Because He Watches Me (Because He Owns Me, Book Nine) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (30 page)

A little later that morning she took the subway out to Penn Station, then the Amtrak train all the way to Syracuse, where her father was waiting in his blue pickup truck. Getting inside his truck, she smelled the familiar scents of grease and motor oil, rusty metal. As a mechanic, her dad’s hands were rough and usually had black stains around his fingernails.

He lit a cigarette and rolled down his window as they drove.

“I thought you quit,” she said, as he waved smoke toward the window.

“I did.”

“And then what happened?” she asked.

“Quit for almost eight months and then I watched the Mets blow an eight run lead in the ninth inning against the Orioles.” He made a face as if it still hurt him to this day. “After that I felt like I was owed a cigarette.”

“Oh, dad.” Nicole hated that he smoked. He’d been going though two or three packs a day for as long as she could remember, but just the last few years he’d really cut back and then even quit once or twice.

“It’s a horrible addiction.” He looked over and smiled at her. “Enough about me. How are you doing?”

She shrugged.

“Uh-oh,” was all he said. There was a long pause as they drove through familiar areas of town. The Costco that she’d been to a million times growing up. The restaurant that kept changing owners and names every couple of years, and nobody seemed to be able to stay in business there. Right now it was called Fiore’s.

“How’s mom?” Nicole asked, trying for casual.

Her dad took a drag on his cigarette as they slowed at the light. An old, old man walked a dog that looked as old as him, slowly across the street.

“Your mom,” her father said, “is antsy to hear news about the upcoming nuptials.”

His words hit her like a punch in the stomach. Like a wave hitting her, she was blasted by the impact of how everything had ended. It was really over between them. It didn’t seem possible—it had happened too fast.

“Well, we need to talk about that,” Nicole said, watching for his reaction.

He didn’t particularly have one. The cigarette dangled from his lip and smoke trailed out the window. “That old geezer needs someone to walk him
and
his dog,” he said, as the old man and his old pooch finally got to the other side of the road. By then the light had gone to green and back to red again.

A few minutes later, they arrived home.

“Your mother’s in a state,” he warned as they came in through the front door.

“Oh no. What kind of state?” Nicole asked him, but he didn’t bother answering.

Her mother’s voice called from what sounded like Nicole’s old bedroom down the hallway. “Hellooooo?”

“Hey mom,” Nicole called back.

They found her mother in Nicole’s old bedroom. There were things everywhere-clothes, magazines, books, notebooks, shoes, all of it in piles. Her mother was on her knees sorting things. She was wearing a red kerchief on her head, t-shirt and jeans. It was her typical “spring cleaning” outfit.

“Nicole, did you want these shoes?” her mother asked, holding up a pair of battered green and white Nikes.

“Those are from junior year of high school. I think I ran in them until the soles pretty much fell off.”

“So, do you?”

“No. Thanks.” She walked to her desk and looked at the various stickers and glittery, sparkly pens and pencils that were collected next to her old notebooks.

“I’ve been wanting to turn this room into an office,” her mother said. “And now that you’re an adult and getting married, I thought it was about time.”

Nicole tried to smile past the awkwardness she knew was coming. “That sounds like a fantastic idea.”

“What about these sweatpants?” her mother asked, holding the ugly blue pants high in the air for her to see.

“No. Definitely not.”

Her mother made a face. “So much good clothing going to waste. And at the time you probably cried to me and complained how cool it all was and how badly you needed it.”

“About that whole getting married thing,” Nicole started.

Her father looked at her, waiting for what came next.

Meanwhile her mother was busy sorting and folding. “We don’t even need to go through this again,” she said. “You know how we feel, but we support you completely. Now we just want to know what date and where.” She looked up at Nicole. “And if possible, I’d like to have some input on invitations and seating.”

Nicole turned her gaze to the floor. “I don’t think that’s going to be necessary.”

“Well, why not? Are you so sick of me that you won’t even let me make a suggestion or two?”

“It’s not that.” She tried to think of how to phrase it, but she was suddenly afraid to say it aloud.

