Chapter 13 Aurora #2
He scoffs. “I don’t even know who I’m talking to right now. You’ve only been with those rock stars for a couple weeks and you’re already a totally different person. You’re so ungrateful. After everything we did for you? You’re being cruel.”
At first, I want to scream. I want to reach through the phone and shake him.
I want to thrash against every chain of obligation and grief that has been weighing me down for the last few years.
But then his words crash through the fog of rage surrounding me, and I crumple.
My muscles seize, my body hunches in on itself, and I feel terrible.
What am I doing? What am I even saying?
I don’t want to be cruel. I don’t want him to think I’m ungrateful. I’m grateful for everything the Sinclairs did for me. I am. I love his parents. If it weren’t for their kindness, the changes would have been so much more drastic.
The Sinclairs saved me. Brady saved me.
God, I’m terrible. I’m so fucking terrible.
“I’m sorry.” The words escape on a choked sob. “I’m so sorry. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t say anything, and as the silence stretches, my thoughts grow louder.
I’m so terrible. My parents and brother would be disappointed. The Sinclairs’ hearts would be broken. I am cruel and ungrateful. He doesn’t deserve this.
My husband expels another sigh. It’s long, drawn-out, and cuts like a knife.
“I’ll send you the information about diet and exercise that I found. Just...I don’t know. We’ll talk later.”
He hangs up. No goodbye. No I love you. No forgiveness.
I drop the phone to the floor and cover my mouth with my hand.
I try to quiet my sobs, but they grow more violent, shaking my body and stealing my breath.
Anger, fear, and guilt tangle into knots in my stomach, and I curl myself into a ball along with them.
I lie on the floor and press my cheek to the cool tile, feeling it pool with my tears.
I press my hand harder against my lips, but every ragged inhale cracks and suctions, and every forceful exhale refuses to be contained.
I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to be like this.
I don’t want any of it, and that makes me cry harder.
Brady deserves better. He’s my best friend.
He’s my only friend. I’m terrible. I love him.
I don’t want to get pregnant. I love him, but I don’t want him.
I owe him. He’s my family. I feel trapped.
He deserves better than this, but don’t I, also?
I’m terrible.
I’m suffocating.
“Hey, hey. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
A gentle hand brushes my hair from my face, then settles on my back. I open my eyes and run right into warm, amber gemstones full of concern.
“Do I need to call Ham?”
Mabel’s lying beside me on the bathroom floor, and I’m awash with both gratitude and shame. I woke her. I’m embarrassed. But I’m also really glad she’s here. Her kindness is a soothing balm, and the painful pounding of my thoughts starts to dull.
I swallow roughly, then shake my head. “No. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”
“What happened? You want to talk about it?”
I shake my head again. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“You didn’t. I have to pee,” she says it with a smirk, and I huff out a laugh as her fingers trail from my back to my head. She pushes a few strands of hair behind my ear, gaze falling to my tear-painted lips. “That’s better. Is there anything I can do?”
I run my eyes over her bare face. I retreated to the bedroom almost immediately after dinner last night.
Caveat and Heartless had a tour meeting.
I had a date with a book and my pillow. I fell asleep before Mabel made it back to the suite.
The last time I saw her, she had a full face of makeup.
Now, there’s not a stich of cosmetics to be seen, and it feels intimate.
Vulnerable. Real. Even first thing in the morning, she’s strikingly beautiful, and it takes me a moment to realize she’d asked me a question.
“No. I’m okay.”
She arches a brow, and I roll my eyes with another laugh.
“Fine. I’m not okay, but I will be. I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.”
Mabel purses her lips, then smiles. It’s soft and heartbreakingly sweet.
“I’m no stranger to the occasional crash out, Roar. I’m here if you need me, okay? Even if you just want to vent. I’ll nod and agree with everything you say.” Her eyes narrow playfully. “Unless you start talking shit about yourself. Then we’ll have to tussle.”
I laugh for a third time, this one fuller and even more genuine than the last. Somehow, in just sixty seconds, she’s made everything hurt less.
I’m here if you need me, she said. It’s been a while since I’ve heard those words. Even longer since I’ve believed them. Right now, on this cold tile floor in Adelaide, I believe Mabel. I nod and wipe my eyes.
“Thank you, Susan Ainsley Mabel Rossi,” I say with a smile. “That means a lot.”
It means more than you could possibly know.
“Anytime, Aurora...Hey, wait. What’s your full name?”
“Aurora Jade Hammond.”
I answer on impulse, and I don’t realize I gave her my maiden name until she frowns. Her next question comes out tentatively, with a forced lightness that makes my skin prickle.
“Did you not change your last name? You’re married, right?”
“Oh.” I break our eye contact, bouncing my attention to her ear, her forehead, her chin. Anywhere but those warm amber irises. Anywhere but her pouty pink lips. “No. I mean, yes. Yes, I changed my name.”
I didn’t want to change my last name. It was a tie to my family that I didn’t want to sever after their deaths, but it was important to Brady.
I’m your family now, he’d said. You need to move forward with me.
I try so hard not to look at Mabel, but I can feel her eyes on me—fixed intently, searching—as if she can see the confessions screaming from inside my head.
Like a magnet, my eyes are drawn to hers, and when our stares snap together, goose bumps rise on my skin.
She trails her fingers up and down my back, her bare arm resting on mine, and when she speaks, the question doesn’t fit her tone.
Her voice is soft and kind, but the words feel hostile.
“What’s your husband’s last name, then? The one on your passport.”
I swallow, take a deep breath, then whisper, “Sinclair.”
Brady was right. Keeping my last name wouldn’t bring my parents and brother back, but I miss being a Hammond. I’ve never felt like a Sinclair. Not really.
“Aurora Jade Sinclair. That’s pretty.”
