Chapter 22
Dora’s outburst at the cafe completely rips the carpet from under me.
She leaves me there on my knees and walks out without a second glance.
That's when I made up my mind I could not lose her.
Come what may, I am ready to face anything rather than let her go.
My fears have ruined everything for me. I drag myself into my chair and whip out my phone to call the one person I desperately need to talk to.
“Dean, no time to explain, but I think something is wrong with Dora, and I need you to fly to Chicago ASAP! Charter a private plane if you have to, I’ll cover the expenses.”
Hearing the urgency in my voice, Dean responds, “I’ll be there soon. Forget about the expenses. She's my sister, for goodness sake.”
And just like that, Dean arrives in Glenview a few hours later. He finds me pacing at the airport tarmac as he alights from the hired private jet. His legs eat up the distance in brisk strides and I flinch at the worry lines traversing his face.
“Where is she?” No pleasantries whatsoever, straight to business. But what should I expect? It's Dean, after all, and Dora is his only focus right now.
“We’ll go to her in a minute, but first, there's something you need to hear,” I say, ushering him into the car. He belts up as I slide in behind the wheel.
“Let it wait until we get somewhere we can both sit and talk. I can't take the risk of being in transit when you offload whatever you want to say. I have a wife to think of, so safety first. My life is no longer mine alone.”
I nod at Dean in understanding and shoot off towards my hotel, well within speed limits.
By the time the door closes behind me, I'm bursting at the seams to let it all out. I slump into the first chair by the door and lower my head into my hands, ignoring Dean’s restless gaze.
“You might need to get yourself a drink,” I advise, and then I begin talking.
I start at the beginning, the birth of my feelings for Dora when she turned twelve. From there, I move to our first kiss at her sixteenth birthday party and how livid I'd been as we all anticipated the arrival of her boyfriend.
“Don't you remember how mad I'd been or how restless I became the more the party wore on?” I ask, facing Dean.
He says nothing and so I resume my confession.
I don't leave out my stupid mistake — downgrading Dora simply because of my fear.
Fear of how much I had come to desire her, a sixteen-year-old.
I plunge ahead to when Dora started at my company and then to the celebratory dinner night which led to our one-week affair.
I keep going, paying no heed to the lowering level of the content of the whisky bottle on the table beside Dean.
I tell him about running into Renee, how she followed me home, and the things I'd said to cover up my affair with Dora.
I tell him how Dora ended everything in my office and how I finally understand why she hates me.
She overheard me declaring that she wasn't my type. Twice. I hang my head low as I confess to Dean that it had all been a trick to throw people off the scent. I tell him how Dora is and has always been my spec and how sorry I am that I broke our pact.
“You’re the dumbest piece of shit I have the unfortunate pleasure of being friends with.
Dumb as a blond doll!” Dean thunders, his blazing eyes piercing me like knives.
I can see the anger pouring off him in waves, so I stay silent.
“How could you be stupid enough to go through all this length just to hide your feelings for Dora?”
I shrug and lean my elbows on my knees. “I respect our friendship too much…” I begin, only to be cut short by Dean.
“You’re a dickhead, Cole. And you can be intentionally obtuse sometimes. If only you had allowed me to finish my sentence during my wedding reception. I had forgotten about the stupid pact a long time ago. It was a useless promise at an impressionable time in our lives,” Dean explodes in anger.
“Just look at how you’ve muddled everything up. How do we get her to believe you or even trust you? No wonder my sister has been so body-conscious for years. You caused that.” He concludes, jutting a finger at me. I sigh, raking both hands through my hair before scrubbing my face.
“I know that now, and it's killing me. I don't know what to do,” I admit in defeat, slumping back in the chair.
I watch from my position as Dean begins to pace before pausing to face me, “So what's wrong with Dora?”
I should've known he would ask. I sigh, “She's…different. I don't know how to explain it. But there's something off. She's been working hybrid for the last five months, showing up at the store once in two months. You admitted you haven't seen her in person since August.”
Dean’s frown deepens, “How did she look to you when you saw her?”
Frustration makes me comb my fingers through my hair. How can I put the look in her eyes or the ripeness of her body into words? “I wish I could explain it with words, but maybe when you see her, you'll understand better.”
Dean changes course from mindless pacing to determined strides toward the door. “What are we still waiting for?”
In less than fifteen minutes, we roll into Dora’s neighborhood and I park my car a house away from hers.
I didn't want to alert them of our presence.
My mind is spinning with the explanation I'm going to give Dora.
Words are tumbling over each other in my head as we step up to her door, mindful of the snow.
Dean knocks twice and we hear approaching feet before the door is pulled wide open.
Three eyes stare in open-mouthed shock at Dean and I.
“Oh shit!” An expletive explodes from Merry's lips, followed by the most shocking sound — the cry of a baby. Dean shoves his way through the door and I follow, confused by the squalling of an infant. Were they babysitting? Did they have someone else in the apartment? The sound of Merry shutting the door gets the girls moving. Dora rises to her feet in slow motion, her gaze shifting from Dean to me. Gina springs off her chair, shutting her laptop before sprinting up the stairs. Merry comes to stand by Dora, clutching her hand. The shrill cries of the baby subsides after a few seconds of Gina’s absence .
“One of you better start talking,” Dean warns, shrugging off his jacket to take a seat.
I mimic him, still shaken by the sight of Dora in booty shorts and a sweater.
I glanced around the homey interior, spotting Dora's touches in a few places.
After a quick survey, I turn my gaze back to the two guilt-stricken friends standing beside the dining table.
Why are they looking like children caught with their hands deep in the cookie jar?
I wonder, just as Gina descends the stairs with a bundle in her arms. She goes to join her friends, her face stark white and her eyes bulging with fear. What is going on here?
Dean thunders the question in my mind. “What is going on here, and whose baby is that?”