Fault Lines Page 7

  My eyes fall to my shoes and I exhale loudly. "That's going to be pretty hard unless I leave town, Faith." I look over across the street at the house where I know she's sitting right now. I set my coffee mug on the railing and lean against it with both hands. Dropping my head, I take in what it is Faith is asking of me. Make myself scarce .

  Silence surrounds us as I take a deep breath .

  "You destroyed her, Cole," Faith finally speaks, her voice breaking with emotion. "You were her future. She was working so hard to become successful to get you both out of here." Faith stops, clearing her throat to compose herself. "To come home and find out you cheated on her and got another girl pregnant…that destroyed her. That was supposed to be her future, Cole, her baby with you ."

  I look up from the rotted wood boards on the porch and gaze across the street. As I think about that day that changed everything, I bite at the inside of my lip and swallow my guilt. This is the first time Faith has spoken to me about the past. A past she knows nothing about—other than the lies I created .

  Running out of steam, Faith adds, "As I'm sure you can imagine, it wasn't easy for her to come home ."

  I nod my head in silence, still looking at the little house across the street .

  "If you have any respect for her, Cole, leave her alone ."

  I clear my throat and let Faith's words sink in. Maybe I should make myself scarce. But then the front door opens, and my heart leaps in anticipation of seeing her again, even just a glimpse. Damn, I’m pathetic .

  My heart drops almost immediately when I see Maggie stepping out. "Mom!" she hollers from the open doorway .

  "I'll be right there," Faith yells back, but makes no attempt to leave .

  Changing the subject, I nod toward Maggie. "She reminds me so much of Frankie at that age." I can’t help but say something .

  Maggie stands on the porch across the street, her arms folded across her chest as she watches Faith's and my silent showdown .

  Faith looks away at Maggie, then back to me. "Maggie told me about the little back and forth thing you two have going on ."

  I huff out a short laugh. "Is that right ?"

  "She doesn't know what happened with you and Franny, but Mom said something to her. So I know she's upset with you." Her anger seems to have subsided and she fights back a stiff smile .

  "That's three Callaway women who have it out for me." I chuckle. "Seems like your mom is the only one who has, or may have, forgiven me." I turn to look at Faith, who is still watching Maggie across the street .

  "Cole, just do what I asked of you, please ?"

  "She married?" I blurt out, catching Faith off guard .

  She stands up straighter and cocks her head. I can see her debating whether to answer me, debating whether I even deserve that answer. "Not yet, but she's engaged. To a really great guy. Ted. He's a lawyer, too." Her mouth quirks up into an almost smug smirk, and I can tell she's happy to stick the knife in my back and twist it .

  I feel a fire in my bones knowing she’s engaged. "Ted," I snort. "Nobody great is named Ted ."

  "Cole…" she starts, getting annoyed with me .

  "Was hard to miss that ring on her finger," I remark. "Looks like he treats her well." I grab the coffee mug off the railing and walk to the screen door .

  Faith snorts. "If by ‘well’, you mean he doesn't cheat on her and knock up another woman, yep. He treats her really well ."

  I freeze, momentarily stunned by Faith's words. I deserve another knife in the back—as much as it fucking hurts .

  With those parting comments, I let the door slam closed behind me and mutter a quiet, "fuck off," to Faith .

  Eight

  I spent the day shadowing Judy, following her around and watching every intricate detail of her routine that’s now seared into my brain. I helped her prepare food, get Mom up and walking, and listened to Mom struggle to read a simple page of words while Judy sat patiently and helped her. Basically, I did anything and everything to keep my mind busy and focused on Mom, not on my encounter with Cole this morning .

  Today was exhausting, but encouraging at the same time. Faith insisted that we spend a couple of hours out of the house tonight, and I gladly agreed .

  "You did not say that to him!" I scream at Faith, burying my head in my hands .

