Tragic: Chapter 11

I was having the best dream about eating homemade cinnamon rolls when someone woke me up by pounding on the front door. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing them to go away, but the noise only got louder.

And more painful.

I jerked awake and groaned.

No one was at the door. The pounding was in my head.

“Oh, fuck.” I buried my face in my pillow.

Hangovers were a bitch. I’d partied quite a bit in my younger years, enjoying late nights out with the guys, boozing and picking up women. After a heavy night of drinking, I used to be able to wake up the next morning, guzzle some water, pop a few pain pills and be good to go.

But at thirty-three years old, my body didn’t recover as quickly. The last time I’d been drunk, my headache had lasted for days.

My stomach rolled as I sat up and took a deep breath. I was still wearing my clothes from yesterday, but at least I’d kicked off my boots.

I looked around the room for some water, but all I found were three empty glasses on the nightstand. Something had died in my mouth, and my throat was screaming for a drink. When I stood, I fought a dizzying wave but managed to stumble my way to the bedroom door.

I yanked it open and was immediately hit with a smell that nearly sent my ass to the floor.

Cinnamon rolls.

Mom used to make us cinnamon rolls on the weekends when she wasn’t working. I hadn’t eaten one in over three years. And since Mom didn’t know where I lived, there could only be one person who’d brought that smell into my house. Piper.

I shuffled down the hallway to the kitchen. Under the smell of cinnamon, sugar and yeast, I caught a hint of bleach as I passed by the bathroom. I ignored it. First thing on the docket was drinking a gallon of water. Then I’d find out what Piper was doing in my kitchen.

Given my rumpled clothes, I doubted we’d had sex. Though it wasn’t impossible. My brain was still too fuzzy to remember everything that had happened last night.

The light in the kitchen and living room was blinding. I groaned as I entered the main room, taking a break to lean on the fridge so I wouldn’t pass out from the pain behind my temples.

“Morning.” Piper was propped up against the counter with her phone in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.

“Got any more of that coffee?” My voice was hoarse and using it made my head throb even more.

She nodded, setting her mug aside to get me one of my own and fill it from the coffee pot in the corner.

I pushed off the fridge and stumbled toward the dining room table. I collapsed into a chair, rocking the legs a bit. Piper delivered my coffee and took the seat across from me.

I grunted my thanks before taking a first sip. The coffee scalded my tongue, so I set it down to cool. Then, with my elbows digging into the table, I propped my aching head into my hands.

“Are you going to live?” Piper asked.

“Maybe,” I muttered, closing my eyes. “I just need a few minutes.”

I kept my eyes closed as she stood and walked across the room. The unmistakable rattle of a pill bottle filled the kitchen, and at that moment, I would have married her.

She brought me some pain pills and a tall glass of water, setting them on the table before returning to her seat.

I forced my eyes open, popping the pills in my mouth and gulping the water. I still felt like shit. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

I went back to my coffee, leaning back in my chair as I sipped it slowly. When that cup was empty, Piper got up and filled it for me along with my water. By the time I’d made it through my refills, I was nearly human again.

“Thanks for the coffee. And the water.”

She shrugged. “Technically, it was your coffee and water.”

“Still appreciated.” My eyes wandered around the kitchen. “You cleaned?”

“Just a little,” she spoke into her own cup.

It was more than a little. The dishes that had been piling up for two weeks were all cleared away. The counters were gleaming and the smell from the garbage can—the one that had driven me to the shop for countless long days—was now gone.

“I made cinnamon rolls.” Piper smiled. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Yup. They smell great.” I took another sip of my coffee, the ache behind my temples beginning to fade. “How long have you been here?”

“Since about five. After you passed out, I went home but couldn’t sleep much. So I came over to make sure you were alive.”

“The jury’s still out,” I groaned, dropping my head back into my hands.

“Breakfast will help. My cinnamon rolls aren’t magic, but they’ve been known to cure a hangover once or twice.”

My stomach growled, then churned when I caught a whiff from my underarms. “Do I have time for a quick shower?” And to brush my teeth?

“Go for it. The rolls still need about ten minutes.”

Taking my coffee cup with me, I disappeared into the bathroom, showering quickly, though my movements were all clumsy. My fingers fumbled over my bar of soap, dropping it twice, and I squirted way too much from my bottle of shampoo. There would be no working in the shop for me today. I didn’t trust myself around power tools or sharp objects.

I climbed out of the shower and swiped a towel off the hook. That towel had been on the floor yesterday, but Piper must have picked it up. I dried and wrapped it around my waist, then raked my hands through my hair as I inspected myself in the mirror.

I looked like hell. My beard was scraggly and overdue for a trim. My eyes were bloodshot and my cheeks a little green.

