Giving In (The Sandy Cove Series Book 1) (33 page)

She throws her head back and laughs, keeping it
classy, but still she mocks me.

“Oh my dear boy, you sound just like my Joseph
did when he met Harlow’s tramp of a mother.”

“But her parents have been married for years and
seem very happy. I’ve been in their company.”

“Yes, well Joseph has always been a rebel of
sorts. Harlow is a lot like her father. I couldn’t stop him from
making a mistake. He got her pregnant, and well… Greta came along
and I know she’s not a mistake but then I didn’t know better. You
are a mistake, Mr. Cruz. I refuse to allow my granddaughter to
follow in her father’s footsteps.”

I’ve had enough of this bullshit. I become
hotter and agitated, and I won’t allow her to bully me.

“You are one sick and twisted old bitch, aren’t
you lady?” I turn and look at her, my eyes blaze with fury.

“Tsk, tsk, temper, temper, Mr. Cruz. I’m neither
of those things. I am a woman who simply won’t allow anymore trash
into my family. Leave her. Do her and yourself a favor. If not,
I’ll be forced to tell Harlow the truth about you, show her the
evidence, then she will hate you even more. And I really would not
want you to get fired from Sandy Cove’s Police Department because
of a positive drug test, now would I?”

She’s a certifiable nut job.

“What?” I ask her, confused.

“I know a lot of people, Officer, especially in
Sandy Cove, so I would hate if you took your annual urine test and
it came back positive for opiates. Or even if drugs were found in
the McMillian’s vacation house. That would simply be a tragedy. I
mean, what would poor Porter think of his friend then? You can’t
risk it. You already have a record.”

She gets closer to me, invading my personal
space, and I can smell the stench of her perfume, and it nauseates
me. She bends into my ear. “I have my ways, Mr. Cruz. You can’t
fuck with Granny.”

The woman is pure evil. I mean she must bleed
it, but I wouldn’t put it past her to do all the things she said
she’d do. I could care less if I got fired from Sandy Cove, but a
drug conviction I can’t. I just can’t.

I shut my eyes tight, thinking if I open them,
she would be just a bad dream, but as I do, she’s still here,
smiling. Her bright red lips looking like she just tasted my blood,
stole it from me like a vampire.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Mr. Cruz. I told
you, I’m a powerful woman.”

She walks away, and I’m left with the
afterthoughts of everything she says.

I’m a stupid man. I should have told Harlow the
truth. Not that the truth would matter anyway. Granny would go to
extremes to try to keep us apart. My life, my job, my past, my…
future hangs like a set of balls in Evelyn Hannum’s hands.

Oh, my God, Harlow.

Now she’s going to hate me. Either way she’s
going to hate me, and it will kill me if she does. No matter how I
look at it and no matter which road I choose… I’m fucked.

***

1,209,600 seconds

20,160 minutes

336 hours

14 days

That’s two weeks broken down. Two whole weeks
since Cruz has left, and I have actually spoken to him. Spoken with
words. This does not include texts. I get answers back from those.
Two word answers, but it’s something.

It doesn’t seem right that most of the time his
phone goes straight to voicemail. His excuse: Sergeant is cracking
down on phone use during shifts. Plus, he tells me he has taken on
different shifts for extra money so that’s why he hasn’t physically
called.

And I call that bullshit.

If I don’t hear from him by week’s end, I’m
getting to the bottom of it and quick.

I’ve bitten my nails down to the skin, I’m not
eating like I should be from lack of appetite, and my concentration
is damn near nonexistent. I don’t understand it. Why isn’t he
calling me back? All I need is to hear him say, ‘I’m ok baby. Just
real busy.’ That’s all I need. Listening to his voice on his
voicemail is not cutting it.

Willow strolls in the breakroom during our lunch
time here at Grayson Elders.

Great.

Here we go with the twenty questions.

“He call yet?” Apple in hand, taking a bite of
it and crunching in my face as she speaks.

“No.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

I look up at her, willing myself not to tear up,
fearful of the truth that may lie ahead for me.

“What do you want me to tell you, Willow? No.
I’ve left voicemail after voicemail, and he texts me back with the
same old excuse. He was sleeping now he’s at work and can’t talk. I
told you something is wrong and I can feel it in my bones.”

Willow sits down and takes my hand, which only
makes me want to cry.

“He’s been so distant since the wedding.”

“Har, let me ask you a question. Did you notice
a change in him after New Year’s Eve when you told him you loved
him?”

I think about that night. How he held me on the
dance floor. How when we went back to my condo we made love. We
didn’t fuck, it was passionate and loving. He held me all night,
never letting me go. And yes, I kept telling him I loved him, and
he didn’t say it back, but I felt it. I felt the love. When we were
at his car and he was leaving, I could have sworn I saw a tear in
his eye when we said goodbye. He almost crushed me when he held
onto me so tight. So I answer Willow truthfully.

“Yes.”

She stands up abruptly, pushes her chair in and
pulls me up out of my seat.

“Well, my friend. Hope you don’t have any plans
this weekend, ‘cause we are making a trip to Sandy Cove.”

The ride to Sandy Cove was nothing but me
tapping my already gnawed fingernails down to the skin. The
nauseous feeling still remains in my belly even though I took one
of my anxiety pills. I can feel the difference in my body from not
eating. My clothes feel larger, my stomach slowly shrinking. I
don’t know what to say to him once I see him. Maybe it’s just that
he is busy, maybe he’s taken all the overtime because he wants to
save enough money for when he gets a job in Princeton and we can
get a bigger place. Maybe he wants a new car. There very well could
be an explanation to it all. I use my logic because I am a logical
thinker. I don’t always use it in situations, but I’m smart. Think
with both things. My head and my heart. That could quite possibly
be my problem.

