Broken by Love (The Basin Lake Series Book 2) Page 6

  “Son, I’m not judging the girl. I’m just expressing some concern.”

  “Don’t you think you’d have to meet her first before you do that?”

  “Well, I suppose you’re right,” he says with a grin. “But it’s going to be awfully hard to top Madison. In the horse race of your love life, your mother and I had put our bets on her as the eventual winner.”

  I can’t help but stare at Dad for a minute, his comment so theatrical but at least honest. He’s not trying to hide his hope for Madison and I.

  “I’d like to think of my life as something other than a horse race,” I say, returning my attention to the legal briefs in front of me.

  “Oh, don’t take any offense,” Dad says with a laugh. “You know how I like my metaphors.”

  “Sure, Dad. Hey, I think I’m going to go out and get some air, okay?”

  “I’ve offended you,” he replies. “Son, you know your old father is just concerned for your future, don’t you?”

  “I know,” I say, but I get up from the chair anyway and, without another word, head out the door, then down the elevator and out to the busy street below.

  The traffic, the construction noise and the stagnant air isn’t exactly the most calming environment to settle the annoyance I’m feeling for my dad, but at least I’m not trapped in that corporate office with a bunch of suits whose prime objective is money or winning or making a self-promoting impression on the world. That’s not what I want for my life, and yet I feel like I’m trapped in a long ago time period where your parents still choose your life for you, all the way from your occupation to the person you are expected to spend the rest of your life with.

  For me, that’s being a corporate lawyer and being married to Madison. My parents don’t see any alternate path to be taken. I’d had hope that my dad would be different, that he’d soften at some point and support a level of divergence. But now I’m not so sure, and that worries me. I can only hope this thing with Emma won’t be doomed before it’s even given a fair chance to really begin.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  EMMA

  I haven’t gone to a nightclub since meeting John. I’ve missed the dancing and the sense of freedom a place like that brings, but being with him is worth the reprieve. He makes me feel whole and cared for, like I really mean something to him, that I’m not just a means to an end or a distraction to fill his time with. There is a sense of romanticism that overcomes me whenever I see him, a spark of hope that comes alive deep inside of me, one that promises the kind of future I’d given up on imagining.

  But even with all that wonder, I can still be dragged down by the ugliness. John can’t erase my past or the effect it has had on my life, at least not yet. For now, alcohol remains the antidote, no longer procured at nightclubs but siphoned from the vast supply of liquor that I don’t think Mom or Aiden will notice missing. It’s less magical of course, to be that person that drinks at home, alone, and in secret, but there remains a sense of relief when the vodka burns down my throat, a feeling of calm when it starts to make its way through my bloodstream, putting me at ease.

  I realize how depressing it is that the alcohol trumps my hope with John. When my mind tells me I’m wrong to dream, that our long walks and dinners together will end just as quickly as they began, that it will all crash down when John finds out about my past, the alcohol settles my fears, if only momentarily. Then the circle begins again, the same loop my mother has been stuck in for years.

  “Hmm… didn’t expect to see you home.” It’s Saturday morning, and Mom is dragging herself out of her room in her usual robe, which is looking ragged and in need of a wash.

  “I’m not staying long,” I say, cleaning up after making breakfast. “I’ve got plans for the afternoon.”

  “With a man?” She pushes around me and opens the fridge, pulling out a chilled bottle of white wine.

  “How do you know it’s with a man?” I’m wiping down the counter just as she plunks down a wine glass.

  “Because you’ve been… different.” She pops the cork and pours a full glass. She has her usual blank morning stare that won’t change until she’s had a drink, and so it’s impossible to ascertain her actual mood.

  “Fine.” I cross my arms and lean against the counter. “I’ve been seeing a guy.”

  “It’s not Ike again, is it?” She picks the glass up, tilts it to her mouth and drinks down a good half of it, her eyes half closing with relief.

  I shake my head. “No, absolutely not.”

