Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(76)
Shaking my head, wanting to deny what he’s saying, I still don’t understand Brody’s complete empathy with Gavin. “I don’t get you, Brody. I figured you’d be the last person that would want to see him back in my life. You threatened to kill him so many times.”
“Oh, when he comes back… and I’m betting he does, I’m going to beat the shit out of him for hurting you. Make no mistake about that. But then I’ll forgive him, same as you.”
I now mentally shake my head again so Brody doesn’t see my outright denial, that I’m not willing to accept what he’s saying. Not willing to accept what he’s suggesting I do. Contacting Gavin is going to open me up to a potential world of hurt, because no matter what Brody thinks, I personally think Gavin is done with this baby and me. He has too much shit to overcome, and I’m not sure he has an ounce of hero-like qualities in him to admit his wrong and take the risk for something wonderful.
“Doesn’t matter anyway,” I say, surprised at how glum my voice sounds and how sad I feel inside. “I told you… I seriously don’t know how to contact him.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing I know how,” Brody says with a smirk.
“What do you mean?” I ask carefully, refusing to have even a moment’s excitement over the prospect that maybe… just maybe, I could have a second crack at happiness with Gavin.
“He’s doing a book signing in New York this weekend. You need to go see him.”
“I couldn’t possibly,” I say, backing away with my hands held before me.
“You could.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. You will.”
Rubbing my knuckles over my breastbone to assuage the stab of pain I’m feeling there, the most I’ll give Brody at this time is, “I’ll think about it.”
“What’s your favorite memory of Charlie?” I asked Gavin as we lay in bed together one night before we fell asleep. It had become routine… Gavin would make love to me, or f*ck me, depending on his mood and mine, and then we’d lay in the dark and talk.
Sometimes our talks were easy and lighthearted. Sometimes they were deep. I learned early on that Gavin never shied away from talking about Charlie with me, and I used every opportunity I could to learn more about his little boy that only had two short years on this earth. Because every detail I learned about Charlie let me understand the real Gavin Cooke all that much more.
Gavin chuckled as he stroked my shoulder. “That’s an easy one. It was the first time he giggled. I was holding him on my lap… I think he was about three months old. His legs were so strong, and he liked to try to stand up as much as possible with me holding him. He was facing me, with his little fist in his mouth, and I was making some type of goofy noise and funny face, or something like that. And this little giggle just burst out of his mouth. I was so shocked… I hadn’t heard anything like that before. Can you believe it? I’d never heard a baby laugh. It was miraculous. It was hilarious. It made me laugh, and when I laughed… he giggled again. Then I laughed, then he laughed, and we just sat there and laughed at each other.”
“Sounds like the best memory ever,” I told him with a smile on my face that he couldn’t see in the dark.
“Want to know what my best memory is of you?” he asked.
“Lay it on me,” I told him.
“My best memory is of right now… of you asking me about Charlie, and me remembering his laugh. Yes, my best memory is of sharing that special moment with my boy, with you.”
I sighed long and deep, and my heart cried with joy.
Setting my cup of tea aside, I get up from the couch and wipe the tears that are streaming down my face. I’ve been sitting here all evening, trying to decide what to do.
Brody’s words hammering at me…
He has more reason to be terrified than any of us do.
Then you love Gavin… at least a part of him.
Because he loves you, and I guarantee you that he loves her.
I have no clue if Brody’s wisdom knows what the hell it’s really talking about. But I know one thing that he is absolutely correct about. I do still love Gavin and because of that, I do need to reach out and give him a chance to explain himself.
Sitting down at the kitchen table, I open up my laptop and search out the cost of a flight to New York this weekend.
Glancing down at my watch, I mutter a curse when I see how slowly time is moving by. Lindie nudges me in the ribs, leans over, and hisses at me, “Try to act like you’re enjoying this. Try to act like you’re happy to see your fans.”
Looking up at the next woman in line, I plaster a smile on my face as she shoves my book at me. “Mr. Cooke… it’s an honor to meet you. I loved Killing the Tides so much. It’s my favorite book of all time. I’ve read it seven times already, and oh my God… I can’t believe I’m standing here talking to you.”
I struggle to keep my smile in place, which has become a f*cking chore I detest lately, and say, “That’s very kind, love. Who should I sign this to?”
“Marie… sign it To Marie, With Love, if you don’t mind,” she gushes. “My friends will die when they see it. Oh, and can I get my picture with you?”