The vow, p.24
The Vow, page 24
“Are you still awake because of what I said?” He groans. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“He can’t die,” I say. “If there’s anything I can do, I have to do it.”
“Roscoe may not even be able to hear you.”
“But maybe he can,” I say.
Eddy grabs a pillow off the sofa and lays it down on the floor, yawning again. “Well, you take a break, and I’ll do some talking.”
“Nice try,” I say.
“You’d rather I sing?”
Yes, actually, not that I’d admit it. “Roscoe doesn’t love you. Your songs won’t help.”
He smiles. “That’s true.”
With his face directly across from mine on the floor, inches away, it’s hard to remember why I can’t touch him. Or kiss him. Or slide my hand underneath his blanket and touch—but I have good reasons. Like earning money and paying my bills and providing for my family. “You should go back to bed. You’ll need to be in top form tomorrow to do all the vet things.”
A whining sound draws my eye. Snuggles is standing just behind him, glaring at me.
“Uh, your wolf hates me.”
“She likes you.”
“You’re clearly insane,” I say. “She’s staring daggers at me right now.”
“Snuggles attacks anything she hates,” Eddy says.
“This should reassure me, how?”
“You’ve been here for a long time, and you’re still fine.” He beams. “Now. Get to talking. Or singing, if you’d rather do that.”
“I’m not doing any of that while you’re in here.” It’s so dark that at least he can’t see the heat rising in my cheeks.
“But it was so cute,” he whispers. “Plus, think of Roscoe.” When I still don’t speak or sing or do anything other than glare, he says, “Please?”
As if she agrees, Snuggles drops to the floor with a whuffle, stretching and leaning up against Eddy’s other side. I’m a little jealous. I’m maintaining a careful distance, but she’s practically rolling all over him.
“He has to actually hear you for there to be any benefit,” Eddy whispers. “You know that, right?”
“You’re not playing fair,” I say. “I’m stuck here, so you’re supposed to keep your distance.”
His hand reaches out and pauses, right in front of my face. “What about me,” he says, “makes you think I’ll ever play fair?” His fingers brush the hair away from my face and tuck it behind my ear. He bites his lower lip, his teeth gleaming even in the low light.
“I’m only here because Roscoe’s injured and you’re a vet.”
“You don’t think fate might have had anything to do with it?”
“Fate?” I can barely stop myself from laughing. “No way. A meddling old lady, maybe.”
His eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
“Amanda Saddler was the one who offered me that shop for free, and I should have known she had a reason.”
Eddy’s eyes brighten. “Why in the world would she offer you a shop right by my house? What reason could she have for that?”
I can hardly admit that I got drunk and blabbed about how much I liked him.
“Amanda.”
I should never have met his eyes. Now that I have, I feel like I’m sinking. Even in the low light, they’re so unbelievably green. His shaggy hair’s falling over his forehead and blocking one of them, and it feels like a tragedy. I don’t even think about it, my hand just does the same thing his did—reaches out to correct a wrong. The world needs to see both those eyes.
But instead of being polite, instead of maintaining some semblance of space between us, Eddy catches my hand before I can touch him. His fingers caress mine, and then shift. His hand’s flat against mine until his fingers move just a little more and our hands are offset—and then he slides his fingers in between mine.
I can’t help the sigh that escapes. It’s involuntary.
“Did Amanda have a reason to offer you this shop in particular? Does she know we dated? And that now, we can’t?”
I swallow.
“She must know you’ve been seeing that boring bank guy.”
“He’s not a banker. He’s a vice president of—”
Eddy rocks up on his elbow, his hand releasing mine, and his fingers press against my lips. “Sh.”
“What?” I ask, against his hand.
“Don’t talk about him here, in my house. It’s a loser-free zone.”
“He’s not a los—”
His hand disappears from my mouth, evaporates, is gone, and then is replaced by something so much better—his mouth. It’s warm. It’s firm, and it’s an explosion of feelings and want and need. I’m already in his house, wearing his clothing, lying on his sleeping bag. And now, I finally have what I’ve been dreaming about for months.
The hand is back, gripping my cheek, dragging me closer, his bristly jaw pressed against me, and his lips moving against mine. He’s not gentle. He’s not calm. He’s definitely not in control, and it’s everything I hoped it would be.
It’s a bonfire on a parched mountainside.
It’s the beating of a thousand butterflies’ wings.
It’s a single glass of pure, clear water when I’m dying of thirst.
I need more than what I have, more than what he’s giving me. I slide my hand around the back of his head and cradle the base of his scalp. He shifts, moving closer, practically crawling on top of me. His blanket shifts, and when my free hand braces against his chest, I feel nothing but smooth, hard skin.
His groan is like gasoline on an already raging fire.
I explode.
No matter the cost, no matter the risk, no matter the danger, there’s no way I can’t be with Eddy right now. It’s been so long, I hardly remember what to do, but I have a feeling he’ll be more than capable of filling in the gaps.
And then I feel something strange—wet and raspy, and persistent.
