Where Life Takes You (2 page)

Chapter 2

While entering the code for the parking garage, Dr. Mackenzie’s nagging voice replayed in my mind. “And how do you feel about that?”
Physically? Queasy, my limbs shake by the memories, and I can’t seem to regulate my heart. Mentally? Drained, worthless, tired of the past and… is the hour over yet?

By the twentieth time she repeated the question, I wanted to strangle her. I was there trying to make the memories and feelings disappear, not analyze them with a mental woman who enjoyed human torture.

“You need closure.” A loaded word, one she enjoyed reciting at least twice each session.

On top of my therapy session, this particular Tuesday had sucked so much, it should have been Monday. I had clients to visit before my doctor’s appointment, so instead of taking the T, I drove around town. Traffic, my number three enemy, won the match. People drove along the shoulder above speed limit, while in the regular lanes no one moved.

Driving ahead towards the underground garage, I got into Dan’s own garage floor. The perks of being the landlord—he occupied an entire floor underground and above ground. A smile appeared on my face when I spotted his Land Rover next to his baby—a hot Bentley. The weight of the world lifted off my shoulders. He’d been my rock since college. No, actually, he’d been my person since before the Lisa incident. In the beginning we had no clue how to function together. But he’d given me the hand I’d needed to start a new life. The essentials to start college.

We’d filled out the applications together, and searched for grants that complemented his company’s scholarship program—a program which, coincidentally, began the year I needed the money. I worked as a nanny for a friend of Dan’s during my first two years. In my junior year, Dan hired me part time. Together we began a non-profit conglomerate, which turned into a success within a year.

The salary, grants, and scholarship gave me enough money to cover my tuition and living expenses. I lived well, and in the end, had a social work degree with a minor in child development, and no debt. After I finished, I moved back to Boston, though I should’ve stayed in L.A. where no one reminded me of my crappy past. But Dan—my only family—had an empire to run, and convinced me to move close to him.

Would I see him today? Mentally I crossed my fingers, hoping it was a yes. Once I entered the elevator, I turned towards the camera, hoping he was snooping in the security room or on his laptop.

The shiny doors opened to our floor, and I spotted his tall, well-built figure at once. He leaned against the door frame. His gray eyes smiled at me. His damp hair meant he hadn’t arrived long ago, and he wore a pair of worn-out jeans and a black t-shirt—his lazy day uniform. In another world, I would’ve pulled on a pair of sweats and joined him for the rest of the week.

“Hi, Dan.” Smiling at the sight, I walked into his open arms. The soapy fresh smell, combined with his musky natural scent, welcomed me. “You came back early.” He nodded, and kissed the top of my head.

Dan pushed the front door open, and we walked into his
penthouse
. I took my heels off and left them inside the foyer closet, next to his fancy loafers. He linked our fingers together and pulled me to the kitchen, where a few Chinese cartons sat on the counter. He’d ordered my favorite—shrimp with cashew nuts. Dan snagged a beer for himself, and a cold bottle of water for me from the Sub-Zero.

I loved his kitchen. We spent hours here, talking about everything, and nothing—never a dull moment with us. Life was better, easier, when we shared our time and hid inside our little bubble. For him, it was being away from work, and the press, and everyone who wanted a piece of Daniel E. Brightmore—or his money. For me… the bubble was tranquility, safety. Reality stayed far away from us.

Dan talked business. The Belgium purchase, which helped with the European expansion of the Brightmore Empire’s food division. Before he continued the conversation, he stood up, walked towards the fridge, and pulled out a box. “For my princess.” He handed me a box full of Belgium chocolates. I stood up and jumped into his arms.

“I adore you.” I kissed his cheek before he placed me back into the floor.

“I know.” He answered cockily. Then, while we continued eating our dinner, Dan talked about Brightmore Limited and the merges he planned.

The conglomerate consisted of freight companies, bakeries, IT solutions, investments, constructions, and more. Slowly, he conquered the world, and while doing so, traveled all over it—which made our time together precious to me. While away, we texted, called, and Skyped. Not an ideal relationship, but I knew brothers and sisters who only saw each other during the holidays.

