Hollywood Ex Factor, page 18
Of all the questions and worries that plagued her, the last one tormented her the most. Her ex-husband Daniel had thrown that accusation at her when she’d rejected his proposal to remarry, and it’d dug beneath skin and bone, excavating old hurts and insecurities. For years, she’d been proud of how she’d matured. She wasn’t the rebellious girl she’d been when she’d left home all those years ago. But with one hurled insult, Daniel had relegated her back to being that teen. Still…
His words wouldn’t have shaken her, if somewhere, in the darkest corner of her heart, she didn’t already question herself.
“Hell no, you’re not selfish! How could you ever think that? Oh wait,” Stephanie snapped, the smooth molasses in her voice hardening to rock-hard toffee. “Lemme guess. Daniel. It sounds like something that would come straight out of his uptight mouth.”
“Steph,” Sydney said, caution invading her tone. “Daniel’s not a bad guy. He’s just…” An image of her ex-husband solidified in her mind’s eye. Tall and lean, skin a beautiful mahogany, his strong, fit body clothed in one of his customary tailored suits with a tie. A handsome, distinguished, successful man who made the perfect dean of students at a prestigious private high school. “He’s just set in his ways,” she finished.
“I love you, babe, but he has a stick lodged so far up his ass, he shits splinters.”
I will not laugh. I will not laugh.
“Oh, just go on and laugh. You know you want to,” Stephanie cajoled, the syrup returning to her voice. “Listen, Syd, Lord knows I’m not an expert on relationships. My idea of one is extending a hookup to a two-nighter. But I have learned this. Whenever anyone—a woman, especially—makes a decision that is beneficial to her but inconvenient to another person, she’s selfish.” She snorted. “Living for yourself, making your own decisions—that doesn’t make you selfish, it makes you strong. Bold. Independent. It’s you. And don’t you forget that. Or let anyone try and convince you differently.”
“That’s just it, Steph,” Sydney protested on a whisper. “I’m not bold or strong. I’m—”
“Scared shitless,” her friend finished softly. “Yeah, I get it. I do, babe. But being afraid doesn’t determine your strength or your courage. Acting in spite of that fear, persevering, pressing forward—that’s courage. It would’ve been easy, comfortable, safe for you to stay in your marriage.”
Yes, it would’ve been, Sydney silently agreed. And all the while, she would’ve slowly suffocated, lost her ambition, her voice—lost herself—as the years passed. That had been the wake-up call for her to walk away from her marriage of almost five years.
And now, she was returning to the place where she’d initially experienced that same sense of drowning. Returning to Rose Bend.
“It takes balls to start over, Syd,” Stephanie continued. “Lady balls. And you, babe, got a brass set.”
Sydney’s bark of laughter sounded a bit waterlogged from the damn tears that refused to go away. Good Lord, she had five more months of this emotional upheaval?
“Thanks… I think.” Clearing her throat, she switched the subject before she started bawling. “So, how’d the meeting with the new sponsor go…?”
For the next ten minutes, they talked about the new client Stephanie was wooing, and Sydney laughed until her stomach hurt over the gossip her friend dished.
“Listen, I have to go. These folks actually want me to work.” Stephanie heaved a dramatic sigh. “You roll up into Gardenia Downs with your head held high and take no shit off anyone. Be good to yourself and give Arwen a rub for me,” Stephanie said.
“Rose. Bend. And you do know, Jesus could stream down here on a golden beam in a chariot pulled by cherubim and I still would never name my baby that,” Sydney drawled.
“Aww,” Stephanie cooed. “It’s so adorable that you think so.”
Before Sydney could reply, her friend hung up, and she chuckled. But the amusement faded as she coasted over a hill and started on the last leg of her long journey.
