Chapter Thirteen
Cujo started the truck, turned down Asking Alexandria who were blasting through his speakers, and turned his phone back on. Drea was likely up and on her way to José’s for the opening shift.
Please call me.
I really need you.
The message was sent nearly two hours ago. He should have replied sooner.
He pulled up her name on his phone to call her, ask if he could see her tonight, between her shifts if she was working later. Whenever she could see him, he’d make it work. He’d missed her. It was that simple.
Life was too fucking short. Seeing his mom in the hospital had been a wakeup call. Shit. He put both hands on the edge of the steering wheel and pressed down hard.
There was no reason to remain angry. That chapter in his life was over. Would hearing his mom’s reasons for leaving make him feel better? Tomorrow, he’d go to the hospital and talk to her again. Maybe it was time to let all of this go.
Tonight he’d make things right with Drea. Panic swirled in his gut at the thought of putting it all on the line. Words weren’t necessarily his strong point. Inappropriate humor he could do in spades, but serious shit he sucked at.
He needed a big piece of work this afternoon to clear his mind, give him time to think through what he was going to say to her.
His phone rang before he could dial her number.
Trent’s name flashed on the screen. He pulled out of Connor’s driveway as he answered.
“Yes, I ordered the new ink. No, I didn’t burn the place down.
And yes, everything is fine in your holy absence, except everyone who walks in wants you to do his or her ink. The rest of us are chopped liver.”
“Admire the sense of humor,” he said, his voice rough, like he’d just gotten out of bed. “How’s Drea?”
“She’s okay. Why?”
“Can’t be easy for her man. Tell her I’m thinking of her. Didn’t want to bug her or Harper, without giving you a shout first.”
Some turd in an Audi pulled out, cutting him off just ahead of a large van, forcing Cujo to slam his breaks. He honked his horn with a what the fuck, man hand gesture.
“Bug her about what?”
“Are you on the road?”
“It’s Friday. Working the afternoon shift. Why?”
“Why are you not with the girls at the hospital? Would have called Harp, but just assumed you’d be with them.”
Shit, the messages. I really need you. Please call me.
“What the fuck is going on at the hospital?” Cujo shouted. “Is Drea hurt? Is she okay?”
“Dude, what is going on with the two of you? I thought you were—”
“I ignored her texts and call because I’m a dick. Just tell me what happened.” He wanted to disconnect, desperate to call Drea.
“Her mom died.”
Shit. Cujo stepped on the gas. The engine roared as he raced back to the city. He blew past the Audi, threw them a one-fingered salute for good measure.
“When? Do you know what happened?”
“Harp left me a message. Turned my phone off last night. I’m in Seattle. Drea found her mom on the floor. I just woke up, checked messages, and called you first.”
“I’m on my way there now. Thanks for the heads-up, bro.”
“No worries. I’ll be home tomorrow. Look after our girls for me.”
Shit. The thought of her alone in the hospital while he’d been eating fucking pancakes.
How long had she taken to call Harper? He looked at his phone.
It was at least another ninety minutes before he could get to her.
He raced the truck home, dodging the heavy Miami traffic with back roads and shortcuts.
Anything to get to her as quickly as possible.
“Come on,” he mumbled, hitting redial on his phone. No answer. Again. She was screening him. His heart bled for her. Hopefully Drea had been able to make some kind of peace with her mom before she died.
He put a call into Alonza, a freelance tattoo artist Trent trusted. Thankfully he was free. Eric had opened, and there was no way the shop could manage the evening with only Lia and Pixie. He honked at the delivery van blocking two lanes.
Fuck. He’d let her down. The promise he’d made to be with her when things got hard was now worthless.
Because he’d bailed. And it wasn’t even because of her.
It was his own reaction to seeing his mom that kept him away.
Guilt at letting it ruin one of the truly wonderful things in his life gnawed at his gut.
He pulled into Drea’s neighborhood and took a hard left onto her street. Yeah, they’d be scraping his tire rubber off the road for years to come. Trent’s Plymouth was parked, half on the curb. He cringed.
The girls were definitely at the house. He pulled in behind the Plymouth, jumped down from the truck, and pounded up the steps.
He’d let her down. Now it was time to see if she would let him put it right.
