Some Like It Fox, page 13
My head cocks to one side. “What is it?”
She swallows. “I was one of the last people to see Aria alive. I’m the one who told the twins to go home, that night right before their accident, knowing neither had a driver’s license. They snuck out of the house to follow me to some party—one of them must have overheard me talking about it on the phone. I didn’t realize they had followed me. I told them to go home, then they did, and she died. It haunted me. It still haunts me.”
I brush her hair back from her face. “You’re no more to blame than I am.”
She bites her lip. “It was my fault. I should have left with them. I should have made sure they got home safely. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to leave the party. The guilt ate me alive for years. And then I shared the details with Mindy and she completely lost it on me. She blamed me for Aria’s death and never let me forget it—for years.”
Ah. So this is the source of the fight. “She didn’t mean it. She was hurting too. I’m sure she used it as an excuse. When you’re hurting, the easiest thing to do is project all those feelings onto someone else.”
She frowns. “Why couldn’t she be like us and just blame herself?”
I smile. “Most people like to have someone else to lash out at.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I know. You’re right. She admitted as much to me last year and apologized and all that. But for nearly a decade, she treated me like shit. And now I’m supposed to what, pretend it never happened?”
Her guilt, her pain about the past wraps around my heart and squeezes. It mirrors my own. “No, you shouldn’t pretend anything. You’re right to feel hurt. To be upset, to be angry, to feel whatever you feel. But I don’t think this is about forgiving her. Can you forgive yourself?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Can you?”
“I don’t know either.” I pick up her hand, weaving our fingers together.
Her eyes dip to where our hands are joined. “Maybe we can both try.”
“Maybe we can.”
She bites her lip. “Although, I’m not sure anyone in my family will forgive me when I tell them about something I’ve been keeping secret for a while.”
“What is it?”
She squeezes my hand. “The thing is . . . I’ve been looking for our mom.”
Chapter Eighteen
Taylor
I hold my breath, waiting for his reaction.
His head dips and he brushes a kiss against my mouth. A silent message that whispers understanding. “Why haven’t you told them?”
The tension inside me relaxes. I should have known he would respond with curiosity and not judgment. “They hate her. Rightfully so. She left when we were so young, and none of us really understand why. I was only two. The twins were barely one. We never knew her, and I guess I want to know what she was like. Finley and Mindy are the only ones who remember anything about her, and they don’t talk about it.”
His free hand trails up my arm. “What made you want to look for her after all this time?”
“We were going through Dad’s room and I found a picture of her and it was,” I shrug, “I don’t know, it was weird. I had never seen her before and I had never thought about her much. She was always some distant, unimportant figure from my past who didn’t matter. But then seeing her face, it was like suddenly she became a real person with hopes and dreams and demons. I guess . . . I want to know if I’m like her.”
His brows dip. “What do you mean, like her?”
My fingers twitch, still in his grasp. “Never able to stay in one place. The type of person who can leave everyone behind.”
The itch under my skin, the thrumming in my veins to go and go and never stop . . . is that why Mom left, because she felt the urge to run like I do?
I want to hate her. But am I no better than she is? Is being a deadbeat genetic?
He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it. “You love your family, Taylor. You don’t leave them behind, even when you’re not here.”
I suppose that’s true. I could never cut them out of my life completely, it would be like severing a limb.
“Your dad never mentioned anything about why your mom might have left?”
“I vaguely remember something about her being depressed, but I don’t know if I heard that from Dad or Finley. She had six kids in eight years. It’s a lot for anyone, I guess. But to leave us all there, to leave Dad alone? How could she? Dad was great, but we needed her.”
I needed her. But more than anything, Finley needed her. Finley never really had a childhood, since she became a surrogate mother. I’m angry. Confused. I need to know why. I need to make sense of it.
“You think they would be upset with you if they knew you’ve been trying to find her?”
A frown tugs at my lips. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
It’s not so much that I think they would be angry with me. I’m not sure if they would understand. They don’t have this same urge, the same need to run, to avoid. Like me, like Mom. This search has been personal. Something I need to do on my own, without having to defend the actions to anyone. Besides, they would probably insist on helping or getting involved in some way. They have enough going on in their lives right now. The last thing I want to do is add to their stress, their worries. What if I don’t find anything? What if it’s all for nothing?
I shake the thoughts away and tell Atticus everything. How I hired a PI. How I’ve been searching the country since last year, following leads. “I’m going to go to this antique store next week in Pennsylvania. It was the last known mailing address of someone named Dawn Cooper, who legally changed her name from Rebecca Fox. The owner of the store, his name is Jonas something or other. Maybe he knows her, or where I can find her.”
His eyes get stormy. “You’re going to go meet some strange man hours away and you weren’t going to tell anyone?”
I grin at his scowl. “You’re so cute when you’re worried. I’m telling you now. Besides it’s a store. Public.”
His hand tightens on my hip. “Still.”
