Fine Line (Inked Duet #1) Read online

  “Please do.”

  “Auti, you left him high and dry not explaining the phone call. Then, when you finally do go into explanation, when you finally tell him about Clementine, you break it off with him. You never gave him a chance to register any of what you told him. You never gave him a minute to comprehend what you’d just told him. To grasp the fact you are a mom. It’s a lot to process. I hate to say it, but it isn’t fair to him. It isn’t fair for you to have dropped a major bomb and then run for the hills.”

  When she says it like that, it dawns on me how much of a jerk I am. She has a point. Without considering Jonas’s feelings, I dropped a whopper of a bomb and then told him we would be better off apart. A knee-jerk reaction, but now I am slowly seeing the error of my ways.

  Since my pregnancy with Clementine, all I wanted was to do what was right for my daughter. Give her a good home. Shower her in love and smiles and laughter. And have good people around her. Her father and my family may have severed ties with us, but she has never felt unloved or unwanted a day in her life.

  “How do I fix this?” I whisper-ask as fresh tears spill from my eyes.

  “Give him a little time. And then, reach out to him again. Spill your heart out to him. Let him know you’re sorry. Grovel, if necessary.” I laugh at the last bit. “Just don’t wait too long, Auti. Because men like Jonas only come around once.”

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Did I royally screw myself by jumping the gun? I made a decision in the heat of the moment without really thinking things through. I made a decision based on the people of my past and how they hurt me and, by proxy, Clementine. But Jonas isn’t like Clementine’s father. Nor is he like my own mother and father, who disowned me.

  Jonas is this sweet and wholesome guy. One who holds your hand and sets your body on fire at the same time. Who kisses me breathless as if I hold the key to a life he never thought he would possess. Who looked at me as if no one else existed.

  What have I done?

  Penny rises from the couch and kisses the top of my head. “I’m headed to bed. Try to get some sleep. It’ll all work out, Auti. Just believe it will and it will.”

  “Thanks, Pen. Love you.”

  “Love you too. Night.”

  “Night,” I whisper as she walks to her room.

  I turn off the television and the light before heading to the bathroom. When I flip on the bathroom light and see my reflection in the mirror, I immediately flick the light off.

  Looks as if I have been at a funeral for ten days straight. My eyes are veiny and angry, red and puffy. My cheeks and throat blotchy. And the mascara streaks down my face could double as clown makeup.

  After I finish my nighttime routine in the dark, I slip into bed and kiss Clementine on the forehead. Turning so I face away from her, I cry silently into my pillow.

  Cry for the loss of a good man. Cry for the mistake I made in assuming he would no longer want me once he found out I am a single mom. And cry for myself. For the throbbing ache in the center of my chest. The ache which only grows stronger with each passing second. The ache I deserve after what I did tonight.

  But I will make this right. I have to. Not just for selfish reasons. Also because I need Jonas. More than I thought possible after such a short period.

  I only hope he still wants me when I crawl back and beg for forgiveness.

  Sixteen

  Jonas

  The entire day at work sucks.

  I slept for shit last night. No matter which way I had lain in bed, sleep was impossible. I tried counting backward from one hundred. That only lasted to eighty-five, when my brain sidetracked and I had to start all over again. Tried listening to calming music, but it only fired me up more. Even tried a meditation app I downloaded at three this morning. Nothing.

  Dad knows something is wrong. He sees the complete one-eighty in my demeanor. But he won’t ask what has me on edge. When I feel ready to tell him, he knows I will. Our entire lives, that’s how he and I operated.

  So, he will wait patiently for me to explain why I can’t focus on one goddamn thing. Why I have yelled and cursed more times today than I have in the last decade. Why I slam the tools down instead of carefully put them in their place. Why I have stormed out of the garage and into the office more than a dozen times in the last three hours.

  It might be a while before I mention anything to Dad, though. My ego is littered with bruises while my heart lies scattered in bits.

  She didn’t even give me a chance. Not having a chance stings the worst.

