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  “Hello?”

  “Oh!” A woman’s voice exclaimed. “I’m sorry. I must have hit a wrong key or something. I’m looking for my son.”

  Trying to sound professional, I said, “This is Bradley Blackwell’s residence.”

  To my shock, she laughed. “That would be my son. Who are you though? Nobody except Brad ever answers this phone.”

  Who am I? Had Bradley not told his mother he got married?

  As the thoughts raced through my head and I searched for something to say, his mother spoke again.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Uh, yes. Can I…um, do you want to leave him a message?”

  I really didn’t want to tell her I was his wife if he hadn’t told her himself. If he hadn’t told her, he must have a good reason. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

  “It doesn’t matter if I leave him a message, because he won’t accept my invitation anyway. He hasn’t in twelve years.”

  At that, I took a seat in his chair and proceeded to do something I knew I shouldn’t — pry into Bradley’s relationship with his mother — especially since she didn’t seem to care that she was venting to a total stranger. “An invitation to what?”

  “Thanksgiving dinner,” she replied, the cheerfulness in her voice replaced with sad, soft-spoken words. “And Christmas, too.”

  “Oh, I see. I don’t mean to be rude, but…” I hesitated, afraid to ask the question forming my head for fear of offending her, yet unable to ignore her blatant misery.

  “Yes?”

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen him, even if it wasn’t at holidays?”

  “Same.” She let out a sigh when I gasped at this information. “I call once a month, he talks to me, but otherwise, he hasn’t come to see me and his father since…” She coughed. “Well, since twelve years ago.”

  “You mean since a year after his wife and child died?”

  Now it was her who drew in a breath, shock evident. “How do you know about that? Brad doesn’t talk to anyone about what happened.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to him?” I asked, evading her question even as a thrill shot through me at knowing Bradley had opened up to me, even if it had happened because of my nagging.

  “Over a month ago. I would’ve called the other day, but he doesn’t like when I do that.” Her voice quivered and I frowned. “He hates that I worry about him.”

  In that moment, I wondered if Bradley knew how much his mother was still affected by the loss of not only her daughter-in-law and grandson, but closeness with her son as well. If I could pick up on it, surely he would’ve, but I couldn’t be sure.

  Deciding that he was already going to find out I’d spoken to his mother, I just decided to go all in.

  “What is your name?”

  “Laurel,” she supplied with a laugh. “And you? You still haven’t told me what you’re doing answering my son’s phone.”

  “Well, Laurel,” I started, taking a deep breath and then letting it out slowly. “I’m Lucy…and I’m your son’s wife.”

  Silence.

  If she made a noise, I didn’t hear it. Yet I waited, knowing that she was, without a doubt, completely shocked. It lasted for several minutes.

  Finally, she spoke, her words thick with tears. “When?”

  “A little over two months now.” I paused, but she said nothing so I told her what I’m sure she wanted to know. “We met over two years ago — I worked for him — and then he proposed out of nowhere. I moved here with my daughter after we got married and I found out about his previous marriage on the anniversary…”

  Of their deaths was the rest of the sentence, but I couldn’t get the words out.

  “I’m surprised he told you at all, married or not. Do…?” She cleared her throat. “Do you love him?”

  My answer was quick and succinct. “Wouldn’t have married him if I didn’t.”

  Her laugh was big that time, but I wasn’t sure what was so funny.

  “And he didn’t want to tell me,” I said. “He came home that night from being out having drinks and tried to make me leave him alone, but I refused to do that until he told me what was wrong.”

  She let out a sigh then. “Ah, Lucy. It’s too bad he’d refuse to come here. I’d love to meet you. Any woman who can get my son to open up even just a little is worth knowing.”

  “I think he just wanted me to shut up.”

  “No doubt,” she rejoined with a chuckle. “You said you have a daughter?”

  “Yes. Annalina. She is thirteen.”

  “Ah. What a lovely name.” I had no doubt that she was thinking about how her grandson would be fifteen now. I knew I would have thought the same thing. “And you? How old are you?”

  Not really wanting to answer her question, what with the age difference and not knowing how she’d take it at this point, I said something I shouldn’t have.

  “What if I could convince Bradley to come for Thanksgiving?”

  “Really?” I heard her doubt. “How would you do that?”

  “Tell him I’m going to meet you whether he comes with me or not.”

  “I’m not sure that’ll work. He’s stubborn, as I’m sure you know.”

  “So am I.”

  “I can tell.” She paused for a moment. “Well, let me give you my address. The worse that can happen is that you don’t show up either.”

  “Oh, I’ll be there,” I promised as I picked up a pen from the desk top. “Go ahead with the address.”

  She rattled it off and when she was done, I smiled.

  “I look forward to meeting you, Laurel. And your husband…what’s his name?”

  “Robert.”

  “Got it.” Grinning, I stood up. “I should go now…”

  “Sure. And dear…let me know if you are going to make it or not, all right?”

