Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
TALIA
Foster was mad. When I stacked our sins against each other’s, his outweighed mine tenfold. He didn’t get to be mad. So why wouldn’t this guilt go away? It had been plaguing me for three days.
“Okay, spill,” Lyla said the moment she flipped the lock on the coffee shop’s front door. “Who was that smoking hot guy earlier?”
“Someone from the past.” I sighed, toying with the rag I’d been using to wipe down tables. “It’s complicated.”
The same explanation I’d given Foster on the sidewalk earlier. It sounded just as trite and pathetic as it had the first time.
“You don’t want to talk about it, do you?” She walked to the table, taking one of the chairs and turning it up onto the table.
“Not really.”
She frowned but didn’t hound me for details as we worked in silence to close the shop.
I finished wiping down tables and turning up the chairs while she worked behind the counter, cleaning the espresso machine and hauling the unsold pastries to the refrigerators.
The light beyond the windows faded fast until darkness had settled and the glow shining through the glass was from the downtown streetlights.
Lyla cleaned the kitchen as I swept and mopped the floor, the two of us making short work of the closing routine.
Part of me envied Lyla for owning this shop.
She set her own hours. Her choices were her own.
There was freedom here I’d never have as a doctor.
Not that I could imagine doing anything else with my life.
But it made times like this special. I never complained about cleaning the coffee shop or folding linens at The Eloise or washing dishes at Knuckles or moving cows at the ranch.
My family was full of entrepreneurs and had been for generations. The ranch was the biggest enterprise, but the Eden name was splashed all around town. If we didn’t currently own a given business, chances were, one of our relatives had in the past.
In recent years Mom and Dad had pushed hard to retire by selling some of their investments. Giving each of us kids the option to step in.
Only Mateo and I hadn’t taken over a business. My youngest brother was flying planes at the moment, but I hoped he’d find his way back.
Montana had a way of tugging us home.
I’d made the decision to live my life here, beside my parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.
And now Foster.
He was staying in Quincy. I refused to acknowledge the relief I’d felt when he’d told me he wasn’t leaving. I also wasn’t letting myself picture the hurt on his face when he’d asked me if I’d been ashamed.
Never. I’d never once felt ashamed of loving Foster. But I should have told everyone about him. I should have been honest about our breakup.
Lyla came out of the kitchen with a towel in her hand. “I’m done in the kitchen. What else needs to be finished out here?”
“Nothing.” But instead of picking up my coat so we could go to dinner, I turned over one of the chairs and slumped in the seat. “That guy? That’s Foster. The man I dated my senior year of undergrad.”
“Really?” Lyla rounded the counter, taking down another chair to sit at my side. “I was busy and didn’t catch his name when he was talking to Knox. He’s gorgeous.”
“I know.” I groaned. Foster had only gotten sexier with age. This would be so much easier if he weren’t still the handsomest man I’d ever seen.
“Why is he here? Think he wants to rekindle things?”
“He’s here . . .” For me. To make amends. To talk. Maybe to seek forgiveness. He hadn’t come out and said he wanted to try again, but that kiss the other night was impossible to ignore. “It’s a mess.”
“You broke up because you moved, right?” she asked. “If he’s living here, maybe the timing will be right this time.”
“He broke me,” I whispered.
“What do you mean he broke you?” She sat up straighter. “What happened?”
The story of our relationship rushed from my mouth, like it had been waiting years to be freed. By the time I was done, there was as much hurt on Lyla’s face as there had been on Foster’s earlier.
“You never told me any of this,” she said.
“It’s not exactly easy discussing how your boyfriend married your best friend.”
“College roommate,” she corrected. Lyla had always referred to Vivienne as my roommate, not my best friend, because that title she’d claimed in the womb. “I get that it’s not easy to talk about, but you should have told me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Knox didn’t know about Foster either. Does anyone?”
“Dad does. Foster was supposed to help me move, but after the breakup, plans changed. Dad came to help me with the U-Haul. I was pretty upset. He knows what happened and you know he doesn’t keep secrets from Mom.”
“Unlike you.” Lyla scoffed. “I’m mad at you.”
“You’re not alone,” I muttered.
“We don’t keep stuff like this from each other.” She flew out of her chair, swiping a can of glass cleaner and a rag from the counter. She went to work on the display case—the display case I’d already cleaned—erasing invisible fingerprints and smudges until the glass squeaked.
