Finding Fate (16 page)

“She would never admit how sick she was,” Colt says.  “She was afraid I’d hurry back.  That I’d neglect my businesses.  That I’d lose everything for her.  And I would have.  I would have taken more money and found a way to cure her.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. 

“She had cancer.  It started with headaches a year ago and just... exploded from there.  I paid for all I could, all the treatments her insurance wouldn’t cover.  I paid to have the house remodeled to make it more comfortable for her.  And I knew she was going to die, but I didn’t think it would have been like this.  When I talked to her a couple Fridays ago she sounded so weak.  She told me she had a rough day with her treatment and that she just needed rest.  I didn’t believe her so I asked to speak to my father.  That put her into shock.”

Colt pauses.  He looks at me and touches the corner of his right eye. 

“I don’t speak with my father very much, if ever.  Very bad blood.  He had a drinking problem for years and while he may have been out of it, I remember him hitting me.  Hitting my mother.  And hitting my older sister.  She was smart enough to run when she turned sixteen, moving to Florida.  The last I heard from her was a postcard from San Diego. She’s happy, married with a son, but keeps her distance.  Even from me.  All because of our father.

I managed to get him on the phone to ask about Mom.  I tried to keep cool and keep it about her but he couldn’t help himself.  He couldn’t help but ask questions about my businesses, about abandoning the family, and then bringing up the nightclub incident.  He owns a garage and in his mind, I should have worked there.  There was no interest in the family business, especially since they’re all alcoholics.  We never got along and it tore my mother up, from the inside out.

When I left I wanted to make something of myself to prove I could do it.  I wanted to come home and show my parents that life existed outside their house and that I could provide.  But it just never happened.  It never worked.  Nothing was ever good enough... and the worst part...”

Colt stops and grits his teeth.  I watch him turn from grieving to anger in a few seconds.  I do the only thing I can think of; I move towards him, slowly, and I put my hand so my pinky touches his.  I hook mine around his, telling him that I’m there.  I won’t walk away either, no matter what he has to do.

“... the worst part was that he blamed my mother for everything.  Said she babied me, left me leave, wouldn’t let him hit me.  My mother would sneak around and talk to me.  And brag about me.  I made it a point to see her once a month, no matter how bad it was with my father.  Things got physical last time I was there, two months ago.  I actually had a plan to get her an apartment near me and bring her out.  She had a few more treatments and then I was going to talk to her doctor about moving her.  That obviously didn’t have a chance to happen.  Her body and heart just gave up from the pain.  When I talked to my father last, we got into it so bad she actually told me I was killing her.  He said - and trust me, it’s burned in my memory forever -
“You son of a bitch, you’re killing her!  You’re killing your own mother...”

“That’s not true,” I say.  I slide my hand to his and grip his hand tight.  “That’s not true.  You didn’t do a thing wrong.”

“I could have been there more.”

“Maybe that would have made it worse.”

“I didn’t even find out for a few days... he wouldn’t call me.  My cousin called me after he found out.  I wasn’t allowed to come but I did anyway.”

My mind suddenly saw the man running down the street after us.

“I wasn’t at the viewing or funeral.  I showed up to the funeral home after everyone left and begged to see her.  They let me.  And for the funeral, I was up there...” 

Colt points above us, up another ridge.  There’s a thicket of trees and I can’t imagine him standing there, spying on his own mother’s funeral.

“My father has destroyed the family over the years, but it’s my mother, I had to be here.”

“You did the right thing.”

Colt looks at me.  “Yeah, I did.  Because I walked into a bakery and saw you.  Come live with me.”

“What?” I yell.  My voice echoes through the silent cemetery.

“I’m serious, Bella.  Let’s leave.  Together.  Say goodbye and go.”

I can see it.  I can see us doing it.  What do I have here?

“Colt...”

“No, Bella.  Don’t be afraid of yourself.  Don’t be afraid of fate.  Don’t be afraid to open up.”

I stare at him.  I don’t know what to do.  I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep and I don’t want to shut Colt down.  Because it feels so right.  It’s feels perfect.  I’ve never run away before. 

I open my mouth, figuring to just go with fate and see what my mind and heart could come up with.

I hear the sound of a twig snapping and when I turn my head, all hell breaks loose.

“Get out of here!” a voice booms.

My eyes quickly realize it’s the man from the sidewalk.

Colt’s hand is tight around me, too tight, causing pain.

“She’s my mother,” Colt says.  His voice is low, calm, but has the undertone of a vicious animal ready to strike.

“You put her there,” the man says.  He blinking fast.  “You greedy punk.  You murderer.”

“Murderer?” Colt growls. 

He starts to move.  I tug at him but I can’t stop him.  He drags me with him as he approaches the man.  It doesn’t take me long to compare features and realize the man is Colt’s father.

This is not good.

“Look what you did,” the man says.  “And what’s this, a little hussy girl?”

I can imagine Colt’s other hand making a fist.  I hurry and get between the man and Colt.  I look at him and hold his other wrist.

“Please,” I whisper.  “Not in front of your mother.”

Colt’s breathing like I never saw a person breathe.

“Listen to the girl,” the man bellows.

Hussy girl?

The girl?

I can only take so much too.  I swing my foot behind me and kick the man in the knee.  It’s a horrible thudding sound and he cries out.  By the time I look over my shoulder he’s one on knee in pain.

Whoops.

I look back at Colt, unsure what to do next.  I’m not even sure why I did what I just did.