  Last night’s conversation in the parking lot cycles through my mind for the thousandth time. Each time I recall what she told me, a new wave of emotion rolls through me. Anywhere from anger to frustration to agony to understanding. And then it starts all over again.

  Autumn broke things off with me for one reason. Well, maybe two. To protect herself. And to protect her daughter.

  Still blows my mind Autumn is a mother. Not because it was inconceivable to picture her with a small bundle in her arms. Picturing her that way is actually quite believable. But because she thought hiding a major piece of herself was the right choice. She once told me she hadn’t dated in years. Is her lack of dating because she is a single mother?

  Another stab to the heart.

  I only got a small glimpse at life with Autumn on my arm. With her lips on mine. And I miss every second of it.

  The hurt on her face last night flashes in my memory. She didn’t want our evening to end the way it did. She didn’t want us to end. But she did it anyway. To protect the only life she has known. To shelter her heart and the heart of her daughter.

  How do I fix this? Fix us?

  Because I refuse to believe there isn’t still an us. I refuse to believe what we have is beyond repair. All I have to do is figure out how to go about it.

  Minor relief washes over me when the Harley-Davidson clock in the garage reads five and I can call it quits for the day. But the day is far from over. Because today is Wednesday. Family dinner night. And family dinner night equals several sets of eyes and ears homed in on me. No doubt Dad will go home and tell Mom something is up. If my sisters arrive before me, the what’s-wrong-with-Jonas gang will be in full effect upon my arrival.

  Might be a good night to hang on the back patio with Anton.

  When I get home from work and let Spartan out of his kennel, he mauls me as if I have been gone days and not hours. He licks my face and jumps excitedly around the living room.

  “Well, I’m glad to see someone is happy to have me around,” I tell him as I rough up the fur on his head. “You ready to see Grandma tonight.”

  Woof, woof.

  I love how Spartan answers me as if we are having a genuine conversation. He has always been this way. Makes me laugh at times. Who knows, maybe he does actually understand what I say. Never underestimate the intelligence of your fur-child.

  We go out in the back yard for a little bit. Spartan trots along the fence line and sniffs every possible tuft of grass to make sure no one else has marked his territory. I sit on the small outdoor couch set up on a paver patio I laid months ago. The L-shaped couch can easily seat five and has a matching lounger and two chairs. A canopy spans the entire patio and shades the seating while protecting the gas fire table set up in the middle.

  Occasionally, I will sit out here and get lost in a book or the flicker of the fire. Being out here is a great place to unwind after a long day. Plus, Spartan gets extra outside time when I hang out here.

  After Spartan alleviates a tenth of his energy, we hop into the Jeep and drive over to Mom and Dad’s. I watch Spartan as he finds happiness in the little things—such as riding in the car or biting the wind or barking at a passing car—and do my best to soak up some happiness of my own.

  The moment we walk in the door, Spartan runs off and Mom is on me as if I am three years old and fell from the treehouse again.

  “How’s my baby?” She frames my face and twists it left and righ
t as she examines me.

  “Fine, Mom,” I say as she hauls me against her for a hug. I wrap my arms around her, close my eyes, and soak up her hug more than normal. Mom has always been a great hugger. Warm and giving and soothing.

  “Don’t you lie to me. Your father says you’ve been in a sour mood all day.”

  She releases me from the hug and holds me at arm’s length. Her scrutiny is somewhat unsettling, but I know it comes from a heartfelt place. Even when I felt sad about all that happened with Cora, my parents never reacted this way. They checked in more often, but otherwise let me be.

  “Well, he wouldn’t be wrong. But I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  Her eyes scan every fine line and detail of my face. Judge my eyes and lack of smile. “Just don’t keep it bottled up. Okay? Never solves a thing if you keep it to yourself.”

  I raise my right hand and press it over my heart. “Promise.”

  In a flash, she grabs my hand and drags me into the kitchen. “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s make dinner.” And just like that, Mom makes me laugh.

