Christian (The Casanova Club Book 11) Page 15
I had to fix things.
Or at least try. If I didn’t, I’d be stuck wondering where it all went wrong, and if I could have saved all of us if I’d just reached out one more time.
This was me reaching out. Again.
Janie pulled into the driveway of the house before I was ready. She shared a nervous smile with me as she put the car in park, and then she nodded at the door. “Good luck.”
“You’re not coming in with me?”
She laughed. “Oh, babe. I would. But let’s be real. Last time was really fucking messy, and me being there didn’t help anybody.”
“It helped me.”
“You have Phillip. And I’ll pick you up when this is all done, and if you need a shoulder to cry on, you can use mine. If you need ice cream and wine, you know I have your back. If you need to celebrate because you guys finally work through your shit? Your girl can make that happen too. Whatever it is, it will all be okay, and I’ll be waiting for you at home. Okay?”
“You’re a good friend, Janie.”
She grinned. “The best.”
I couldn’t disagree.
She reached across me and popped open my passenger door. “Now get the hell out of here before you get cold feet. And knock ‘em dead.”
I hesitated. “Janie?”
“Girl, quit procrastinating. Get your ass in there and-“
“Did you give Levi my phone number?”
Janie’s lips twitched. Then she gave me a lopsided smile. “Maybe?”
“I’m not mad.”
“Then yes. Yes I did. I’m sorry. I know it might have been overstepping but he wouldn’t stop calling me and holy hell is he good with his words.”
“Well, he is a songwriter,” I mused.
“Yes. Well. He talked me into it. I hope it didn’t make things worse for you.”
I put my hand on her knee. “It didn’t. It was nice to hear from him. Thank you, Janie.”
She nodded.
I got out of the car and closed the door. Janie waved as she reversed out of the driveway, and I watched her taillights disappear around the corner at the end of the road. I had a pit of nerves in my stomach heavier than a sack of rocks.
In another hour or so, the kids would be out on the sidewalks going from house to house, and the pumpkins would glow in the dark. Children would scream at the scary houses, and parents would dump out pillowcases full of candy to inspect each and every piece.
Hopefully, I’d be having a cup of tea with my folks, making up for lost time.
And Christian would be home. Alone.
I pushed that thought away. He was strong. He would be okay.
I lifted my chin. I was strong too. Always had been. Always would be. If I could survive ten months of falling in love with different men and saying goodbye to them one after another like they were nothing more than summer flings, I could do this.
I could do anything.
“So do it already,” I growled.
I moved up the driveway. Each step was more decisive than the last, full of purpose and intent and manifestation.
This would go well. It had to.
At the front door, I knocked right away. If I hesitated, I was afraid I’d back out altogether, and that wasn’t an option.
My mother opened the door.
And she smiled. “Piper.”
“Hi, Mom.”
She pulled me in for a warm hug. I rested my chin on her shoulder and smelled her perfume, roses and water lilies. The aroma of the house, clove and citrus, wafted out behind her, and I closed my eyes, reveling in the brief feeling of home.
I hoped it wasn’t fleeting.
When she pulled away, she held me at arm’s length as she always did so she could look at me. “You look good, sweetheart. Come in. Come in.”
This greeting was already going better than I thought it would. I slipped my sneakers off in the entranceway, which felt congested and tight compared to the grand entrance of Christian’s Georgian home. Then I shrugged out of my jacket to hang it on the hook beside the door.
“Are Dad and Phillip home?” I asked.
“Yes, they’re in the living room watching some cooking show or another. They’ve been at it for days.”
“So Dad is actually following the doctor’s orders and taking it easy?” I asked as I followed her down the dimly lit hall.
She smiled over her shoulder at me. “Doctor’s orders? More like mine and your brother’s.”
I liked the sound of that.
We emerged in the living room. My father was leaning over his collapsible TV table, which held a bowl of soup and a cup of water. My brother was on the opposite couch, scrolling through his phone. When he saw me, he lunged up from his spot and threw his arms around my shoulders.
“Pipes! Hey!”
I laughed. “Hi.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked as he pulled away.
I looked past him at my Dad, who was watching me from where he sat with his spoon halfway to his mouth.
“I came to talk to you guys. It’s important.”
Phillip pulled me to the sofa and had me sit down. My mother sat down beside my father. Then the room went really quiet.
“So what’s this about?” Phillip asked.
“Um,” I said as the nerves gathered tightly around me. “I don’t really know how to start. It’s just that I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this month. And with what happened with your heart, Daddy…” I trailed off and shook my head. The words got all caught up in my throat, and I struggled to breathe past them. I had to speak. I couldn’t let this shit lie the way it was. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and met my father’s hard stare. “It scared the hell out of me.”
My mother nodded from her corner of the sofa. Phillip remained silent.
My father never broke my stare. And that was good. Because he was the one I needed to say all of this to.
“It scared me,” I continued. “It scared me so badly that I started shutting down. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. Of all of us losing you. Not when there is so much time left and so much life left to live. So many things for you to do and see that are more than just getting up every morning and busting your ass in a kitchen of a dying restaurant.”
Phillip nodded this time. My mother went tense. My father opened his mouth.
I shook my head. “I’m not done.”
He closed his mouth again.
I ran my sweaty palms down my jeans. “Christian taught me a lot this month. And I need to be honest. I don’t care what you think of him. Or us. Because he helped me more than you have this year, Daddy. He was there. He held my hand through the storm, and he pulled me out the other side, and he still had the peace of mind to get through to me and show me what needed to be done.”
“And what’s that?” my father asked. His tone was smooth and calm. Controlled. I couldn’t get a read on him.
I held my chin high. “You’ve been mad at me since you found out what I’ve been doing this year. And I need to address it. Properly.” Clearing my throat, I spoke the words I’d run through my head over and over on the flight home. “I’m not asking you to understand why I lied. And I regret that I did. But I am asking that you stop villainizing me for something none of us can change. It happened. We need to move forward. And on that note, you need to find a way to forgive me. Because I did this for our family. Not for myself. And I am finished letting you treat me like I went out and tried to sell the restaurant out from under you. I’m trying to save it. And you. I’m trying to save all of us. And I’m done being the bad guy.”
The room thickened with silence. My mother stared at me like it was the first time she was seeing me, while Phillip tried—and failed—to hide his smile.
“Well?” I challenged the silence. “Are any of you going to say anything?”
The End
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About the Author
Ali Parker is a full-time contemporary and new adult romance writer with more than a hundred and twenty books behind her. She loves coffee, watching a great movie and hanging out with her hubs. By hanging out, she means making out. Hanging out is for those little creepy elves at Christmas. No tight green stockings for her.
She’s an entrepreneur at heart and loves coming up with more ideas than any one person should be allowed to access. She lives in Texas with her hubs and three kiddos and looks forward to traveling the world in a few years. Writing under eleven pen names keeps her busy and allows her to explore all genres and types of writing.
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Christian: The Casanova Club #11
Copyright © 2019 by Ali Parker
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and plot are all either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons – living or dead – is purely coincidental.
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