  "Yes, I did." Faith strokes mascara on her eyelashes as I sit on the edge of the bathtub and watch her get ready for our night out. "I don't know what has me more mad, Franny—that Cole couldn't keep it in his pants, or that he was too fucking stupid to wrap it up and knocked up Whitney Carson ."

  I cringe at the sound of Whitney's name coming off of Faith's tongue. Whitney was one of a handful of girls who was actually nice to me in school. Most were bitchy and wanted nothing to do with a poor tomboy from the wrong side of the tracks, so it hurt that she'd do that to me, especially with Cole .

  "You know she still lives in the Ridge, right?" Faith asks, dropping her tube of mascara in her makeup bag .

  I roll my eyes. "I didn't. But I honestly don't really care," I respond and stand up, trying to not get upset .

  "You're not curious about her at all?" she asks and I narrow my eyes at her. "Like, you haven't gotten all FBI and stalked her social media ?"

  "No, Faith. Jesus. I have no desire to see photos of Whitney, Cole, or their baby." I huff and stand up, fixing the black top I paired with a pair of faded jeans and black low booties .

  "Is that what you're going to wear?" She looks at my reflection .

  I glower at her. "It's a shitty VFW, Faith. We're only going for one beer…because you're making me," I remind her. "I'm not clubbing it in West Hollywood ."

  She smiles at me. "I'm not making you. Melinda wants us gone for the evening. She said Mom needs her rest, and with both of us lurking around, she's all wound up. Plus, it looks cute. I was just giving you hell," she teases. "But throw on that pretty long gold necklace with the pendant. It'll dress it up just a bit ."

  I roll my eyes at her. Who made her fashion queen ?

  "I need to call Ted before we leave." I run my fingers through my hair and notice my tired reflection looking back at me .

  "Go.” She shoos me away. “Call Loverboy. I need about ten more minutes to fix my hair anyway ."

  I sigh as I leave her in the bathroom, and I check in on Momma, who is sitting in bed, propped up, and watching I Love Lucy reruns on a small television in her bedroom .

  "Hey, Mom," I whisper as not to startle her. She tries to smile at me, but it's all lopsided. "You feeling okay?" I ask, sitting on the edge of her bed. I brush her hair off her forehead, tucking it behind her ear .

  She speaks slowly and carefully, just barely above a whisper. "Yes ."

  "Good. Faith and I are going to run into town—Melinda wants us out of here for a little bit. Tomorrow, Judy said two of your therapists are coming. It's going to be a big day. You need to rest." I place my hand over hers. "I love you," I say, leaning in to kiss her cheek .

  "Love you." She manages to say back slowly .

  Guilt fills me for even considering going out tonight as I close her door behind me. I step into my room and pull my phone off the nightstand, scrolling through the text messages and missed phone calls, none of which are from Ted. He's pissed. When I find his name, I tap it and the phone immediately begins ringing. Four rings and I get sent to voice mail. He's so pissed .

  I shoot him a quick text message to let him know I'm thinking of him and toss the phone back on my nightstand .

  "Ready?" Faith pops her head in the room .

  "Ready."
;

  Faith arranged for a babysitter to watch the kids at her house which was a great idea. As nice as it has been having them here, with us going out it's best they're at home for tonight .

  "I'll drive," I tell Faith and use the remote key fob to unlock the car doors. I'm not a big drinker, and I know Faith likes to indulge once in a while, so I'll be the designated driver .

  "Let me drive," she argues. "It's your night to relax ."

  "You're the drinker." I laugh at her. "And I'll drop you off at home later ."

  "What about my car?" she asks, glancing at her car that's parked on the street .

  "Seriously?" I question her. "You live nine blocks away. I think I can manage to come pick you up in the morning ."

  Three minutes later, we turn into the small square, non-descript building sporting a large American flag. The local VFW has been the only bar in town for as long as I can remember. I suddenly recall the new bar slated to open and hope that it doesn't detract business from here. While it's great to see the economy and Crescent Ridge grow, I hate to see it at the expense of long time businesses, especially ones that support our local veterans .