But things weren’t all bad. My shoulders weren’t tense and balled up at my ears. My jaw was unclenched for the first time in weeks. It wasn’t the hangover’s doing.

It was Piper’s.

Having her back in this house was settling.

I’d been a grumpy bastard ever since our dinner because I’d missed her dimpled smile. I’d missed her witty comments and knowing smirks. I’d missed the way she looked at me with those big, beautiful eyes.

I’d missed her.

The ding on the oven’s timer pulled me away from the mirror and out of the bathroom she’d cleaned this morning. I went to my bedroom and pulled on some jeans and a gray T-shirt, then walked out with my coffee mug, surveying the living room with a more careful eye.

She’d picked up in there too and wiped away the accumulated dust. Under the cinnamon roll smell, there was a hint of my furniture polish.

“You didn’t have to clean. But I appreciate it. I, uh . . . kind of let shit go these last couple of weeks.”

Piper glanced over her shoulder. “I didn’t mind.”

My mouth watered at the pan resting in front of her on the stove. It was loaded with golden-baked rolls, oozing with cinnamon and sugar. Piper was drizzling white frosting over the top.

“You went to a lot of trouble.”

She shrugged. “Not really. I’ve been wanting an excuse to make these. You’ve got a much better space to knead and roll dough than I do at the camper, so I decided to intrude on your kitchen. And since they took a while to rise, I just picked up. It wasn’t much.”

It wasn’t much? I scoffed. “You cleaned my bathroom.”

She smirked. “I had to pee. Cleaning it was necessary before I could go.”

“Sorry.” I grimaced. “And thank you. Again.”

Someday, I’d make it up to her. Someday when my head wasn’t swirling with whiskey fumes and my stomach wasn’t growling like a bear. I hadn’t eaten dinner last night, or lunch for that matter. It was no wonder I’d gotten so drunk off a half bottle of Jack.

“Want more coffee?” she asked.

“I got it.” I carried my mug to the coffee pot, filled it and looked to hers between us. “Do you need a warm-up?”

“Sure.” She smiled and pushed it closer at the same time I went to pick it up.

Our fingers brushed on the handle, sending an electric zing up my elbow. Her breath hitched and her cheeks turned rosy. But she didn’t take her hand away.

The room got blurry before disappearing around us as our hands lingered on the warm ceramic. If I took one step, she’d be in my arms. She’d fill the hole I’d been missing for two weeks.

If I took one step, we could be naked on the couch in seconds.

But before I took that one step, she slid her hand free and tucked it into an oven mitt.

“I can’t,” she whispered, staring at her rolls.

“It’s okay.” I took her mug and filled it up. This morning wasn’t about sex. Our casual relationship had burned us both. And this morning was her peace offering. “I get it.”

“I don’t want things to be awkward between us. Casual didn’t work out. But how about something different? How about . . . neighbors?”

I nodded. “Neighbors.”

Pushing down my attraction to her would take some getting used to. But it was better this way. Wasn’t it? That’s what I’d been telling myself for two weeks. I didn’t need her in my bed. I’d just keep repeating it over and over until it stuck.

“I have a proposition for you,” Piper said, dishing up her enormous cinnamon rolls on two plates.

“I thought you wanted to just be neighbors.”

She giggled. “Not that kind of proposition.”

“Damn.”

She laughed again. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in building me a dining room table. I’m not sure what your availability is, but I wouldn’t need it for a while. But you know how I feel about your furniture. A custom Kaine Reynolds piece is something I just can’t live without.”

I walked over to the table and sat down, sipping my coffee. “My wait list is two years out.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders fell. “I’m not surprised. Can you add me to it? I can just get something temporary in the meantime.”

“Sure.” I sipped my coffee again, hiding a grin.

I’d finished her table three days ago. I might have been doing my best to ignore her, but that table had called to me, begging to be finished. It was currently covered in a canvas cloth in a corner of the shop.

Maybe I’d wait until her house was done, then show up with a surprise delivery.

A stir of anticipation ran through my body. I hadn’t given anyone a gift in years. I used to love giving presents, especially to Mom. She’d sacrificed so much, working long hours so we wouldn’t go without. As soon as I’d been able to afford decent birthday and Christmas gifts, I’d always gone above and beyond. Usually, all Mom had wanted were pieces of my furniture, so I’d set aside time in my schedule to craft my finest.

I would have done anything for Mom.

Which was why it hurt so much that she’d chosen him instead of me.

“Here you go.” Piper set a plate and fork in front of me, then sat with her own.

With the aroma of soft bread, sugar and spice wafting into my nose, all thoughts of the past and my mother disappeared. It was steaming, but I cut a huge piece of the cinnamon roll and shoved it in my mouth.

“Oh, Jesus,” I groaned after swallowing the first bite and digging in for more. “This is going to save my life.”

