in years were lined on shelves. Certificates, merits, ribbons for being great at things lined my bookshelf.
The achievements had all been to win over my father’s approval.
Approval I never got.
I lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Had it been a mistake coming back here? The yacht show would be over by now—where would I have been if things hadn’t gone wrong between me and Chris?
If I hadn’t gotten pregnant?
Chris’s face filled my mind. The way his jaw tightened when he was upset, the softness in his ocean-blue eyes when he let his guard down.
I thought about our fight, hearing the horrible words again, feeling the pain echo in my chest and I squeezed my eyes shut. My heart ached physically.
I’d read once that emotional pain like this could create tiny fissures in the human heart, it could become physical.
My heart was really breaking, it wasn’t just my emotions.
I wiped away tears, frustrated with myself.
How did everything fall apart so quickly? I replayed every moment, every choice, wondering what I could have done differently. But no matter how much I analyzed, how much I thought of the way I should have acted, it didn’t change the way things were.
I must have fallen asleep at some point because Chris was suddenly in front of me.
“Hey, babe,” he said, and he smiled. Those deep blue eyes bore into my soul and a shiver ran down my spine. “I missed you.” He reached for me and cupped my cheek, stroking my cheekbone with his thumb. His fingers were in my hair.
“God, Chris,” I said, leaning into the warmth of his touch. “I miss you so fucking much.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m here.”
He slid his hand to my chin and tilted my face up before he dipped his head and kissed me. It was slow and warm and comforting. It was perfect. His lips were soft and he tasted like home.
I leaned into him and his free arm slid around me, pulling me closer to him. His hand slid from my face to the back of my head, deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing against mine. I could feel him harden against me and I slid my arms around his neck.
We melded against each other, kissing until I couldn’t breathe.
“I want you,” he said, breaking the kiss and looking down at me. He pushed his hips against me, letting me know exactly what he wanted. His erection was rock hard and my body responded, heat washing over me and pooling between my legs so that I was wet for him.
“Fuck, yes,” I said, and his mouth was on mine again, kissing me deeply.
His hands slid down my back, and he cupped my ass, massaging my cheeks as he grinded his hard cock against me. I moaned into his mouth, and his lips left mine, sliding down my neck, sucking and nipping. I arched against him, and his hands went to my jeans. He made short work of the button and the zipper and then his hand was down the front of them.
He slid his hand over my sex, moaning when he found me wet. He slid two fingers into me and I let out a whimper.
“Please,” I begged. “I need you.”
He kissed me again and I reached for his pants, but before I could get them open, he pulled his fingers out of me. I gasped, but he spun me around, pushing my jeans and panties down. I wriggled, helping him, and when they pooled around my ankles I stepped out of them.
“Bend over,” he growled in my ear.
I bent over and grabbed onto the table, steadying myself, and a moment later I felt his cock sliding into me.
“Yes,” I groaned, the feel of him sending sparks of electricity through my body. I trembled right down to the core.
He filled me and I moaned again, louder this time, as he started to thrust into me. I pushed my hips back, needing all of him, and he tightened his grip, pulling me against him.
He moved slowly at first. Teasing, stroking every inch of him out of me, and then sliding back into me until he was buried to the hilt. I moaned, both out of pleasure and frustration.
“More,” I gasped.
He obeyed, moving faster, slamming his cock into me, and I cried out. The table shifted beneath us, the edge pressed painfully against my hip, but I didn’t care. My body was alive and pulsing and I wanted more. I needed to be as close to him as I could be. I wanted to be one with him, melded so tightly together that we weren’t two separate people anymore.
I braced myself with one hand and used the other to reach between my legs. My clit throbbed beneath my touch, every circle sending fresh waves of pleasure through me.
“Yes, baby,” he grunted. “Come for me.”
I kept rubbing myself, the pressure building. He grabbed onto my ass, squeezing my cheeks, his fingers digging into the flesh.
He thrust harder, the table screeched, scraping across the floor. I was so close. So fucking close.
“Come,” he commanded, and I cried out as I came, the pleasure so intense I thought it would swallow me.
The orgasm jolted me awake. I moaned, curling onto my side, pressing my face into my pillow to muffle the sound. I reached between my legs and ran my fingers over my slick, throbbing clit, desperate to prolong the pleasure. I was dripping wet from my dream.
But the orgasm subsided, dragging me back to the surface. Chris faded away and I was completely awake—alone.
The emptiness filled the void inside me where Chris had been. The pain of losing him slammed into me all over again.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to cry.
He’d felt so close, our connection so real, just a moment ago.
But it had all just been a dream. He wasn’t here—in a way, I guess he never had been.
I’d been ready to give myself to him completely.
More than once.
But that wasn’t what Chris wanted, and I had to make peace with that. I had to move on for good.
But fuck, it hurt like hell.
The next morning, the kitchen was quiet except for the rustle of Dad’s newspaper. I took a deep breath, gripping my mug tightly as I sipped coffee. One cup, no more. I’d started watching what I put in my body for the sake of the baby.
I wasn’t looking after only myself anymore.
“I’m going to look for work today,” I said.
He didn’t look up. “That’s a good idea. Keep busy, make yourself useful.”
Mom gave me a small smile, her support silent. I nodded. I wasn’t sure what I would end up doing, but that didn’t matter. As long as it was stable and it allowed me to figure things out for myself. Right here in Newport, so that I could find a daycare when the time came and send my child to a good school.
It was strange thinking this way—thinking about a bigger picture than just the next couple of weeks and where my career would take me.
I’d been blowing around in the wind in a sense, and now I had to roll up the proverbial sails and cast anchor for good.
The crisp air stung my cheeks as I walked through the neighborhood.
Familiar houses lined the streets, each one a snapshot of a memory. My pace slowed as I passed a small café, a “Help Wanted” sign catching my eye.
Pushing the door open, the warm scent of coffee wrapped around me. Despite my dad, the smell of coffee brought happy memories and I could do something like this for a while.
“Can I help you?” a woman asked from behind the counter. Her smile was kind and I liked the way her eyes smiled, too, with wrinkles fanning out around her cheeks.
“I saw the sign. I’m looking for work.”
Her smile widened. “Let’s talk.”
Working at a café hadn’t been the plan in the grand scheme of things, but that had been then.
This was now.
And it was a start.