  “Absolutely. Until then.”

  “Right. It was nice talking to you Lucy.”

  “You, too.”

  I hung up and turned to walk the phone back over to the charger, only to freeze at the sight of Bradley standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

  Uh oh.

  ~*~

  He didn’t move as I walked over and put the phone away.

  Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly before turning to face him. Then I smiled, clasping my hands in front of me so I wouldn’t fidget.

  “When did you get home?”

  Other than lifting a brow, he didn’t budge from his position at the door, effectively blocking any exit I thought to make.

  And I did want to leave the room. I knew I’d been busted and I’m sure he heard enough of the conversation to know what I was up to.

  “Please,” he said, his face giving away no hint of emotion. “Please tell me that you were not just telling my mother that you’d persuade me to come home for the holidays?”

  Yep, definitely heard what I’d said.

  I swallowed. “You know that’s exactly what I was doing.”

  At that, he dropped his arms and stood up straight, then walked toward me. The slow, languid pace of his advance was deceptive, his face not giving away any of his thoughts in that moment when I needed a glimpse the most.

  Even though I knew I shouldn’t have done told his mother such a thing, I really enjoyed the sight of him as he came my way. Wearing his black dress pants, powder blue button-up shirt, and black tie, he looked good enough to eat. He appeared calm and collected, yet I knew he wasn’t.

  I was in trouble.

  But I wasn’t backing down. I had every intention of meeting his parents.

  When he stopped in front of me, I had to tilt my head back a bit to look into his face. He didn’t touch me, his eyes searing into mine.

  “I am not going.”

  The words were soft, even dangerous. I never really thought about how words could be dangerous, but in that moment, his were. Maybe it was the glint in his eyes, or the look on h
is face of absolute displeasure at my promise to his mother.

  Either way, if he thought I’d back down, he was mistaken.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I pursed my lips, my eyes never leaving his. I challenged him without saying a word.

  His lips quirked at my silence. Before I knew what was happening, his arms were around me, pulling my body flush against his. “You’re stubborn,” he murmured as my arms unfolded. I put my palms flat against his chest in reaction. “But you should know by now that I will win.”

  With those words, I pushed against him, scowling. “You didn’t even tell her you got married!”

  He shrugged. “I hadn’t gotten around to it.”

  “You don’t get around to a lot of things, apparently.” I pushed again and his arms loosened, but not enough for me to be freed. His frown deepened as I continued. “Twelve years? You haven’t seen your parents in that long! What if they died? What if—“

  “Wow,” he said, interrupting my rant with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You two were on the phone a bit longer than I thought when I discovered you on my private line.”

  “I heard a phone ringing. I found it and answered. You had to’ve known that would happen.”

  He let me go then, stepping back, the scowl on his face returned. “I don’t want you talking to my mother. And we’re not going there on Thanksgiving,” he declared.

  I shrugged. “Fine. If you don’t want to go, I can’t make you. I’m going though.”

  “What?”

  Now it was my turn to give him a smile that wasn’t quite a genuine one either. “That’s right. I told her I’d come whether you did or not. And you can’t stop me.” I felt like a teenager saying that, but almost smiled for real when he stiffened. “If she told me a few things on the phone, can you imagine what she’d say in person without you around?”

  I knew how much pain he was in from what happened which was exactly why I couldn’t watch him do this to himself.

  I may not have gotten along with my mother all the time, but I loved her. And no matter the tragedy that came into my life, I’d never stop seeing her. He wouldn’t want to hear this though; I knew the way to get him to go was to make it clear I’d go without him, whether he liked it or not.

  “Why?” I responded to his question a confused look, and he shoved a hand through his hair as he elaborated. “Why are you so insistent about this? Why can’t you just not talk to her, not plan to go see her behind my back?”

  “It wasn’t behind your back,” I assured him, smiling. “I had every intention of telling you. After all, I didn’t expect your mother to call a line I didn’t know about, let alone have her vent to me without even knowing I was your wife first.”

  “I’ve not seen them in twelve years. What makes you think I’d go now just because you’re curious?”

  I ignored his question and asked one of my own. “How old are your parents?”

  “I’m forty-five. So how old do you think they are?”

  I hated when he answered a question with a question. Something he seemed to do a lot of, enjoying every moment of it I’m sure.

  I blatantly pushed aside the thought that I was doing the same thing to him.

  After all, the difference was that I didn’t always do it, whereas as it seemed like it had become his defense mechanism. And right then, I didn’t want to play games. He couldn’t keep me locked out of everything.

  I wanted him to realize that he needed to see his parents before it ended up being too late.

  “Old enough that you’d regret not seeing them before they die.”

  If I hadn’t been with him for the past two years, I would’ve missed the near imperceptible wince before he masked it. When he said nothing, I went in for the kill, knowing it may blow up in my face.

  “They love you,” I said, the words coming out quiet, yet forceful. “I don’t know how your father feels, but your mother is definitely still affected by their deaths, too.”

