Wednesday Read online

  Would I have done it without the payment? Probably. I’m a sucker, and despite Dad’s knack for being the world’s biggest asshole, he always made sure I had everything I needed. I feel like I owe the guy one.

  But will I take my cut at the end of the term? Abso-fucking-lutely. One year. Not like I’ll notice anyway. In addition to Dad’s company, I’m an adjunct professor at the small university close by, and I continue to keep my feet in the tech world, working with VCs on ideas for my next start-up. I basically work around the clock and hardly have a moment to myself.

  After I have Dad’s meds taken care of, we go through his exercises. Then I turn on his TV program and go to work.

  The next two hours fly by as I calculate commissions for the sales people, sign off on payroll, and order supplies. Most entrepreneurs that I know hate day-to-day business – they can’t focus. They are big picture people. For me, I don’t mind it. I can do both, which is an asset when trying to get companies to invest in my ideas. I speak their language. One reason why I had already created and sold three companies before I hit twenty-one. Too bad, I continue to sink my profits into the next best thing. It’s an addiction that doesn’t provide stability, something that drives my father insane, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to stop. Or that I want to.

  After finishing with all the tactical work, I work on our exit strategy – without Dad’s permission – listing potential buyers to take over the business as well as the option of selling it off in parts. I’m open to all and have to make sure Dad is too. He does well for himself, but it’s time to let the business go. Time for payback and, I’m not going to lie, I’m so ready to cash in. The money will help fund my new project – a social media idea I’ve been working on since high school, actually. A niggling idea that was always in the back of my mind, even when I was neck-deep in other ventures.

  “Tristan,” Heddy says, jarring me from my daydream. “How’s the old buzzard doing today?” she asks.

  Heddy is always a wonderful sight – plump, warm, and cheerful. Not to mention she smells like cookies. After Mom left, she was so good to us, bringing over dinner, baking my birthday cakes, dropping off presents at Christmas. I don’t know why she stood by my dad, but I’m so thankful she did.

  These days, she’ll check in on him several times a week. We also have nurses who stop by, but only for a short time. That’s the thing. Dad doesn’t want to be in the care of strangers. That’s the whole purpose of our deal.

  But on Wednesday, thank all that’s holy for Wednesday, Heddy gives me the night off. The entire night. She insists on it. She’ll arrive before dinner and stay until breakfast the next day. If I didn’t know better, I might have thought Pops was getting a little on the side, but who was I kidding? He needs help making it to the bathroom.

  The first thing I do after Heddy takes over every Wednesday is go to the grocery store. I pick up the biggest steak I can find, grab a growler of craft beer from the local brewery, and head to the beach house. I tried to talk Dad into moving out there for the summer, but the place wasn’t really set up for someone with medical needs.

  Sometimes I work, but mostly I enjoy the entire evening off. Free from any obligations, I run on the beach, watch movies, and read.

  This particular Wednesday, however, the air is sucked from my lungs and I spend the rest of the night wound tighter than Heddy’s girdle.

  When I first spot her, I can’t help but appreciate the view. I make my way past the produce to the butcher when a petite brunette with long, silky hair in a pair of low-slung yoga pants, that hug all her curves to perfection, catches my attention.

  She is spectacular.

  I actually stop right then and there and pretend to select apples, so I can enjoy the view a little longer. Jesus, I’m pathetic. It might actually be time to consider a local hook-up, just so I can get my head on right.

  She turns around and my eyes go straight to her two ripe melons. Seriously. She’s holding two cantaloupes, judging which one is better. Cheesy jokes and lame pick-up lines run through my head. It’s so ridiculous, I laugh. A booming chuckle that has her looking up, curious about the racket I’m making. Once her eyes meet mine, the laughter comes to an abrupt halt and one of the melons drops to the floor.

  “Tris,” she whispers.

  Stunned, I narrow my eyes. It can’t be.

  Aria.

