Chapter Thirty-Three
ChapterThirty-Three
Elissa
We end up back at Riley’s parents’ house with a car full of shopping bags. Her mom only dragged us into the kid and baby stores, buying up everything she could. This baby is going to want for nothing for the next five years.
“Mom, you really went overboard. I don’t even know how Elissa and I are going to be able to bring this all back. She’s only got a tiny two-seater Corvette.” Brianne waves her tiny hand in the air, dismissing her daughter.
“Don’t worry. Your dad and I will come up to help you settle everything in a few weeks. I’m assuming you’ll be finding a new place to live for when the baby is born?”
Riley shifts uncomfortably and doesn’t dare to look at her mom. “Er…I’m not sure yet,” she mumbles. Brianne pauses in the driveway a few paces behind us, her hands heavy with bags. And as her salt-and-pepper hair ruffles in the wind, I catch a whiff of Chanel No. 5. What is it with rich, white, middle-aged women and Chanel No. 5? My hand laces around the crook of Riley’s elbow and I pull her to a stop with my free hand. She turns and her eyes spring open with confusion. “What’s wrong, Mom?”
“What do you mean, you’re not sure? Where’s my grandbaby going to live? You can’t possibly be thinking of staying with Elissa; you can’t do that to her and inconvenience her with a newborn,” Brianne huffs. Riley groans, and I jump in to save her.
“Actually, I offered for Riley and the little kiwi to stay with me. I really don’t mind. Besides, I know she’s going to need all the help she can get.” Her mother looks unfazed but perturbed. She clicks her tongue.
“How sweet of you, Elissa. And yes, she is going to need all the help she can get, and if that’s the case, she can move home, where her family will help her. Especially if Rhys isn’t going to be in the picture.” Riley’s eyes nearly pop out of her head at her mom’s words. Her face blooms into a deep shade of red.
“I will not be moving back home,” Riley sputters. “I can’t believe you’d possibly think that’s even an option at this point. I have a life in Toronto; I have a job, friends…a baby daddy. I can’t just leave everything behind because you don’t approve of how my life is shaking up right now.” Her mom’s face softens, and a small, apologetic smile stretches across her face.
“Oh, honey,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I just want the best for you and the baby, and moving home might be the simplest thing to do. Staying with Elissa, which is an incredible offer by her, is fine, but it’ll get cramped. Especially once the baby starts moving around.”
“Then we’ll find something bigger. I can afford it,” I break into the conversation. “Or Riley can have my apartment, and I’ll find another place to live. Either way, I’m not letting Riley suffer alone.” Brianne’s amber eyes fix on mine and they glimmer with gratitude and love.
“Thank you for looking out for my babies,” she says warmly. We all continue into the house, unloading bags upon bags of stuff. As if we didn’t already have enough stuff at our apartment from our last shopping trip, we now have piles more to add to the mess at home. I hope Riley kicks into the nesting phase soon, because we’re going to need the organizing skills.
As we’re in the living room, gathered around the couch, Brianne is showing Connor all the stuff “they” bought for Riley and the baby. Maternity clothing, baby clothes, toys, and other minor items. Connor seems detached, but he maintains an interested expression. I catch his eyes slide over Brianne’s shoulder to the muted TV behind her, and he nods along with what she’s saying. Her hands are waving frantically in the air, pulling stuff out of bags and holding it up for Connor, happiness shining in her eyes. I chuckle to myself at the dynamics between her and Connor’s enthusiasm levels in this current situation when my phone bleeps in my purse.
I rummage through my purse and find my iPhone and check the notification. My heart sinks. Another board meeting on Monday, and I wonder if Brandt is going to send his assistant in his stead again. A wistfulness aches in my chest knowing that Brandt is actively avoiding me for some reason. I thought we could have been mature about everything, but I suppose we can’t. After the whole falling-out, I thought we could work together amicably — we were for a while there. Then, suddenly, he started sending someone else to take notes on his behalf. Part of me wonders if he’s moved on and couldn’t care less about this part of the company now that he’s no longer entangled with me and my father. Maybe he’s transitioning to being more of a silent partner.
My heart aches for him and my body craves his touch. It’s only been a handful of weeks since we’ve been together, but it feels like years. What has this man done to me? I’ve never been one to pine over a man, to care enough to have him be part of my world, or want him to be part of my world. But every fibre in my body calls out to him like a siren in the night, begging for him to come to me. Can he hear the song? Will his boat crash into me?
“Elissa?” Riley whispers, nudging me. I shake the thoughts from my head and turn to face Riley. Her eyes are worried, and I see my reflection in her eyes. There’s a distant look in my eyes and a soft, sad smile touching my lips. I’m not sitting as tall as I usually do. I’m slumped, and I feel closed off. I feel…broken. Her hand laces through mine and she squeezes, as if she can read my mind and knows I’m thinking about Brandt again. “It’ll work out,” she whispers again. I send a thank-you with my eyes, gently squeezing her warm hand back before pushing myself off the couch.