The Southern Berkshires in mid-June were simply…breathtaking. As much as she resented the place she grew up, she couldn’t deny the beauty of it. Centuries-old trees seemed to preen with their vividly green, lush leaves. Wide fields rolled into hills that were only eclipsed by the majesty of mountains and endless blue sky. As a child, she’d stared up at those great sentinels, imagined they’d been stacked there by lightning-bolt-wielding gods and fierce Titans. And as a teen, she’d studied them, dreaming about what lay on the other side. They’d been her friends, her guardians. And they’d been the only thing she’d waved goodbye to as she’d left Rose Bend eight years ago.
She flicked the A/C dial, switching cold air off, then jabbed the window button. The glass slid down, permitting the outside to blow into her car. Up here, the air didn’t contain the mugginess of the South. Though she’d lived almost a decade in Charlotte, North Carolina, she’d never quite become accustomed to the humidity that clung to her skin like a layer of clothing. Here, though, summer had truly arrived. A high seventies temperature with a fresh breeze that brushed over her skin like a loving caress.
Minutes later, the first house appeared on her left, and soon after she entered a pristine, yet cozy neighborhood of elegant, proud homes. As she rolled to a stop at the intersection, she glanced out her window and gazed at the white, two-story Victorian at the corner. Gorgeous—with a steeply pitched roof, a lovely turreted tower, wide bay windows and a wraparound porch—it was breathtaking, yet still managed to appear homey, welcoming. Perfect for a loving family. A pang of longing echoed in her chest, and she rubbed her knuckles against the ache. She would’ve loved to raise her baby in a house meant to be filled with laughter, joy and affection. Maybe she couldn’t give her that house, but she could offer her baby the unconditional love of her mother, security and stability.
Deliberately turning away from the house and putting her hand back to the steering wheel, she eased off the brake and continued driving. And as the residential area gave way to more commercial buildings, her guards started rising up. Because while she hoped—prayed—for a nurturing haven for her child, and truly believed she would find it here, she also wanted that for herself, for Sydney “That Girl” Collins. But on that latter point, she knew better. Nothing changed in Rose Bend. Not the houses. Not the town people. Not the opinions. Not the hearts.
Oh God, she’d made a mistake. What the hell had she been thinking returning here? She should turn around right now. It wasn’t too late—
“Stop it, dammit,” she hissed at herself. “Get a hold of yourself and woman-the-fuck-up.”
On autopilot, she steered her SUV to the parking lot adjacent to the small pharmacy that had been a fixture in town for as long as she could remember. A little after five, and only a handful of cars filled the lot. But unlike the city, she didn’t have to worry about her vehicle being towed if she wasn’t a customer. The people of Rose Bend were too polite for any of that “big city” nonsense.
Isn’t that why you’re here? she asked herself as she climbed out of the car. To raise your child in a warmer and safer environment? To give your baby a place where she’s not a passing strange face, but a part of a loving family and community? Yes and yes. While Sydney and her parents had a strained relationship that might be impossible to heal after years of too-cold politeness and stinging disapproval, she believed—had to believe—that they would accept their grandchild. Love their grandchild.
But now that the idea was no longer theory but reality? Well, she would be a liar if she claimed her stomach wasn’t bolting for her throat. And it had absolutely nothing to do with morning sickness.
Hitting the key fob and locking the vehicle, she started off down Main Street. Her parents weren’t expecting her, so she could afford to put off that reunion for a little while. Besides, she needed a minute to herself.
More than a few people strolled the sidewalks in front of the quaint stores and businesses. This time of evening, only an hour or so remained to shop as everything except for the cafes, diners and restaurants closed about six, and customers pushed in and out of the storefronts, grabbing last-minute items. Instead of the sharp honking of horns, the rumble of engines and the cacophony of Charlotte nightlife pulsing on the night air, chatter and laughter filled the warm, June evening. While the city spoke of revelry, excitement and an almost frenetic gaiety, this… Rose Bend whispered of serenity, community…home.
She exhaled hard, and as if of its own accord, her hand lifted and settled over the small curve of her belly. She hadn’t thought of this place as home in a long time, but as she looked around at the cheerful, picturesque town crowded at the base of Monument Mountain and Mount Everett, the word fluttered and snapped through her mind like the US and Massachusetts flags hoisted high in front of the city hall. Even now, several people did double takes, confused frowns marring their foreheads or their eyes flaring wide in recognition. But she didn’t stop to address anyone. Just kept walking. And moments later, she stood in front of the old, white church with its towering steeple and bell that stood guard at the end of Main.