“Well then…” her mother pressed her lips together and looked at the piles on the floor. “Oh, I know what I meant to show you.” She leaned over and grabbed Nicole’s high school yearbook. “What about this?”

Nicole accepted it, paging through and smiling a little at the memories. She’d been a quiet kid, so there weren’t tons of pictures of her all over the place. But people had written some sweet and funny comments in the front and back pages. “I don’t know…maybe I’ll keep it,” Nicole said softly, closing the yearbook.

“You’ll want to show your children someday,” her mother said confidently.

“So, I need to explain about the wedding.”

Instantly, her mother made a face. “You don’t have to explain for my sake.”

“There’s not going to be one.”

“One what?”

“A wedding. We broke up.” She felt her jaw tremble and instantly told herself to knock it off.

Don’t cry in front of your mother—anything but that.

Her mother tried not to show her relief, but Nicole could see it written on her face, plain as day. “That’s too bad,” she said, trying to sound supportive. “What happened? Did you have a falling out?”

“It just didn’t work out,” Nicole said.

Her father hugged her and she put her face into his chest. He smelled like cigarettes, just as he always did, and it comforted her some.

“I think it’s for the best, honey,” her mother said.

She didn’t respond.

After they spent some more time cleaning her old room and putting clothes and things into plastic bags, they went to the kitchen and she helped her mom cook chicken breast and rice for dinner. This was like going back in time—the same patterns, habits and routines they’d always had.

The familiar patter between them was comfortable, if a little depressing at times. Her mother making comments and “suggestions” that Nicole invariably ignored. But there was one piece of advice that she couldn’t just ignore.

“What about the ring?” her mother asked, as she rubbed garlic powder into the chicken breast with her fingers.

“My engagement ring?”

“You returned it, I assume.”

“No. Not yet.”

Her mother stopped kneading the meat and turned to her. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.” Nicole was chopping veggies for the salad, but her knife was paused momentarily. “I suppose the right opportunity hasn’t presented itself.”

“There’s no right opportunity to return an engagement ring, Nicole.”

“True.”

“You need to send it back to him as soon as you get home. Stick it in the mail and be done with it.”

Nicole hated to admit it, but her mom had a point. Keeping that ring stuffed away in her shoe was just holding on to the past. A few tears rolled down her cheek now, as she thought about the act of putting her engagement ring in an envelope.

She was crying as she chopped the veggies, but it was okay. There were enough raw onions to have an excuse.

***

S
he got back
to the city the next afternoon and rushed home, wanting—needing—to get the ring out in the mail that day before the last pickup.

It was still there, stuffed into the toe of her shoe. She dug it out and unwrapped it from the surrounding tissue paper. There it was, glimmering in the sunlight that streamed through her bedroom window. Nicole sat on her bed and stared at it, turning the ring over in her hands.

Saying goodbye to it was like saying a final goodbye to him. They’d only been together a short time, an inconsequential amount of time, really. Everyone had pointed that out to her, as if the heart cared a whit about time.

As far as her heart was concerned, Nicole and Red had loved each other for eternity and then some. Yet, intellectually she could explain how false that sensation was. Love required time and patience and attention, it took years to build a real, lasting relationship.

Then why did this feel like agony? If their short time together had been so meaningless and silly, why did she feel like this was going to kill her spirit?

Nicole couldn’t explain her emotions away. She was crying again as she wrapped the ring in newspaper until it was indistinguishable from anything else that might end up in an envelope. The last thing she wanted was for some nosey mail carrier to figure out what was in this plain looking envelope being delivered to the fancy house in Connecticut.

At around four o’clock, Nicole went to the nearest drop box and, without hesitation, pushed her envelope down the dark hole where it joined hundreds if not thousands of other similar pieces of mail.

Now it was truly done with.

***

A
day and a half later
, Nicole was at her first Yoga class. She’d decided that she needed to get out of the apartment more. Less watching TV and eating ice cream with Danielle, more motivating and getting the blood flowing again.