  Joining Jasmine and Jillian in the kitchen, Mom and I chop potatoes for cooking and mashing, and vegetables for salad. Garlic, garden-fresh rosemary and lemon waft through the kitchen, and it isn’t hard to guess we are having Jillian’s favorite—lemon and herb roasted chicken. We all work in synchronicity until dinner is ready.

  As much as I wanted to seclude myself to the back patio earlier, it was better being in the kitchen with my sisters and mom. We worked as a unit and nothing needed to be said as we went about our individual tasks. Without a word, the women in my life helped lift me up. And I love them more for it.

  Dinner went on much like it normally did. Lex flung bits of salad at my dad as he tickled the bottoms of his feet. Jasmine scolded Dad and told him to quit teaching Lex food was a toy instead of something you eat. Anton laughed with Dad and egged him on. Mom asked Jillian about work and when the next batch of new fashions would hit the racks.

  The only exception to the usual conversation was me. I sat quiet and shuffled the cut pieces of chicken around my plate. Stirred the mashed potatoes more than ate them.

  As plates emptied, Mom went into the kitchen and grabbed dessert. Apple cobbler and vanilla bean ice cream. My favorite.

  Dad must have called her during the day and forewarned her of my mood. Because the cobbler would’ve had to be in the oven long before the chicken. Plus, she would’ve had to shop for the missing ingredients I know weren’t always in the house.

  Jasmine scoops out a helping of cobbler. “What’s the special occasion, Mom?”

  She glances at me briefly before peering at my sister. “No special occasion. Just thought it’d be nice to have. Been a while.” Shock must register on my face when Mom looks back at me because her eyes widen. All I do is smile in return.

  Neither Mom nor Dad told Jasmine or Jillian about today. About my adult-sized temper tantrum. They really do love me. If my sisters don’t know the nitty-gritty details, my parents get how bothered and upset I am.

  After we all have our fair share of cobbler, my sisters and I go out on the back patio while Anton and my parents stay inside with Lex. We sit on the poolside loungers in silence for a few minutes and enjoy the soft glow from the twinkling lights around the yard. A breeze kicks up and Jillian shivers in the lounger on my right.

  “Want my jacket?”

  “Nah, big brother. But thanks.”

  “So, what’s up with you?” Jasmine asks a moment later. I know she isn’t asking Jillian, but I play coy anyway.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. You’ve been acting off all night.”

  Jillian sits up and spins to face both of us. “You do seem more bummed than usual.”

  Great. Mom and Dad may not have said anything to my sisters, but they are more intuitive than I give them credit for.

  Maybe talking with them—two women I trust, and from different ages—will help. Fingers crossed.

  “I recently started dating someone…” I trail off, trying to figure out what else to say.

  “And?” Jillian drawls out the single-worded question.

  “Jesus. Give me a minute.” I pause and stare up at the stars. “Last night, she told me she has a daughter.” To my left, Jasmine gasps. “Then she said we need to take a break.”

  “What? Why?” Jasmine asks.

  As I continue to stare at the stars, I secretly hope I get the opportunity to sit under a starry sky with Autumn in my arms. Somewhere far from the city, where there is less light pollution and only the stars brighten the night sky. Where we can point out different clusters and tell each other what we see.

  “Not really sure. I think she’s just scared to let anyone in. She’s a single mom. And from what I know, it’s been that way for a while. She told me I was the first person she’s dated in years.”

  Now Jasmine sits up and faces me. It feels as if I am stuck in a sisterly vise. Except they won’t squeeze the life out of me. They will just pump me full of advice. But their words of wisdom may be exactly what I need.

  “Brother, if you’re the first person she’s dated in years—possibly the only person she’s dated since her daughter was born—she had to have broken it off because she’s scared. Letting someone in is probably huge for her.”

  I lift my head from the lounger and turn to my left. “Yeah, I get it, Jas. But why would she let me in to drop me five seconds later?”

