Unforgettable Read online

  “I’m taking some time off,” I say with a shrug of my shoulder before reaching for my wine again.

  “What?” He leans forward, placing his forearms on the table. The sleeves to his suit pull back in the process showcasing the dark hair that covers his arms. “Why? When?” His brows pull together and his dark eyes watch me intently.

  “I just needed to take a semester off,” I say, trying to brush it off as no big deal. But the truth is that I’m not gonna go back. I actually quit months ago but I was able to keep up the lie for a while. Then I got to the point where I didn’t want to have to pretend to go to class on a daily basis. Lucky for me—no one has asked.

  “Why?” he urges, wanting an answer, and it irks me. I feel like he’s judging me when I’ve been judged my entire life. My family is very religious and were strict with my brother and me. We weren’t allowed to do most things other kids were allowed to do, and if that wasn’t enough, I was also the geek in school. I got judged for how I dressed and for wearing glasses. The fact that I studied instead of partied. I was never the pretty girl. Everyone laughed at me, and they didn’t do it behind my back, they did it to my face. At least no one pretended to be my friend.

  I release a heavy sigh. “I had to. Sam offered me a full-time job at the bakery making great money. I wanted to move out of my parents’ house. I couldn’t afford that and continue school full-time as well.”

  He’s quiet for a few seconds before he tilts his head in confusion. “Why didn’t you ask me? I would have helped you with the money,” he says as if I should have thought of that as an option. “You know money…”

  That makes me even madder. He’s already helped me more than I care to admit. “I didn’t want to owe you more than I already do,” I interrupt him.

  “Is that what this is?” He leans back and spreads his arms out gesturing to us and the restaurant. “You paying up?” he asks with a look of pain on his face.

  Yes. “No,” I say softly shaking my head and dropping my eyes to my wine glass. I go to take another drink of my wine but he grabs my hand.

  “You don’t owe me anything, Missy. I’m always here for you. You know that, right?” His words are spoken softly and are sincere. They make my heart break a little. I wish I could love him.

  “I know. Thank you,” I say looking down at the table trying to ignore his brown eyes as they stare into mine.

  “I can talk to Sam? See if she can lessen your hours?” he offers. “You can get back into school, if not full-time, then, at least part-time.”

  I jerk my hand from his. “No,” I say a little too harshly, making people turn and stare down at me. I lean in and lower my voice. “Do not speak to her, Braxton. I love my job. Please just drop it.” I plead with him to understand where I’m coming from but people like him very rarely do. He has the means to do anything that he wants. I’m not saying he doesn’t work hard for that money, he does. I’m just saying that he doesn’t understand what it’s like to have to depend on someone else. And I’ve depended on him too much already.

  He nods his head and raises his hand for the waiter. In seconds he’s standing at our table and Braxton is asking for the check and my leftovers from the back. I finish off my wine while Braxton pays.

  Once we are sitting comfortably, driving down the highway in his expensive Range Rover, he breaks the silence. “Do you want me to take you to my house or yours?”

  I still stay at his house every now and then. Sometimes the memories of what I lost come crashing down on me and I need his arms to hold me. The only thing is, he doesn’t know that I imagine Tate instead. That I imagine he’s the one rocking me back and forth reminding me that he’s there for me no matter what.

  “I’ll go home. Thanks though,” I answer looking out the window at the passing cars.

  He gets my attention when he places his soft hand on my thigh. “You know you don’t have to pretend everything is okay, Missy? These things just don’t go away.”

  I’m drowning. Can’t breathe. No longer able to see a way out. I live in the blackness that has consumed my life. Taken over what I once was.

  Tears spill down my cheeks as I sit on the cold tile of Braxton’s bathroom floor while he sleeps in his bed. I grip my phone tightly in one hand. Wiping my tears away with the other as I look down to my phone and read the message that Sam had sent me hours ago.

  Sam: The girls and I are going to the bridal store to be fitted for their dresses. I haven’t heard from you in a while. Are you going to be able to be fitted for yours tomorrow as well?

