Текст книги "Give Me Yesterday"
Автор книги: K. Webster
Соавторы: Elle Christensen
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Give Me Yesterday
Copyright © 2015 K. Webster & Elle Christensen
Cover Design: All By Design
Photo: Dollar Photo Club
Editor: Premier Romance Editing
Formatting: Champagne Formats
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other Books
Dedications
A Note about the Authors
Quote
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
The Accident
Erased by K Webster & Elle Christensen
Acknowledgements from K Webster
Acknowledgements from Elle Christensen
About Author K Webster
About Elle Christensen
Other Books
Books by Author K Webster
The Breaking the Rules Series:
Broken (Book 1) – Available Now!
Wrong (Book 2) – Available Now!
Scarred (Book 3) – Available Now!
Mistake (Book 4) – Available Now!
Crushed (Book 5—a novella)—Available Now!
Disgrace (Book 6) – Coming Soon!
Defiance (Book 7) – Coming Soon!
The Vegas Aces Series:
Rock Country (Book 1) – Available Now!
Rock Heart (Book 2) – Available Now!
Rock Bottom (Book 3) – Available Now!
Rock Out (Book 4) – Coming Soon!
The Becoming Her Series :
Becoming Lady Thomas (Book 1) – Available Now!
Becoming Countess Dumont (Book 2) – Available Now!
Becoming Mrs. Benedict (Book 3) – Available Now!
Alpha & Omega (Part One)—Availbable Now!
Omega & Love (Part Two)—Available Now!
Apartment 2B (Standalone Novel) – Available Now!
Love and Law (Standalone Novel) – Available Now!
Moth to a Flame (Standalone Novel) – Available Now!
Erased (Standalone Novel)—Available Now!
The Road Back to Us (Standalone Novel)—Available Now!
Give Me Yesterday (Standalone)—Available Now!
Books by Elle Christensen
The Fae Guard Series:
Protecting Shaylee (Book 1) – Available Now!
Loving Ean (Book 2) – Available Now!
Chasing Hayleigh (Book 3) – Coming October 2015!
Saving Kendrix (Book 4) – Coming Soon!
Forever Fate (Book 4.5 – a novella) – Coming Soon!
Erased (Standalone Novel) – Available Now!
Give Me Yesterday (Standalone Novel) – Available Now!
Another Postcard (Standalone Novel) – Coming Soon!
To my husband…my whole, bloody, beating heart. I love you forever.
To my co-conspirator, writing with you is effortless and I look forward to many more books by the dynamic duo.
–K-
To the love of my eternity, there is no greater gift than never having to say goodbye to you.
To my writing buddy, we make magic happen. Let’s never stop.
–Elle-
A Note about the Authors
It wasn’t long ago that K Webster and Elle Christensen had a great idea. They would write a book together. Neither was familiar with the process of co-writing a book, but together they forged through it and Erased was born. They enjoyed their collaborative efforts so much so that when Elle mentioned to K that it was time to write another book, K wholeheartedly agreed and dropped all projects to write this book with her.
With Erased, Elle had a story she wanted to tell. Together, they hashed out the plot over and over again, trying to find a way to fuse their brains as one. And they did. Then, months later, K had a story she wanted to tell with Give Me Yesterday. This time, the process was nearly effortless, as they’d discovered their brains were already one.
The writing was a flurry of back and forth, giggles, and tears. But they both knew that despite the sadness that weaved throughout this book, they’d also bring joy and pleasure to the readers. Writing for this dynamic duo was nothing but a pleasurable, effortless experience for both.
With Erased, Elle wrote Slade and K wrote Joss’s POV. And with Give Me Yesterday, they switched things up for a little variety and Elle wrote Victoria while K wrote Chase. They’re both fans of writing the male POV so you can guarantee the next book they write—and there will definitely be more books together—that will most definitely be the only thing they’ll argue about.
K and Elle thought you would enjoy hearing the process of how they created Give Me Yesterday. Now, they hope that you adore another book baby they made together!
Love, K Webster and Elle Christensen
"True love doesn't have a happy ending.
True love has no ending."
–Unknown-
“Well, fuck me.”
I glare at him. “Been there, done that, Ben. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.” Sarcasm drips from my tone, but it’s either that or dissolving into a puddle of tears. Tears are a luxury I don’t have; strength is the only option right now. The word “pregnant” on a tiny little stick packs more punch than a right hook. I look at Ben standing there, staring at the life-changing piece of white plastic, his mouth hanging open, and his hand trembling.