“I’m sorry, Lyla.”
She whirled, eyes blazing. “I tell you everything. You’re not just my sister, you’re my best friend. You help me through the bad days. You didn’t even give me the chance to be there during yours.”
“I’m—”
“Shush. I’m on a roll.” She started pacing. “You’re brilliant. You’re an incredible doctor and you help so many people. But you suck at letting anyone help you. Would it be so hard to not be perfect?”
Ouch. “I’m not perfect. Far from it.”
“I know you’re not perfect. You can’t cook worth a damn. Not that you’d ever admit it. Not that you’d ever admit how you’re really feeling. Here you are, after working all week at the hospital, cleaning my coffee shop.”
“I don’t mind.”
“That’s not the point and stop interrupting me.” She held up a finger. “I don’t need you to help me clean. But I know you want to, so I let you. Get the difference?”
I kept my mouth shut.
“That was a real question you have to answer.”
“Yes.” A smile tugged at my mouth. “I should have told you about Foster a long time ago. I promise to tell you the next time a man breaks my heart.” Not only because I should lean on my sister, but because it was important to Lyla that she be given the chance to show up on my bad days.
“Thank you.” She gave a single nod. “So what are you going to do about Foster?”
“Ignore him?”
She laughed. “A single woman does not ignore a man who looks like that.”
“God.” I dropped my face into my hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know. He kissed me three days ago, and I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Good?”
“Remember when we were fifteen and you got your first kiss?”
Lyla walked to her chair, taking a seat with a dreamy smile. “Jason Palmer.”
“I made you tell me every single detail that night.” We’d snuck out to the barn so that no one would hear us talk. I’d been curious and excited and a little bit jealous. Lyla had always been more daring with boys. “You told me it was better than rainbows.”
“I do love rainbows.” She gave me a sad smile. “This kiss with Foster wasn’t just good.”
“It was better than rainbows.”
“Oh boy. As your sister, I’m obligated to hate him for what he did to you. But as your best friend, I will support you in whatever you decide. What are you going to do?”
“Ask him to leave?” I shrugged. “I can’t. It’s too late.”
Lyla reached over, placing her hand over mine. “Too late for rainbows?”
“The rainbows disappeared in the storm.” The storm of Foster and Vivienne.
“Then maybe you can get some closure. He wants to explain. What’s the harm in letting him try?”
The harm? That I’d fall for him. And he’d break me again.
We sat together in silence for a few moments, until I stood and put my chair on the table. Then together, we walked to Knuckles and ate a quiet dinner. When Lyla started to yawn through dessert, I signaled for the check.
“I love you,” I said, giving her a hug as we stood between my Jeep and her car in the alley behind the coffee shop.
“I love you too. Good night.”
“Night.”
Lyla drove in one direction on Main as I turned the other. Except when I reached the street that led to my neighborhood, I kept going straight until I found myself on Lower Clark Fork Road, following the dark curve of the river out of town.
Maybe Lyla was right. Maybe I needed closure with Foster. Maybe then the pain and frustration would go away. Maybe then I could truly forget.
And damn it, I had a few things to say myself.
Foster was mad at me. But he didn’t get to be mad.
With every mile, my heart raced. My own anger blossomed until my grip on the steering wheel was punishing.
The lights inside the gym streamed through the windows into the night.
I parked, hopped out of the Jeep and hurried inside, not giving myself a chance to second-guess this visit. To cool my emotions.
Heat blasted me in the face as I stepped inside.
The gym was nothing like it had been earlier in the week. In the center of the space was an elevated boxing ring. The mats and skirt around the base were a bright blue. Black ropes stretched from corner to corner. And in its center, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, was Foster.
His body, those cut muscles, glistened with sweat. His chest heaved with labored breaths.
Desire pooled between my legs. My core clenched. Fuck. Coming here tonight was a mistake. He was too tempting.
Watching him train had always been such a turn-on. During his fights, I’d sit on the edge of my seat, hoping that he’d win. Panicked that he’d lose.
But on the nights he won—which was most of the time—we didn’t make it out of the parking lot before I dragged him into the back seat of his truck and tore his clothes off.
“What do you want, Talia?” Foster’s voice held a razor-sharp edge.
I wanted to look at him and feel nothing. I wanted to be able to rip that photo of us in a hundred pieces. I wanted to sleep at night and not have his face haunt my dreams.