There was a tiny Yoga studio called Nirvana, just down the street from their apartment, and they had classes on Wednesday night at 7pm, which worked perfectly for her.

The only problem with the class was that she’d been ambitious and signed up for an intermediate session. The main reason she’d chosen this particular class was that it fit her work schedule best. And then she’d assumed that having done a bit of Yoga with friends in college (and considering herself to be young and somewhat fit), she wouldn’t have too much trouble adjusting to the intermediate poses.

She’d been very, very wrong.

From the start of the class, Nicole had known she was in for it. The instructor was this tiny little woman with a severe expression on her face and the attitude of a drill sergeant. Her name was Lilly and she yelled a lot for a Yoga teacher.

“Marianne, straighten your left leg. No straighten it. Okay, I’ll come over and do it for you!”

This was a typical rejoinder. Lilly would adjust arms and legs and make comments the whole time, usually about how lazy or bad everyone was at doing the positions.

Nicole was sweating and shaking from the first asana. By the time they’d gotten to downward dog, she thought she might not make it through the first fifteen minutes. Her legs were shaking. Her arms were shaking.

“Come on, Nicole,” Lilly said, stalking towards her as she spoke. “Elbows straight. Straight. Butt up. Pretend a string is pulling your posterior to the sky.” She walked behind Nicole and pulled her hips skyward. The relief on Nicole’s straining forearms was immediate and she wished Lilly would stay there.

But the teacher quickly moved on to the next sad sack.

Why am I doing this? She asked herself. It had seemed a good idea when she signed up a week ago, a way to take her mind off the empty space in her life. But straining and sweating and shaking, just minutes after getting off the train from a long day’s work—now she thought it was one of the stupidest decisions she’d made.

“And, let’s move into
Salamba
Sarvangasana, otherwise known as shoulder stand,” Lilly called out.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nicole muttered, as everyone else instantly rolled into near perfect shoulder stands.

She was sitting there, debating whether or not to just get up and walk out, when she saw him at the door. First he was just a shadow, but even before she saw his face—Nicole knew. She knew Red had come to find her.

He strode purposefully into the studio of women with their toes pointed in the air, and the little strident instructor turned to stare at him. “Excuse me sir, we’ve a class going on.”

Red ignored the instructor.

He was dressed in jeans and a white and blue Armani shirt that managed to show off his incredibly broad shoulders and chest. His dark hair and dark eyes were darker and more intensely beautiful than ever, she thought.

“Nicole, we need to talk,” he said.

The instructor shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir—I really must ask you to leave. Now.”

“Nicole.” Red stared at her unwaveringly.

The women had dropped out of their shoulder stands and were watching the scene now.

Nicole tried to breathe. Tried to think.

Did she want to have this conversation right now? What was he going to tell her?

“She doesn’t have to go with you,” the teacher said, protectively.

Nicole had to give the lady credit, she was a real spitfire. “It’s okay,” Nicole told Lilly, standing up and grabbing her Yoga mat. “I should have signed up for the beginner’s class anyhow.” Smiling with some embarrassment, but mostly relief, Nicole followed Red out to the street.

Outside, it was pleasantly cool, and the sweat began drying on her sore body.

Red looked at her, his eyes pained. “Why?” was all he asked.

She knew what he meant without further explanation. “Because,” she said, “I didn’t think it was right for me to keep your ring. And it wasn’t healthy for me to hold on.”

Red broke off from looking into her eyes, instead choosing to look at the ground. “When I came home and found the envelope with your address on it—for a minute I thought you’d written me a letter and my heart sang.”

“I wasn’t trying to mislead you or upset you,” she told him. She’d never seen Red look this way. Even when he was throwing dishes and glasses, he’d looked frightening. But now he was just…drained. Almost like a fighter who’d been beaten, staggering around the ring with nothing left to give.

“I know you weren’t trying to hurt me,” Red said softly. Now he looked at her again, and when their eyes met, the old shock hit her full blast—the feeling of being known and knowing someone totally.