Unbreakable Page 10

  “But it’s not just that.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “She’s so damn beautiful. And sweet. And vulnerable. I always thought she was nice, but now I can’t stop thinking about her in ways that are . . . not nice. They are not nice at all. They’re downright filthy.”

  Lucas chuckled. “It’s okay. You’re entitled to your own dirty thoughts.”

  “Yeah, except last night I did more than just think.”

  He paused. “What did you do?”

  “I kissed her.”

  “Against her will?”

  “No. It wasn’t like that. But it was kind of . . . sudden. And even though we both wanted it, we know it’s too soon. She said she’s still healing, and she knows I am as well.”

  “She sounds very smart and self-aware.”

  “She is.” I frowned. “But it’s not her self-awareness I want to fuck.”

  Lucas laughed, and I set my glass on the coffee table to bury my face in my hands. “God, I’m such an asshole. Tell me to leave this poor woman alone.”

  “I can, but I don’t think you need me to. You’re not an asshole, Henry. You’re a guy who’s been really unhappy for a long time, and you’re lonely and angry and frustrated, but you’re not an asshole. You’d never do anything to hurt her.”

  “I know, but . . .” I sat back again in defeat. “It just really sucks that assholes like her ex-husband get everything handed to them—the perfect wife, awesome kids, dream life—and they can just abandon it and start again. It’s so easy for them.”

  “Because they’re narcissists. And they don’t care about anyone but themselves. She deserves better, Henry.”

  “Yeah.” I grabbed my glass and took a drink.

  “But she also deserves the time she needs to figure out who she is now and what she wants—and so do you. I think it’s smart to go slow in this situation. Be cautious. Maybe don’t put yourself in situations where you’re going to be tempted to do what you did last night.”

  “Yeah.” I rubbed my chin. “She wants to work in the winery. She asked me to teach her.”

  Without saying anything, Lucas leaned over and poured a little more scotch in my glass. “Fortitude, my friend.”

  I lifted my glass. “Here’s hoping I have some.”

  Nine

  Sylvia

  “So? What happened?” As soon as she got her coat off, April cornered me in Mack and Frannie’s living room, dropping down next to me on the couch.

  “We talked,” I said, glancing around to make sure no one else could hear us. It seemed like we were safe. Our parents were helping Mack and Frannie with dinner, and the kids had been charged with setting the table. Chloe was at Oliver’s parents’ place, and Meg was at Noah’s mom’s house.

  “I’m going to need more details, please.”

  I lifted my shoulders. “He kept trying to apologize, but I told him it wasn’t necessary. He said it wouldn’t happen again, and I agreed that would be best. He stayed on his end of the couch, and I stayed on mine.”

  “That’s it?” April looked a little disappointed. “Huh. I brought wine for nothing.”

  “Well, what were you expecting to happen?”

  “Honestly? More ass-grabbing.”

  “I have to admit, I thought about it. I haven’t felt very desirable in the last year or so. And now all of a sudden to have someone telling me I’m beautiful and sexy and he wants me . . . it’s messing with my head. It feels so good to hear those things, I just want more. It’s like a drug.” I shrugged. “Maybe he feels that way too.”

  “So you think it’s just a surface-level attraction kind of thing?”

  “Who knows?” I tossed my hands in the air. “I really like him. He’s gorgeous and sensitive and smart, and the physical attraction is definitely strong. But I haven’t even been here a week. And we agreed that it’s not worth ruining what could be a nice friendship—not to mention that he works for our family. He feels totally weird about that, and I don’t blame him.”

  April sighed. “Yeah. Me neither.”

  “Plus, he said something else that I keep thinking about.” I played with the end of my loose French braid.

  “What?”

  “He said he doesn’t know what he wants. To me, that means he recognizes that whatever we’re feeling could just be a temporary physical thing and he might never want more than that.” I shook my head. “I can’t risk that. I can’t put myself in a situation where I might develop feelings for someone, and then it turns out he doesn’t want me that way. I just went through it, and it tore me apart.”

  April put a hand on my leg. “Be right back. Grabbing that wine.”

  I smiled, though I suddenly felt like crying. “Okay.”

  While she was in the kitchen, I wondered where Henry was tonight, if he was thinking about me. Would he come into work tomorrow? Would it be wise to stay away if he did? Or would we be perfectly fine, now that we’d gotten that kiss out of the way and openly discussed how we felt about it?

  When April came back, I decided to ask her.

  “I need some advice,” I said, after she handed me a glass of something cold and white.

  “I don’t know if I’m the right person to ask, but I’ll try.” April settled next to me again.

  “I’d like to learn more about the winemaking at Cloverleigh, maybe start working on a regular basis in the winery, and Henry agreed to sort of take me on as a student.”

  “Okay.” April took a sip of wine.

  “It would mean spending time together, sometimes alone. Do you think it’s a bad idea? Should I just ask Chloe to train me if she can find the time?”

  “Do you want the truth?”

  “Please.”

  “I think you should be careful.” She reached out and touched my wrist. “But only because I can see that you’re really confused and torn about your feelings for him. And I know how lonely he’s been. It’s easy to sense the chemistry between you two, and I just feel like it would be really hard to toe the just-friends line if you had to spend all kinds of time alone together.”