I would give anything to read his mind right now. Ben and I began dating almost two years ago, at the start of our freshman year of high school, when we met at football practice. The tall, blonde, blue-eyed cheerleader and the muscular, strawberry blonde, blue-eyed quarterback.
Cliché, right?
Maybe so, but Ben is a straight A student who plays for the love of the game, rather than to make it big in the sport. He pulled me aside after practice the first day and told me he was taking me out to dinner that Friday night. After the most romantic date, he told me I was his and I had no arguments. Declarations of I love you followed in the next month and we’ve been inseparable ever since.
Ben’s it for me and I know he feels the same. We had such grand plans, after graduation, we’d go to the same college, earn our degrees, and get married. Then build a life together with two-point-five kids and a white picket fence. Ben always laughed when I described this idealist life, his ocean blue eyes would sparkle and he’d give me the sweetest kiss, promising to paint my fence any color I want. Anything to keep his Sunshine smiling bright and lighting up his day.
On Ben’s sixteenth birthday, four weeks ago, I gave him the most precious gift I had. We’d been burning for each other, coming so close to making love, but always choosing to save it for the perfect day. Taking the train into Chicago, we had dinner at a cozy little French restaurant. Then we took a walk in the unusually warm March weather, holding hands, and sizzling from the attraction arching between us. I led him to a boat docked out in a marina in Burnham harbor. My best friend’s family owns a slip and her parents were out of town, so she gave me the keys and told me to “rock Ben’s world.” We spent the most beautiful night together and I knew our future would be just as perfect as that night.
It seems like a lifetime ago, almost like a movie reel that I’m watching. This can’t possibly be my life, can it? Getting pregnant when you’ve used condoms is something that happens in books and movies.
The pregnancy test says otherwise, don’t you think?
I’m scared—absolutely terrified—that Ben won’t step up to the responsibility of being a teenage dad. We have two long years of high school left.
What if he decides that we aren’t worth navigating the rocky path ahead, and instead, he leaves me behind? Can I do this alone?
I’m still in shock, but somehow I know that I’ve already begun to love the little life inside me.
“Ben?” I try to keep my voice strong, but I can hear it shaking, my nerves getting the best of me.
He looks up, as though he’s just remembered I’m there, and his mouth begins to work, but no sound comes out. I’m preparing myself for him to run, but praying that he will be the Ben I love, who will always stick by me. Then, he reaches for me and pulls me into a tight embrace, his strong arms tempting me to let go and fall apart.
I feel his lips brush my temple and his warm breath on my ear. “We can do this, Victoria. It will be hard, but we’ll do it together. We’ve got this.”
He leans back and stares deeply into my eyes, his blues so intense they have darkened to sapphire. Another moment goes by, then the corners of his mouth drift up. “It’s what we planned, right? We’re just going about it a little backward.”
The relief is so great that it crashes over me like a wave and I can’t hold back anymore. I start sobbing into his shirt, and he simply holds me, swaying lightly, helping me purge all of my emotion. I love this man.
We’ve got this.
Two years later
There’s quite a crowd in my parent’s backyard today. It’s doubly large with Ben’s family here too—all here to celebrate.
We did it.
We graduated high school and we’ve both been accepted to Northwestern on scholarship. They have married, student housing and a daycare center on campus, and we move in six weeks from today. I’m so excited, I can barely contain it!
When we told our parents that we were having a baby, we were shocked at their response. While they were disappointed in us, they told us they would help and support us, as long as we continued to work hard, finishing high school and going to college. Ben asked my father for permission to marry me—I suddenly understood what it meant to swoon—and while I could see Dad’s hesitancy, there was respect in his eyes. We had a wedding in this very backyard two months later and my parents fixed up their basement like a little apartment for us to live in.
It wasn’t easy taking care of our precious little Sarah, learning to be a wife and mother at sixteen. My mother and Ben’s were amazing, and although they made Ben and I live up to our responsibilities, they stepped in whenever we hit a breaking point, giving just enough for us to keep going. Ben and I both quit sports, but since our goals were academic, we didn’t miss it much. We were so in love, and when our baby girl arrived, we couldn’t imagine ever being without her. She is the light in our lives, the best part of every day, every moment, and sometimes I wonder if it’s possible for a heart to burst because the love inside it is too great to be contained.
