Page 32 of Should Have Been Me

“How young?” she asked gently, not trying to push so much as help guide me to where she sensed I was going.

“Thirteen. I was actually born here, believe it or not. This is where I spent my childhood.”

She tucked her tongue into her cheek, making it stick out as she momentarily cast her gaze away from me, that brief flitter of shyness returning. “I have a confession to make,” she said, catching me off guard. “I don’t want you to think I was gossiping behind your back or anything, but when my mom heard I was seeing someone, she called me, and I might have kind of asked about you. Just a little bit,” she added quickly, holding her index finger and thumb a few centimeters apart. I’d lost count of how many times I’d nearly smiled so far this evening. If there was anyone who could make me do it, it was probably Jolie Prescott.

“Anyway, apparently my mom knew your mom and, well...”

My humor dried up quickly. “I can only imagine what your mother would have to say about mine.”

Jolie’s eyes flashed with panic. “She wasn’t rude, I promise. It’s just that?—”

“My mother makes the glacier that sank the Titanic come off warm and cuddly. Is that about right?”

The giggle she let out reminded me of soft bells or windchimes before she quickly slapped her hand over her mouth to silence it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh.”

“No, it’s fine,” I assured her, once again fighting back a grin of my own. I didn’t understand how it was possible she could make me want to smile when I was discussing Estelle Cavanaugh, but it went to show how full of surprises she really was. “It’s the truth, anyway. My mother has never been very, well, motherly. Getting pregnant was an accident. When she divorced my father, she gave me a choice who I wanted to stay with. Even back then I understood the differences between her and my dad. I knew she preferred to be unincumbered while he thrived when he had people to take care of. His love language, as I you called it.”

“So you chose to stay with your dad,” she surmised in a quiet voice, those brilliant gray eyes of hers shining with something I wasn’t quite ready to identify yet.

“He needed me more,” I answered, forcing casualness into my voice while the truth of it made my stomach feel like it was being tied into a million knots.

Jolie’s chest expanded on a deep breath, her gaze growing scrutinizing. “You know, you aren’t nearly as cold and uncaring as you try to make people believe.”

I cleared the gravel from my throat and took a huge gulp of water, wishing I hadn’t reached my limit on alcohol before this part of the evening. “Yes, well, that’s your opinion. Anyway, for the next year it was only the two of us. My mother moved away, and the only times I heard from her were the occasional phone calls every couple years on birthdays or Christmases. Hershel met my stepmother Millicent when I was eight. They were married by the time I was nine and got pregnant pretty soon after that. I was ten when Leighton was born.”

“Was that hard for you? Having your dad meet someone and get married again?”

I shook my head, watching the clear liquid coat the sides of my glass as I twisted it in a circle. “No, not really. Millicent has always been very kind. She behaved as though she were an extension of our family as opposed to the two of them starting a whole new one and me being a castoff from a previous life. Though, my mother has a completely different take on it.” I met her gaze, seeing the curiosity lingering there, but to her credit she remained quiet, letting me get the story out on my own.

“I never understood her issue with my father meeting Millicent. I still don’t, honestly. She made it clear she didn’t want to be married to him anymore and she hated this town, but she liked to tell me I wasn’t really a part of their family unit, that no matter how hard any of us tried, I would never truly fit in because I’d always be a reminder to the both of them of a failed past.”

Jolie shocked me out of my glum memories by snorting loudly, and when I blinked back into the present, her faced was scrunched up in what I could only describe as righteous indignation. “No offense, Vaughn, but your mom sounds like the literal worst.”

A burst of stupefied laughter exploded from my throat, clearly shocking Jolie as much as it did me. The noise I let out felt as foreign as it sounded, like the muscles specifically used for laughter had atrophied from disuse.

As if sensing I was so caught off guard I wasn’t sure how to continue, Jolie put me out of my misery and moved the conversation forward. “If you chose to live with your father how is it that you left Pembrooke when you were thirteen?”

“Again, that was Estelle. She decided my time spent with my father had made me soft. It was her opinion that I would be better off living with her. Hershel tried his hardest to convince her to let me stay, but she had more money and better lawyers. He had a family to take care of and couldn’t afford to fight her.”

“God, Vaughn. I’m so sorry.” Her hand came down on mine once more, her delicate fingers squeezing gently, but that simple touch was enough to send an electric shock up my arm and through my chest. I wanted to turn my hand over, to thread our fingers together, which was bizarre for many reasons, starting with the fact that I barely knew this woman and ending on the realization that I’d never held hands with a woman in my life.

“It’s okay, really. I should actually be thankful. I’m as successful as I am today because of her pushing me, so I can’t really complain.”

“Yes, you can,” she demanded, her grip on my hand growing even tighter. “You absolutely can complain, because what happened to you wasn’t fair. She didn’t take what you wanted into consideration. She was bitter and selfish, and you’re the one who paid the price for that. I’m really sorry to say this, but I really don’t like your mother. Not one damn bit. And if I have any say in the matter, I’d rather not meet her while we’re doing this whole... thing because I don’t think I can be nice.”

Fuck holding her hand. I was suddenly swamped with the desire to pull her into my lap and fuse my mouth with hers. It was a base need so strong I felt like a caveman, void of all logic and common sense. A need that didn’t fit into my carefully crafted and controlled life. One word was pulsing in my head in time with my heartbeat: Want.

“You don’t have to worry about that, it’s a moot point. She’s made it abundantly clear she has no desire to ever set foot in Pembrooke again.”

It was an opinion, until very recently, I’d shared with her.

“And the whole town wept with gratitude,” she muttered dryly.

Christ, she was cute. It was getting more and more difficult to keep the growing attraction I felt for her tamped down.

Just then, a blur of gray and white darted into the dining room so fast I didn’t have time to brace against another attack. Before I knew it, the ball of demonic fur posing as a house pet leapt onto my lap. My entire body locked tight with dreaded expectation as the cat braced its back legs on my lap and walked its front paws up my chest.

I’d pressed my back into the chair so hard it was a wonder the wood didn’t fuse with my spine. “What’s it doing?” I gritted out of the corner of my mouth, not wanting to break eye contact and risk missing a sneak attack.

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