What If (Willowbrook Book 2) (3 page)

Shaking thoughts of the future aside, she leaned into the handlebars. “I now understand that you’re perfectly fine without me.”

The Ducati rolled toward the slope. Firm pressure from behind halted the motorcycle abruptly. She glowered over her shoulder. Drew had a firm hold of the underside of the seat. She shook her head. He set his jaw in that determined way of his.
Fine
. If she was gonna crash his party, she’d crash it good.

She eased off the clutch and gave the bike some throttle. The Ducati lurched forward. He’d let go. Quicker than Drew could dodge a solid sack, she switched gears and gunned the motorcycle down the driveway.

He chased after her. “Cut the engine!”

She didn’t dare look back.

Half-way down the long driveway, there was a pull then a release as though Drew might’ve grabbed the edge of the back seat then had lost his grip. Her gut twisted into knots. Drew was hurt, she was sure of it.

At the bottom of the driveway, she shut off the engine, hopped off the motorcycle and shoved it onto its side. She sprinted up the driveway. Drew lay on his stomach with a furious glare directed at her. She rushed forward.

He shook his finger at her. “Stay the hell away from me.” In the dark, with only the moon for light, his wrists didn’t look right. “You crashed my party and my ride, a double whammy that’ll have repercussions, sweetheart.”

He dared threaten her then soften his anger with an endearment? Clenching her hands at her sides, she pivoted and walked down the driveway. At the bottom, without a backward glance, she gave him a dismissive wave.

She wasn’t afraid of Drew Hazard. Whatever repercussions he had in mind, she’d be ready.

Hurrying down the side street that bordered his property, she called 9-1-1 for Drew, the cab for herself, then made another phone call.

“This better be important, Emma.” A baby cried in the background.

“Um, hi, Jones.” Jones was Drew’s PR guy. “You might want to get to Drew’s place. He had a sudden fascination with the piece of slab on his back driveway.”

“What. The. Fuck?”

“He’s conscious,” she reassured as she waved down the cab headed for the front of Drew’s place. “But he might’ve broken his wrists.”

Jones dropped more f-bombs. With a quick, “nice talking to you again, Jones,” she hung up, stuffed the cell phone into the small clutch dangling off her wrist, and hurried to the waiting cab.

She got in the cab and let the driver know where to drop her off. He pulled away from the curb, and she slumped into her seat. She wished Jones luck explaining away Drew’s crashed motorcycle and possible broken wrists.

Broken wrists.
Her hand shot to her belly. It was stupid of her to get on the Ducati. But when Drew had said those crass words to her . . . sighing, she stared at the passing scenery.

Double whammy? Repercussions? Talk about understatements. Once Drew realized she was pregnant, she’d be in deep shit.

“Ma’am, we’re here.”

The cab parked along the curb. She handed the driver the fare and got out of the cab. His window rolled down.

“Want me to wait?”

She shook her head. On the drive, she’d texted Eve to send the limo to Pier 7 in an hour. Time alone was what she needed most right now, and not pity from her friend. The driver gave her a final questioning look before he shrugged then drove off.

Ignoring the few stragglers who stared, she walked down the pier in her plum ball gown with her head held high. In the open expanse of the night sky, the moon competed with the brightness of lights strung high on the Bay Bridge.

She hiked up her dress and rushed past the wood benches and Victorian-style light fixtures. A lump lodged in her throat, and her chest ached. At the end of the pier, she collapsed onto her knees. Her shoulders shook, and she let the tears fall.

There’d be no more of Drew’s strong arms holding her safe at night, especially in the winter months when rain thrashed against the window panes. No more of his smart-ass remarks that had her wishing she had something to throw at him
after
he’d already had her laughing so hard she snorted. Or his kisses that left her tingling from head to toe.

Since their breakup, Drew had been linked to several beautiful women. There was no mention of her. To the world, Emma and Drew hadn’t existed. And that had been her doing.

Chapter Five

Three weeks later…

“No way will I be a part of your reclusive guy retrieval team.” With her palms flat on the kitchen table, Emma raised a defiant brow at her friends, Eve and Asa.

They calmly sat across from her and exchanged knowing glances before redirecting their conspiratorial sights on her.