  I type out a response.

  Me: Can’t make it.

  I lean my head back and close my eyes. Hoping that the darkness takes me once again. It’s easier. I don’t have to remember or think about what happened. I find comfort in the darkness that has come to consume me. Even if that darkness comes from a bottle.

  I lift the bottle and take a swig. I grimace as I try to swallow the warm, foul liquid. I feel like I may puke but I’m finally able to swallow it. This is the only way that I can forget. This is the only way that has me able to close my eyes and not see that nightmare in front of me. To not have to hear the words ‘I’m sorry, Missy,’ from the doctor just days ago.

  I let out a sob as I continue to sit on his bathroom floor. This isn’t the first time I’ve been drunk and found myself on a bathroom floor. My twenty-first birthday party that Sam had thrown me just a few months ago was my first and only time up until now. At least then I had Sam. I wish she were here right now but I can’t tell her. I can’t tell anyone. This secret is mine to keep.

  “Missy?” I hear Braxton’s worried voice yell before he knocks on his bathroom door. “Open up. Let me in, Missy,” he demands, his voice growing more frantic with each word.

  I ignore him as I lift the bottle and take another swig, hoping I black out and he will just go back to bed.

  Braxton continues to pound on the door as I close my eyes. Blocking out his voice and the noise, I slowly slide further down so that I’m lying flat on my back and roll over onto my side trying to ignore the tightness in my chest. Tate has no idea what he has done to me. What that one night cost me. Hell, he probably can’t even remember that night. And that has me crying out as I wrap an arm around my stomach.

  “I’m fine, Braxton,” I say turning in the front seat to look at him. That was ten months ago. “Truly. I’m okay,” I reassure him.

  He nods his head but doesn’t look away from the road. I’m lying to him but the part that hurts the most is that I’m lying to myself. I’ve already had one breakdown, I don’t want to have another one.

  He pulls down the street to my apartment and I let out a long sigh when I see my mother’s car sitting outside of my building. What is she doing here?

  I should have gone to his house.

  “Missy,” she says cheerfully as I exit his car, but I know she’s not happy with me. To anyone else her smile and my name would sound friendly, loving even. But I haven’t spoken to her much in the last year. My mother has a way of reading me, and I don’t want her to discover the truth. She will be so disappointed in me. And I’m not sure I can handle that.

  “Mother,” I say walking up to her and giving her a quick hug.

  “Who’s this?” she asks releasing me and looking over at Braxton as he stands behind us with his hands in the pocket of his dress pants.

  He takes a step toward her and stretches out his right hand. “Hello, Mrs. Freeman. I’ve heard so many great things about you.” Liar. “I’m Braxton.”

  Her smile brightens as she reaches out and shakes his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Braxton. But, please, call me Tricia.”

  He nods his head to her and then turns to me. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he states before leaning down and placing a kiss on my cheek. I then turn and face her once he gets back into his car and drives off.

  “How long have you two been dating?” she asks placing her hands on her hips. She frowns as she looks me over while she waits
for me to answer. “What have you been doing? You’ve lost some weight.” Her dark blue eyes narrow behind her red-rimmed glasses. “And your hair.” She reaches up and grabs a loose strand. “What have you done to it? It’s so blond,” she says with a frown. “It’s gonna start breaking off soon. And where are your glasses? Did you lose them again?”

  I love my mother to death but she lives in a different era. She never wears much makeup besides the occasional mascara and lipstick. She keeps her dirty blond, straight hair short, and she never dresses up. She prefers to live in jeans and loose-fitting shirts that don’t show off her small frame. But no matter what she’s in or what she looks like, she has confidence. She keeps her head held high and her shoulders back. She wears my father’s love for her as if it were a flashy ring for all to see. I have always felt like the oddball. The one who doesn’t fit into this family. I’ve never felt pretty or had confidence. Changing what I didn’t like about myself makes me feel better.

  “What are you doing here, Mom?” I try to ask without sounding hateful. I wanted to come home so I could be alone not visit with my mother. And I refuse to answer any of those questions.