I shrug. “Yeah.”
I bite my tongue against what I want to say, caging the truth behind my teeth.
I don’t like it. I don’t want it. I’m suffocating.
Then she smirks.
“This floor is cold as fuck. If we lie here any longer, my piercings are going to turn to ice and freeze my nipples off.”
My jaw drops, and she laughs.
“What?”
“You have your nipples pierced?”
She arches a teasing brow. “Yeah. Is that surprising?”
I shake my head slowly. “Not at all. I don’t even know why I’m shocked. It’s not surprising at all.”
Mabel laughs again, then sits up, so I do the same. When she starts to stand, I freeze.
She’s wearing a pink and black pajama set.
Spaghetti straps and short shorts. Silk fabric.
Lace trim. I didn’t notice it before, but I do now, and my stomach flips.
I can feel a blush start to spread, so I avert my gaze to the ground.
It doesn’t help. Her feet are bare, and her nails are painted white, with a little silver ring on her middle toe and a silver chain around her delicate ankle.
My pulse speeds up. My mouth goes dry. I'm reeling from the rapid change of my emotions in such a short period of time. Then her hand extends in my periphery, and my eyes are drawn upward. I nearly swallow my tongue.
She’s so hot it hurts. Pink, sleep-tousled hair frames her face and rests on her bare shoulders.
Her tattooed sleeve pops dramatically in the bathroom lighting, and the shiny silk pajama top flows over her curves like water.
The elegant fabric is thin enough that I can see the outline of her nipples, and my eyes stick on the indentation of two dots on either side of each of them.
Her piercings.
My own nipples pebble under my oversized sweatshirt and I ache to press my thighs together.
She’s so sensual, so sexy, and that same feeling of desire is so overwhelming that I can almost taste it.
Dark, rich honey, the color of her eyes.
Sweet and heady. Twenty-three years of never knowing this feeling, and suddenly I’m craving it so deeply that my mouth waters.
“Want to see them?”
She asks it with a smirk, and my face flames hotter as I choke on a rapid inhale.
“Kidding. I’m kidding. You know, unless you do want to see them, in which case the offer stands.”
I open my mouth twice to speak, and all I can manage is okay. Then her smirk softens, and she wiggles her fingers at me.
“C’mon. Family breakfast.”
I place my hands in hers and allow her to pull me to my feet. The position changes, and our closeness leaves me dizzy. Her chin tilts up and mine tilts down, mere inches between us.
“Thank you,” I whisper, the words barely more than an exhale.
“Always. You good now?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Good.” Her smile grows. “I still need to pee.”
A snort of laughter escapes me, which draws laughter from Mabel, too. I shake my head and walk toward the door.
“I’ll get dressed.”
“I’ll pee.”
I laugh again, then let myself out of the bathroom. My smile makes my cheeks hurt, and my emotions have shifted so drastically that I can almost forget about my complete meltdown from moments earlier.
I grab a dress from my suitcase, then pause and look back at my selection of clothes.
They’re all neatly folded in piles, mostly dresses and cardigans, but my eyes settle on the few new items I bought when I went exploring in Melbourne.
It’s nothing crazy, but there isn’t a single cotton dress in the stack, and a couple of the pieces are a bit out of my comfort zone.
Things I’d admire in magazines or on other women but would never buy for myself. Things Brady would call weird or ugly.
I frown and consider the clothing for a few more seconds, then exchange the dress for a new pair of wide-leg jeans and a cute little mosaic crocheted top. I bought them to wear, after all, and Brady’s not here to tell me to change.
I’m tugging the top down my torso when the bathroom door opens, and I turn to find Mabel grinning at me.
“I was wondering if you owned anything besides dresses.”
I shift my weight between my feet. “I got these in Melbourne.”
“I love them.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. The whole outfit is adorable, and those jeans hug your hips perfectly. You look amazing.”
My cheeks heat and I smooth my hands down the fabric of my jeans. “Thanks. I like them, too.”
“I’ll change fast, and then we can go.”
When she disappears back into the bathroom, I turn to look at my reflection in the wall mirror.
I run my eyes over my body, then settle on the flare of my hips.
Mabel was right. These jeans fit perfectly, and this top is adorable.
It’s white with little red and pink strawberries on it, and it sits just above the waistband of my jeans, showing a peek of my stomach.
I turn from side to side, assessing myself from each angle, and as I do, my smile grows.
I do look great. I love this outfit. I don’t care that Brady would say it was ugly, or that the hint of skin that shows between my jeans and top is inappropriate. I like it, and that’s all that matters.
Then, as if my husband could feel my good mood, my phone buzzes with a text that threatens to torpedo everything.
Brady
I emailed you the stuff from the nutritionist. Daily exercises to implement and a list of good and bad foods to look over. There’s a digital food and exercise journal you should start filling out too. Don’t worry, Auri. I know you’ll fix this. You just have to try harder.
Brady
Oh, and what is this charge for a Melbourne boutique on the credit card? Making money doesn’t mean you don’t have to run things by me first. We’re still a partnership.
I frown at my phone screen. I don’t even know what to say to him.
When I don’t respond right away, he sends me another text.
This one is just three question marks, and it makes me even angrier.
I feel my eyes start to sting again, and my jaw aches from how hard I’m gritting my teeth.
Then my phone rings, and his contact photo fills the screen.
I stare at it, but I make no move to answer.
“You good?”
My head jerks toward Mabel. She’s in another of her stage-ready ensembles, with a full face of makeup. I deflect.
“You look like a rock star.”
“Well, if the platform combat boot fits...”
She winks, drawing a genuine laugh from me. I type out a quick Okay, will talk later to Brady, then shove the phone in my pocket.
“Family breakfast?” I ask brightly.
She nods. “Let’s go before the Caveat boys eat all the pastries.”