The Cocktail Club (23 page)

“Your favorite.” I smiled.

“You made crab cakes?” she asked.

I frowned. “Since when did crab cakes become your favorite?”

“Mom, Dad turned me on to seafood awhile back. We've been going to some really good seafood restaurants lately, and I realized what I've been missing all my life.”

That burned me up. Here I was barely able to keep food on the
table and Kyle was spending money like it had gone out of style. It hurt me so much to have to keep quiet about something like that. It would hurt my daughter.

“Well, I didn't make any seafood. I made a pasta casserole that you used to love,” I said. “You know, before you got a taste of the good life with all that seafood.”

Her eyes lit up. “Mom! You know that's my old favorite, too. Yummy!”

“Good.”

“I'm gonna go upstairs and change before dinner.” She moved toward the stairs.

“Wait!” I patted the area next to me. “Before you go up, there's something I need to talk to you about.”

Concern spread across her face. She fumbled with the chair, pulled it out, and eased down onto the seat.

“Oh, God, Mom. What's wrong?”

“Hey, it's nothing that serious, but I need to know what's going on with your daddy. He's been trying to avoid me, and I really need to talk to him.”

Kendal's entire demeanor changed. She tilted her head slightly and said, “Oh, Mom, he's not avoiding you. Here, I'll call him right now.”

I watched as my daughter pulled out her cell phone, pressed a number, and pulled the phone up to her ear. A few seconds later, she smiled.

“Hey, Daddy, are you busy?”

She looked at me. It wasn't a disrespectful glance, but it said, “See, he picked right up. What's the problem?”

“Yes, Daddy, uh-huh.”

I sat and listened to the one-sided conversation.

“Mom needs to talk to you,” Kendal said. “Okay. Here she is.” She passed me the phone.

I was almost scared to take it. Kendal got up from the table, and all but skipped out of the kitchen.

“I'm gonna go change, Mom,” she said over her shoulder.

“Hello?” I said into the phone.

For a moment, there was quiet and I was concerned.

“Hey, what's up?” Kyle said.

He greeted me as if life was cheery. His voice held no care or concern in the world. I had been struggling and suffering for what felt like months, and he was cool as a cucumber. I swallowed back my bitterness and tried to remain focused.

“Kyle, why haven't you paid any child support?” I asked. “How do you think your daughter's been eating?”

“What? What are you talking about?” He sounded put out by what I said. It wasn't anger. It was as if I was a mere interruption in his day. His voice held irritation that he didn't even try to hide.

“Kyle, you have really put me in a bind. You know what happened with the trucks. My savings are just about gone, and a couple of weeks ago, my friends had to bring food for your daughter and me,” I said.

“Peta, I'm sorry about your business. But as a business owner, you know the sacrifices and risks involved. Besides, I don't support your business. The money I gave you was to support our daughter. You need to get that other dude to handle your bills or whatever it is you're struggling with.” His casual, easy-going solution stung. “That's why men trip over child support. That money is supposed to go to take care of our daughter—not make up your shortcoming or put your business in the black.”

“Kyle, you have not paid child support; that's all I'm talking about. If my head's not on straight, then I can't give our daughter one hundred percent.”

“Listen. You signed those papers. I tried to talk to you about it. Yeah, I asked you to free me up, so I could finish up and close on the new house, and you were cool with it,” he said.

“Are you kidding me? You know damn well I had no idea I was signing a letter to prevent you from paying child support.”

“Oh, so now you didn't know, huh?” He laughed.

I burned with fury.

“You a trip, Peta. What's wrong? Your man trippin' on you? Things didn't work out with y'all, so now you trying to backpedal on what you promised me?”

“Kyle, you're not supporting your daughter! What does that have to do with me and any man? She is your financial responsibility,” I said.

“No, she's
our
financial responsibility, and even though you allowed me to stop making monthly payments, I support my daughter. I'm present in her life. She spends time with me at my home. Our relationship is healthy. You're mad because I'm no longer footing the bill for your weekly drink fest with your girls. I'm not paying for your designer shoes, clothes, and your hair weaves!”

“Kyle, we need to talk about this some more. I had no idea I was signing that bogus letter, and you know it. You intentionally got me drunk and tricked me into signing it.”

“Listen. My wife is calling me, so I need to wrap this up. I hope everything works out for you,” he said. “Oh, and don't be talking about me getting you drunk, and bogus anything. If it's that easy, then maybe you have yourself a drinking problem.”

Drinking problem, my ass; it was clear what Kyle had done. I felt like he was being cold toward me because of the way I abruptly
ended the action in the back seat of the car. It wasn't that I didn't want the sex, but I wanted the madness to stop. Kyle knew what he was doing by showing up at the house on Thursday night. To him, being present, and adding vodka, was a guarantee for easy ass. I was fed up.

I sighed. “Well, I guess I'm gonna have to do what I have to do to survive. I realize you need to run, but when you get some time, we need to talk about my new living arrangements. Since my man is moving in, you're really gonna need to give me advance notice to pick Kendal up and visit with her.”

“Your what? Oh, ain't no man moving into a house with my daughter under the same roof,” he barked.

“Look, I need to run, too, Kyle. I can't maintain this household alone without your financial support. Either we're moving him in here, or he's gonna move us into his place, but you'd better go since your wife is calling. We'll have to catch up some other time.”

Before Kyle could protest or say another word, I ended the call.