  “I called you earlier, and you didn’t answer. I thought I would come over and see you,” she says sounding more concerned than anything now. “You never have invited me over.” Now I regret ever even telling her my address. Maybe I should have moved out of state.

  “My phone is on silent. Braxton and I were having dinner,” I explain.

  She lets out a long sigh as she looks me up and down once again. I shuffle uncomfortably under her gaze. “I…” She stops and frowns. “I don’t hear much from you anymore. Is everything okay?” she asks looking more worried as she pushes her glasses up on her nose.

  I let out a sigh of my own and walk over to the steps of my apartment building. I sit down knowing she isn’t going to leave until I give her something. And if I invite her up she may never leave. “Yes, Mom, everything is fine,” I say looking down to my hands knotted in my lap.

  “Then why did you quit school?”

  My head snaps up to look at her in horror. How does she know I quit?

  She softly smiles down at me before she seats herself on the stairs beside me. “I went up to the college today to see if you wanted to have lunch but I didn’t have your schedule. I just happened to run into a girl who knows you and she told me you dropped out.”

  Just my luck. “Who was it?” I ask confused. Why isn’t she yelling at me? Why isn’t she looking at me with disappointment?

  “Her name was Katherine.” She lets out a soft laugh. “I kinda screamed and told her that I was your mother and that I would have known if you dropped out of college months ago.” I swallow nervously and she continues. “She started apologizing. She had no idea I was your mother or she probably would have lied for you.” She looks over at me with a smile on her face.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper feeling guilty for living a lie.

  She turns her body on the stairs to face me. “Why didn’t you come to us? Were you failing?”

  “No. I just...” I let out a long sigh. I love her and I know she wants to know what’s happened but I can’t tell her. I just can’t do it. I don’t want to relive that again. Not now, maybe never.

  “I just didn’t want to waste your money anymore. I no longer wanted to be a nurse,” I say shrugging carelessly. “I got a job at the bakery and I love it there. Sam pays me really well and it just became more important.” I try to think of the same words I told Braxton at dinner earlier. Gotta keep my stories straight.

  She looks at me and tilts her head as if in thought. “You know I don’t believe you, right?” I let out a nervous laugh. “It’s not drugs is it?” she asks with concern.

  “No, Mom. No drugs,” I say with a small smile as I shake my head. Drugs might have been easier. At least they would numb the pain.

  “Alcohol?” she adds.

  “No.”

  “Hmm,” she says in thought. She stares at me for a few seconds before she stands up and looks down at me. “I want to know what’s going on with you, Missy, but I won’t push it. I want you to come home for dinners and answer your phone when I call to just say hello and have a good day. You’re my daughter…”

  “Mom…”

  She places her hand up stopping me. “I believe it when you say it’s not drugs or alcohol. And I don’t think that you’re in any serious danger but if I promise not to ask you about it, will you please come around more?” She sniffs as her dark blue eyes start to get watery. I hate that I’ve made her feel so badly. “Just because you have your own place and have grown up doesn’t mean you can’t come home sometimes,” she says softly.

  I stand up and hug her tightly. When I pull away she wipes a tear from her eye. “I’m sorry, Mom. I will come around more.” I place my hands on her shoulders. “But believe me when I say I’m okay.”

  She nods her head before pulling me in for a hug this time. “I love you,” she says before she turns and walks away.

  “I love you too,” I call out before I watch her drive away. I make my way up to my quiet apartment and find myself running a hot bath. Before I get in, I pull my phone out of my purse and check it. Three missed calls from my mother and one text from my friend Katherine.

  Kat: Hey girl. I’m so sorry but I think I told your mother that you quit school. Actually, I know it was your mother because she yelled it at me. I’m such a bitch. So sorry. Don’t hate me. <3 you

  I let out a little laugh at her message before I place my phone on the charger and then sink down into the lukewarm water in my tub. The talk with my mother actually makes me feel better. It’s hard keeping up with secrets and lies.