I grasp the zipper of my white graduation gown and the sunlight sparkles off of the tiny diamond in my wedding ring. Ben promised to replace it after college, but I love it, and I don’t need anything else. I divest myself of the scratchy polyester robe as I scan the crowd until I spot them. My husband is sitting in a lawn chair, playing peekaboo with our eighteen-month-old daughter. As Ben’s gotten older, his hair has darkened, but Sarah’s white, bouncing curls are tinged with red, like his, in all of his baby pictures. Her eyes are mine, though, wide and round, cornflower blue. Her cherub cheeks are pink as she giggles, the sound tinkling on the breeze. My heart squeezes tight again, the pain making me a little breathless. I never understood the saying, “I love you so much it hurts,” until I fell in love with Ben and Sarah. But, it’s the best kind of sting, not one of heartbreak, but the one that proves this is my reality, rather than a dream.
Ben sees me walking toward him and stands, whispering to Sarah and pointing my way. “Here comes your beautiful mama, Sarah Bear.”
She claps and giggles, calling out Mama and reaching for me.
Pain. This is real.
Once I’m standing in front of them, Ben winks at me—I make every effort not to melt—kisses my nose—mission failed—and passes Sarah into my arms. She slaps a hand on each of my cheeks and smacks a wet kiss on the end of my nose, just like her daddy.
Pain. This is real.
The crowd moves around us with hugs and congratulations. My mother takes Sarah over to the play set my dad built, with all the other children. Our large yard is fenced, but Ben’s younger sister, Chelsea, and my cousin, Danielle, are keeping an eye on them. I blow Sarah a kiss and turn to the table where Ben and I open gifts and cut our cake. He leans in and brushes a kiss over my ear, whispering that he loves me. Laughter and fun are all around me, my life is so full of love, and I’m grateful. Grateful for every pulse of that beautiful emotion as it expands and once again, the sting reminds me that this is my life. It’s real.
It’s time to eat, so Ben and I walk hand in hand over to the play area to get our daughter. Ben’s brow furrows and he looks around the yard. I follow his gaze and see nothing, then our eyes return to the group of children. I realize then why he is confused. There is no little tow-headed girl, in a sunshine yellow dress. I sigh, irritated with my cousin for not noticing Sarah’s absence. I warned her that Sarah like to play hide and seek, without telling you that she is going to hide.
“Chelsea?” Ben calls to his sister, frustration evident in voice, but my anxiety ratchets up when I hear the tinge of panic. “Where’s Sarah?”
I let go of Ben and begin walking around, searching through each crevice of the play set, then to every bush and tree, under all the tables. Ben is frantically looking on the other side of the yard and we continually call her name.
Chelsea stands among the other kids, wringing her hands and crying. I want to scream at her. How could she lose track of a toddler? But what good would that do in finding her?
Suddenly, I hear Ben shouting Sarah’s name and I run over to the gate in the fence. It’s open. Ben is dashing around the front and I follow at breakneck speed, my eyes darting everywhere all at once, my breath caught in my lungs, my heart no longer squeezing gently, but in a vice. Ben comes to an abrupt stop and I slam into him, bouncing back and almost falling to the ground. He catches me even though his eyes are glued to something in front of him.
“Victoria, stay behind me. I don’t want her to see you.”
Ben is facing the street and I’m instantly shoving down the hysteria bubbling to the surface. My body begins to bolt forward, but Ben push me behind him. “Stop, Ben. Where is she? You found her?”
“She’s across the street, Sunshine. Hiding between two parked cars.” I can hear the trembling in his voice, the same shaking that has ahold of my whole body.
I know why he wants me to stay behind him, and I have to fight every instinct not to run to my baby girl, but every time Sarah sees me, she takes off in my direction full speed, with no regard to what’s around her. So, I stand still and wait.
“Sarah Bear,” he calls. “Stay right there. Daddy is coming to find you. Stay hidden, sweetheart, and I’ll find you.”
He begins to walk forward, and I step off to the side, my heart in my throat. I watch him step into the street, glancing both ways before beginning to cross the empty road. Our house sits on a main road in town, with a higher speed limit because technically it isn’t a residential street. Thus the fenced yard—my parents never let me play in the front—keeping me away from the danger of speeding cars.