  “It’s not some old guy then?” After she asks this, she downs the rest of the glass and finally focuses on me instead of the wine.

  “No. Why would you think that?”

  She sighs. “Come and sit down with me for a few minutes.” She waves her hand toward the living room, and I follow, sitting at the opposite end of the big leather couch I imagine Aiden purchased out of one of those glossy, high-end furniture catalogs.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” I say while she picks at her robe. “He’s a really nice guy.”

  “I hope so, Emma,” she says with a clear voice. “I don’t know what kind of men you meet at those clubs, but I’ve been worried for you. You could get pregnant. You realize that, don’t you?”

  My skin warms in embarrassment. “Yes. I’m not stupid, Mom. I take plenty of precautions, but I’m not even sleeping with John.”

  “John?” Mom stifles a laugh. “Well, if that isn’t an interesting name.”

  “Actually, it’s pretty normal. And if you’re trying to infer that I’m acting like a prostitute and that he’s like my John, you’re wrong, okay?”

  “I’m not saying that.” She shakes her head and closes her eyes, taking a moment to regroup. “I just know that Mr. Thatcher messed you up, and—”

  “I don’t want to talk about him,” I say, my body stiffening.

  Mom’s face droops into what I think must be sadness. “I’m sorry, honey.” She reaches over and touches my thigh. “I should have protected you. That’s all I’m trying to do now.”

  “Well, John is nothing like him, okay? He’s…” My voice falters, and, even though it’s the last thing I want to do, I begin to cry.

  “Oh, honey.” She grips my thigh, and I shake my head wildly.

  “I won’t let Mr. Thatcher do this to me, okay? I just won’t.” I get up from the couch, head into the kitchen and open the freezer. If I don’t get a drink right this second, I feel like I’m going to explode. I grab a coffee mug I’d just washed out, fill it with vodka from the freezer and chug the entire thing down with my eyes closed. When I’ve finished, I open my eyes again, and Mom is standing just across from me with a horrified expression on her face.

  JOHN

  I’m beginning to feel like one of the luckiest guys in the world whenever I pick Emma up. She always looks beautiful and is usually wearing a dress, though I’m pretty sure she’d look amazing in nothing more than a T-shirt and shorts. She always asks to meet me in front of the condo where she lives with her mom, though I have to admit it feels awkward for me. For the seven years I’d dated Madison, I’d always gone to the front door of her parents’ house and later to Madison’s apartment door whenever I picked her up. It’s how I’d been raised. It’s what a gentleman did.

  And so I wait, parked along the curb, watching, waiting for the moment when she appears and I get to see her again. When she comes out in a short blue dress, her chestnut hair brightened by the sun, her long legs gracefully carrying her toward me, she is gorgeous. Anxious, I get out of my SUV and walk briskly toward her.

  “Hello, Emma,” I say, meeting her halfway, taking her hand and giving her a kiss on her full, sweet lips. She’s an elixir to my soul, and it doesn’t seem right or fair that I’m not able to kiss her whenever I want.

  “Hi, John.”

  She smiles meekly after our lips part, her eyes expressive and bright, then rests her hand on one of my flanks, right above my waist. Just that simple touch sends a buzz th
rough me, and I have to think about ice cold showers in order to keep a very embarrassing physical reaction from happening.

  “Come on. I’m taking you to the park.” I take her hand and lead her to my SUV, opening the door for her and making sure she’s situated before heading back to the driver’s side.

  “Which park?” she asks, an inquisitive flicker in her eyes.

  I love that she’s excited to know something as simple as what park we’re going to. Madison would have already rolled her eyes as far back in her head as she could and lectured me on how going to a park, any park, by ourselves would be a waste of our valuable time.

  “Discovery. That okay?”

  “It’s one of my favorites,” she says, her smile widening, “so yeah, more than okay.”