  “Easy,” Jillian says, and I turn to face her. “She wants to see if you’re worthy.”

  “If I’m worthy? What does that mean?”

  “It means” —I turn back to Jasmine, almost dizzy sitting between my sisters— “she wants to see if you’ll just let her go. Or if you’ll step up and fight for her.”

  Okay. If I thought women were complicated before, now the ideal has been solidified. Women are the most complex and confusing creatures on the planet. They say one thing and want something completely opposite. How is any man supposed to grasp this concept? Or know when they are doing something right or wrong?

  “And how am I supposed to do that? How do I fight?”

  “Little things,” Jillian says. “Leave notes where you know she’ll find them. Send her flowers. Nothing major, just small tokens to let her know you’re still thinking about her. As complex as we seem, big bro, we are simple creatures. Those little things add up over time. Women are more sentimental. Sure, we all love gifts. But when it comes down to it, we want the reason behind the gift, not just the trinket.”

  At the word trinket, I run my fingers over the Eisenhower dollar in my pocket. A token I have carried with me for years. Something Grandpa John gave me just before I started kindergarten. “Keep this close by and it’ll always give you luck.” Since he slipped the large coin into my small palm, I never left home without it. It was either in my pocket or my wallet or somewhere close by. It wasn’t only special because Grandpa said it was a good luck charm, but also because it was a gift from him.

  “So, if you were in my position, what would you do?” I ask them both.

  “This all went south last night?” Jasmine asks and I nod. “Give her a couple days to breathe. Give her time to process everything. She asked for a break so she could think clearly about how you fit into her world. And her daughter’s world, too. If you don’t give her the time she needs, she’ll push harder.”

  “Okay, I get that. But how much time is enough?”

  “Maybe wait until the weekend. I like Jillian’s idea with the notes,” Jasmine states.

  “Thank you.” Jillian tips her head in gratitude.

  “Write her a note. Tell her how you’re feeling. It’s easier to say things when you’re not face to face. Then leave it somewhere she’ll find it.”

  This is something I can get on board with. Writing her notes. Love letters. Something short and sweet which lets her know she is still on my mind. But for how long?

  “How long would you suggest I do
this?”

  “Forever,” Jillian says at the same time Jasmine says, “Until your hand falls off.” We all laugh.

  “Seriously, big bro. If things pan out with her, keep doing it. She’ll love it.”

  Good to know. But it still doesn’t answer my initial question. Maybe I need to rephrase.

  “Okay. When do I take the next step? When do I move from letters to something more?”

  Jasmine shrugs. “Whenever it feels right to you. If you leave her the first note and she reaches out to you, angry, back off. Otherwise, use your best judgment. Women like to be wooed. All of us. Woo her.”

  Woo her. Notes and flowers and standing on her front porch singing old love ballads. I got this. Maybe.

  My sisters pile on top and hug the hell out of me. For a moment, I fake cough as their weight presses down. But as they lift off me, I wrap my arms around them and hug them tighter.

  “Thank you both. I love you.”

  “Love you, big brother.”

  “Me too. Now make things right. Cause I want to meet her.”

  I laugh and sit up. “On it.”

  We all wander inside the house and exchange hugs before heading out for the night. Although I was hesitant to be here tonight. To deal with my family as they breathed advice down my neck. Being here was exactly what I needed. To be reset back to what matters. To get clarity only my family delivers.

  As I head out the door with Spartan on my heels, Mom hands me a container of leftovers. “Extra cobbler.” A gentle smile lifts the corners of her lips.

  “Thanks, Mom. Love you.” I hug her again.

  “Love you too. See you next week.”

  The ride home has me thinking nonstop. Of what messages I want to write Autumn. Of what else I want to do to show her how much I care. A small list fills out in my head and I am excited to begin.

  Once home, I get to work. Writing notes. Whipping out my sketchpad and my pencils, I draw for hours. Get lost in the notion of wooing Autumn. Of getting her to see I still want her, even if I have to share her.