  It’s been so long since I’ve last seen her, and she’s even more beautiful today than she was then. On her wedding day. It was the last time we spoke. Once I heard she was marrying the resident football star, Alex Anders – from a friend, which really pissed me off – the bottom of my world dropped the fuck out. Nothing made sense anymore and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get my footing back.

  I knew she hooked up with Alex at prom, but afterwards she wanted nothing to do with him. That was when things starting changing for us – when I thought I might stand a chance. Especially graduation night.

  But then, in a crazy turn of events, Aria and Alex went from dating to engaged in record time. To say I was devastated would be like saying Kate Upton is slightly curvy. But after sulking for a month, I found the strength to crash her wedding and beg her to reconsider.

  Sadly, she didn’t want to listen to a word I had to say. She made up her mind and that was that. My insides ache at the memory.

  “Aria,” I say now, a little colder than necessary.

  I take a breath, find the cojones I need to get through this, and walk over to her, determined not to let her see me lose my shit. “I see you’re still making a mess of things.” I point to the cantaloupe carcass on the floor.

  Her entire demeanor changes the second I open my mouth. She hangs her head and lets her shoulders slump as a crackly voice rings out over the loudspeaker, “Clean up in produce. Clean up.”

  I almost feel bad about my behavior. Almost.

  She chuckles, but the laughter doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. What are you doing in town? I heard you moved to LA or something.”

  “I did, but I came back a few months ago to help my dad. He had a stroke over the holidays.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. How’s he doing?” she asks, completely sincere. She reaches out for me, as if on instinct.

  I back up for the same reason, except my instinct is self-preservation.

  The interaction is too sweet, too normal. She isn’t allowed that. Still I have to know more. Why is she here and how long will I have to endure it?

  “He’s fine,” I say, brushing it off. “He’s on the road to recovery. So, are you in town for a visit?”

  She clears her throat and waves to someone. Someone standing behind me, evidently.

  Please don’t be him. Don’t fucking be him.

  “Actually,” she says, “I’m back.”

  “To live?” I ask. My voice raises a full octave.

  “Yes. To live.” She smiles and reaches her hand out again. This time, to that someone behind me.

  Now it’s time to go. Right. The. Fuck. Now. But when I turn to make a run for it, I’m so stunned I can’t move.

  Aria Prince. A.k.a. the girl next door; my childhood crush; the first girl I rounded second with – actually the only girl I got to any bases with in high school. The girl who crushed my heart is also… a mother.

  There’s no mistaking the resemblance when the kid comes up from behind and launches himself into Aria’s arms.

  “Who’s that, Mommy?” the little boy asks.

  “An old friend,” she answers, her face turning red.

  I might’ve debated that characterization if I was in my right mind.

  “Tristan.” Aria gives the kid a squeeze. “This is my son, Caden.”

  Shit, I don’t want to know this. Man, why did I have to stop to check her out?

  Dammit, tight yoga pants!

  I can actually feel my face heating up. Itchy and uncomfortable, my fight for that self-preservation is on. Step one, get out of the danger zon
e. And fast. In my haste, words spill out of my mouth. They sound something like, “Cute kid. Nice seeing you. Sorry about the melon. Gotta go to my steak. Say hi to Alex.”

  Idiot.

  My head feels like it’s going to explode. Still, I vaguely remember her saying something as I left.

  When I get back to the beach house, I can’t help but wonder what it was.

  ARIA

  After we get settled in at Mom’s, Cade is quiet, withdrawn. My brother, Jack, was there to greet us with his wife, Philly, and their five-year-old twins: Leo and Logan. Little devils.

  Leo told Cade his room was haunted by the man who lived there before Nana. Logan snapped the waistband of his underpants and challenged him to a race.

  Cade hid behind my legs, clinging to them like a PMSing woman to her last chocolate bar. He didn’t leave me for a second. My poor boy. He didn’t engage with the kids. He watched them, oh how he watched their every move. Even smiled a few times at their antics, but he didn’t join in.

