35. Stop smiling
CHAPTER 35
Stop smiling
CALUM
I wake up to a scream. Jumping out of the bed, I grab the nearest item while looking out for the danger. Cathie stands at the door, eyes widened in horror. I reach her in five strides, dropping the pillow to grab her shoulders. My eyes skim her body wrapped in a short, tight dress. She looks okay. I’m almost out the door to check on our son when she yanks me back.
“Is Mace okay?” I whisper.
“What?” she sputters out. Her glossy lips purse as she tries to understand my question. “Yes, he’s fine. Why wouldn’t he be?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, disoriented. I place my hands on my hips, more confused than she is.
First, she scared the shit out of me. Second, she dragged me out of a beautiful dream, an alternate reality where we both have a happy ending. Three, she looks so pretty. Four, she smells nice. Five, I love her.
The blue eyes that narrow at me show she doesn’t appreciate my ogling. I back out of her space and drop to the bed.
“Why were you screaming?” I ask.
“You’re naked, Calum.”
I look down at my morning wood. Sleeping over was not the plan, and I couldn’t sleep in my clothes.
“That I am, Cathie. Does it bother you?” I ask. Colour rushes to her cheeks. Jason is not her man, but Amelia’s letter didn’t say if she had been with other men. For my sake, I hope not. I haven’t been with other women. “You’ve seen me naked too many times to count, Superstar.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” she says. But her fists clench, and her eyes stray to my erection twice. “I came to invite you for breakfast. Put your penis away. I don’t want you to scare my son.”
A smile grows on my lips. “Will do.”
“Stop smiling,” she grits out.
“Why not? It’s funny.”
She stomps her feet. “It’s not funny.”
Laughter escapes me, and my head falls back. Underneath all Cathie’s walls is my silly, stubborn, brilliant girl, and I’ll bring her back to the surface. A pillow smacks me in the face, breaking off my laughter. Cathie stands before me with the pillow at her side like an armour.
“I told you to stop laughing, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did,” I answer, completely sober. I’m not sure what causes the shift between us, but she draws back, and I point to the bathroom door. Moments like this have me questioning myself. Do I give up? “I’ll get dressed and be out of your hair. We’ll figure out something.”
Something that involves her talking to a therapist and giving me another chance.
“I… you don’t…” She closes her eyes, her fists unclench, and the pillow drops. I pick it up and fluff it on the bed to delay the awkward conversation. “I’m sorry for hitting you,” she says. I pin her with a soft glare. She doesn’t look sorry. “Thanks for carrying me last night.”
“You’re welcome.”
Cathie makes a turn, and I grab her wrist. She freezes but doesn’t spare me a glance. Current travels everywhere I touch. I stand, my dick pressing into her arse as I hug her from behind. It’s not about sex. It’s the intimacy I miss. Being able to do this without fear that she will lose her temper, use a gun or hit me with a pillow. I don’t want to be so anxious around my superstar.
When she doesn’t push me away, my arms lower to her belly. “I miss you, baby,” I say. Her breath hitches so softly I almost miss it. Knowing I lost my memory, I expected a difference in her attitude. “I know you think I’m the bad guy, but I’m not. I never received your emails.”
Silence. This is tough.
“I thought you had moved on, Miss Catherine J. That you had a kid, and you were happy with this new man. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know the kid was mine, that it was Mace.”
Nothing. I spin her in my arms and lace our fingers. She’s compliant when I pull her in for a hug and curve a finger under her jaw so our eyes lock. She’s compliant but quiet. Too quiet.
“Do you forgive me?” I ask. Her lips disappear into a line. I have more work to do. Did she hear anything I said? Does she believe me? I’ll never deliberately leave her and Mace. I’ve done stupid shit, but that’s a level of stupidity I’ll never sink to. “Do you need anything?”
“I need you to put on some clothes,” she says. Done. Her palms wrap around my forearms, and she shoves me gently. My heart splits into two, then the halves break. “Stop touching me.”
There’s no need to hide the hurt. I walk away from her and slam the bathroom door close. Alone with my thoughts in the bathroom, I fall to the floor and pull my knees under my chin.
What if I’m chasing shadows? That she’s in a secret relationship no one knows about. I clean up and change into my clothes from yesterday. Faced with the decision of telling her I took her underwear or going to the hotel with it, I choose the latter. I fold the sheet she gave me and place everything in the room in check. Stopping at the door, I give the place one last glance.
Her room is unlocked. I push the door open. Empty. I fist the panties and do the honourable thing by dropping it in her wardrobe. Hopefully, she doesn’t notice it’s clean. She wouldn’t mind that I washed it, right? Either way, I won’t be here when she finds it. Before she kicks me out, I will leave. We need a better co-parenting plan. I need to find a place. I can’t stay in a hotel forever. Maybe Caleb will let me squat in his place. He has too many empty rooms.
Mace’s crib is empty, but there’s a toy in it. I touch the baby monitor on the table by his crib. He has four teeth. Two sets on the upper and lower gum. I missed out on many aspects of his life, even Cathie’s. I missed her nineteenth and twentieth birthdays. I jog down the stairs to join them. Cathie is in a dining chair. She looks up at the sound of my feet slapping the floor.
“Hey,” I greet.
“Hey,” she replies.
That’s all.
Talk about familiar strangers, and we will be first on the list. She used to love me like I was the air she breathed. I whisk those thoughts away. They won’t do me any good. Mace doesn’t spare me a look. He suckles so loudly from his bottle. I think I can make a sound out of that.