  “It would be,” I admitted.

  “I know I encouraged you the other night to get to know him, and if I’m honest, I’d sort of hoped something might develop over time, but I didn’t think it would happen so fast.” She smiled. “I thought maybe you’d be more like Meg and Noah—what did it take them, fifteen years?”

  I laughed a little. “Yeah, it definitely makes sense to be just friends first.”

  “And I’m not saying that you shouldn’t learn everything you can from him—he’s brilliant at what he does, and I’m sure he’d be a great teacher. But training under Chloe would probably be safer.” She shrugged. “Maybe let a little time go by before spending time alone with Henry? A couple weeks? Let the flames die down a bit?”

  “It was just a kiss,” I said defensively. “There weren’t exactly flames.”

  She tossed me a knowing look. “You don’t grab a guy’s ass while he’s kissing you if you don’t want to know what kind of heat he’s packing, that’s all I’m saying.”

  Now she had me laughing again. “There was some serious heat,” I confessed.

  “See?” She clucked her tongue. “Damn that old clock.”

  “It was probably a sign,” I said with a sigh. “It was Grandma Sawyer telling me our timing is all wrong.”

  “Listen, if Grandma Sawyer can send us messages about our love lives from beyond the grave, I’m taking that clock home and asking it some questions.”

  “Like what?” Curious, I took a sip of wine. It reminded me of the riesling Henry and I had tasted the other night, and set butterflies loose in my belly.

  “Like where is my soul mate and why is he avoiding me?”

  “April, you’re not even looking for your soul mate. You spend all your time at work—you’re as bad as Henry.”

  “I know.” She looked into her wine. “But I’m going to make some changes in the new year. I promised myself.”

&n
bsp; “Me too.” I put a hand on her leg. “We can promise each other and keep ourselves accountable.”

  She nodded, her expression going surprisingly serious. After a moment, she said, “It’ll be eighteen years soon.”

  I was shocked. April never brought up her past. “I know,” I said softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  While I was wondering if now was finally the time to insist she unpack what she’d gone through all those years ago, Frannie called everyone to the table. Before I could even remind April that I was here if she ever wanted to talk, she jumped off the couch and headed for the dining room.

  Slowly, I rose to my feet and followed her, thinking that no matter how well you knew a person, you could never really know the depth of what they were feeling.

  Everyone was so good at hiding things.

  * * *

  I took April’s advice and stayed away from the winery for the next three days. It wasn’t easy, especially because I saw Henry’s truck in the lot every single one of those days from morning until night, but I told myself April was right. Why torture Henry or myself by spending time alone together? Maybe if we gave this thing a chance to cool down, it would.

  I used the time to contact a real estate agent my mom recommended, discuss with her what I was looking for in a home and what my budget was, and upon receiving her list of available properties, drove by them all with my dad. Many I was able to cross off my list right away, but there were several I was interested in going through. I asked my agent to schedule appointments for the following week, after January first.

  I also spoke with the realtor who had the listing for the Santa Barbara house, who said she’d put up the sign and had many interested clients already. Would it be okay to start showing it?

  I said of course, hung up, and took my kids to a movie to prevent myself from curling up in a ball on my bed and crying over the thought of strangers traipsing through what had been my dream home, trampling over all my happy memories—as if Brett hadn’t trampled them enough.

  The kids had finally reached him on Christmas Day, and thankfully, the asshole had had the heart to spend time talking to both of them. Whitney was actually smiling when they hung up. “He said we can go to Aspen next week,” she told me excitedly. “Without Kimmy—just the three of us!”

  “That would be fun,” I said, wondering how he had talked Kimmy into that.

  Turns out, he hadn’t.

  On Saturday afternoon, the day before the kids were scheduled to fly out and stay with him for the last half of the break, he texted me.

  Brett: Call me. Need to talk.

  The last thing I wanted to do was talk to him, but in case it was something related to the kids’ visit, I called back—from the privacy of my bedroom, in case I had to swear.

  Which I did.

  “Yes?” I said when he picked up.

  “Listen, there’s been a change in plans. The kids can’t come here tomorrow.”

  My blood iced over, and then boiled. “Why not?”

  “Because Kimmy is having a difficult pregnancy and she needs peace and quiet.”

  “So leave her alone while you take the kids to Aspen like you fucking promised.”

  “I can’t leave her alone—she’s pregnant, and she doesn’t want to be alone.”

  “Do I need to remind you of all the times you traveled for work when I was pregnant?” I seethed.

  “Look, I’m trying to be better this time. Do things differently.”

  I had all kinds of things to say about that, but I let it go. “So bring her along. She needs to learn to get along with your children.”

  “I suggested that, but she feels it would be too much. The last time Whitney was here, she was very disrespectful to Kimmy.”

  I snorted. “Says who? Kimmy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, tough. Whitney’s your daughter, Brett. If she’s being needlessly disrespectful, discipline her.”

  “Look, Sylvia,” he said in that arrogant, know-it-all tone that drove me nuts, “the kids need to stay with you for the rest of their break. That’s all there is to it.”