  His flinch that time was unmistakable. He turned and stalked toward the door, both hands going up to shove their way through his hair. When he paused by the door, I swear I heard him growl. And as he whirled around to face me, I froze at the look of terror on his face.

  “This isn’t any of your business, Lucy.” The words were so soft I would’ve missed them had I not been looking at him. “Stay out of it.”

  I lifted my chin, shaking my head a little, my mind made up. “No. You made it my business when you married me.”

  His face clouded over, but didn’t say anything else. He turned and walked out of the room, his anger quite visible.

  Seconds later, I jumped at the sound of the front door slamming.

  I knew he’d end up coming with me.

  So, I won.

  At what cost? Well, that remained to be seen.

  Something told me the cost might be higher than I was willing to pay.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cold, hard silence.

  That’s what filled the car on the ride from the airport to his parents house.

  It’s what I’d been experiencing for a week now, since I’d made it clear I was buying tickets to go visit his parents, and he’d made it plain I wouldn’t be going alone.

  Since the beginning of our relationship, I’d never experienced Bradley’s displeasure — until now.

  I didn’t like it.

  He seethed. And for the previous week, our bed had been filled with his anger and my determination, keeping us on opposite sides.

  He hid it well around my mother and daughter, but in private, his words were brief and cutting. He made sure I knew how unhappy he was with my decision and I made it known that no matter how upset he was at me, I loved him. But that only seemed to make him angrier, adamant that if I loved him, I wouldn’t do this.

  He was wrong. I knew if you loved someone, you did whatever you could to help them. You didn’t leave them drowning in their sorrows and everyone had left him alone for too long. I wouldn’t let him down too, even if he thought that’s what I was doing.

  So I stared out the window as he drove, painfully aware that it’d also been a week since we’d had sex or even touched innocently. And I missed it. I missed him. But giving in wasn’t an option. I wouldn’t open my mouth and tell him to turn the car around, something I knew he hoped for.

  Besides, his parents — his mother especially — were waiting for us. When I called to tell her that he and I would be coming for Thanksgiving, she had cried. Then, before I could say anything else, Bradley had asked to speak with her and walked off, shutting himself in his study.

  I didn’t even get the chance to tell her that my daughter and mother weren’t coming.

  The decision hadn’t been totally mine, as Bradley had insisted the situation wasn’t good to take my daughter into. It ended up all right because my mother decided to go visit my brothers instead. Annalina, eager to see her uncles and her old friends from school, insisted on joining her and even seemed excited. My guilt was my own since I never even had to ask my mother to take her along and I smiled brightly to hide my relief. This would be the first time my daughter and I didn’t spend a holiday together, yet she reminded me that we would have Christmas which, according to her, was “ten times better.”

  As we drove pass the sign entering the town, I braved a look at him only to catch him glancing at me in the same moment.

  “Making sure I’m still breathing?” I said that with a smile on my face and didn’t miss the slight quirk of his lips.

  He looked away, but I continued staring at him until he sighed.

  “I haven’t been here in twelve years,” he shared, tossing a quick glance at me before making a right turn off the brightly lit main street. “And it wasn’t because I’ve been avoiding my parents.”

  I nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at me. “I know.”

  He turned his head toward me, but he was peering out of my window. When he pointed, I directed my eyes that way a
s he slowed the car down and stopped in front of a gorgeous brick house.

  When he spoke, I didn’t dare take my eyes away, afraid he’d stop talking.

  “This is my house.” There was a pause, then he placed his hand on my shoulder, almost as if he needed me to anchor him while the words poured out. “I didn’t own it when…well, before.” His voice broke as he halted once more.

  I felt sick then. This was the house he lived in with his family. I wished I could see his face, but I knew he didn’t want me to witness his pain. Since I brought him here, the least I could do was respect that.

  He cleared his throat. “I had my parents buy it and paid them back for it later. It’s been sitting here ever since. I hired someone to dust and clean it once a week, but it’s been virtually untouched. I can’t make myself go inside it, sell it, or tear it down. It just…”

  I lifted my hand and covered his, squeezing to say I got it; I understood.

  And I did.

  The house sat there, a tangible reminder of everything he lost, with all he and his wife and their son shared residing within the walls. And he couldn’t bear to look inside it, let alone get rid of the house itself. A possession he owned that he paid someone to take care of, reminding him every single time that money exchanged hands of the house sitting there. That his history was here.

  A history I still didn’t know much about. I’d tried to look up information about the tragedy along with his name once his mother had given me her address and found nothing. I guessed that in a small town such as this, with everyone personally knowing him, they would’ve respected his privacy. Especially knowing him.

  I almost let my guilt overcome my need to help him in that moment.

  But I was his wife and he needed support. He had to face his demons before they ended up tearing us apart.

  I hadn’t voiced that out loud; I didn’t think he needed to know the fears I had about our marriage. I loved him and I wanted it to work, but not if he wouldn’t let me in. This was a start.