Part of me is so relieved to find her across the street safely, the other is freaking out as I imagine her crossing it in the first place.
“I’m going to find you, Sarah Bear!” Ben calls again, “Stay in your hidey hole.”
I begin to breathe a little when he is two feet from the shoulder of the road and Sarah is almost within his grasp.
“Victoria!”
No, no, no!
My mother calls my name, her voice frantic. I watch in slow motion as Sarah’s head whips in my direction when she hears my name. Ben is leaning over to pick her up and before he can grasp her, she bolts past him into the street. I scream for her to stop and take off running, but am yanked backward, my father saving my life from the car that would have hit me had I leapt from between the parked cars, on either side of me.
Life speeds up again and Ben is running after her, scooping her up into his arms, never stopping as he crosses over the two lanes on the opposite side. I hear the loud blaring of horns and just like that, life drops into slow motion again. There are suddenly cars coming in both directions, forcing Ben to choose to run back, or continue on to my side of the road. He chooses to keep coming and is narrowly missed by a sedan that swerves to avoid him. Across one lane, one to go. An oncoming car honks and swerves left to get around him and an SUV in the next lane, going the opposite way, does the same.
The world shifts under my feet as I realize that a silver truck is behind the SUV, unaware of the deadly game of Frogger going on. The sound of screeching breaks pierces the air as the truck spins and the next time I blink, there are three vehicles twisted together in the center of the thoroughfare. There is ringing in my ears, a sound so loud that my head is splitting open from the agony.
Pain. This is real.
A figure lays unmoving on the ground, three feet away from the wreck. The large frame of a man, wrapped around a tiny lump of sunshine yellow fabric.
The sound grows louder, my throat feels as though it is being ripped to shreds, and I realize as I tear toward them, that the sound is screaming.
It’s me.
Screaming.
My bare knees hit the ground hard and I barely register the sharp bite of glass digging into my flesh. The only thing I feel is numbness. There is blood, it’s all over the ground.
All over them.
Someone pulls on my arms and I think they tell me not to move them, but how can I stay away. My heart is on the ground in front of me, and I need to know that it is still beating.
I can’t see through the waterfall of tears, and I can’t hear through the pounding in my head, so I lay my hands on the two huddled bodies in front of me and when I don’t feel my heart beating, I know.
It’s stopped.
There is no pain.
This can’t be real.
Three Days Later
The sun is shining, and it glints off the caskets as one by one, they are lowered into the ground. One large, with lavender roses laid across the top, holding half of my heart. The other so tiny, with pretty lavender daisies in the arms of a fuzzy stuffed bear, I don’t know how the rest of my heart fits inside it.
How can the sun shine?
Doesn’t it understand that it’s lost its brightest rays?
After the accident, I was lost to the numbness, and I hung on to that, knowing that without the pain, there was hope that this wasn’t real. But when the doctor brought me a simple gold band and a tiny gold locket, I felt it. The anguish ripped through me, every cell, every nerve, my whole body was tearing apart from the agony. Pain. No. I won’t believe it.
Pain. This is real.
I’m alone, despite the crowd of people around me. People talk to me, but I don’t hear them. I want to ask where the third casket is. I can’t live without a heart, right? And yet, here I am, my heart and soul buried, and somehow breathing without them.
As I face the fact that I am forced to live, I realize I’m grateful for the absence of these vital parts of me. Without them, I feel nothing. I walk away from everyone, ignoring each person as they call to me, I leave all of my emotions behind.
And, even though this is my reality, I feel no pain.
“Now,” I narrow my eyes and pin several of my smart-ass students with a firm stare, “Don’t think by choosing ‘Power and Dominance’ as your topic that I’m going to accept a bunch of BDSM papers. If you took anything out of this class, you’ll understand that it is much more than floggers and calling someone Daddy.” An eruption of laughter roars in front of me. “Anyone who chooses that topic will be graded harder than say one that nobody ever chooses, like ‘Cognitive Biases of Decision Making’ or ‘Parental Investment.’”
The chuckles die down and several of them groan, clearly they were all headed to Tumblr to begin their research right after class.
I smirk at their disappointment and continue. “You have two weeks to complete this assignment as per what the grading rubric specifies. Wednesday and Friday of this week, we’ll use our class time in the Media Center to begin our research. All papers are due the week before finals and it is twenty percent of your overall grade, as you’ll see if you refer back to your syllabus. Anyone have any questions?”