You could throw a stone and hit a church in Rose Bend. Different denominations and congregations served a religiously diverse community. But St. John’s Catholic Church had been the first in the town, and even though its doors had closed before she’d left, it still remained as a revered monument that dated back to the 1700s. It was an institution here. But she hadn’t approached the old church to kneel on its benches and inhale the faded scent of candle wax.
Sydney strode past the black, waist-high iron gate that surrounded the building and climbed the pockmarked steps on the side. The stone path curved around the property and bypassed the ancient cemetery where those first congregation members lay under faded tombstones.
Carlin was buried at the newer cemetery on the other side of town. Undoubtedly Sydney’s parents still visited her older sister’s resting place, while Sydney hadn’t been there since they lowered Carlin into the ground. Eighteen years. What kind of sister did it make her that she hadn’t visited Carlin in almost two decades?
A shitty one.
The answer popped into her mind, clear and adamant. And curiously, the voice sounded very similar to her mother’s.
Sydney shook her head, and a whisper of movement out of her peripheral vision snagged her attention. Surprise crackled through her as she spotted a lone, tall figure standing in the newer section of the graveyard. The leaves of a soaring, ancient red oak cast shadows over him, concealing his identity at this distance. Not that she would’ve called out if she recognized him. He was obviously here for solitude just like her.
With one last glance in the mourner’s direction, she continued climbing the rise, and when she reached the top, her breath puffed from between her lips, her heart tapping out a faster beat in her chest. The view before her stole any air left in her lungs. Clouds so fluffy and white they appeared like big cotton balls embraced the peaks of huge mountains. Lush, green hills rolled like emerald waves in the distance, and houses played hide’n’ seek among them.
Peace settled over her, like an old friend eagerly welcoming her back. As she’d known it would. The people here might not be the most receptive to her being back or ever accept her. But this place? It knew her heart. Closing her eyes, Sydney tipped her head back, allowing the fat sun sitting low in the sky to warm her skin with its last rays. This had been her special place after Carlin died. Here, she could be alone. Away from the censure and overwhelming grief she’d glimpsed in her parents’ eyes. Here, she could shed the I-don’t-give-a-fuck persona she’d adorned, because God…she gave so many fucks.
Here, she could be Sydney and not sink in the shame of being alive.
“Sydney?”
Well, damn.
Irritation flashed through her, but years of living in the South already had her lips curling into a polite smile. Until she turned her head and met a pair of stunning amber eyes. A very familiar pair of stunning amber eyes that she hadn’t forgotten in the eight years she’d been gone.
Astonishment ricocheted through her, robbing her of coherent speech.
“Cole?” The shallow rasp was all she could squeeze past her constricted lungs.
A full, sensual mouth curved at the corners, that bottom lip heavy, and for a moment, his smile briefly banished the shadows lurking in his gaze. And it was that smile that confirmed the tall, wide-shouldered, powerfully built man standing before her was indeed Coltrane “Cole” Dennison. The man she’d hopelessly crushed on so many years ago stared down at her now, that jeweled gaze filled with confusion, surprise and delight.
Delight.
Coltrane Dennison was delighted to see her. Then again, her childhood friend’s older brother had always been nice to the foolish and reckless teenager she’d been. Even though she and his sister Leontyne had gotten into some scrapes that could squarely be placed at Sydney’s feet. Now… some might still call her reckless. But at twenty-six, she’d learned discipline and restraint. The hard way.
“It is you,” he said in a voice that landed somewhere between the smooth glide of water over pebbles and thunder rolling across an inky sky.
Damn. Not only had pregnancy turned her into an emotional Tilt-a-Whirl and caused hair to sprout in places it really had no business growing, but it’d apparently transformed her from grant writer to poet. Cole shifted closer, effectively cutting off her scolding of herself. Clearing her throat, she forced herself to adopt a carefree smile that was a flat-out lie.