  Emma seems more relaxed than usual as we make the drive north toward Discovery Park. She allows me to hold her hand, something I’m always grateful for. Just being with her relaxes me too. Her soothing presence is enough to lessen my irritation with my dad for passing judgment on a girl he hasn’t even met. She’s not just some diversion. In fact, it’s easy to visualize Emma being a very big part of my future.

  “I love this place,” Emma says as we walk hand in hand across one of the large meadows, a blanket under my arm. “It’s like you can just imagine what it was like to be here when it was an Army base, how lucky those guys were to have this view of the water.”

  “Yeah, and now you’ve got to be rich to get it,” I say with a laugh, noting that some of the old duplexes and houses that once housed army officers have been refurbished and are being sold as private homes. Of course my family is rich enough that they could probably buy all of them up if they really wanted to.

  “But at least it’s still a park,” she says brightly. “We can still come here.”

  She makes me smile, making some lemonade out of what I’d perceived as lemons.

  “How about right here?” she says after we’ve taken a few more steps over the thick grass and a few hardy wildflowers that have rooted themselves into the meadow.

  “Good a place as any,” I say, spreading the blanket down.

  This part of the park is peaceful, not at all like the much busier trails and beach at the water’s edge far below the gentle slope we are on. The view from here is just as good, if not better, than the one at the beach. Here, we can see the water of the Puget Sound, the islands beyond it and a cruise ship making its way to the heart of Seattle.

  “We used to come here when I was a kid,” Emma says once we’ve gotten comfortable, sitting side by side on the blanket. “Me and my best friend, Paige, would come with my parents, and we’d do cartwheels across the meadow. It was so magical here. We used to pretend we were princesses on an island and that the old buildings were part of our kingdom.”

  “That’s quite an imagination, and a great story,” I say. “You still hang out with this Paige?”

  Emma looks sad, but only briefly. “She moved away when I was ten. Her dad died, and for a while I wrote her letters. But then my parents got divorced, and I was too embarrassed to tell her about it.”

  “About the divorce? You don’t think she would have understood?”

  Emma shrugs. “I’m sure she would have, but at the time I didn’t want to push something else that was bad on her. I know it’s stupid now, but she had enough to deal with, and besides, she’d made new friends in the town she moved to.”

  I put my arm around Emma and pull her close to me. “You’re a good friend. Have you thought about trying to contact her?”

  Emma smiles. “Sometimes, but I’d like to have something worthwhile to report to her if I did.”

  I can’t avoid scrunching my lips up at that, somehow knowing she is being self-deprecating. “I’m sure you have very worthwhile things to report, Emma. Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “I’m glad you think that, but I don’t really have big plans like you do—law school and all.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s basically what I’ve been born and bred to do. It’s not always easy to find direction in life. I’ve had my own issues with that of late.”

  “With Madison,” she says dryly.

  “I told you that’s done, Emma. I need you to believe me. And that’s not what I was talking about. It’s just that I get a lot of pressure from my family to do corporate law when I’d rather focus on the public interest… or justice side of things.”

  Emma’s body stiffens, and I’m not sure why.

  “You okay?” I whisper.

  “I’m fine,” she says. “Thinking about courtrooms and stuff… it just doesn’t seem like something anyone would want to do.”

  “You poo-pooing my dreams here, Emma?” I joke, tickling her side.

  “I’m not!” She eases into laughter and pulls away from me until she’s sprawled out on the blanket, her eyes on the sky above.

  The view of her is perfect.

  “What are your dreams, Emma Chambers?”

  She shrugs. “I wish I knew.”

  “Well, what do you like to do in your free time, other than spend it with me of course?” I ask, leaning toward her.

  “I like dancing,” she says with sincerity. “I did ballet until I was twelve, and I took some modern dance classes in high school.”

  “That’s why I couldn’t take my eyes off of you at Rampage.”

  She turns a shade of pink, tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smiles. “For a while I wanted to be a choreographer or a backup dancer—being up on stage at a big concert while still remaining semi-anonymous. Felt like a good career goal once upon a time.”