Piper giggled, covering her full mouth with one hand. “I’m glad.”

I demolished that first cinnamon roll, then went back and polished off two more. “Magic. Maybe even better than the cake.”

“No way,” Piper scoffed. “But a close second.”

“Where you’d learn to cook?” I asked, neither of us in a hurry to leave the table. The dirty dishes rested between us as we drank the last of the coffee. “You’re good at it.”

“Lots of places.” She shrugged. “Most of my food comes from things I’ve tried and tweaked. Magic cake I learned to make from my aunt. The cinnamon rolls are my mom’s recipe. In high school, I took a cooking class and learned how to make the best pie crust I’ve ever tasted.”

“Pie?” My ears perked up. I’d take pie over cake any day of the week.

“If I promise to bring you a pie on a regular basis, will that move my dining room table up your waiting list?”

I chuckled. “It can’t hurt.”

The right thing to do would be to tell her no and not make her my pie slave. But there was no way I’d be turning down regular pies. Especially if they were anything like the rest of the food she made.

Piper settled deeper into her chair, bringing her coffee mug to those soft lips. I bet they tasted like the cinnamon roll frosting. The idea of running my tongue over the contours of her mouth made my cock jerk.

Even with a hangover, he was raring to go.

But that’s not what we were anymore. We were neighbors, nothing more.

Piper looked so comfortable today. She was wearing green leggings and a loose-fitting long-sleeved black tee. Her legs were crossed, and instead of those fancy heels she normally wore, today she was in some plain, white tennis shoes.

She was even slouching for a change, and it was nice to see her so relaxed in her chair.

Her chair.

Her. Chair.

“Oh, fuck!” I flew out of my seat, spinning around for the front door. I ripped it open and stepped out into the mess on my porch. My hands dove into my hair as my eyes bugged out.

Piper may have cleaned the inside of my house, but she’d left the disaster outside for me to handle.

“Sonofabitch.” The headache that those cinnamon rolls and cups of coffee had chased away was rearing its ugly face.

“Apparently, that chair was much too short,” Piper deadpanned as she stepped outside with both of our coffee cups. She handed me mine, then took a seat in the chair I hadn’t killed.

My eyes stayed glued to the carnage. “What the fuck was I thinking?”

“That using a hatchet would have taken too long?”

I frowned. “Smartass.”

“Sarcasm is my weapon of choice. Unlike some people I know, who prefer to wield chainsaws against innocent lounge chairs for being the wrong size. A half inch was the problem, if I remember.”

“I’m a perfectionist.”

“Nooo,” she gasped, clutching her heart.

A chuckle escaped my mouth. “What a damn mess.”

“Yeah, you did a number on that poor thing. I’m just glad you didn’t cut off your leg or arm in the process.”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” My eyes whipped to her in a panic, scanning her from head to toe.

But she waved me off. “I’m fine.”

My shoulders sagged, and I walked over toward the porch stairs, sinking down in the same spot where I’d sat just last night with Piper. Only this time, instead of resting my head in her lap and staring into the forest, I sat sideways to face her.

Last night was coming into sharper focus, as were my drunken ramblings.

In my inebriated haze, I’d opened the door to my past. She had every right to an explanation, and a small part of me wanted to confess it all right then and there. Would things be easier between us—easier for me—if I finally unburdened how I’d come to live here in this forest?

No. I wasn’t ready. Those memories had been bottled up for too long. Even after three years, the pain was crippling. Once I told the story, I’d no doubt get angry. And I didn’t trust myself around her when I was in a rage.

Just look at what I’d done to her chair.

“About last night and what I said. I know I owe you an explanation, but—”

“Kaine.” She cut me off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here to listen. But you don’t owe me anything.”

I nodded, looking at my lap, and whispered, “Thank you.”

“Actually, I think I’m the one who needs to do some explaining. I’m sorry for leaving like I did after dinner.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“You cleaned my house and made me breakfast. You also made sure I didn’t decapitate myself with a chainsaw. It’s all good.”

She smiled. “Still, I’d like to explain. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Her eyes lost their humor as she looked out into the trees. This wouldn’t be some light explanation or a bunch of nonsense excuses. She was about to tell me the reason she’d disappeared to Montana and sought refuge on our mountain.

“My ex-husband didn’t want to get divorced. In fact, he fought it tooth and nail for nearly two years, contesting every agreement my attorney drafted. He kept saying it was because he loved me. Maybe that’s true, but I also think he didn’t want to be alone. He’s used to getting undivided attention, and ever since the day I met him, he had all of mine.”

I’d gathered as much from the one side of their phone call I’d overheard.

