Page 38 of Fight For Her
She sounded relaxed and happy. My heart swelled.
“I’m so glad to hear that.” Searching for something else to say, I asked, “Has Clyde called to check in?”
I made sure to text my brother her new number, and he told me he’d call. Not that I counted on him to keep his word for a second, but maybe his wife called.
“Not yet, but I’m sure he’s busy. You know how busy your father used to get at the mines this time of year.”
So busy at the bar more like it. “Yeah, I remember. Hopefully he’ll call soon. Is there anything you need, Mama? I want you to be comfortable.”
She tutted. “No, no…I’m great here. What I need is for you to take care of yourself. Are you eating enough? What about that lovely girl? Did you talk to her yet?”
She was really hung up on Kendahl. I couldn’t blame her, considering I hadn’t talked about a woman with her since Amy.
“Not yet, but don’t worry. I will when the time is right.” I let a breath loose. There was no need to get her excited for something that may end up going nowhere.
“Good. Once you tell her about your father passing and all the work you’ve had to do, she’ll forgive you. I know it. Remember what I said. Honesty, trust, and love.”
I ran a hand across my beard as I stared at the storm through the window again. Hesitating, I said, “Maybe. I don’t know.”
I heard shuffling noises from the other side of the phone and then the background noise went silent. “Son,” she said softly. “You’re nothing like him, you know?”
“Yeah,” I gulped. “I know.”
“You deserve love. Your father never taught you how to love a woman but somehow here you are. My beautiful kind-hearted boy. I wish Amy saw what I see.”
I dropped my phone onto the window ledge, pressed the speaker button, and sank onto the floor. With my head in my hands, I let my mother’s words sink in.
“Son?” her quiet voice cut through the speaker. “Did you hang up?”
I reached for the phone, “No.”
“I love you. Thanks for calling. I’m fine. You go get your girl.” She laughed, a sound no louder than a tinkle, but hearing it had me grinning like a fool. Knowing she was happy was the most important thing in the world to me—well one of them anyway.
I took an hour after hanging up with my mama to think over her words. Was I afraid that I’d turn out like him? No, that wasn’t it. Relationships got too complicated. Too real. Honesty and trust didn’t exist for me. Not after I’d given both freely, only to have my past thrown in my face and used as a reason for her infidelity. And love…I wasn’t capable of it. Not anymore.
Someone like Kendahl, who dreamed of moving to LA and working with the stars, would never want to settle down with me, a divorced loser from Nowhere, Wyoming with baggage from a drunk abusive prick of a father and a brother who took after his dad in every way.
Maybe if I got her out of my system that would be enough and I could stop replaying her laugh or picturing the swell of her lips as she parted them for me every time I closed my eyes.Once we worked out our frustrations, my skin could stop itching to be near her every second.
I raked a hand through my hair and put the conversation with my mother out of my mind to focus on the task at hand—the interview. I checked my phone for the time—4:32. The interview was at five in the lobby.
I pulled myself together and checked my appearance in the mirror before making my way down the hall to Kendahl’s room.
Chapter 18
Coby
“Kendahl?”Iknockedather door, right in the center of the urchin placard. The room sounded quiet, no blow dryer or TV on. Was she asleep?
Knocking again, three times firmly, I leaned my arm against the door frame. I was about to pull my phone out to call her when she opened the door a sliver showing nothing but her big blue eyes out of the crack. When recognition sparked, she opened the door a few inches wider, so I could slip inside.
I took her in. She was dressed in distressed gray jeans and a thin cream sweater. While her outfit and hair looked put together, she had a slump to her shoulders and a dejected sort of frown lining her face. “Are you ready for the interview?” I asked as she turned back toward the bathroom.
“I need to finish up my makeup.” No emotion, no teasing remark.
I sat on the edge of the bed watching her apply a layer of mascara to her already thick lashes. “How are you feeling?”
She scoffed. “You mean after my outburst?” Sticking the wand back in the tube, she tossed it onto the counter and grabbed a makeup brush. “I’m fine. I just want to get this interview over with.”