“Oh my—your dog is licking me.”
Snuggles is wagging her tail as she enthusiastically licks my shoulder. When Eddy and I both freeze, she stops, looks from Eddy to me, and then yips once.
Eddy’s groan sounds like it starts in his toes. “I should have put her down when I got her. It would have been better than killing her now.”
She makes a strange whimpering, whining sound, and then proceeds to lick his face, too.
I can’t help it. I start laughing.
And then Eddy starts laughing.
When I collapse backward on my sleeping bag, Eddy does the same, lying right next to me. When he takes my hand in his, my heart flips. When he presses a kiss to my forehead, my heart flops. “It’s probably a good thing she was here.” He sighs gustily. “I might have done something stupid otherwise.”
“Oh, I definitely would have.”
“You’re too tempting, Mrs. Brooks.”
I glance at his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Dutton.”
He ought to cover himself up. He ought to be shocked. Instead, a cocky smile spreads across his face. “I showed you mine.”
“You have got to be kidding.”
“Mostly.” He still looks like a little boy when he grins like that. A very naughty little boy.
I shove him, and he reluctantly releases my hand and wraps the blanket around himself again.
“I don’t regret it,” he says.
“Regret what?”
“I’ve thought about kissing you every single day since we first met.”
My heart flips and flops over that one.
“I’ve never regretted living my life, you know.” He’s staring up at the ceiling, so I do the same. “I regretted that someone died, and of course I wished I hadn’t ever gotten high that first time, but I never wished I could go back and give up what I learned.”
I’m not sure what to say.
“Until I met you.”
Oh.
“It’s funny. Back then, I always thought I got off too easy.”
“You lost your record deal, and you lost your job, and you got sent home in disgrace. You were only seventeen years old.”
“If I had known then what it would cost me, if I had any idea that the thing I wanted more than anything else in the world would be ruined.” He shakes his head. “I’d shake my teenage self so hard.”
This hurts. It might even hurt more than losing Paul did. He was my husband, but he never really touched my heart. Not truly. “You don’t know whether you and I would even work.”
“Oh, I think I do.”
“You barely know me.”
“You’re stunning, and you’re smart, and you’re big-hearted, and you’re a dreamer, and you’re everything wonderful in this world, and you have no idea.”
“Oh, please. You make me sound so cliché, like the teenage idiot who’s perfect looking and amazing and everyone loves her, but she doesn’t know she’s beautiful.”
“I’m sure you know you’re beautiful to look at,” he says. “It’s your livelihood, after all. You don’t become an amazing influencer who sells designer clothing without having a beautiful face. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Huh?”
“You take great care with your appearance and it shows, but you’ve never been told your true value. You don’t believe in yourself because the people who matter to you didn’t believe in you.” He pauses. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m guessing your husband was a sack of crap who never supported you.”
“He earned a good living—”
“That’s paying for you. Supporting you is telling you that you matter, that you’re his everything. I don’t think he did a good job of that at all.”
I can’t keep listening to this, not without breaking down and bawling again. I suppose I could probably blame it on Roscoe, but he’d know I was lying.
“Maybe you know more than I thought, but I’m not sure—”
“My parents have spent their entire marriage miserable.” He turns toward me again, rocking up on one elbow so he can study my face. “It made me never want to risk something like that.”
“Probably smart. I’ve only really known one happily married couple, and the guy died of cancer.”
“Abby’s husband?”
I nod.
“Well, much like your sweet dog there, I don’t just take to anyone.” His voice drops to a whisper. “But also like Roscoe, when I met you, something was different.”
“What?”
“I’m saying, Amanda Brooks, that you’re home to me. And it may take some time, but I will do whatever it takes until you feel the same way.”
I can barely breathe—he shouldn’t be allowed to say things like that. “It’s not simple for me, Eddy.” I feel like the wicked witch of the East, or wherever she was from. “Imagine if, to date me, you had to lose your job. And on top of that, you’d lose it while living in this tiny little place where there’s literally no other way you could support your family.”
“Gosh, you’d have to really trust the guy, huh? I mean, assuming he was a guy who made enough money to support you and said children.”
“You’re saying that, before I start dating someone, I should be willing to lose my job?”
“No.” He sighs. “I’m not saying that. It’s not reasonable.”
I relax just a bit. “Thank goodness.”
“But.” He leans a little closer until his lips are right next to my ear. “I am saying that you could date me, in secret, for a while. And once you trusted me enough, then yes. You could pull that cord. And I’d keep you from hitting the ground, ever. Because unlike that first idiot you married, I’d support you until the end.”
Date in secret? “Would I keep dating Derek? As, like, a cover?”
At first, I think the growl is coming from Snuggles, but then I realize it’s her owner.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“Maybe you should. I don’t know. Having some kind of believable cover is probably a good idea, but I might have to kill him. I don’t share very well.”
I can’t even say I hate his reaction. At least he’s consistent. “I’ll think about it.” And even as I say the words, I remember that kiss. “Maybe I should say I’ll think about it constantly.”