“You’re the perfect one to get him out of that hole he calls a house,” Eve said with an exaggerated wave of her hand.

With her hands outstretched in front of her, she backed toward the kitchen door. “Remind me again why you think I’m
the one
when either of you is capable?” She reached behind for the doorknob, ready to make a clean and quick getaway.

“Of the five of us, he hates your guts the most,” Eve said with her usual tact. “If we send you in, he’ll come running from the woods begging us to give him a spot in the auction.”

“Haha, funny.” Though she was twenty-four and too mature to stick her tongue out, Emma did so anyway. “Not.”

Eve sighed. “We need him, Em. He’s a celebrity. Put Drew in our gala, and we’ll for sure get high bids. More bids equal—” Eve rubbed her fingers and thumb together “—more moo-lah.”

Lucas, Eve’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, got up off the couch, came over, and started to massage Eve’s shoulders.

“Maybe that’s not the greatest idea. There’s a reason Drew’s holing himself in his place. Screw the injured pride excuse he gave Rhys and me. Could be he needs a woman’s sympathetic ear.” Lucas directed those serious eyes of his on Emma. “Rhys and I—”

“Are tired of holding his junk for him while he pisses,” said Rhys, Asa’s boyfriend, from where he sat on the couch flipping channels on the television.

At the thought of holding Drew’s junk for him, she said a hurried, “I’ll think about it,” and bolted out the door and into her Prius.

She wanted to help, but like Eve had said, Drew hated her guts. For sure, he blamed her for putting his throwing arm out of commission. Well, not just his throwing arm, but his other one too. And she couldn’t forget his last words to her.
Stay the hell away from me.

For some unknown reason, he was back in town, and had been for a week now. Though it hurt to admit it, she didn’t believe he was in Willowbrook because of
her
.

Now, their friends asked of her what she didn’t want to do—be near Drew. But they were right. If anyone could unearth why Drew was hiding from a world he wanted to be a part of since she’d known him, it would be her.

From his answer, she’d ask about the gala. Like Eve had said, Drew would bring in a crowd and money. Two things they needed to make the gala a success for Sandy’s boy. A little guy Emma loved like crazy.

Chance was almost three. He was a happy kid with a mop of curly blond hair and bright blue eyes. Recently, he’d been diagnosed with leukemia. Sandy and her husband wanted the best treatment for him. The best treatment meant making the trip to Seattle. For a barista and a janitor, money was tight. The town had pulled together, and with Eve’s mind for parties, they’d planned a gala at the senior center.

Asa’s Supercross champ boyfriend could fetch a couple hundred dollars. What woman wouldn’t want to spend an evening with that easy-on-the eyes guy? Swoon-worthy, that’s what Rhys Miles was. Then there was Lucas Montaine.
Wow
. Another hunk of man. Drew? Drew was a bad boy with a wallop of sweetness. That’s what had drawn her to him.

The day she had first seen Drew throw a football, rain had poured in buckets while cold had seeped into her bones. She’d waited and waited for a guy who later became a no-show. That had been the last time Emma had accepted Eve’s offer to set her up with a guy from “across town.”

When the game had ended, Emma had called her father to come and get her. Yeah, it had sucked to be a senior in high school with no car. But money was tight and she’d been slowly saving up for her own car.

Dad hadn’t answered, and that worried her, more so when her calls went direct to voicemail. She tried her mother’s number next. Her mom hadn’t answered either. In a panic, she’d run from the stadium. While stopped on the side of the road to catch her breath, Drew had pulled up alongside her and offered her a ride.

She hadn’t hesitated. She needed to get home. During the drive, her mother had called with the horrible news. Emma’s father had died of a cardiac arrest.

Earlier, he’d complained of chest pains. Her mother had thought he’d pulled a muscle chopping wood. His chest pain got worse after he’d dropped her off at the high school’s field.

Why hadn’t he mentioned his pain to her? She would’ve never left him. She’d want to stay near and keep him safe. Over and over she’d asked Drew that. As she had cried, Drew held her hand and had reassured her that he’d stick around for as long as she needed him. They’d been together since. First they were friends. Then their friendship changed into an exclusive relationship during their college years.

One morning, after spending the night in Drew’s dorm room, she found a note on her windshield.
Stay away from Drew or else
had been written on the note.

