Page 68 of Seven Summers Ago
“Well, maybe I don’t get what I want,” I fire back, pushing up the sleeves of my sweater. “I’m a mom. My job is to make sure she has a good life.”
“And you don’t think the two can coexist? Her having a good life and you too?”
My eyes burn. “It’s too late for me.”
He shrinks the distance between us and we’re standing so close now. The scent of his woody and smoky cologne is strong and goes straight to my head. A whoosh of dizziness hits me, but I don’t tear my gaze from his. He lifts his hand and it trembles slightly before he sets it against my cheek. “I can give both her and you a good life, Rosie.”
“Don’t do this now,” I plead, tears breaking free from my eyes.
He grazes the side of my face, the roughness of his calloused hand sending a quivering rush between my thighs. “If not now, when?”
“Seven years ago,” I blurt.
His head rears back while his eyes dance over my face with indignation.
I force down whatever sensation has been building inside of me. “Why didn’t you fight for us then?”
Beck swallows, and I watch the lump bob. “First of all, I wasn’t aware there was anus. And second, I’ve already apologized for not coming after you.” He moves his hand up to my hair and brushes a strand behind my ear. “I’m here now. And you’re here.”
My phone chimes, startling us both.
“I will be back in a few days,” I repeat, withdrawing until my back hits the edge of the sink and putting some much-needed distance between us. He lets me go even though it looks like it’s the very last thing he wants to do. My phone rests on the counter, and I stretch to glance at the screen.
West.
“Fine. If this is what you want.” He exhales a long breath as he wrings out his hands. “I’ll see ya in a week, I guess.” Beck spins around and stalks down the hall toward the back door.
I follow behind him, gripping my phone and waiting for him to leave before I answer. Explaining a growly Beck in the background to West was not how I envisioned tonight going.
He leaves without a goodbye or good night. Just when I think we’ve made some kind of progress, we end up taking two steps backward again. But while my heart longs for a man I loved long ago and possibly yearns for this new man I’m just getting to know, my brain is always on Charlie. She will always come first. My heart must take a backseat.
I once again put on a brave face, inject strength into my tone, and answer the phone. “Hey, West,” I say, but all I want to do is run out that door and chase after the man who will always hold my heart.
21
ROSIE
Instead of waiting at the airport with open arms, West sends his assistant, Piper, to pick us up. I don’t let my mind wander too far or think too long about how beautiful she is. What with her twenty-something perky breasts and glued-on eyelashes and perfect Pilates body.
Piper drops us off in front of West’s building with a quick apology for being unable to help us with our bags. She says it’s on the account that she needs to get home and start her red-light therapy and skincare routine because she and West have an early meeting. Which I suppose lets him off the hook for not coming himself to pick us up.
We wheel our luggage through the lobby and into the elevator, my body feeling a lot like this suitcase—dropped down a chute onto baggage claim, spun around on the conveyor belt, and then picked up and dragged. It doesn’t feel much better when Charlie and I are welcomed by a dark, quiet apartment. Not even a hallway light left on for us.
Charlie is beyond tired, and I don’t have the energy to argue with her about the importance of washing the airport and planegunk off her; I put her straight to bed. After she’s settled and falls asleep, I don’t give myself the same luxury. Despite my body aching, I jump in the shower and wash the day away. I slip into the king-sized bed alongside West, still exhausted but at least feeling clean, and he stirs.
His eyes flutter open, and a sleepy smile appears on his lips. “You’re home.” He cups my face with his palm and gives me a small kiss. “Guessing everything went smoothly with Piper.”
“Mmm…yep,” I mumble softly, even though I want to argue that it should’ve been him to pick us up.
“That’s good.” He grazes my cheekbone with his thumb. “Hey, you wanna bang one out real quick?”
My mouth pops open while irritation burrows in my gut. “Can’t. I’m on my period,” I’m quick to reply. But it’s not a lie.
“Again?” he groans, his palm slipping from my face. “Wasn’t it just your time of the month?”
Agitation builds across my shoulders. West and I have been together for over a year, and he still hasn’t learned that my body doesn’t care what the calendar says or what doctors or the textbooks say about the average woman’s cycle. When you have endometriosis, there are no rules. It decides when and how long you’re going to bleed, and if you’re going to have the cramps from hell or the ones that threaten to kill you.
I try to keep my cool as I answer him. “You know my body does what it wants.”
