One Day His (The Someday Series Book 2) Page 6

  Spinning dramatically to exit the room, Angelica’s robe fanned out as she crossed the room in long strides. Stepping into the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder and gave me a seductive smile. “I look forward to getting to know you much better.” Then she winked and was gone as suddenly as she’d appeared.

  What the fuck?

  That was crazy.

  Cat turned her expressionless eyes to me. “That wasn’t as bad as it could have been,” she said flatly.

  I didn’t know what to say. It’s not like I was a great communicator under the best of circumstances, and these were certainly not the best of circumstances. So, instead of trying to wax poetic over the clusterfuck that was my introduction to Angelica James, I opted to wrap my arms around Cat and pull her close to me. I hoped that I could communicate what I was feeling, in a way I could never do with words, by just holding her.

  Cat’s breasts pushed against me as she sighed heavily and then stepped back, looking up into my face. Her stare was vacant and blank as she said in a robotic-like tone, “We should get downstairs. She’ll send someone else in a few minutes if we don’t get down there.”

  I nodded and leaned down giving her a quick kiss on her forehead, ignoring every protective instinct in my body to pick her up and drag her out of here caveman style. To take her back to Arcata, away from this Twilight Zone of Insanity. I had no idea how I was going to make it through the next few days and keep my anger, my rage, under control, but I had to figure it out. One thing I knew more than ever, now, was that Cat needed me here. She needed someone on her side. I couldn’t let her face this… her mother, alone. I just needed to keep my shit under control and try not to make any waves that would rock the boat for Cat.

  How I was going to do that…? I had no fucking idea.

  Chapter 7

  Cat

  Eyes like knives

  Sharp

  I feel the points

  Blades

  I feel the edges

  You ought to be looking out for me

  Instead

  You’re looking over me

  Wishing I were gone

  Or maybe

  Just invisible

  So that you would shine the brightest

  Don’t you see you already do?

  Cat Nichols, Age 12

  I slowly walked down the front hallway stairs feeling totally numb. I felt Jace’s hand on my lower back, his strong presence right behind me. It should have given me strength. And maybe it did, but I couldn’t focus on anything other than putting one foot in front of the other in that moment.

  Of course, dealing with my mother’s accident was the thing I had come here to do, the whole purpose of my visit. But I had pictured things like standing by her hospital bed as she was safely sedated, the drugs sandpapering off the sharp edges. Or, alternately, just waiting quietly in the background during a press conference while she vamped for cameras. I certainly had not been prepared for her bursting in on Jace and me after we’d just…

  That had not been on my itinerary, but it had been a wake-up call.

  “These are different stairs than we came up, right?” he asked, his voice hushed. I understood the impulse to speak quietly in this part of the house. The cavernous size combined with the formal furnishings gave the impression of being in a library or a courtroom.

  “This is the main part of the house. It’s where my mother mainly stays,” I explained, my voice at a normal volume. I’d long ago learned not to give the size of this house too much power. It’s just a house. I forced myself to act normally no matter where in the house I was. “I avoid this part of the house as much as possible. I hardly ever come in here. If it were up to me, I would spend my time between the kitchen, my room, and the beach out back.”

  “Yeah, I can see why.”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed that Jace’s eyes were scanning everything from the Italian-marble floors, the chandelier, the ornate banister, the oil paintings, to the crown molding. His body was tense like he was on alert. It appeared like he was waiting for someone to jump out and overtake us in an ambush. As sexy as I thought his posturing was, I didn’t want him to feel like we were going to get attacked. Not physically, anyway.

  The corners of my lips pulled up and I touched the dip in his arm just below his bicep. It was quickly becoming my favorite place to touch him. Trying to help him relax, I teased, “At ease, soldier. It’s just a little stone, crystal, paint, and wood. We’re in Malibu. We’re not at war.”