“It’s me,” she said, slipping her hands into the pockets of her billowy red-and-gold maxi dress. “Guilty,” she added with a chuckle that sounded way too self-deprecating for her comfort.
Seemed she was always on the verge of apologizing for something.
For not saving her older sister’s life.
For not being the perfect daughter.
For not giving her baby a two-parent home.
Yep. That was her. The Queen of I’m Sorry.
He moved forward again, and before she could brace herself, his arms encircled her, his wide, hard chest pressed against her cheek and his scent wrapped around her. Her lashes fluttered then lowered, her hands raising to flatten against the strong muscles of his back. She slowly released her pent-up breath, and for the shortest of moments, she caved. Yielded to the pleasure of his—of anyone’s—genuine joy in seeing her again. Capitulated to the thrill of being welcomed instead of scorned.
Surrendered to the need for human contact, for being close to someone, held by them. Touched by them.
She stiffened. Jesus, what was she doing?
Being a damn glutton for punishment, that’s what. Hadn’t it been giving in to that last need that had led to her current state of impending single motherhood? Yes, a bottle of Moscato and a boatload of being-up-in-her-feelings had guided the way to unwise sex with her ex-husband, but still… It’d been that desire for intimacy, for emotional and physical connection, that had greased it. And that desire, the fear of being alone, had kept her in her marriage long past its expiration date.
Hours and hours on a therapist’s couch had granted her insight into the whys. Distant parents. Lack of affirmation. Viewing her looks as her primary value. Validation. Yada, yada, yada.
It all boiled down to one thing: she needed to keep dicks out of her pants because it led to nothing but trouble.
Not that Cole, her best friend’s brother, wanted her… Good God. She was devolving.
Easing out of his arms, she dropped hers to her sides.
“It’s good to see you again. God, how many years has it been? Seven? Eight?” If her abrupt retreat confused him, his voice didn’t betray it. His smile didn’t slip, and he dipped his head in a nod. “I just saw your mom this morning at her store. She didn’t mention you were coming in for a visit.”
Because she doesn’t know.
A shiver of anxiety quivered through her at the thought of showing up on her parents’ doorstep, her life packed in her car. “Unhappy” would be a serious understatement for the confusion, disappointment and anger that would greet Sydney’s news.
Shrugging a shoulder, she glanced away from him and refocused on the view so she didn’t have to lie to his face. “I’m sure she just had other things on her mind. And it’s been eight years since the Black Sheep of Rose Bend left.” What in the hell had possessed her to add that? Because she was a master of deflection, she switched the subject. “What are you doing out here anyway? The back of a church isn’t exactly a hot spot on a Thursday night,” she teased.
She waited for a husky chuckle or his playful response, but only silence replied to her. No, it screamed at her so loudly, she jerked her head to the side and peered at Cole.
The utter desolation in his gaze punched the air from her lungs. She lifted a hand to her chest and pressed her knuckles to the ache there. How could those eyes contain so much pain and yet he still stood? Still breathe? She was having a difficult time doing both just witnessing it.
His lashes lowered, and he slid his hands into the pockets of his black, tailored pants. He turned toward the sun and the sky that bled lavender and gray. His white dress shirt clung to his taut shoulders and back. And for the first time, the shock of seeing him again ebbed enough for her to catalog the smaller details about Cole.
As long as she’d known him—and in a town the size of Rose Bend, that was all her life—his dark hair had tumbled around his face in loose curls and waves. But no strands flirted with his cheekbones or jaw. They were gone, shorn into a closely cropped cut that framed his head and exposed his sharply hewn profile. Golden wheat skin that proudly proclaimed his Puerto Rican heritage stretched across cheekbones that could slice air, but his strong, patrician facial features were more pronounced, more severe than she remembered. As if he’d lost some weight recently and the whittling down had emphasized the bold bones of his cheeks, the slant of his nose, the sensuous curves of his mouth, the slash of his clean-shaven jaw.