“Oh, great,” I moaned, after cracking my fortune cookie.

I showed the empty treat to Dan. “Not even the kind Chinese people from the restaurant like me. How about happiness is around the corner? Or… you’re about to find love? They didn’t even bother giving me a fortune. I don’t like them. Next time, we order Thai.”

“You hate Thai.” Dan’s body shook with laughter, and his cheeks turned red. He handed me his.

Enjoy your cookie.

“That’s it?” Frustrated, I dumped the paper into the recycling bin. “When did fortune cookies lose their wisdom? Stop laughing, Daniel!”

He couldn’t, and he enveloped me in a hug. “I missed you.”

I gave him a half smile and put everything away.

Dan pulled a pint of my favorite ice cream—Ben & Jerry’s Cheesecake Brownie—out of the freezer. He hauled me toward the media room and sat me next to him. I hadn’t agreed to movie time, but a pint of cold, chocolaty bribery convinced me to stay.

“I fed you.” He opened the container and handed me a spoon. “Now tell me what’s going on, little one.”

I shook my head and claimed the remote off the coffee table. My brain refused to go through another therapy session, even if it included ice cream. Brooding about Lisa, the journal, Connor, and the crap our new assistant was giving me wouldn’t help me—and complaining about the new girl would get her fired. Right before Christmas.

Evading his inquisition, I changed the subject. “Are we going to put up a Christmas tree this year?”

We’d been so busy over the past month, we’d only had time for the poor Charlie Brown Christmas tree I’d put in my room. Dan’s place accommodated a ten-footer with no hassle, and his tree had become the center of the holiday celebrations, sporting different decorations each year.

“Change of plans, but we’ll discuss them later.” He fed me ice cream, and took the remote out of my hands and muted the TV. “What’s going on?” He offered me a spoon full of ice cream. “Don’t deny it, there are signs all over you. Your bloodshot eyes tell me you haven’t slept well. Your flat voice over the phone, and not being able to Skype… An old tactic to avoid me because you’re trying to hide something.” I stared fixedly at the TV, hoping he’d get the hint and drop it. “And now you’re pretending to pay attention to a diaper commercial. What’s next? Singing jingles? You might as well tell me, because I won’t move on until you do.”

“Hmm, it’s a good commercial.” I reached for the remote, ready to hit the internet application and browse Netflix or Vudu. Anything to deflect his attention. I wasn’t fast enough.

Dan held it up in the air, and used his gray-blue eyes to give me a stern look that said, I’m not happy.

I sighed and crossed my arms, flopping back on the sofa. “Fine, you win. I haven’t slept in two days. The stupid journal’s driving me crazy. Ironic, right? My therapist’s setting me up to fail, and I’ll end up in the loony bin. Then I encountered Ian’s brother at the bookstore, which shook me.”  Resigned and frustrated, I confessed. “He has a son, and the boy’s a carbon copy of his uncle.”

Dan closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them again, there was something unknown in their depths that puzzled me. Was it disappointment, perhaps?

I’d started therapy about a year ago, and so far, nothing had changed. The memories still haunted me every night and every other Tuesday. Apparently, they would be around until I got the so-called
‘closure’
. Dealing with them took me closer to living a full life—the therapist said—but a full life sounded greedy to me. Someone as screwed up as me shouldn’t expect too much. In any case, all bringing the memories back again had done was make me miserable. The image of my mother shrieking at me in front of the entire neighborhood haunted me, carving one more sliver out of my heart every day. “You’re dead to me,” she’d yelled. Who does that to her only daughter?

“You should stay with me tonight, Bex. Please.” Dan’s words, and arms, pulled me out of my self-pity party. He settled me in his lap, and dried the few tears that began to escape me with his thumb. He hugged me tight, and gently wrapping me in a secure cocoon where all my problems, fears, and insecurities disappeared. “After you tell me everything, we’ll watch movies. You’ll fall asleep, and I’ll be around to scare off the pesky nightmares.”