“Take me away,” I say.  “I’ll go anywhere with you.  Right now.”

“I… Bella…,” Colt says.

I don’t have a chance to say anything else before he’s on the move again.  And I’m right him.

The man screams but we ignore him.  I find myself smiling, feeling almost liberated.  I know all I need to know about Colt and just how strong and amazing of a man he really is.  And I got to kick his deadbeat father in the knee. 

We get to the bike and he hands me the helmet.

He’s smiling.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

I’m out of breath and my heart is battling against running with Colt and my life here, now.

“I can’t believe you kicked my father,” he says.  “Right in the knee.  He has bad knees.”

“Oh... shit...”

“No, it’s amazing.  Next time you get a chance, aim higher.”

He comes in for a kiss and then taps the helmet.  The bikes starts as I put the helmet on.  Then in a sexy getaway motion, we hop on the bike and speed away.  Colt moves faster, letting the cry of his motorcycle overtake the yells of his father.

I’ve never felt so free in my life.

And I mean it... Colt can take me anywhere he wants.

-Chapter 18-

He takes me to the bakery.

To my bakery.

To the family bakery.

It’s quite honestly the last place I want to go.

But here we are, sitting out front. 

I hope for a second that he’s just showing me the bakery.  Maybe some kind of sign or fate thing.  Or better yet, he’s going to let me say goodbye before we speed off again.  At this point I don’t even want to go to my apartment.  I’ll get new clothes somewhere else.  Start over.  It’s all I can imagine right now.

He turns the bike off.

My heart sinks.

I have no choice but to get off the bike and I watch him do the same.  I take the helmet off my head, shaking my head.

“No, Colt, not here.”

He comes at me.  He puts his hand to my face, his thumb moving up and down my cheek and then to my lips. 

“Yes, we need to be here.  This is where your passion was stolen.”

“My passion is for you.”

He smiles.  “I know
that
passion...”

Damn, now my mind is thinking sex.  Maybe Colt and I should go back to my apartment.

I know that’s not likely, not at all.

“You’re going to go inside and bake something.  I don’t care if it’s a loaf of bread or a chocolate chip cookie.  We’re taking our passion... and our love... and we’re leaving.”

“One thing,” I say.

“One thing,” Colt says.  “Maybe this time it’ll taste good.”

I back away from him and shake my head.  He’s such an ass, especially for a guy who five minutes ago wanted to fight his own father.

But it’s Colt and I wouldn’t expect anything less.

I open door and then lock it.  It’s strange coming in through the front door.  It takes me back to being a little girl when I’d ride my bike to the bakery to see Grammie and Grandpa and sneak a piece of bread or some cookies.  I don’t know how I never ended up overweight, eating as much as I did from this place.

Colt walks to the counter and leans on it.  He points to the oven behind the counter.  “Go to it.  Make me something.”

“Pushy, aren’t we?”

“I get what I want.  All the time.”

I walk around and turn the oven on.  I’ll just bake some bread.  Something easy.  I set up the side counter and grab my bowls and begin to work.  It takes all of a minute for me to realize just what Colt wants to prove here.  This is what I’m meant to do in my life, just without all the background noise pushing and pulling at me.  There’s not much lighting on in the bakery since the place isn’t open and a smile is on my face. 

I reach for the flour, spreading some out on the counter and then look to my right.  Colt is gorgeous, just
so
so so so
gorgeous.  Leaning over the counter.  His t-shirt pulling tight.  His arms exposed.  I take a second and look at his tattoos.  The shapes, twists, and colors, like a beautiful mess.  The message screams exactly what Colt is and I love it.  As I sprinkle flour down on the counter, he reaches over and put his finger into it.    He touches my nose and laughs.

“Don’t start something,” I say with a flirty warning.

“Don’t try me,” he says.

My right hand is in a bag of flour.  I have enough to make something happen.  I start to pull my hand out when Colt reaches over again.  I freeze, waiting to see what he does.

This time he puts his hand into the flour and starts to draw.

No, he’s not drawing... he’s writing...

He’s writes
I love you
in the flour.

It’s so cheesy.  So corny.  And yet it’s so romantic.  It’s like a hopeless romantic gesture. 

I use my left hand and shove my finger into the flour next.  I keep my message simple.  I write the number
2
.

I love you 2.

Colt looks at me and I look at him.

There, we said it.

Sort of.

A tension begins to float between us.  I’m not sure if I like it or not so I follow my heart again.

I take my right hand out of the flour and throw it at Colt. 

There’s a white cloud of dust and Colt’s face has a thin layer of flour on it.  That’s enough to break the uncomfortable silence between us as I start to laugh.  I laugh so hard my stomach hurts and I fall back, stumbling into the oven.  I cry out in pain but I’m still laughing.

Colt rushes around the counter, his arms open.  I’m thinking he’s going to help me.  I put a hand out to tell him I’m fine but he’s not interested in me.  He puts his hand into our little love sign in the flour and puts his hand to my face. 

Now I’m covered in flour.

Colt laughs now and my left hand tries to sneak into the bag but Colt is already there.

“You really want to start this?” he asks.

“If we get dirty enough, it’ll give us a reason to get clean.”

“Look at you,” he says, “talking dirty.”  He touches my face again and slides close to me.  Close enough that I’m up against the counter.  His lower half is against mine.  “But Bella... know one thing, I don’t need a reason to have you naked and in a shower.”

I shudder.  My lips touch and quiver.  The buzzer on the oven goes off, everything at the right temperature… and not just in the oven.