* * *
Funeral home. Check. Aunt Celine. Check. José. Check. Hotel. Check.
Drea tossed her cellphone onto the coffee table and pulled her knees up onto the sofa. She wrapped her cardigan around her legs and stared at the faded image of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart hanging over her mom’s bed.
Mom was dead. For ten years they’d co-existed without any kind of relationship, but in those last five minutes of her life, Drea gained a glimpse of exactly what it was she’d lost. The pain in her heart so strong, her chest was going to crack open from the pressure.
Harper tapped her shoulder, offering her a steaming cup of tea. Drea took it gratefully. The sweet mixture soothed her hoarse throat. Harper popped back into the kitchen and collected her own mug, returning to sit down next to Drea on the sofa.
“How are you holding up?”
“I think I called everyone. José is a sweetheart. He’s going to take care of catering and is calling Joanie to cover some shifts. I figured she could do with some experience at opening. The funeral is next Tuesday.”
She needed to go back to work tomorrow though.
The day manager at the hotel had been great when she’d called.
She’d considered handing in her notice. Her salary from the café would be more than enough to live off now.
Maybe she’d resign this week. Or maybe she should tough it out for as long as she could to pay for the funeral, hospital expenses, and credit cards.
“Did you hear back from Cujo?”
“He called. I didn’t pick up.” Her heart hurt even more at the mention of his name.
Maybe she should have answered, but she was only just holding it together.
One word from him would shatter her, and right now, she needed to be strong.
Lord knows she wanted him, but he’d ignored her for the last thirty-six hours and she didn’t have the energy to figure out why.
Maybe it was better this way. This was her life.
A shabby leather sofa, a second-hand coffee table, and a hideous green rug to offset the walls yellowed from years of smoking.
All looked down on by dollar-store pictures of random saints.
Her stomach roiled at the thought of spending one more day in the ugly house.
She made a mental note to call a realtor as soon as possible.
There was no reason for her to stay, but she had no idea where to go.
“Don’t give up on him yet,” Harper encouraged. “I can’t imagine what having his mom back in his life is like … oh God, Drea, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—” Harper’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment and she smacked her forehead with her hand. “Can’t believe I just said that. I’m useless.”
Drea squeezed Harper’s hand, the irony not lost on her that Cujo had a mom who abandoned him back in his life, and she just lost hers.
Drea stood, placed her cup on the table, and began to pace.
Harper stood, putting her cup down, too, then hugged Drea. “I know, sweetie.”
They stood together for a long moment.
“I need to do something. I’m too wired. If I get some cleaning supplies, you want to help me tidy this place?”
“Drea, sweetie, far be it for me to know what’s best for you, but don’t you think having some breakfast and getting some sleep would be better?”
Drea was too keyed up to go to bed. She needed to keep busy until exhaustion pushed her into oblivion.
“I need to keep busy, at least for a while.” She walked to the kitchen and a few minutes later returned with a bag of cleaning supplies.
They worked in silence. Drea started to make a list of repairs required before the house was put up for sale. She piled the medical supplies in the kitchen. After a couple of hours, the ground floor no longer resembled a hospital room, and with Harper’s help, it didn’t smell like one either.
Someone knocked on the door. Three loud raps. “Shortcake?”
Oh God. She really didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want to deal with Cujo right now.
Harper looked at her. “Need me to get it or are we hiding behind the sofa?”
“Come on, Drea, I know you and Harper are in there. I couldn’t leave if I wanted to. Harper’s parking job takes up half the street.”
Harper scowled at the door. “For the love of—”
“Joke, Harper,” he yelled. “Please, Shortcake.”
* * *
Harper opened the door. “Cujo, listen,” she whispered, “if you can’t be here for her, you should leave now. I’ll make you if I have to.”
Trent’s fierce little warrior. Cujo pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head. “Thanks for the warning, Bruce Lee.” The memory of seeing Harper fight off her attacker, with police closing in from every angle, wouldn’t fade. “I’m an idiot. Just let me tell her.”
Harper hugged him. “I didn’t really want to make you leave.”
“I know.”
The living room already looked more like a living room.
Much of the medical equipment was gone, and the bed was pushed up against the wall.