  Thankfully, they didn’t stay long, sensing we needed time. Or should I say Philly sensed it. My brother is a completely oblivious man-child. In fact, I’m quite sure he taught the boys the underwear snapping trick, right after their burping and farting contests.

  Though I am determined not to raise a Neanderthal, I worry about Cade. I know I should’ve taken him to more classes, had him spend more time with kids his age. Not that there were a lot of options living by a college campus. Still, now what? He can’t socialize? He can’t relate to children? He’s going to end up as some recluse ordering weird shit off the internet? Or become an agoraphobic, never able to go out in public. He’s not even four yet and I’m convinced I’ve ruined him for life.

  Hell no! We would fix this situation pronto.

  “Hey buddy.” I shake Cade into a little dance. “How about we go to the grocery store to pick up some of your favorite foods? That way it’ll feel more like home.”

  “Can I get a treat?” he asks, eyes wide.

  “Hmm,” I say, tapping a finger to my chin. “Let me think about it.”

  “Mommy,” Cade howls out, impatient.

  “Hmm,” I continue, drawing out my answer.

  “Mommy,” he says again in a huff.

  “Okay,” I finally tell him and I’m rewarded with a huge smile. Then I flip him over my shoulder and we head to the store. He squeals into the early spring breeze.

  Once we get there, I plop Cade in front of the bakery shelf and I’m greeted by one of Mom’s friends working behind the counter.

  “Aria,” she sings. “Your mom told me you were coming home. And this must be your little one. What an angel.”

  My stomach sinks. Though her words are kind, there is judgment in her eyes. I nod to Cade when he looks up at me. Our code for be on your best behavior. See, there is this way people look at you as a young mother – like you don’t really know what you’re doing. Like your child is a big oops and oh boy, let’s watch how she handles it.

  It’s why, in the beginning, I always wanted Alex with us when we went out in public. I’m ashamed to say, he made Cade and me seem like we were a real family and not an oops.

  I’ve since gotten over that and I will never apologize for my son. But that doesn’t stop me from taking the path of least resistance from time to time.

  “Hi, Mrs. Thorton,” I say. “This is Cade and he’s very interested in the cupcakes.”

  We make small talk and I repeat the same information I gave to the neighbors and the mailman when I arrived just a few hours ago: I missed the Florida weather; I’m excited to bring Cade closer to his family; I’ll be taking classes at the university this summer. I leave out the part about my divorce. Thankfully, the people around here are polite enough to let it go.

  At least to my face.

  Mrs. Thorton brings out some freshly baked treats and I realize it’s going to take Cade a while to make a selection. “Take your time,” I tell him. “Pick out something for you and for Nana. I’m going over there to get our fruit.”

  “These look belicous,” he tells Mrs. Thorton, and the judgment in her eyes begins to fade. That’s my son, the charmer. But shit, we need to work on those Ds.

  Jerry’s is a small store so I can easily keep my eye on Cade and get most of my shopping done. Plus, Mrs. Thorton is fussing over him, letting him sample almost everything in the case. For the first time, I feel almost optimistic. Maybe this will be the best thing for him. Dare I say, us?

  Unfortunately, that optimism dissolves when I see him.

  It’s his laugh I recognize at first. Then his eyes, though they aren’t soft and kind like I remember. As they narrow in on me, I feel a little uneasy and drop a cantaloupe on the floor.

  Great.

  My chest squeezes as he stalks over to me. It’s the only way to describe his gait. He’s graceful, confident, and almost predatory. Damn, he should be sure of himself. In high school he was cute, but this grown-up version of Tristan Green is something to behold. He’s filled out his lanky frame with tight muscles that are apparent even covered in a T-shirt and jeans. Long, thick lashes frame his steely eyes. His jaw, now more square, rocks a perfect five o’clock shadow.