  “We are in Malibu,” he agreed good-naturedly, a wide grin on his face as he continued his visual recon. Then, as he turned to me, his face turned more serious. “But I’m not so sure we’re not at war.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed in resignation, stopping on the bottom of the staircase.

  I’d been thinking I would talk to him tonight after dinner, but it was probably best to get what I had to say out now. Who knew what would happen at dinner? And I needed to prepare Jace. It was only fair. I’d seen the way he’d tried to tell my mother what he saw in me after she’d explained his attraction to me as a fetish, and as much as I appreciated the effort, I knew it was totally in vain.

  “You’re probably right. And the only way that I know how to get through it relatively unscathed is by taking the path of least resistance. As much as you may want to retaliate, to defend me, I’m asking you to resist the urge to engage with my mother or anyone who works for her. I know that you are only doing it because you want to protect me, and I appreciate it more than you could possibly know, but I promise I’ll be fine. You don’t have to stand up for me, it won’t make a bit of difference, and it could cause a whole crazy storm to blow through that I know neither of us wants to be caught in the middle of.”

  Jace did not seem happy as he stared down at me. His jaw ticked, his nostrils flared, and his baby blue eyes darkened. Anger radiated off of him in waves. I recognized his stance, his expression. I’d seen him look at Natalya like that, and at the creep that tried, a little too forcefully, to hit on me at the coffee shop back in Arcata, but this was the first time he’d ever looked angry at me. I started to feel panic bubbling up inside me, and I tried to play back what I’d said to him that could possibly have caused him to be instantaneously upset with me.

  Had I been too bossy?

  Did he not like me telling him what to do?

  Oh, no!

  Did he think I was being controlling like Natalya?

  The vein in Jace’s neck that only showed up when he was pissed or when he was turned on popped out in 3D as he inhaled loudly through his nose. His voice was calm, deadly calm, as he spoke. “I can’t promise that I’ll be able to stand by quietly if someone, anyone, puts you down. I love you. You’re mine and I protect what’s mine. But the last thing I would ever want to do is upset you or make things worse for you, so I will promise you that I’ll try. That’s the best I can do.”

  His expression, his voice, his eyes all told the same story. It was killing him to even make that much of a concession. But, he was doing it, for me.

  Tears welled in my eyes. Instead of answering Jace, I threw my arms around him and buried my face in the crook of his neck. He pulled me against his strong, muscled body and I let myself lean into his strength for a minute. It still amazed me that I had gotten so lucky, but not just because of the things my mother had pointed out. Jace was so much more than a pretty face. He was loyal, protective, loving. I hadn’t even known that guys like him existed in real life.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, my mouth brushing the vein protruding from his neck. It pulsed beneath my lips, and a full body shiver ran from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I added the vein on his neck to my new list that was growing every day: Sexy Things About Jace. #64 – vein on neck.

  I heard a low groan rumble in his chest and knew that, if we didn’t break this up, what had started out as an innocent hug to show Jace just how happy he’d made me would quickly spiral into not-so-innocent territory.
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br />   Reluctantly, I pulled away from him and moved down off of the last step in the grand front staircase. My phone buzzed and I pulled it out of my pocket. There was a new text from Sandy.

  “Everything okay?” Jace’s concern apparent in his tone.

  “Yeah, it’s just Sandy checking in on me,” I explained.

  All three of my roommates had sent various texts since Jace and I left Arcata yesterday. Brandy, who was Sandy’s twin sister, and Evelyn had both just wanted me to know that they were there if I needed anything. Sandy wanted info: was I okay? How was the drive? Had Jace and I pulled over for some road-trip lovin’?

  Seriously, that girl had sex on the mind twenty-four seven.

  It was so amazing to have actual friends. Friends that sent me encouraging messages and totally inappropriate ones. I was about to text back when I heard voices coming from the library off to the right.

  “Cat, is that you dear? We’re in the study,” my mother’s voice drifted through the cavernous entryway.

