Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Bellamy
“Lauren, wait up,” I say as I approach her car.
She makes sure Bree is buckled in the back seat and then closes the door. Her face is riddled with suspicion as she turns around and faces me.
“I’m sorry for all that,” I tell her.
“I’m not. Coy is wonderful.”
I bite back a snort and try to cover my frustration with a smile.
This is typical behavior. Women go crazy for Coy and lose their heads. I’ve seen it a thousand times over the years.
“Look,” I tell her as gently as I can. “I’ve known Coy my whole life. We were best friends growing up, so I know what I’m talking about.”
Lauren flashes me what I call her Parent Smile. I don’t get it often, but I know I need to back off when I do. It’s the I’m-the-parent-not-you-so-please-kindly-remember-that sort of thing.
And she’s right. She is Bree’s parent, and she ultimately knows what’s best for her child. I’m not saying I disagree with that. I couldn’t parent a porcupine. But this thing with Coy? I am an expert on it, and it’s my duty, my obligation, to press the issue.
“Bellamy, I adore you. You know that,” she says, placating me. “But I don’t understand. Why this isn’t the best opportunity for my child?”
I stumble for words.
All of the reasons I loathe Coy Mason form too long of a list to explain to Lauren in the five minutes she’s going to give me to explain.
Maybe less. They are also inherently personal.
And while Lauren has breached the employer-employee line with me many times—specifically the time she told me she got a butt plug stuck, which I didn’t know was possible—I’m not ready to hang my dirty laundry out for her to see.
Even if it is cleaner than her sheets.
Besides, I see the look in her eye. She’s downright charmed by Coy. Anything I say will come across as bitter or childish, and it’s neither of those things.
Well, it’s not childish. Yet it very well might be bitter.
“He’s just arrogant. And his reputation is horrendous,” I say, mentally patting myself on the back for going the high route. “Exposing your sweet Bree to that kind of behavior is not a good idea. Heck, Lauren, he answered the door today shirtless.”
Her eyelashes flutter.
I roll my eyes and then mentally kick myself for it.
“I understand your position. I do. I’ve read the magazines,” Lauren says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “But my husband has the same kind of reputation in certain circles, and Bree lives with the man.”
Oh, that helps.
Lauren opens the driver’s side door. “I’ll talk to Sean about this when I get home, but I think this is a dream come true.
You know Bree has her piano recital coming up.
Can you imagine what this would do for her confidence?
And the fact that he’s home while she’s on this break from school?
This could be …” She looks at the sky and smiles like God himself beamed a present in her lap. “An answer to my prayers.”
It takes everything I have not to laugh.
Coy? An answer to prayers? More like a curse of a Category 5 hurricane that leaves devastation in his wake.
She starts to climb inside the car.
“Lauren,” I say, my voice almost pleading. “I wish you’d hear what I’m saying.”
“Haven’t I?” She rests a hand over her steering wheel. The giant diamond she got as an anniversary gift last month glistens in the sunlight. “I’ve heard what you said, and I simply do not agree.”
My heart skips a beat as I realize that as soon as she gets in her car, this conversation will be over.
I’m going to be face-to-face with Coy Mason every day if she has her way.
And Coy will go along with it until he skips town and goes back to his highfalutin life with his fancy actress girlfriends, where he’s once again too busy to remember the people back home.
But the truth is that Coy won’t be home long—just long enough to get under my skin if I let him. If we’re around each other, he’ll tease me, torture me, and make me remember how he isn’t a dick all the time. That part of him exists. He’s well-loved around here for a reason.
If I have to see him, I’ll be forced to witness non-asshole Coy, too.
I’ll watch him dote on his mother, laugh with his brothers, and I’ll be reminded of all the good times we shared.
When we were the best of friends. When we shared secrets.
When I looked at him and always believed I’d have him in my corner.
That was before I knew how the world worked. That was before I knew how the world would change him.
“I’ll tell you what. I’m going to go in late to work tomorrow,” Lauren says.
“I won’t drop Bree off until around nine.
Why don’t you think about it and get back to me?
If this is something that you truly don’t think you can handle, or don’t want to handle, then I’ll see if I can find someone else to watch her while Coy is home and willing to help her. ”
My mouth drops open. “You’d do that? You’d fire me?”