  Even though it's only eight o'clock, the VFW is busy. The bar is packed, and people crowd around tall pub tables, leaning in to talk to each other over the noise of the busy bar and music. Two pool tables take up space at the far end of the room and another wall is lined with dartboards. However, with how busy it is, those do not appear to be in use tonight. This place is such a far cry from the Los Angeles bar and club scene I've grown accustomed to .

  Faith waves me over to a small table she found tucked away, closer to the pool tables. A waitress immediately greets us and Faith orders us each a vodka tonic. The noise level is quieter over here, which makes it easier to talk, and I become much more at ease after a few sips of vodka. The stress of this trip, and Mom, begins to suddenly unwind as the vodka hits my veins .

  "Do they have Uber in Crescent Ridge?" I ask Faith over the table and she bursts out laughing .

  "No." She shakes her head and sips her drink much slower than I'm doing. Maybe she should have driven. "Franny, we literally live five blocks from here. We can walk home if we need to. Sarah is eighteen. She can stay the night with the kids if needed ."

  Shit. Yep. I sometimes forget how small Crescent Ridge really is .

  Faith and I catch up on life. The kids, her job, how she's doing—I keep the conversation focused on her. It feels good to relax and talk with my sister. I've missed her, and while we're close, our conversations are limited to emails and texts most of the time due to my busy schedule .

  "Do you need more money?" I ask her, the vodka obviously loosening me up .

  We never talk money, but I always help her. She never asks, nor would she, so monthly she gets a deposit and I sleep better knowing she doesn't need to worry about the kids or herself. She has helped me in more ways than anyone could imagine, and money is the last thing I need .

  She shakes her head. "We're actually doing okay. I'm able to pay for Maggie's dance and swimming, and Matthew's t-ball is dirt cheap—so we're good." She winks at me .

  "Well, you know if you need anything — "

  "You do more than enough for us, Franny. You send money religiously. You do more for us than that lousy ex-husband of mine ever will." She squeezes the lime into her drink aggressively when she mentions her ex .

  I frown, knowing how Rick took everything in their divorce. He pays close to nothing in child support, and he holds the ace of spades when it comes to secrets he can use against Faith. Well, actually me. So Faith lets him shirk off his responsibilities to protect me. We all want the past left in the past .

  Another round of vodka tonics, and Faith and I are laughing, fondly detailing stories from our youth. "Remember that time you stole my bra and wore it to school? I think you were in fifth grade," Faith laughs, "and all the boys were making fun of you, because you didn't even have boobs!" she squeals .

  "I didn't get boobs until eighth grade." I roll my eyes at her .

  Faith squeals with laughter. "Well, remember that day, the boys were making fun of you and — "

  Like a flashback from the past, his voice comes out of nowhere. My head snaps up quickly to find him with a pool stick held tightly in his hand, mere inches from me. His bright blue eyes radiate confidence and purpose. His lip curls slightly at the corner and he laughs before speaking .

  "I kicked all of their asses," he chuckles, "and I'd do it again," he says, leaning in, his voice deep and commanding .

  Our eyes lock, and I study every inch of his face. The small mole on his chin is barely noticeable through his five o'clock shadow. The corners of his eyes are beginning to show signs of crow’s feet, and dammit if that doesn't turn me on. He's aged perfectly in ten years, better than I expected him to .

  I couldn't see much of him this morning, and I was so upset that I wasn't really looking, but now…with him inches from me, I notice all of him .

  Lean muscle and tan skin. Dark hair and blue eyes. The curve of his lips and his straight nose. The light scent of his cologne invades my space and he knows he's gotten to me. He grins and those perfectly straight white teeth of his peek out from those lips I was just admiring .

  I can't look at him any longer. I shake my head and turn back to see Faith shooting daggers from her eyes directly at Cole. If looks could kill, Cole would fall dead right here at my feet .