“You do that,” he says.
A whimper from behind me shocks us both. I bolt upright, and he does the same a second later. Snuggles circles around and sniffs Roscoe, whose eyes are now open. He shifts and bats at me with one paw.
“He’s moving,” Eddy says. “That’s great.”
“Wait,” I say. “Does that mean he’s going to be alright?”
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” he says. “But it’s a pretty good start.”
21
Donna
Aiden comes home with a fistful of papers every single Tuesday. It reminds me that we live in a world of multiple-choice questions.
Thomas only likes things that aren’t orange. Does Thomas want to eat:
A: An apple
B: A mango
C: An orange; or
D: A carrot?
“But apples can be orange too.” Aiden frowns. “And mangoes can be red. Or yellow.”
“The apple on this sheet is red, though,” I explain.
We’ve taught our children the same lie that was foisted upon us, that life has right and wrong answers. Sure, there is right, and there is wrong, but that’s not true for every aspect of life. What Thomas wants to eat now may not be what he wants or needs tomorrow. Or next week. Or next year.
Sometimes the promises that we make are right when we make them, but as life changes, and as it changes us, those promises don’t serve us anymore. That’s when it’s time to cut off things that don’t help us, to eliminate things that don’t keep us safe. It may be hard, or it may feel harsh, but it has to be done. I’ve been thinking about Abby coming to help me, over and over.
“Hey! Wax ears! Can’t you hear me? Get in here!”
Dad’s nurse rounds the corner, her bag in hand. “You said you don’t have plans tonight, right?”
This new nurse is always eager for overtime—which would be nice if I ever had any place to go. “That’s right.”
“I’ve got an hour left after my break, but I figured I may as well haul all my gear out now.” She pushes past me with her huge bag—I’ve never known someone who ate as many snacks as Rena does.
“I’m here, Dad. What do you need?”
He shoves a bowl of soup at me. “That woman is poisoning me.”
Not this again. “Dad, she gets paid to take care of you. She has no reason to poison you. She told me herself that she needs this job.”
Dad’s eyes flash. “Are you calling me a liar?”
I sigh. “Not a liar, no. But I think you’ve misunderstood.”
He stands up, his blanket dropping down to reveal grey sweatpants with a sagging elastic waistband. I could happily have gone the rest of my life without ever seeing my dad’s shirt tucked into his tighty-whities. But no, I get to see it on the regular. “Get me something else.” He doesn’t wait for me to come and take the bowl. He just drops it, and potato soup splatters all over the floor, and the bedspread, and my shoes.
I’ve cleaned it up and am almost finished making him a ham sandwich when the nurse comes back inside. “Your phone’s ringing and ringing,” she says.
“No, that can’t be mine.” I feel for my pocket and realize I might not have brought it back in from the car. I consider handing her the sandwich to take to Dad, but that’ll just result in more food being chucked across the room. Whoever’s calling will have to wait a bit.
By the time I’ve convinced Dad that I had complete custody of the ham sandwich from its birth until its delivery to him, I’m ready to go back to work just to get away from him. “I don’t know how you do it,” I mutter on my way out to the car.
“I don’t care as much,” Rena says. “When patients are jerks, it doesn’t hurt my feelings, cuz they ain’t my family.”
She has something there. It’s much easier to ignore insults and criticisms and complaints when they aren’t coming from someone who’s supposed to love and support you, not that Dad ever really did that.
When I finally dig my phone out from where it fell between the driver’s seat and the center console, I have four missed calls. That must be some kind of new record for me. One is from Patrick, and one is from his lawyer—probably more threatening messages telling me not to go against the terms of the power of attorney ever again. But there are two missed calls from an unknown number.
No message.
It’s probably that prosecutor, getting creative. But I’m curious enough that I check the area code.
Houston.
I know exactly one person who lives, or, er, lived, in Houston.
And I owe her.
I wondered when she’d call me to ask me to spare the family ranch. I’ve been preparing what I’d say—how I could defend my actions and explain that it’s not me, but justice that necessitates their losing that ranch. According to Steve, she hasn’t even sold her house in Houston yet, so it’s not like she didn’t know there were risks to the prospect of coming out here. I can’t feel guilty for doing what needs to be done, either. I review my arguments one more time in my mind, and with shaking hands, I hit ‘call back.’
It only rings once before she picks up. “Donna.”
“Is this Abigail?”
“It sure is—Abigail Brooks.”
As if I know a lot of Abigails. “What do you need?”
“Well, that question could possibly require a very long answer, but I’m not willing to even try and answer that without some alcohol in me.” Her laugh is forced. “And on that overshare, I called earlier to see if you’d have any interest in coming to a girls’ night.”
“To a—” I must have misheard her. “To a what?”
“Have you met Amanda?” She pauses, but when I don’t respond, she plows ahead. “She’s an older lady who’s an absolute hoot, and she lives at the top of the canyon. Just up from us.”
Amanda Saddler changed my diapers. I can’t believe she’s telling me where she lives. “Of course I know—”