  Slipping my phone back in my pocket I decided to text later and deal with my mother now. I took in a deep, fortifying breath.

  Well, I thought, here we go. Game on.

  Whatever publicist, spin doctor, damage-control specialist, etc. my mother had engaged to help her manage this crisis was about to fill me in on what I was supposed to do and say. They were going to give me pointers about the appropriate emotions to express when I was asked by the media what I felt. Most of all, they were about to stress what I should never, ever, under any circumstances do—be honest.

  What these people didn’t know was that they were wasting their time. I’d heard it all before, more times than I could count. I’d known the spin doctor bible before I’d learned my multiplication tables—and I was a math whiz as a kid. Nevertheless, I would nod politely while they drilled the party line into me like a construction worker with a jackhammer. I would answer their questions in as little time and effort as I could get away with, and then I would get on with my life. It wasn’t that complicated.

  The warmth of Jace’s hand as he laid it on my lower back spread through me and centered me as we walked through the library door. My mother was sitting in one of two leather club chairs that were angled to face a matching leather couch with a coffee table in between, her silk robe flowing down over toned, thin legs. Her long, silky, blonde hair, which would make Rapunzel jealous, fell loose around her shoulders. Light-pink lip gloss shone off her full, pouty lips, her large blue eyes were lined perfectly, and her skin appeared airbrushed. Which it probably was. I was sure that she’d had hair and makeup come to the hospital.

  Because it was winter, there was a fire crackling in the fireplace she sat beside. I mean, the fact that we were in Southern California and it was eighty degrees outside was a moot point. It was all about appearances in the James household.

  In the other club chair sat a short and balding man in tan khaki slacks and a brown corduroy blazer. He wore John Lennon glasses, which he kept pushing up his nose as he spoke in hushed tones with my mother. Hmm. That was odd. He certainly didn’t resemble any PR hotshot I had ever seen. That breed was usually slick and polished, with a domineering air that was ever-so-thinly veiled behind false friendliness. This guy was actually kind of, well, schlubby.

  My mother turned to me and her face lit up. “Oh, Dr. Newsom, here she is! Kitten, come and have a seat on the couch across from Mama!”

  Whoa, rewind real quick. So many words in that sentence needed to be revisited, but I was mainly focused on ‘doctor,’ ‘kitten,’ and ‘mama.’

  Ummm….

  “Okay…” I said slowly as I started to make my way towards the couch. Jace’s hand stayed in place as his thumb rubbed in a semi-circle on my lower back while he followed along behind me.

  “Oh, no, honey. This is a family matter. Jace, would you be an absolute dear and go amuse yourself in the kitchen for a while? I’m sure Rachel will make you something to eat. Lord knows you need sustenance, you are a growing boy.”

  I usually try to maintain as neutral an expression as possible around my mother and only protest the times that were absolutely necessary. One of those times was happening right now. I didn’t want Jace to leave. He was my anchor. He was my security. He was my shield.

  “It’s fine. Jace is up to speed on everything going on and I’d like him to hear whatever PR plan will be implemented. I want him to stay.” I spoke in a flat tone of voice that did not invite argument. I may have agreed to come here and be a puppet, but I was not going to sit here alone if I didn’t have to. Not when Jace was available to sit right beside me, and certainly not when his presence on the couch next to me would make it so much more bearable.

  My mother gave me a condescendingly sympathetic look, as if she had to explain something for the hundredth time to a small child who was fairly slow on the uptake. “Oh, honey, Dr. Newsom isn’t a PR person. He is a doctor. And you would have heard if you’d been listening to me.”

  A doctor?

  The fog rose from my muddled brain and everything became clear as day. This wasn’t media training. This was a therapy session. This was family therapy—the day after my mother’s car accident and mere hours after I’d arrived home from college. I was supposed to sit through a family therapy session.

  Why? I had no idea, but I did know that, whatever the reason, it had to do with my mother’s image or career. Everything did. Which meant no amount of begging or standing my ground would change the outcome of whatever my mother and Dr. Newsome had planned.