“Ian’s brother triggered the nightmare.” I stopped crying, put on my big girl panties, and narrated my misadventure. Starting with the crowd in the bookstore, and Roger’s wife, and ending when I’d parked my car in the garage and run into his arms. The hardest part was describing the nightmares, because talking about them made them linger. I avoided Chrystal, the conniving assistant—no one should be fired during the holidays. I lunged for the remote, and he gave it up easily—a reward for giving him what he wanted.

After my narration, I felt better. Dan saved me all the time, even from myself. I was grateful he didn’t have a clingy supermodel attached at the hip. He never brought any of them home. His properties were off limits. He went to hotels, or their houses, and never stayed the night. No long-term relationships. No strings attached. “What happened to Mimi?”

“Who?” Dan frowned, and puzzlement took over his face.

“The Australian supermodel you were photographed with over the weekend.” I settled for a Friends re-run. “You guys partied all night at some famous night club, I think.”

“Over the weekend? Are we talking about the redhead, or the skinny blonde? And I was at a night club, huh?” He turned my head slightly, so we could face each other. “I have no idea who, or what, you’re talking about. I thought Friday and Saturday we’d Skyped on and off. But, hey, I might be wrong.” His temper flared. “Funny how the media seems to know more about my social life than I do.”

“You don’t need to be sarcastic.” His rudeness infuriated me. “I’m just asking. Though, for the record, all the girls you date are skinny and blond.” Bunch of opportunistic sluts. My blood boiled, and the filters came down. “So you have no clue, hmm? Can’t keep track of the women you’ve screwed, for one week?” The ice in my voice chilled the room.

The man had slept his way through every famous skank available. I didn’t blame him, but it didn’t make it right. The guy had the complete drop dead hottie package—handsome, sweet, an athletic build, fantastic humor when he wanted, and he had the money, assets, and resources to do whatever he pleased. He could have any woman he wanted, and more than he cared to have. They threw themselves at his feet.

Dan’s glare narrowed, spitting anger. He tensed, and dropped his arms. I clung to his neck to avoid a fall.

“Jesus, Rebecca.” God, the full name. I’d obviously upset him more than I’d realized. “I thought you knew me better. Do you honestly believe everything you read and watch?” His facial expression changed from anger to hurt. “I’m sorry, princess, but I’m not in the mood for this.” He made a weird movement with his hand. “For God’s sake, Bex, you know every inch of my schedule. For now, the only person I entertain is you. And if my status changes, then you’ll be the first to know.”

He had me there. I always knew his whereabouts. I sighed, feeling stupid. Yesterday, Chrystal had pulled up a picture of him on one of those gossipy sites, and I’d gone crazy. My stomach had clenched because my best friend had left me out of the loop. He’d kept a secret, and we didn’t do that. We were all we had, and tried to have an honest relationship, nothing hidden—except my two big secrets, and a few white lies.

After a few more minutes of cuddling, I agreed to stay, and went across the hall to gather my stuff. The journal sat on top of my nightstand, demanding a new entry. Inspiration struck, and the words flowed better than the day before.

* * * * *

Dear Lisa,

Tonight I realized something. You never stole Mom. How could I lose someone I never had? The woman was clingy, needy, and avoided me like the plague. If she wasn’t swooning from some guy, she was waiting for the next one. They left when the real Donna came to life, just like Dad. He’d stayed long enough to impregnate her, but ran at the first opportunity. I was the result of yet another failed relationship. A reminder of another failed relationship. Until Greg Sanders—your father—appeared and promised a different and brighter future.

I took care of Mom when Grams died—a seven year old responsible for an adult. Grams was an angel. She taught me to cook, sew, clean, and use all the household electronics. But, mostly, she gave me the tools to take care of her daughter. I wonder how things would’ve turned out if she hadn’t died. Your father and you could’ve taken Mom and left me there with Grams. But reminiscing and brooding about my past won’t help me move on.

I give you Mom, and everything else you took away all those years ago. Hope you can use them wherever you are. In exchange, I’ll keep my sobriety, my job, my friends, and the new life I’m making for myself.