  I inhaled through my nose and exhaled through my mouth, trying to gain control of my anger and not lose my shit that he was telling me how it was—again.

  “Fine with me. So tell them,” I said coolly. “Call Whitney’s cell phone right now.”

  “Yeah, well, the thing is, I was kind of hoping you would tell them. I’m actually at work right now, and—”

  I burst out laughing, but it wasn’t funny. “You’re fucking crazy. I’m not telling them.”

  “Sylvia, this isn’t the time to be vengeful.”

  “Oh, I’m not vengeful,” I told him, although my hands shook with fury. “I don’t give a shit what happens to you, good or bad. But I’m not doing you any favors. You don’t want them to come tomorrow, you tell them that. I’m not crushing their feelings as a favor to you. No fucking way.”

  “You know, I didn’t have to let you take them out of the state,” he spat. “I didn’t fight you on anything so it would make this easier on you. Can’t you do this one thing for me?”

  “Gee, let me think—no. Fuck no. You’re on your own, Brett. Just like you wanted.” I hung up, threw my phone on my bed, and put my head in my hands. My entire body was trembling with rage. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to kick him in the balls. I wanted to scream so loud, he’d hear it. I wanted to crawl into my bed, hide beneath the covers, and not come out.

  But I couldn’t.

  Even if Brett told the kids himself, I was the one here. I was the one who’d have to pick up the pieces of their broken hearts. I was the one who’d have to console them and make sure they knew they were loved and cherished and wanted.

  I sank down onto my bed, wishing someone could please fucking do that for me.

  * * *

  An hour later, I was still lying on my bed when I got another text.

  Brett: I told them. Maybe you should check on Whitney. She seemed upset.

  “She seemed upset?” I yelled at my phone. “Of course she did, you dipshit asshole!”

  Hating him all over again, I changed his name to Dipshit Asshole in my Contacts, got off my bed, and went to her bedroom door.

  “Whit?” I knocked twice. “Can I come in?”

  “Why?”

  I swallowed hard. “I want to talk.”

  “Fine.”

  Slowly, I turned the knob and pushed the door open, entering the room. Whitney lay on the bed on her side, facing away from me, but I could tell she was crying.

  “Did you talk to your dad?”

  “Yes. He doesn’t want us to visit. After he promised we could go skiing.”

  Shutting the door behind me, I went over and sat on the edge of the bed. “I know. He hasn’t been awesome about keeping his promises, has he?”

  “He doesn’t love us anymore.”

  “Of course he does.” I brushed her blond hair off her forehead.

  “I hate him,” she said, crying harder.

  I leaned over, pressing my lips to her temple. “It’s okay to feel angry, sweetheart. All the things you feel are okay.”

  “He cares more about her than he does about us. And now he’ll care more about that baby,” she sobbed. “He doesn’t even want us anymore.”

  “No, honey. That’s not true.” Even if it felt true.

  She rolled away from me and sat up, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “It is true, Mom! And I hate him for it! And I hate that I still love him and miss him! I don’t want to.”

  It was taking all my strength not to break down and cry too, but I wanted to be a rock for my daughter—one solid thing she could depend on. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “No, you’re not. You don’t even care that he left,” she wept. “You’re not even sad.”

  “Of course I’m sad, Whitney. Why would you say that?”

  “You don’t even cry!” She
jumped off the other side of the bed and faced me, mascara-streaked tears streaming down her face. “You act like it doesn’t even matter that he left us! And you must have done something to make him want to go, because why else would he do it?”

  I closed my eyes, willing myself to be strong and remember she was just a child, a hurt, scared child, whose world had been turned upside down. Everything she thought she’d known for certain was in question now. She didn’t feel safe, and she needed someone to blame. Her dad wasn’t here, but I was.

  “I did cry, Whitney.” I opened my eyes and looked at my daughter. “For a while, I cried every night. And I still cry sometimes. But I make sure never to let you hear me, because I don’t want you to think I’m not okay, or that things won’t be okay again. Because they will.”

  “How?” she cried, wiping her cheeks with both hands. “I feel like I’m just supposed to accept this new life with no dad, when I didn’t get a say in it!”

  I nodded, swallowing hard. “I get it. And I’m sorry. I wish things were different, honey. But they’re not. And the truth is, I didn’t do anything to make your dad leave. I know you’re looking for something to point to, some reason he did what he did, some way to make it make sense, but . . . I can’t really make sense of it either. I didn’t want this, but I have to accept it and get through it just like you guys do.”

  She hurled herself back onto the bed and wailed into her pillow, but she didn’t protest when I lay down beside her and rubbed her back. There was something to be said for a good stress relief cry. A few tears slipped silently down my cheeks too.

  Eventually, her sobs quieted, and then stopped.

  “We were really unhappy, Whitney,” I said softly. “So unhappy that we couldn’t go on like that.”

  “I know.”

  “It has nothing to do with how much we love you. Even though your dad is being selfish right now, he does love you.”

  She sniffled and turned her head toward me, speaking over her shoulder. “He’s being an asshole. You can say it in front of me.”