“I’ll have to go to the store later,” she says when I’m seated. There’s a glass of milk and pancakes. I frown. I already got them some groceries. “I need to get some things there.”
“Things like what? Maybe I can help?”
“It’s fine,” she replies. Her eyes lift from the feeding bottle, and Mace grabs it with both hands. “If I need help, I’ll ask Jason.”
I stab the pancake, slicing through it so fast and hard I’m certain I’ll cut through the plate. “Of course you will, Cathie.” I chew angrily. I can’t scream at her, so the food bears the brunt of my anger. This is not my fault. Or hers. “You were never one to ask me for help, anyway.”
“Because I know better,” she bites back.
My fork clatters to the table. I push the heels of my palms over my closed eyes. She’s hurting me, and it feels like I’m not allowed to complain because I unknowingly made her go through hell. I open my eyes when I’m in partial control. For Mace’s sake, we owe each other civility. I take another bite of the pancake. It has lost taste. My appetite is gone, but I push through.
“Thanks for breakfast,” I tell her. I’m too sad to meet her gaze, so I keep it on our son. His eyes are closed. He must be having fun. He’s living his best life here. Waking, sleeping, eating. Getting everything at his command. I squeeze my knees. “It was lovely, Cathie.”
No response. I clear the table. I still remember the way to the kitchen. On my return, Cathie is in the living room with Mace, eyes closed. I stand a foot away from the couch, watching them.
“Do you need me to do anything before I leave?” That’s what my lips say, but my heart begs her to ask me to stay. Her eyes open. She sighs. “We need to figure out how to co-parent.”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “Or you can just let me have him. I’m doing a good job so far.”
“Yes, you are. You have been,” I reply. I sit on the armrest. If I stretch my arm, I will reach her. Will she still react to my kisses the same way? I place my hands on my knees to avoid them acting on their own. My body listens to her presence, not my brain. And she doesn’t want us. “But I don’t want you to do it alone anymore. Let’s do it together, Mama Mace.”
“Amelia,” she breathes out.
“Yeah.” I brave through my fear and squat in front of her. She allows me to carry Mace. My fingers brush his hair. It has the exact texture and curl pattern as mine. “She told me, Mama Mace.”
Cathie purses her lips. I want to kiss her, so I stare at our son. Does she remember the palm reader? The death was Amelia’s. The plane was in regards to me leaving the country. And the fights. My arms hurt from carrying Mace for too long, and she makes space for me to sit on the couch.
“You spoke to Amelia,” she whispers.
“She wrote me a letter,” I reply.
Hurt crosses Cathie’s face. “She wrote you a letter?” Her arms go around her waist. All she has to do is ask, and I’ll hug her. I need it more than she does. “She didn’t write me a letter.”
“Because you were with her every moment.”
Cathie twists her neck, her gaze softer than it was when she verbally attacked me.
“What did the letter say?”
“To take care of you,” I murmur.
The vulnerability in her gaze vanishes. She does nothing physically, but her walls rise again.
“I don’t need to be taken care of,” she says in a clipped tone. I don’t let it scare me. I push closer. Our knees touch, and she’s stunned into a temporal silence. “We are fine. I’m fine.”
“Even if the letter didn’t say it, I would still want to take care of you, Superstar,” I say.
“Stop calling me that,” she mumbles.
“You’ll always be my superstar, Cathie.”
The words are directed at Cathie, but my eyes stay on Mace. I draw a circle on his cheek. If only she would look at me with the same adoration he does. Mace is quiet. I flick the pad of my thumb over his nose, and he makes a joyful sound. Why can’t she be this easy to please?
“I guess that’s why you showed up,” she says. My head raises, but I train my gaze on Mace. It’s difficult to feel any emotion besides happiness when staring at him. “Because she asked you to, right? Not because you wanted to be here.”
“If you think for a moment that I don’t want to be here, then you don’t know me at all.”
“Maybe I don’t, Calum,” she says. “I don’t know you at all.”
Mace’s face pinches together. I think he’s about to cry. I would too, if I could.
“Can we please stop fighting?”
“We are not fighting,” she retorts. Mace whimpers. Her hands open and close, and she sighs softly. “Macey. I’m just… I cannot pretend we are fine. We will not act like everything goes away because you are here now and want to fix things. It doesn’t work that way, Calum. I have feelings that have been hurt for so long. Your words mean nothing to me anymore.”
“Catherine.”
“Maybe you should let me have Mace. You have a long career ahead of you. You will travel, but I’ll be in this house. Dad and Jason will help. Let me have him. You get to visit and call.”
“Why can’t we both have him? I don’t want to co-parent. I want everything. I want you and Mace,” I say. She yawns. At this point, I’ll have more luck talking to a tree. She reclines on the armrest to watch Mace. I try a different tactic. “Maybe you should join me on the tour.”
“Of course. It’s always about you.”
“You have a beautiful voice that should be shared with the world. That’s the truth.”
“Sounds like an excuse to drag me around because, of course, everything must go your way.”
“You are breaking my heart, Cathie.”
“That would only be fair,” she says. Her eyes meet mine, trapping me in the depths of their beauty and pain. I want to help her. “You broke mine first, even if it was unintentionally.”
“You should see a therapist.” Annoyance flashes across her face. I fix up by saying, “Amelia thinks you should see one. And I agree. You have so much pent-up anger you need to expel.”
Anger that shouldn’t be directed towards me. Why does Pete get a pass, and I’m punished every second? She jumps to her feet. With a polite smile, she retrieves our son from my arms.
I’m almost certain she will walk away, but she doesn’t. Fake smile intact, she tells me, “Amelia is dead. Dead people don’t think.”