  My back stiffens and the hairs on my neck stand up when he begins speaking again. "Didn't mean to interrupt your conversation, ladies. Just happened to be within earshot—and that memory was a good one. We have a lot of good memories, don't we, Frankie?" I suddenly feel dizzy and I'm not sure if it's from the vodka or Cole .

  I glance away and Faith snaps, "Cole ."

  I don't turn around to see him leave, but I feel his absence. I always knew when he was near—it was just that way with us, and I can tell he's gone .

  The look on Faith's face tells me my senses were right, he's left .

  "Why is he here?" I ask, annoyed and suddenly wanting to leave as I begin gathering my purse and jacket .

  Faith reaches over and grabs my hands. "Because it's the only damn place in this town to get a drink," she reminds me. "He's gone. We're not letting him ruin our night, Franny. Sit down and relax." Faith calms me down, she always does .

  I'm a few cocktails in, and the vodka is making me more agreeable than normal. And while the mood has shifted slightly, we continue on, pushing Cole Ryan to the back of our minds .

  Except, there's no pushing Cole to the back of my mind. Not tonight. He's bold and makes his presence known. He's a force, tall and fierce. Still, I do my best to forget he's just over my shoulder, only a few feet away, and I order us another round of drinks to help assist in forgetting .

  Faith continues down memory lane, and we giggle at her terrible memory of childhood events when two shots arrive at our table, courtesy of a different waitress. "From the gentleman over there." She points behind me and I refuse to look. I know exactly where those shots are coming from. The shot glasses are full of pink liquid and rimmed with sugar .

  "Carter Richardson," Faith says, raising her glass. "Looks like he's here with Cole." Her eyes are fixed on the corner behind me. "No sense in wasting good alcohol." She shrugs, looking back to me .

  Hesitantly, I reach for the shot glass in front of me. With a shaky hand, Faith and I toast. "To forgetting," I say, sparing a glance over my shoulder where I see Carter and Cole standing side-by-side, watching us .

  "To forgetting," Faith says loudly enough for the entire bar to hear, raising her glass even higher. With a giant smile, she presses the shot glass to her lips and I follow s
uit .

  The cold liquid burns nicely as it fills my belly. "To forgetting," I mumble again, puckering my lips as the sour aftertaste hits me. "If only it were that easy," I say, chancing another look at Cole .

  And he smiles that fucking ridiculous smile that he always did—and my stupid heart skips a beat .

  * * *

  A s the alcohol takes effect, my feet become numb and my lips begin to tingle. Faith has ordered us water in an effort to keep me upright. "Bathroom," I stammer as I push myself off the tall pub chair. "Have to pee, so bad ."

  Faith giggles as she holds a somewhat steady arm at my back. I square my shoulders and do my best to walk as straight as possible. It sucks that the bathrooms are in the opposite corner of where we’re sitting. Neon lights flash Coors Light and Bud Light along the wall, in between giant television screens airing a baseball game .

  Cleaning myself up in the sink, I splash some water on my cheeks, hoping to tame the pink flush that has inched up from my chest. The alcohol seems to be going down a little easier than usual .

  With my pointer finger, I lean in close to the mirror and wipe eyeliner that's begun to run underneath my eye when an unfamiliar voice startles me .

  "Franny?" The woman's voice is quiet but high-pitched. "Is that you ?"

  In the mirror behind me, I see a woman with long blonde hair exiting a bathroom stall. It takes a moment for recognition to hit me, but when it does, I whip around quickly, almost losing my balance .

  "It is you," she says with a giant smile. "You look so good! I've heard all about your success," she continues talking and walking toward me. I see her lips moving, but don't hear a single word she's speaking .

  My hand grips the edge of the bathroom counter as my eyes take in all five-foot-nine of Whitney Carson. Whitney fucking Carson .

  I close my eyes, drawing in a deep breath, willing myself not to lose my shit in front of her. Her face, the curve of her belly…the vision of Cole pressed to her has been imbedded in my mind for the last ten years, and here she stands—being as friendly as ever .