“It’s not firing you. It’s working around your life choices.” She slides into the driver’s seat. “I would bring Bree back once you’re ready to take back over.”
“I’m ready to take over or keep my job now.”
She smiles. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow at nine, and you can take Bree to your neighbor’s house. Unless Sean objects, of course, but I don’t see that happening.”
I take a step away from her car. Lauren closes the door, starts the engine, and backs away with a little wave.
Irritation surpasses the shock coursing through me, and I fire a glare at the Mason house. I pivot on my heel and march toward my house.
“What the heck do I do now?” I groan.
The hardwood creaks as I step inside and close the door behind me. It was a laundry room and a little kennel area where I used to keep my Pekinese dogs when I was a little girl sitting on my right. On the left is a storage closet and a room where we just shove stuff.
I pass through the oversized kitchen filled with my mom’s rooster collection—one of the many things my dad refused to change after Mom passed when I was ten—and into the living room.
A game show blares on the television as my dad naps in his brown leather recliner. I grab the remote and turn it off. He opens his eyes and looks at me, a smile spreading across his face as his eyes adjust to the light.
Seeing him like this makes me physically ill.
“There she is,” he says sleepily. “How are you, baby girl? I haven’t seen you today.”
“Hey, Daddy.” I pat him on the top of his hand before sitting on the loveseat next to his chair. “How are you feeling?”
His eyes flutter closed as he struggles to stay awake.
My question was rhetorical.
His skin has a yellow tint that the doctors tell me isn’t good but is expected.
I’m supposed to keep an eye on it and not let it get too yellow without calling the doctor’s office, but I don’t even know what that means.
I rely on the nurses who come every morning and some evenings to try to help me gauge it.
Dark brown spots dot the skin on his hands, and the veins look like they’re sitting barely beneath the surface. His lips are thin and discolored, and when he smiles, it’s like he can’t quite find the energy to spread it across his cheeks.
My heart splits in half every single day because it never gets easier. I brace for the way my breath stills in my chest and for the pain that actually feels like my insides are being ripped in two.
It comes swiftly, almost buckling me with its intensity even though I experience the sensation every single day.
I absorb it, but then I press on because that’s what I have to do.
“Did you eat today?” I ask as I slip off my shoes and tuck my feet underneath me.
He nods and licks his lips. “I had some tomato soup. The nurse made me some. She said we’re about out of crackers, so can you get some more, please?”
“Absolutely,” I say as happily as I can. “What else sounds good? What about some pears? We haven’t had any fresh pears in a long time.”
He opens his eyes again and peeks out at me. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips.
“Pears?” he asks.
“What? It’s better than lemons.”
He tries to laugh, but the movement makes him cough instead.
I grab a throw pillow next to me and pull it against my stomach. I hold my breath and refuse to blink, so I don’t cry.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asks once he gets himself under control.
“What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Don’t lie to me, Bellamy. I might be old and sick, but I’m not blind. Yet.”
I narrow my gaze. It makes Dad smile, which makes me smile.
I consider lying to him anyway, even though he knows he’s right.
He doesn’t need my bullshit non-problems when he’s lying there trying to fight cancer.
On the other hand, he can read me like a book.
If I don’t tell him what’s wrong—or give him some semblance of an answer that he’ll believe enough to let it go—he’ll sit here and fret.
And that won’t do either of us any good.
“Coy is home.” I say it as though it’s not something wrong with me but more like it’s a fact. Like the sun is shining or soft-baked chocolate chip cookies are superior to any other cookie in the world.
Dad’s body shakes as he chuckles.
“What are you laughing about?” I ask.
“How’s that boy doing?”
“Oh, he’s as frustrating as ever.”
Dad grins. “I suspect that he’ll always be frustrating. That little shit has caused me more gray hairs than anyone but you.”
“First of all,” I say, smacking him lightly on the arm, “I haven’t caused you that much worry in your life, and you know it.”
He sighs as dramatically as he can manage. “You worry me every morning when I hear your little feet hit the floor. You’ve caused me more worry than ten daughters ever could’ve.”
I gasp. “I think you’re being a little dramatic, Daddy.”
“Oh, I think not.” He closes his eyes and rests for a moment. “Did you tell Coy to come see me?”