  “Why not know… probably entails a lot of travel, huh?” Her leaving Seattle, even in theory, makes my heart still for a moment.

  She looks at me and smiles. “Sure, I suppose it would. But I’ve lost too much time, so I wouldn’t actually pursue it at this age.”

  “Because you are so old,” I offer.

  She laughs. “Well, I guess it’s more something I’d like to do for fun than get paid for it, and besides, I think there’s something I like more.”

  I widen my eyes. “Hey, I’m on pins and needles here.”

  “Let’s talk about something else,” she says, dragging her hand along my arm.

  “Tempting,” I say, not wanting her to stop touching me. “But I want to hear what you love more than dancing.”

  She appears to be assessing me, as if wondering whether or not I’m just feigning interest. When she appears satisfied that I’m actually interested, she says, “I’d like to be a designer—you know, clothes, handbags and shoes? It’s fun to think of outlandish stuff you’d like to see on people, kind of like in The Hunger Games. But I also like stuff that isn’t too crazy, stuff I’d wear, just solid, classic designs.”

  “Wow. That’s so cool.” Of my friends, not a single one has much of an artistic side, me included. “My Mom’s kind of an interior designer,” I add, “but I know it’s not the same thing.”

  “Not quite.” She laughs. “I’ve got like a million sketches at home—I was really big into sewing and making my own clothes. That’s how I used to spend my weekends.”

  “Really? Now I’m intrigued.”

  “By the fact that I used to be a homebody on the weekends or that I like to design?”

  “All of it, but mostly the designs I guess.” I could add that everything about Emma is intriguing, but I don’t want her to get an obsessive vibe from me.

  “I don’t even know if they’re any good,” she says. “I’ve thought about showing them to Burk, you know, my manager at Patrice’s? But I’m kind of nervous too because the last one I did was in high school, and…”

  All of a sudden, Emma deflates and becomes silent.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I umm…”

  “Emma. Everything all right?”

  She nods. “Yeah, fine.”

  “You were telling me about your sketches.”

  “Can we talk about them another time?�
��

  Before I can answer, she puts a finger to my lips, and once we’re kissing, I doubt I could even remember my name.

  EMMA

  I’d wanted another drink after talking about Paige and unintentionally bringing my mind back to high school, but I found that John’s lips were almost as soothing to me as several shots of vodka would have been. We spent the next couple of hours lying on the blanket in the park, looking up at the clouds and deciphering their shapes. John swore he’d seen a baseball diamond in one and Darth Vader in another, while I’d seen the Eiffel Tower and Shawn Mendes playing his guitar. The Shawn Mendes one led to lots of ribbing from John who didn’t even know who Shawn Mendes was.

  After the park and lunch at a cute little café just down the road, I’m beginning to dread having to go home and face Mom in her robe and the drunken stupor I’ll probably find her in. So when John asks if I’d like to head to his house to hang out more, I easily accept.

  “Well, look who decided to join us,” Angela says from the living room couch as soon as we walk in. She’s shamelessly clothed in nothing more than what I figure is one of Stephen’s dress shirts.

  “Hi,” I say, not totally surprised to see her here, but taken aback by her choice in wardrobe, especially considering that both Stephen and Denny are on the same couch playing a video game.

  “I didn’t know they’d be here,” John whispers to me and lifts his eyebrows. “We can go somewhere else.”

  “No, it’s fine.” Even though I’d rather just be with John, I smile. Part of dating someone is getting to know their friends and being social, and I’m determined to do whatever this thing John and I have as close to the right way as I can.

  He smiles back and gives me a comforting squeeze on my shoulder. A second later, his phone is ringing, and he excuses himself to take it upstairs, after which I meander into the living room.

  “So, what have the two of you been up to?” Angela asks as though she’s expecting something scandalous.

  “We went to Discovery Park and hung out,” I say, sitting down in a chair opposite Angela, Stephen and Denny.