  Resignedly, my eyes rose to Jace. Uh oh. It was obvious that he was not too happy about having been asked to leave. Even with the assurances that he’d given me on the stairs, I knew that this encounter could turn into a colossal disaster in the blink of an eye. One misstep and we would be catapulted down the Slip-N-Slide of Insanity, powerless to put on the breaks.

  In my most assuring, strong voice, I said, “I’m fine. You can go.”

  His baby blues stared deep into my eyes, searching them in what was now becoming his habit of doing the visual is-Cat-really-okay-Google-search, concern etched on his handsome face. “Are you sure? You’ll be okay without me?”

  I tried to make my voice sound as confident and optimistic as I could. “Absolutely. Besides, you’ll just be in the kitchen. If I need you, I know where to find you.” I softened the last statement with a smile.

  Jace still did not appear entirely convinced, or even slightly convinced, but he reluctantly agreed before giving me a kiss on the forehead and then exiting to the kitchen. I did notice that he shot both my mother and the “good doctor” a look that, if looks could kill, would have dropped them both dead on the spot.

  After the door shut with a thud behind Jace, I stepped over to the couch and lowered down, taking a seat where my mother had indicated she wanted me. I ignored the uneasy feeling that was bubbling up inside of me and reminded myself that I should have a good attitude. Even though every past interaction I’d ever had with my mother had led me to believe that this was going to be an absolute train wreck, if I went into it with that attitude, then it most certainly would be. Law of attraction and all that. So, I decided that I needed to maintain just the tiniest sliver of an open mind on the off chance that something productive was actually about to go on here.

  Stranger things had happened.

  Once I sat down, I waited for one of them to say something. Neither one of them did. I continued waiting, silently, keeping my expression blank and open. I was met with two sets of judgmental eyes glaring back at me, apparently waiting for me to speak first, but I didn’t know what to say. It felt like some sort of horrible test with no right answers, as if Dr. Newsom had previously told my mother that the specific type of mental deficiency I had, could be determined on a check-off list based solely on what my first words in this meeting were.

  “Soooo.” My gaze bounced like a Ping-Pong ball between the doctor and my mother, who were, both, holding their aggressive stares, not w
avering or softening. Feeling a little nervous and also having gotten about six hours sleep in the last thirty-six hours, I was also a little loopy. Next thing I knew, I heard myself speak in what I can only assume was my best Bugs Bunny impression, “What’s up, Doc?”

  The second it left my mouth, I wanted to do a face palm. Where had that come from? I wasn’t back in Arcata, where I could be myself. This place was like an alternate universe version of my life where I had to have the personality of a trained pony.

  Needless to say, my Looney Tunes impression went over like a lead balloon with both my mother and the doctor. Neither one of them responded to me verbally at all, but Dr. Newsom’s pen was moving furiously as he wrote in his notebook before returning his gaze to mine. Although I had never met the man before, I could’ve sworn that his expression indicated that he was disappointed in me. After I didn’t say anything for a moment, he and my mother exchanged yet another little knowing look and then he jotted down another note in his notebook.

  My intuition was quickly overriding any optimism I had been trying to conjure up just moments before. I was getting the distinct feeling that this was some sort of intervention and I, not my mother, was the focus of the intervening.

  “So, what’s this all about?” I asked calmly. The sooner I knew, the sooner I could get this ‘emergency broadcast’ over with and return to my regularly scheduled programming with Jace.

  “Well,” Dr. Newsom spoke in a carefully modulated tone, the voice therapists used which was meant to be so completely devoid of judgment that it actually ended up coming across as incredibly judgmental, “after your mother’s incident, she is taking steps to communicate more effectively with the people in her life. She has a lot of feelings that have been bottled up, that she hasn’t had an appropriate outlet for, and that she has now realized she has been working through in destructive ways. That’s a pattern she would like to change.”