His heart broke a little when he saw Drea elbow-deep in soapy bubbles, on her knees, cleaning the woodwork.
He crouched beside her. She continued to scrub the baseboards as if her life depended on it.
“Hey, Shortcake.” She didn’t look up, and he knew why—he’d ignored her. He tried to take the cloth out of her hand but she yanked it back. “Drea, sweetie. Look at me.”
Relief flooded him when she dropped the cloth in the bucket and sat on her heels.
“What do you want, Cujo?” Dark circles framed bloodshot eyes.
“I wanted to see how you are holding up.” And I want to drag you across my lap and hold you, but I know you aren’t ready yet.
“I’m fine.”
Yeah, right. She looked fragile as glass.
Drea stood and walked through the front door he’d left open. He followed, found her sitting on the porch stairs, tossing a pebble between two hands.
“Why are you really here?” she asked.
“I needed to see you.” He snatched the pebble from her and started to sketch using its smooth edge as a pencil on the step between his feet. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
Drea pulled her knees up to her chest. “You didn’t come,” she whispered. “It took hours. And you never came.”
During the drive to her, he’d thought of nothing but those hours. He couldn’t imagine finding his dad dead in their family home. The thought of her alone, with a dead or dying parent, waiting for an ambulance had made him ill with worry.
“Yeah, those texts and calls … I’m sorry. I was a class-A jerk.” He continued to scrape the stone on the concrete step.
They sat in silence for a few moments, and he was thankful for the opportunity to compose his thoughts.
“What happened, Drea? To your mom?”
“She fell trying to reach something. I think she took her line off to stand, she did that sometimes, and the chair went one way while she went the other. The shock of the fall, and the fact she couldn’t reach her line…”
Drea began to sob quietly.
He pulled her tight against him and held her while she cried. “Oh, Shortcake. It sucks, sweetheart. I know.”
He ran his hand down her hair, over her back.
“I don’t know how long she was alone on that floor, Cujo. I should have been there for her. Not working.” Her tears were subsiding.
“You had no choice, Drea. You kept a roof over her head, and fed her, and paid for her medicine.”
“But it’s not the same as holding her hand or spending time with her. I was too angry to do that. You were right about me. What you said to Connor that night.”
“Stop, Drea. You did the best you could. Nobody could blame you. From what I saw of Rosa, she was a handful,” he reassured her.
“Yeah, she was that,” Drea said quietly. “At least I got to speak to her. To tell her I loved her. I hope she knows that. Or knew that.”
“I’m sure she does. I suppose at the end, you want to go with the people you love around you. You were all she had, Drea. You know she was grateful to have you there with her when it mattered.”
He kept his arm around her and continued with his sketch.
“Where were you?” she asked quietly. His stomach dropped at the sadness in her tone.
“I was over at Connor’s helping with a class. Then we went out on our own. It was a glorious sunset. I wish you could have seen it.” Maybe he’d take her for a weekend.
“Did you get my messages?”
Lying would be easy. I left my phone charger at home.
No reception. Small, simple lies that would smooth everything over in a heartbeat.
But honesty mattered if they were going to build something together.
She deserved to know what had gone through his mind so she understood why he sat with her now.
“I got the one about dinner yesterday. I should have replied. But I was running scared.”
“Why?”
“You wouldn’t believe what happened in the last thirty-six hours. I’ll tell you, just not now. Nothing in comparison to what you faced. But they made me question what we were doing together. It was all me, Drea. I was being a self-absorbed ass.”
“And did my mom dying change your mind?” Her eyes were wet. A single tear trailed down her cheek.
He framed her face with his hands. She leaned into him and closed her eyes. He thumbed away her tears.
“No,” he answered. “Realizing I was being a douchebag changed my mind. Realizing that I was pulling back for reasons that existed only in my head changed my mind. I was trying to figure out what to say to you when I heard about your mom.”
“Douchebag, huh? I would have said asshole,” she said with a brave smile. “I missed you.”
Cujo took her hand. “I missed you, too. No more douchebaggery, I promise.”
“You know promise is a really big word?”
“Yeah, Shortcake. I do.”
The tears started again as she looked down at his sketch. Framed in a heart were the words, Brody and Andrea xxx. Just like high school.