“My PI vetted him, he’s not a serial killer.” I shrug. “Probably.”
A discontented hum rumbles in his chest.
Laughter bubbles out of me. “You want to come with me or are you growly because you want to show me your angry raccoon impression?”
He huffs out a laugh. “I am going with you.”
“Good. I didn’t want to go alone anyway. You don’t have to work next week?”
“We could go on Monday. Campers won’t be here until Wednesday, so it shouldn’t be an issue.” His hand rubs down my back in a soothing gesture.
Everything inside me goes to mush at his easy acquiescence, at the simple affection. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to share pieces of myself with someone else without fear. Ever since Mindy lashed out at me after Aria’s death, opening up to anyone has been a struggle. But not with Atticus.
In a month, this will be over.
Dread sinks through me but I push it down further, somewhere deep where it can’t reach up and hurt me.
I lift up to press my lips against his, banishing everything else to the wind.
Reaching down, I wrap my fingers around his cock and he immediately hardens under my touch.
A desperate sort of madness sucks us both into its grip. Atticus groans, taking my face in his warm palms and kissing me hard, the contrast between his gentle hands and fervent lips intoxicating. Ecstasy swirls and beckons, and I plunge into it headfirst, ignoring the inevitable future battering at my heart.
We may not have a future, but we have right now and I intend to make the most of it.
Knocking rouses me from slumber.
“Go away,” I mumble into the pillow.
The knocking comes again, accompanied by the creak of the bedroom door and Finley’s voice. “Taylor? Are you awake?”
I groan.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
Without opening my eyes, I grab the extra pillow next to my head and chuck it in her general direction. I spent the early morning hours with Atticus and I swear my head just hit the pillow ten minutes ago.
She laughs. “Now that you’re awake, can we talk for a second?”
“No,” I whine, lifting the blankets up to cover my head.
Clearly undaunted by my verbal discontent or projectile bedding, the mattress dips as she settles near my waist.
I flip the blankets down and blink at her. “Seriously? What time is it?”
“Almost noon. Don’t you have to go to Veronica’s soon? What time did you get home anyway?”
I scrub at my face. “Late.” I pause and then make an attempt to avoid further questioning. “I had some paperwork and things to do.” Which is true, if Atticus can be considered “things,” and I did spend all night on him.
The fog of sleep is drifting away, clarity returning. My gaze sharpens on Finley’s face and the way her lips purse in thought, the groove between her brows, and the way she’s fidgeting with the hem of her T-shirt.
“What’s up, Fin?”
“I wanted to ask you something before you left. I have to greet the new counselors that are coming in for the camp that starts next week,” she glances at her watch, “soon.”
I shift onto my side to face her more fully. “Ask away.”
“I was talking to Mindy and—”
I groan. “Finley.”
She holds up a palm. “Just hear me out. Please. I swear I’m not going to talk about you two reconciling or anything. This is something else.”
Ugh. “Fine.”
“She signed this amazing band with one of the most talented singer-songwriters she’s ever met, an almost complete unknown who would be perfect for one of the performances you’re setting up at Veronica’s.” She watches me, waiting.
I do need one more act to fill the last Saturday night available. And no matter my personal animosity toward Mindy, there is no denying she has excellent taste in music. She signed some of the biggest bands in the country when she was working at Rebel Records. I would be foolish not to at least give this band a chance. “I’m listening. What’s the band like?”
She grins. “They’re sort of pop funk, I guess. They call themselves Discontinued Barbies.”
A laugh huffs out of me. Good name.
Finley smiles, encouraged by my response. “She has some other industry peeps she can invite too who might be interested in the other talent you’ve got going. We had this idea where you could pool your resources.”
Great. They’ve been talking about me. Again. But the thought doesn’t make me as angry as it once did. They’re not talking shit, after all.
“So in exchange for letting this band have a spot, she’ll bring in more interest.” I blow out a breath. It’s a good idea. Great idea, even. But . . . “I don’t want to talk to Mindy.”
“You don’t have to talk. You can text or email. She won’t even come to the performance if you don’t want her here. She said she can send the band on their own or with their manager and you can schedule it through them.”
I sigh. I don’t want to live up to what Mindy always used to accuse me of, being the immature little sister who can’t get her act together and behaves like a brat instead of an adult. I’m twenty-seven years old. I can be mature. Sometimes.
“I’ll reach out to Mindy today and listen to Discontinued Barbies and see if they’ll be a good fit.”
Finley beams, reaching over to pat my leg, her touch muffled by the comforter. “I’ll let you rest before you have to get up and get ready.”
She practically slips out the door, shutting it behind her.
I fluff my pillow and roll onto my stomach, shutting my eyes.
Sleep, I direct my brain. It doesn’t take much prodding. I’m halfway to dreamland when the door shoves open, hitting the wall.
“Hey.” Jake plops down on the bed, sitting exactly where Finley was minutes ago. “Can I talk to you?”