I should've been fighting fire with fire a long time ago. Thoughts of my conversation with Kyle pissed me off so much, my body shook after the call. What really lit a fire under me was the commercial that came on the small TV mounted beneath my kitchen cabinets.

“Oh, no she didn't!”

My mouth dropped to the floor, and I could hardly believe my eyes or my ears.

DARBY

C
handler and I were at a standoff after what was quickly becoming our regular weekly meeting. The conversation was not going well and I hated to end our time this way.

“I didn't ask for this. Do you think I planned this? How could you even think I'd choose this? Where we are right now? I mean, look at how we're doing this. I'm not stupid. It makes no sense, but I can't bring myself to stop. It's like you're…like you're a drug or something, and I can't get enough.”

I regretted the words as soon as they spewed from my lips. But what was done was done. It wasn't like it was a big secret or anything. He knew the power he held over me. He knew it, and I knew it.

I sniffled now as I heard the words rolling around in my head. I shouldn't have said any of that. I should've walked out, made a dramatic exit, but I had to do it. I had to pour my heart out. And look where it had gotten me—nowhere. Now I was driving home alone with tears and love songs blaring through my speakers. I felt like a fool, but back there at the hotel, my mouth had definitely written a check my heart wasn't prepared to cash.

I thought back to the rendezvous that left me wallowing in misery instead of pleasure like it should have. This was dysfunction at its worst, and I knew it. I wasn't a simple woman. I was well-educated with common sense, but I also knew what I couldn't deny. The heart wants what the heart wants, and mine wanted Chandler Buckingham.

“Why are you trippin'?” his deep husky voice had asked.

I looked deep into his eyes. He couldn't be serious. He couldn't be. But he was. He was, and that made it hurt even more.

“I'm not trippin'. I wanna know what's going on between us. Really, what's happening here?” I gestured with my arms to emphasize my words.

Chandler looked at me in that way that always made me weak. I inhaled a rugged breath and tried to understand why he had such power over me. Honestly, everything about him was too much for me to handle. It was those dark, hazel eyes, and the way they held me and threatened to pierce right through the armor I hid behind. His lips always looked incredibly inviting, but still flinched ever so slightly. He was sexy. Those strong hands were included in every single thing I loved about him—right down to that little scar above his left eye. It gave his face character.

I knew what he was thinking. As a matter of fact, I knew him better than he knew himself. I knew his thoughts before he could even formulate them into words. His handsome face always gave him away.

Our story was tragic, forbidden, and now there was a serious disconnect. Something had to give.

“You come here only able to spare a few hours, get what you want, then you expect me to be grateful for what little I got,” he said.

We'd had this discussion before, and he was right, but what could I do? What could I say? Was I wrong to long for the passion we'd shared? More and more, it made me feel like Kevin and I were going through the motions.

“What we have is real. I recognize what I feel. This isn't a game for me,” I said.

The silence was so thick it felt like I could slice it with a dull
butter knife. It hung in the air until I felt like I had to say something else, to bring sound back into the room.

“There are no guarantees. You can say it's all about missed opportunities, but the truth is, something brought us close in this way,” I said. “I wish we…”

“You wish we could what, Darby?”

“I wish we could make the best of it. I don't want to fight with you.” I moved closer to him, but he pulled away. It was subtle. He turned his cheek ever so slightly, but still I noticed it—felt it—and he may as well have slapped me clear across the face. That's how much it hurt.

“Don't do this. Don't mess up what we have here,” I urged.

That really made him pull away. He turned and walked to the other side of the room. From there, he stood and looked at me. He wore nothing but his briefs. His skin was still covered with a thin layer of sweat. My sweat, our sweat. I couldn't fathom why it had to end like this.

“What do we have, Darby?”

The tone of his voice was so cold and disconnected, it shook me to my core. Moments before, that same voice was whispering hot and heavy explicit words in my ears.

“Is this what you like?”
It
had asked, in sensual whispers.

“Right there? Is that your spot?”
It
teased.

“Tell me it's mine.”
It
insisted.

Now, he stood across the room, looked at me like he needed me to make a choice. A choice he knew deep inside I couldn't make.

“Seriously.” He chuckled. “Tell me. What do we really have here?”

“Don't do this,” I begged.

“Don't do what?” Now his tone had changed. He was angry. He frowned as he spoke.

I inched a bit closer, but I didn't want to crowd him. I wanted him to remember what we had shared. How could he love me like that, then minutes later look at me with such disdain in his eyes? Yes, there was definitely a serious disconnect.

I couldn't help myself. Despite the tension in the room, my eyes quickly glanced down at my watch.

“That's the kind of shit I'm talking about!” he snapped.

I already knew what he was talking about, but what could I do? This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to rush, get dressed, and hit the road. Who knew he'd choose this moment to have a complete melt down?

“You should go,” he finally said. He sounded frustrated and through.

I didn't want to leave him like this. I needed to comfort him, to tell him whatever might get him back on board. There was no way I could walk out and leave him like that, despite the fact that I needed to go.

“We need to talk,” I said.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. It was as if he thought our situation was hopeless, and that was the very last thing I needed. What happened to the loving and understanding we had shared?

“Go on home. Go home to your husband before he calls again and you expect me to be quiet.”

As luck would have it, the moment I exhaled, my cell phone rang. Without saying another word, I looked at Chandler, shook my head, pressed the talk button, and walked out of the hotel room.