“We got married right after college,” she said. “We were both really focused on our careers, and life was good. We were young. We were ‘Happily Married’—that label everyone works so hard to get. But after a couple of years, I wanted more. I wanted to be ‘Mommy.’ So we started trying for a baby. One year passed, then another and nothing. I was so young, it shouldn’t have been a problem, so we decided to see a fertility specialist.”

The pain in her voice physically hurt to hear, but I stayed quiet, listening as she poured her heart out on my porch.

“We weren’t . . . I wasn’t able to have children.” A lone tear slid down her cheek and she brushed it away.

“I’m sorry.”

She forced a smile. “There are a lot of treatments and options for infertility. We could have kept trying. But still, the news was hard to hear, and I didn’t take it well.”

Piper twirled her mug, watching the dregs spin at the bottom. “Adam didn’t take it well either. Instead of staying home to comfort his wife, he took his gorgeous costar out to dinner at my favorite restaurant. And then he kissed her and got caught.”

My hands tightened around my mug. Talk about babies would normally send me running for the hills. The image of Piper holding a swaddled bundle was way more than I could handle this morning. So I forced it away, not letting painful memories shut me down. And instead, I focused on a different emotion. One that had gotten me through a lot of hard times. Anger.

What kind of a fucking asshole cheated on his wife? And under those circumstances? That motherfucker deserved to have his ass kicked. Repeatedly.

“He says he didn’t sleep with her.” Piper rolled her eyes. “But I don’t know.”

“You think he’s lying?”

“Maybe.” She sighed. “Yes, I do. But it doesn’t matter now. The kiss was enough. I moved out and filed for divorce.”

“But he still calls you?”

She nodded. “I asked him to stop. We’ll see if he listens.”

This guy didn’t love her. If he truly did, he’d let her go. Maybe calling and harassing her was his way of getting even with the divorce. “What did he say to you during our dinner?”

“He asked if I was seeing someone. I told him yes. I know we were just casual, but you’re the first man I’ve been with since Adam.”

“He didn’t like it, did he?”

“No.” She smirked at me. “He didn’t.”

“Good.” Though I didn’t like that he’d upset her, I did like that it was because of me that the asshole ex-husband had gotten pissed off.

She flashed me a dimpled smile, then shook her head. “Regardless, I shouldn’t have answered the call. I shouldn’t have run out of here like that. I let him get to me when I should have just told you all about it over dinner.”

“No big deal.”

I wouldn’t admit how good her apology felt. Because that would mean admitting how much it had hurt when she’d left.

“I’ve held all this in for a long time,” she said quietly. “My parents don’t even know about the infertility stuff. When I was married, they kept asking me when we’d give them grandchildren. My mom was so eager, she learned how to knit because she wanted lots of time to practice making baby blankets. I didn’t have it in me to break their hearts, not when mine was broken too.”

“Understandable.”

“Maybe.” She shook her head. “But I should tell them. I will tell them. Maybe. Eventually.”

I wish I had some advice to give when it came to relationships with parents, but mine was so fucked up, it was better to keep my mouth shut.

Never in a million years would I have thought I’d go more than two days without talking to my mom. She’d once been my best friend. When I was having a rough day, she was the first person I thought to call. When I had good news to share, she was the person I wanted to take out to dinner and celebrate. She was the person I’d wanted to make proud.

But as it was, I hadn’t spoken to Mom in three years. Anger had kept me away. And fear.

I was terrified to look at her face and see only disappointment for how I’d handled things.

Handled was too generous a term. I hadn’t handled anything.

I’d run away.

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Piper asked rhetorically. “I’ve come to terms, or I am coming to terms, with everything. I’m lucky that Thea and Logan have three beautiful kids who I can spoil rotten as Aunt Piper. And I hope Owen settles down one day too and has some children I can love, even if it’s from a distance.”

“What about adoption?”

She shrugged. “I could look into it, but I don’t know if they’d approve a single parent. And is that really fair to the kid? To live a life without a father?”

“I was raised by a single mom.”

“Oh, yeah? Did you ever feel like you were missing something?”

“As a little kid? No. She was my everything. But as I got older, I became the man of the house. It would have been nice to have had a few years as just a teenager.”

It would have been nice to have someone to lean on as an adult through the hard times.

Once I’d hit twenty-five, something in my relationship with Mom had changed. In a way, I’d become the parent. I’d fixed things around the house that were broken and made sure the oil in her car was changed regularly. I’d added her grocery list to my own and delivered food to her house on Sundays. I’d even started balancing her checkbook because it was the one task she’d always griped about in my youth.

Mom seemed glad to let me take the wheel. I didn’t blame her. She’d put in so many long hours for so many long years, it was probably nice to have someone else drive for a change.

But when the world turned black and the numbness settled in, she hadn’t been there to pull me through.

She’d made the wrong choice. She’d crushed me.

So I’d come here to suffer alone.

Then I’d gotten a neighbor.