Mack, the class idiot, raises his hand. “Two weeks isn’t very long to do a twenty-five-page research paper, Dr. Monroe. Especially when finals are around the corner.”
Several other students groan in agreement.
I frown and scrunch my eyebrows together as if to contemplate his complaint. “You know, Mack, you have a point. Forget the assignment.”
When they all cheer, I laugh. “Kidding. Do the assignment. Don’t be lazy. Most of you are U of C seniors and plan on taking internships at psychiatric wards and private practices this summer. Do you think they want lazy asses?”
Some of the class chuckles at my cursing while others are grumbling at my not-so-funny joke.
“I’m here to make it tough,” I regard Mack with a serious look and push my black-rimmed glasses up my nose, “Because those patients out there are going to be one helluva lot tougher than I am. Suck it up and do the assignment. See you guys Wednesday and don’t forget to have your topic posted on Blackboard before next class.”
The class groans and shuffles as they gather their things. Cort, my teaching assistant, strolls down the steps and drops his bag on my table. He’s been my assistant for two years now, but I’ll lose him in a few weeks once he graduates. Then it’ll be a nightmare selecting another to take his place. The guy’s familiar with the way I like to grade and keeps me organized. It sucks that I’ll have to start all over in the fall.
“You even had me going and I know never to believe your goofy ass,” he gripes and rolls his eyes at me as he leans against the table.
I chuckle as I gather my notes and tuck them into my thick, leather folder. “It’s twenty-five pages. They’ll get over it—so will you.”
“I, for one, could have used two weeks of extra study time,” he pouts.
Shoving the folder into my messenger bag, I raise an amused brow at him. “Really, Cort? You typed up the rubric and input my notes into Blackboard. Did you really think I’d waste all that work and you’d get off easy?”
He runs a frustrated hand through his overgrown blonde hair and frowns. “Wishful thinking I guess. I’m stressed and have a lot going on right now with my classes—all of which are unloading a crap-ton of assignments at the last minute. But I should have known better with your hard ass.”
I stand and walk over to him and then slap him on the shoulder. “Come on. I’ll take you to dinner, you big baby. I’ll tally the topics as they come in today and tomorrow and then add them to the spreadsheet. You can,” I throw up air quotes and mimic him in a whiny voice, “study.”
He swats me away as he laughs and shoulders his bag. “You’re a prick, Chase. No wonder you can’t keep a girlfriend.”
I flip him off and grab up my messenger bag. “I think you deserve an ‘F’ for that smart-ass comment. Besides,” I tease with a wag of my eyebrows, “They couldn’t handle the Chase.”
He shoves open the classroom door and I follow out after him. “Most women,” he mutters as if he’s the professor and I the student, “prefer to catch the one they’re chasing. You never settle with any of them.”
I scratch the dark scruff along my jawline as I ponder his words. “I stayed with Savannah for a while.”
He scoffs from beside me. “A while? Chase, you dated her for three weeks. The girl had practically planned your wedding and named all your future kids. And when you got bored of her and broke it off, who do you think she pestered for weeks afterward?”
Cort may be my teaching assistant and eight years my junior, but we’ve become pretty good friends. Unfortunately for him, he’s been privy to several hairy breakups. Including Savvy.
“She didn’t pester you,” I laugh and hold open the door that leads outside and to the parking lot.
This time he bellows. “Fucking asshole! She stalked me on Facebook and sent me like fifty-seven messages asking me to ‘talk’ to you. I finally had to block her ass. So yes, she pestered the hell out of me.”
My thoughts turn to Savvy. Sweet, petite, pixie of a woman, Savvy. Her bobbed brunette hair and dimples drew me in. Her neediness and pressure to define our relationship was what drove me away. The woman was great in the sack. It was after we crawled out of bed that things became a problem.
“Maybe I should call her up. Invite her to dinner with us,” I poke at him to see if he’ll bite.
“Do it and I’ll torch your baby,” he threatens, taking my bait.
As we stride through the parking lot, I search for my baby. She’s all curves and gloss. My baby doesn’t whine or complain when I leave the toilet seat up or ask me to call her my girlfriend. In fact, she purrs when I get her all revved up.
“Do it and I’ll torch you.”