The message hadn’t scared her. What frazzled her nerves was the dead cat splayed on the leather seat of her car. She’d vomited before grabbing the cat by the tail and tossing its disemboweled body into the bushes next to Drew’s dorm.

Afterward, she had suggested to Drew the crazy idea of keeping their relationship a secret. He was into football for the long haul, had shared his dreams of someday coaching for an NFL team. No way would she let his concern for her safety distract him from making his dreams come true.

Of course, he had demanded a reason. She went with the old standby; she didn’t like change. Her reasoning was partially true. Taking their relationship to a higher level of
everyone
knowing was a huge change. In her opinion, anyway. Drew had caved, and said he’d go along with her insane idea.

However, he warned her there’d come a time when he might want a different arrangement. If she’d known “different” meant breaking things off with him, she might’ve told him about the dead cat and the note. Or the tingling-up-the-spine sensation of being watched as she’d rushed from her car to her mother’s place after she’d driven home from where Drew went to college. Now, there was more at stake than just
her
safety.

Taking a deep breath at the possibility of damaging yet another cherished secret she held close to her heart, she pulled in front of her house and parked in her driveway. The sight of her mother walking in the cemetery behind the house had her smiling though her chest ached.

Her mom missed her dad, and Emma . . . she swallowed past the lump in her throat. She missed her mother. At the age of seventy, her mom was slowly losing her mind to Alzheimer’s.

She got out of her car and shut the door behind her. When Jackie—her mother’s caregiver—saw Emma, she waved. Emma headed over and stopped at her father’s grave. Her mother was on her knees, swiping her fingers side to side across the grave marker.

“She wanted to visit your dad,” Jackie said with a nod at her mother’s head of gray hair.

Emma lowered herself onto her knees and enveloped her mother’s frail body in her arms. “I love you, Mom.”

“Mother, I want to go home,” her mother said, her tone childlike.

“It’s me, your daughter Emma.”

“Don’t know Emma.”

“Come on, Maureen.” She addressed her mother by her first name. “Show me your favorite headstones. Tell me what kind of person you think they were.”

She let go of her mother and helped her to her feet. Hand in hand, they walked among the headstones. As her mother talked, Emma squeezed her hand and smiled. This was the game they played. Afterward, she’d feel awful for misleading her mother. But she loved her too much to let a disease of the mind keep them from spending time together.

“How’s Dad?”

Emma’s steps faltered. Her mother must’ve thought she and Drew were her dead parents.

“Dad’s fine.”

Though her mind wasn’t completely there, her mom must’ve sensed something was wrong.

“Dad loves you.”

“Yes, Maureen, he does.”

“Dad makes everything right.”

No, not this time
. Not when he’d said Tess’s name in place of Emma’s.

Her mother yanked her hand out of Emma’s and glared. Emma reached for her, but Mom recoiled back.

“You make it right again, Emma Lombardi, or so help me . . .” Wrapping her arms around herself as though giving comfort to a body she couldn’t understand, her mother whimpered.

“I’ll take her home,” Jackie said. “Come on now, Maureen.” Home was the adult family home at the edge of town.

Emma’s mother set her hand in Jackie’s. Together they strolled back to Jackie’s car. Emma followed. With a touch of a button on her key fob, Jackie unlocked the doors to her car.

Emma helped her mom into the passenger seat and buckled her in. “I’ll be by at dinner to see you.”

Her mother didn’t say anything back, just gave Emma a dismissive wave. Their time together was over. Saddened but determined to break through to the strong woman inside the shell of what her mother had become, Emma leaned in and pressed her lips to her mom’s cheek. Her mother startled beneath her touch.

Emma was ready to close the door when her mother reached out and cradled her face in her warm palms. “Love you, Emma.”

The lightest touch, the softest gesture, and the best words.
Oh, Mom
. “I love you more.” Holding back tears, she gently closed the door and watched them until Jackie’s car disappear around the corner.

The tightness in her chest refused to go away. Of her friends, Emma’s parents had been the oldest. For years they had tried to have a baby. Imagine their surprise when her mother got pregnant at the age of forty-five. Though her dad wasn’t a spring chicken at ten years her mother’s senior, he took on the responsibility of fatherhood with the energy of a guy in his twenties.