  Crap, I might be drooling.

  We say hello and we chat, but I have a hard time focusing. It’s completely fake. Truth is, Tristan Green and I are no longer friends. In fact, he’s the absolute opposite of a friend. I don’t like to gossip, especially after being on the receiving end of so much of it since high school, but Tristan Green is a selfish, childish irritation of a man who actually wished me ill on my wedding day. Who called my son a mess and said I deserved all the bad that would inevitably come my way.

  At least that’s how I remember it.

  Even now, after all this time, you think we’d be able to forgive and forget. Not possible, considering the way he’s working his jaw, looking all dark and surly. It brings back all those awful memories.

  It is the most awkward and uncomfortable conversation, and I’m completely on edge. And when Cade joins us, the situation is downright tense.

  “This is my son, Cade,” I tell him.

  Tristan nods, his eyes darting around like he’s trying to find the quickest getaway.

  “Cute kid,” he says. Then he mumbles something about the fruit and a steak and Alex.

  “Alex and I aren’t together anymore,” I say, but Tristan is already bolting to the other side of the store before I finish.

  For the tiniest of seconds, I wish he hadn’t seen my son. That he didn’t know I’m this loser single mother. And the fact that I let myself go there really ticks me off.

  I watched Mom go through it as a single parent of me and my brother and sister. The little comments; the pity. That’s really why I married Alex. I didn’t what to be that girl – the one who got knocked up and ruined her life. Somehow with Alex, my life was legitimized. With Alex in the picture, Cade wasn’t a mistake and we had a great future ahead. Everyone knew Alex would be drafted by the NFL; everyone thought we’d all have a charmed life.

  That’s all I ever wanted for my son.

  When Tristan came to see me on my wedding day, begging me not to marry Alex and telling me it was a mistake, I knew he was right. He has no idea how close I was to following him out of the church that day.

  And that’s something he’ll never have the privilege of knowing – or my son for that matter.

  His loss.

  TRISTAN

  “What the fuck, Danny.” I call my only friend from high school once I get to my car. “Why didn’t you tell me Aria had a kid?”

  “Oh, shit. What happened?” he asks.

  “Tell me why,” I demand, navigating out of the parking lot as fast as I can so I don’t have to see her again.

  “Because of your stupid rules, asshole.”

  Yeah, the infamous rules. The ones I created to keep my sanity after Aria left. They basically involved keeping all mention of Aria – and Alex – out of our conversations. I
went to great lengths to avoid anything Aria-related. But this? This was different. He should’ve told me.

  “Considering the magnitude of the news, I think you could’ve broken the rules,” I tell him. “Surely that has to be in the guy code of conduct somewhere.” Not that I would know. I wasn’t exactly that kind of guy growing up – a guy’s guy. I had no teammates or brothers or any type of testosterone-bonding activities. No one had my back. At least back then.

  But once I met Danny, he did his best to catch me up. We started hanging out senior year when his parents came to me begging for my tutoring services. Danny, on the other hand, was a guy’s guy. He played baseball, watched ESPN, went to parties, got the girls. Still, he didn’t act like the rest. And despite his pathetic knowledge of math and science, we became fast friends.

  He never left Gulf Bay. Always been one of those people perfectly content with his lot in life. I guess he should be; he does have a good life here. Shortly after high school, he opened an auto body shop and it does some damn good business. Of course, he did have an incredibly talented business advisor at his side to get it up and running.

  I envy what he has – especially with his girlfriend, Gabby.

  “So Aria’s back in town already, huh?” Danny says, all-knowing and annoying as shit.

  “You knew she was coming back and you didn’t tell me?” The hits kept on coming.

  “Rules.”

  It’s his only defense.

  “Look, T, you get scary as shit anytime her name is mentioned so I steer clear of it whenever I can,” Danny finally elaborates. “Plus, I wasn’t sure the rumors were true. You knew Alex was drafted, right?”