“Well, I’m going to go get ready for a run,” I say, picking my purse up off the ground and tossing my cell back into it, trying to ignore reality for a little longer. I still have tomorrow before I have to worry about whether I’ll be seeing Brandt at the office. I vault up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and dump my purse on the bed when I get to my room.
The room is decorated in calming seafoam greens and corals. There are little gold accents placed around the room, giving the atmosphere a relaxing, beachy vibe. I walk over to the corner of the room by the closet where I’ve set my suitcase and haul it over to the bed. I grab some running clothes and a puffer vest because it’s still chilly outside. After I’m changed, I lace on my runners and twist my earbuds in.
When my feet strike the pavement of the subdivision, the tension of the last few weeks drains from me, emptying me enough to hold in all my emotions again. A light drizzle pings off the waterproof material of my puffer vest, and my nose fills with that fresh rain scent, mixed with wet asphalt. It invigorates me, propelling my legs a little faster, while Body Bag by Machine Gun Kelly, YUNGBLUD, and Bert McCracken pounds in my ears, making my blood pump. The air rushes out of my mouth in clouds as I huff, pushing my body further, and pushing the thoughts of a golden-brown-haired god of a man who makes my body feel electric out of my mind.
···
Two hours later, I’m sopping wet with sweat, heaving heaps of air into my lungs as I walk the rest of the last few kilometres back to the Jaimesons’ place, my hands planted on my hips, cooling down to Headlock by Imogen Heap. I walk the last bit of trail around the creek and down Tweedsmuir Avenue West. I pull the headphone case out of the pocket of my jogging tights and pop the earbuds in, allowing myself to enjoy the sounds of the late afternoon outdoors. It’s been a while since I’ve jogged around Chatham. Across the road there’s a small park with two baseball diamonds, and bundled-up kids are playing on the equipment. Their laughter and screams ring through the air, and the early spring birds chirp, making their presence known.
My breathing has finally regulated and I’m almost back at the Jaimesons’ house when I pass by a house that has a black Dodge truck with the words “Collins Construction” in orange, and a little house logo. My heart rate spikes again as I think about Brandt, and I tell myself that it’s just a coincidence that there’s a construction company with his last name. But there’s a nagging voice at the back of my head that’s telling me his parents did something with construction, and it’s not a coincidence. No, that can’t be it. There’s no way. I’ve got to be mistaken. I resolve not to look up the information when I get back because I don’t want this revelation to eat me alive, but also I don’t want to find out I’m wrong.
It’s still bugging me as I continue down the street and finally make it back to the Jaimesons’ front porch. I peer over my shoulder and the house is still in view. I pray it is just a coincidence. Pushing open the door to the foyer, I toe off my running shoes, shout a greeting into the house, and jog upstairs to my room. A wave of heat crests over my body at the lingering thoughts of Brandt. I strip off my wet clothes and throw them in the laundry basket in the corner, then strut to the en suite washroom, butt naked. My skin is flushed and warm, and I can’t tell if it’s the effects of the run or my thoughts.
I step under the steaming hot water, allowing it to wash over me. My hope is that it will cleanse me of these thoughts, but I only get revved up more. My hands travel across my body, tickling, dancing, and caressing my curves. I cup my breasts and close my eyes, pretending it’s Brandt’s big, muscular hands touching me, him taking my pebbled nipple between his thick fingers, rolling and pinching it. My mouth falls open and a soft groan rings through the washroom. I clamp my lips shut and bite down on them to stop more sounds from escaping.
Daring further, my hands slide down my stomach, and a middle finger slips between my lips and strokes softly. The water cascading down my body makes the swipe smooth and pleasurable. Using two fingers, I stroke my clit again and again, building faster and faster. I hitch my leg on the piece of stone that juts out from the wall as a shaving platform, and turn to face the water, allowing the pulse from the shower head to massage my clit while I rub. I imagine that Brandt is tongue-deep inside me; his scratchy stubble brushing against my thighs as his tongue slips in and out of me.
I press two fingers in deep, bending and angling them so I reach the spot where my toes start to curl. I groan in frustration because it’s not as good as having him do it to me. My body craves his touch, his tongue, his pleasure. I’m slowly building to the crescendo, to the point where I shatter. But I’m growing impatient. With him, it’s so easy. With him, it takes no time at all. I squeeze my eyes closed tighter and brace myself against the wall with my free hand as I inch closer to the finish. Keeping Brandt at the forefront of my mind, I picture the last time we were together. I think about how good it felt having him slide in and out of me, filling me to the brim. How it felt when he came inside me, and when my pussy clenched around his thickness. And I’m there. I’m tipping over the edge, and it’s a pleasant little release, but leaves me more frustrated than satisfied.