  CHAPTER TWO

  TATE

  I sit on my couch as I think about Missy’s upcoming birthday. It’s in two days and I am getting more and more nervous by the second. I mean, I see her often up at the bakery, and I used to speak to her after we got back from Vegas. Small talk, of course, but she just ignored me. So, I quit trying. Doesn’t make it any easier though.

  I first met Missy three years ago when I got a part-time job at her father’s repair shop. I still remember the first time I ever saw her. She had come by on a weekend, and she was the total opposite type of what I usually went for. You have to understand a guy like me wants the type of women who you don’t take home to your mother. You want the ones like Ginger, who wear their skirts too short and let their cleavage hang out of the top. The ones who want attention through sex. The ones who you know will spread their legs on any given day and not ask questions or constantly call you wanting to know where you’re at or who you’re with. You want someone who is as easy as possible, no wine and dine necessary.

  Missy was none of that.

  She was young and innocent. You could just tell by looking at her that she hadn’t ever seen a man like me before. A man tattooed and scarred—inside and out. The first time I met her, she was wearing a light blue t-shirt and a pair of worn-out jeans. Her dirty blond hair was up in a messy bun and even though she wore black-rimmed glasses, I could still see her pretty blue eyes. She instantly made my throat dry and my dick hard, which was crazy. She was too young for me, and I was working for her father.

  I watch the beautiful blonde from behind the glass inside the shop as I continue to wipe off the wrench in my hands with the grease rag. She walks up and places a few Subway bags on the counter. My boss smiles as he looks down at her. She pushes up her glasses as she nods her head to him a few times.

  “Quit staring.”

  I spin around to see the owner’s son, Jacob, looking at me with a smile on his face.

  “I wasn’t,” I say tossing the wrench into the tool box that sits next to me. And I tuck the nasty grease rag into my back pocket.

  He chuckles. “Oh, you were. And my father would kill you if he saw that look on your face,” he adds.

  “Your father?” His father is my boss. “Why would he care?”

&nbs
p; He nods his head over back to the window. I spin around to watch the blonde pick up two of the Subway bags. “Because that is my little sister.”

  Before I get a chance to respond, she walks through the back door with the two Subway bags in her hands. She pauses for a second when she sees me and I stand there like an idiot staring back.

  Her eyes lower to my knuckles as she examines the scars from fights I have gotten into from the past. They slowly trail up my arms and they widen as she takes in the tattoos that my wife beater allows her to see. Tribal work all done in black ink.

  “Missy,” Jacob says, making her jump. “This is Tate.” He gestures to me with a smile on his face.

  “Tate,” he turns to me, “this is my little sister. Missy.” He then walks past me and grabs one of the Subway bags out of her hands, leaving us alone.

  We stand there for a few more seconds before she takes a step toward me and holds up the last bag to me.

  “For me?” I ask confused.

  She nods. “I brought you guys lunch,” she says softly. “I always bring my dad and brother lunch on the weekends,” she explains, before looking down to the floor shyly.

  I smile to myself. She’s a breath of fresh air that is unlike any woman I’ve ever been this close to. The smell of coconuts and sunshine makes me feel alive and hopeful for something better than beer, cigarettes, and bar whores. But even if she were my age, she’s way out of my league. And for that, I allow the darkness to swallow me up once again. Hope will only make you weak. And weak is the last thing I will allow her to make me feel.

  We ended up becoming friends, though. Then, as the years went on and she graduated high school, she got a fake ID. I started seeing her out at clubs and bars and I became her big brother; making sure she was safe and no one tried to take advantage of her. While at the same time I wondered what it would like to be with her. Her shy smile and blue eyes had me wanting more from her but I knew she was innocent. How could I protect her and want to have her at the same time? I’ve never been one to do things the correct way though. But when I saw her in Vegas I couldn’t hold myself back any longer. And I figured by then she had been with other men. I figured she had turned into what I thought of as the stereotypical woman. But I knew better. I was lying to myself. Missy will never be that type of girl. If she hadn’t been drunk, she never would have let me touch her.