He bursts into hysterics as we approach my midnight black with charcoal racing stripes, Dodge Challenger. I bought her new in December—a little present to myself. Her payment is more than my mortgage, but she’s worth it.
“You know,” he muses as we toss our bags into the back and climb in, “maybe I should become a college professor instead. Dr. Murdock drives a six-year-old Toyota Camry with hubcaps and wears stained button downs. You, on the other hand, look like you fell out of a magazine with your model hair and drive a badass car. I wonder if I could convince Mom to skip on my interning with him and change things up a bit. Chicago needs better professors. Who better than fresh from the class of 2015?”
I shake my head ruefully at him and push my key into the ignition. After I turn her over and rev the engine, I glance over at him before putting it in gear. “Considering Dr. Murdock is the partnering psychiatrist at your Mom’s private practice, I don’t think that’d be a good idea. Besides, I like when she invites me to dinner a couple of times a month. She’d kick my ass if I influenced you to switch careers and my home cooked meals would dry up.”
Rolling out of the spot, I lean back against the cherry red leather bucket seat and cruise out of the parking lot. I hang a left onto 59th and head toward our favorite Irish pub, O’Malley’s which sells the best Galway oysters and draft beer.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think my mom would ever cut you off. She says I need a good, male role model in my life.” He growls out the last part with a bitter bite.
I clear my throat and change the subject. Cort has the corner on deadbeat dads. But, he doesn’t like talking about it, and I don’t push. “How’s Blair?”
Glancing over at him, I’m rewarded with a toothy grin. “God, man, she’s amazing. I’m going to marry that girl one day.”
“Did she finally start giving head?” I laugh.
His cheeks redden, but he nods. Lucky bastard. “Like a champ,” he says with a whistle. “But that’s not why. She’s great and I love her.”
Love.
Such an unfamiliar word in my head.
No matter how many times I lecture on the topic of love and mating from a psychological perspective, I have a hard time grasping it in my own head. Aside from my mother, father, and sister, I don’t love anyone. Several girls I dated came close, but it was never more than a lovely infatuation. Never love. Never the all-encompassing, do anything for the other, blinding type of love.
I wonder if I’m even capable.
I wonder if I even deserve it.
Once I thought I was in love and it was torn from me.
Love’s a touchy fucking subject.
“Blair’s a good apple,” I agree, driving out depressing, self-loathing thoughts as I pull into O’Malley’s parking lot. “She’s good for you.”
We climb out and make our way inside the smoky pub. Claudia owns the place and squeals when she sees me walk inside. The fifty-something woman with her horrible blonde dye job painted on her shoulder-length hair bounces over to me, suffocating me with not only her hug but also with her God-awful perfume she no doubt hoarded from the eighties.
“Missed you, handsome,” she gushes and finally releases me. Her brown eyes are dulled from years of drowning her sadness in alcohol. Tiny wrinkles around her heavily rouged lips though, indicate she’s spent the past few years finding happiness again.
I chuckle and flash her a flirtatious grin. “You saw me Saturday, gorgeous. It’s not like I don’t come in here at least once between weekends.”
Her cheeks redden and she waves us over to a booth near a window. “You’re too young to be flirting with an old lady like me. Sit your cute butts down over there and I’ll bring you a couple of tall boys. I’ll have Baxter throw in a batch of fried pickles too.”
Cort rolls his eyes at me as we slide into the booth. He’s used to my effect on every woman I encounter. Claudia’s different than most women, though. She’s a true friend and we understand the pain we each force below our surface, hidden by jokes and smiles.
“Maybe you should hook up with her,” he jests after she scurries off. “That is unless you’ve already hit that. You dirty bastard.”
“She’s my friend, asshole. We’re in the same group that meets each Saturday.” As soon as I blurt out the last bit, I clamp my mouth shut, grinding my teeth into dust and wishing I could erase my words.
He quirks a blonde brow in question, the clever guy not missing a beat. “You ever going to tell me about this group? What is it? A singles group? It can’t be AA because you drink more than me and I’m the college kid.”
Guilt surges through me at not ever having told Cort about what my group is. He’s never asked so blatantly before and I’m unsure how to respond. My group is very near and dear to me. Each person in there is closer to me than my own mother. Our pasts are all brittle and broken. It seems traitorous to share what we are about with someone who could never understand.