I groan. “Don’t you knock?”
“Why would I do that?”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know, common decency?”
“Huh.” He scratches his head. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you before I left because I did what you recommended.”
“What? You finally figured out how to pee in the toilet instead of on every surface around it?”
“Uh, do we really want to trade barbs on bathroom habits? Don’t get me started with your hair on the shower wall. Why do you do that? Are you suffering from premature balding?” He tugs on a strand of my hair.
I swipe his hand away. “I’m trying to keep my hair from clogging the drain, you’re welcome. I just forget to throw it in the trash sometimes.”
His mouth spreads into a grimace. “It’s hard to imagine why you’re still single.”
I grab my pillow and whack him with it.
He plucks it out of my hands and tosses it across the room.
“Jake!”
“You started it.”
Ugh. Brothers. “Anyway.” I reach for the other pillow and tuck it under my head. “What did you want to tell me?”
“I hired someone to help me look for the letter writer.” His nose scrunches. “It was not as cool as I thought it would be. He wasn’t wearing a trench coat and hat with those Groucho glasses. He was some normal middle-aged dude who drove a Mazda. He’s looking into things and I just wanted to say thanks for the advice.”
“That’s great, Jake. Let me know if he finds anything.”
“I’ll keep you updated.”
I reach over to tap on his knee with a fingertip. “Are you going to tell the others?”
He shakes his head. “No. Not yet.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have any real information at this point. And,” he rubs the back of his neck, “this is like my thing. It gives me something outside of this place to focus on, you know? It’s something I need to do alone. If I tell anyone other than you, everyone else will find out and Finley and Archer already act like I need a nanny.”
I chuckle. “I get it.” I have my own secret journey, after all.
But I also understand where the perhaps overzealous concern is coming from. Out of all of us, Jake was hit the hardest after Aria’s death.
They were twins. Inseparable. Even worse, he was with her when she died. I can’t even fathom what he’s gone through. He never speaks about it.
Not long after she died, our dad got sick. Jake was his main caretaker, which helped distract him, but after Dad died, Jake escaped his demons by diving into any bottle he could find. None of us, except Finley, realized how bad things had gotten until he crashed the truck over a year ago and ended up in the hospital. He’s been mostly sober since, besides a little hiccup last fall.
I wasn’t home enough to notice how bad he had gotten. I was too wrapped up in my own life, my own guilt, my own desire to escape my past.
So I understand why Finley and Archer would be worried for him. Why they might want to coddle and cosset him. And I also understand why he needs a goal, a distraction that belongs to him and no one else.
“No one has asked you about the letters since last year?”
He wrinkles his nose. “Finley did once, in passing, but she didn’t seem to care much. Our sisters are too distracted with everything else going on around here.
“If you need anything, you know I’m always here, right? Even if I’m not actually here.”
He reaches over and scrubs my hair with his knuckles. “Duh.”
I smack his hand away and then roll over. “Now go away, I’m tired.”
He chuckles and leaves the room, but it’s a while before I can fall asleep.
Chapter Nineteen
Taylor
“Are you okay?” Atticus reaches over the center console, his broad hand covering mine where my fist is clenched in my lap.
I pull my gaze from where I’ve been staring sightlessly out the window and look over at him. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”
He frowns. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I flip my hand in his, linking our fingers. “No. Distract me.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up and he shoots me a heated glance. “The distraction I have in mind is rather tone-deaf, considering what we’re doing today.”
This is the first time in his presence my mind isn’t flooded with thoughts of sex and my body isn’t heated. He’s right, while I would love to have some truly fun car times, all I can think about is meeting this Jonas person and if he knows where Mom is. What if she lives in this town? What if she doesn’t? Will I meet her? What if she’s dead? What if she doesn’t want to be found?
“Tell me about plants.” I lean my head back against the headrest and stare at his profile.
He tosses me a quick grin, and my heart leaps. He’s so handsome. I could stare at his profile all day, taking in the stubble outlining his strong jaw, the flex of his arms as he navigates the car. Even the grip of his fingers on the wheel is hot.
He clicks on the blinker and glances into his blind spot before changing lanes. “You really want me to tell you things about plants? That will distract you?”
Just sitting next to him, and the deep rumble of his voice, is soothing. “Absolutely.”
“Fine. You asked for it. But if you fall asleep it’s on you.”
We drive in silence for a few seconds before he speaks. “Did you know that plants talk with each other?”
My brows lift. “What? How?”
“Through their roots. They secrete chemicals called root exudates. There are studies that suggest plants can tell if another plant is their sibling—if they’re grown from seeds from the same parent plant.”
My mouth pops open. “No way.”
He glances over at me. “Yep. When they are placed near a strange plant, their root allocation increases—they spread their roots more to fight for access to water and soil nutrients. But when they’re near siblings, they are more accommodating of each other.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Really? Huh. If someone put me in a pot with Jake, it would be like The Hunger Games.”