We love each other is the mantra I keep chanting
in my head.

He loves me.

I know he loves me.

We love each other.

This constant gnawing in my stomach keeps me up
at night. Toys with my emotions. I can’t sit still. I lash out at
my students for the tiniest of things. They all guessed Cruz was my
boyfriend from when he came for career day. I heard them whispering
about me, saying I’m not the same and that my boyfriend must have
dumped me.

Little bitches.

“We’re only a mile out from Sandy Cove. Do you
know where he’s going to be?” I don’t turn to Willow when she asks
me. I stare blankly out the window, looking at how desolate this
shore town looks in January. So very different from summer. The
reeds of grass along the edge of the water as we cross the bridge
come in to sight. Swaying in the cold winter breeze, they look
brown and not the mossy green color they were a few months ago.
They look how I feel.

“He doesn’t go in till four, but who knows now
if he’s working overtime or not.”

We pull through the stoplight, the sign for
Sandy Cove to my left. The weathered sign brings back so many
memories. Good ones. I met the love of my life here. I can admit
that. Cruz is the love of my life. When you feel love in every
fiber of your being, when it curls your toes, takes away your sense
of direction, normalcy, steals your breath just from a touch,
that’s when you know you have found him. Even just a glance from
across a crowded room. That second your eyes meet. Only people who
are truly in love know what that’s like.

We turn down Barnacle Lane. I can feel the bile
start to rise up into my throat, praying in a way that he isn’t
here.

Too late.

“I can’t do this, Willow. I can’t. I can’t.” I
begin to hyperventilate, my breathing increasing in speed. The
dizziness overrides any sense of clear thinking I had just moments
ago.

Willow grabs my shoulders, the sharp feeling of
her nails digging into my skin alerts me to breathe. She turns my
body towards her.

“Stop this shit right now, Harlow. This is
crazy. You have no idea what’s going on, so stop making yourself
nuts wondering. That’s why you’re here. To find out the
answers.”

I do my deep cleansing breaths and take control
of the way I’m feeling. I need to be strong because when I walk
through his door, there could be absolutely nothing wrong. He could
sweep me up in his arms and kiss the top of my head and say, ‘Hey,
Turnip. I missed you so much.’ That’s the positive way I need to
think.

I take control of my nerves and with Willow
holding my hand, I walk up the wooden steps to Porter’s house. I
can hardly hold on to the wooden railing my hands are shaking so
badly. My legs, well… I consider them jello. The blinds to the
slider are shut, his car is here, so I know he’s here and not at
the station. So many times on just the flight up the stairs, I
contemplated running the opposite way, but I won’t run. This is my
soulmate I’m here to see, to find out why he’s so distant. I came
here for answers.

I lean my hand against the cold glass of the
slider and the ice that has formed on it stings my perspiring
hand.

“Harlow, just knock on the door. I’ll be right
here.”

I knock once. Gently.

No answer.

“Ok, he’s not here. Let’s go.”

Willow rolls her eyes at me and shoves me aside
as she proceeds to bang on the door.

The blinds open and Cruz stands there not
looking the least bit surprised to see me. He hesitates and slowly
pulls open the slider, sans shirt.

“Um, hey.” He pauses, not meeting my eyes
directly. “What are you doing here?”

He looks funny. The brightness of his beautiful
baby blues is replaced with a darkness I have never seen. His hair
is way overgrown. His bare chest and arms look thinner to me in
just a few short weeks.

I bite my lip, willing myself not to scream, but
I answer casually.

“I haven’t heard from you in weeks. I was
concerned.”

Still standing at the door not inviting us in,
he runs his hand through his hair and looks over his shoulder into
the living room.

“Harlow, now’s really not a good time.”

Now’s not a good time?

The words bite at me.

“No, I think now is a great time. Invite me
in.”

When I try and nudge myself through the door, he
stops me, putting his hand up, and he touches my chest. His touch…
I haven’t felt it in so long, and I’ve missed it, but his actions
keep me on high alert. This is the man I love who is acting like
some stranger. It’s like I’m not standing before the same person.
Willow steps to my side.

“What the fuck is your problem, Cruz. This is
your girlfriend whom you have not spoken to in weeks. We drove all
this way so she can have an explanation as to why you’re being a
dick.”

“I told you, I’ve been busy. I’m working a ton
of overtime and I’m tired. What do you want from me?”

I step away trying to get a good look at the
person who stands before me still not meeting my gaze.

“What do I want from you? I want to know why
you’re avoiding me. You don’t take my calls, or answer my messages.
You give me one or two word answers in a text, and you know what,
it’s bullshit. I want answers and I’m not leaving here until I have
them.” I stand my ground. I won’t allow myself to be the girl who
curls up and hides away from all her problems. I’m here to face
whatever it is I need to deal with and if my heart breaks in the
process, then so be it, but at least I’ll have answers.

He slams the slider closed. The blinds flap from
the strength of it, and I’m not hesitating. I’m going in.

I push open the slider and Cruz grabs his shirt
from the arm of the sofa as I trail behind him. As he slips it on
over his shoulders, I grab his strong arm and pull him around so
he’s looking at me.

“God, damn it, Raphael. Look at me!”

He shrugs off my hand, running his hands through
his hair, pulling at it with force.

“Why, Harlow? Don’t you get the hint?” He steps
away from me, smugly adjusting his shirt and smoothing his unruly
hair.

“I mean seriously, this whole thing was fun,
but… Well…”

He paces around, acting anxious, and it
infuriates me because he’s not making sense. I move closer to him,
but he steps away, almost like a game of cat and mouse. I step
around the sofa towards him. He goes to the other side, like he’s
afraid for me to get too close.