Sidewalk Flower (27 page)

She was halfway down the driveway when
Lucky caught up to her.
 
He grasped her
by the elbow and she started to slow for him.
 
But, at the sound of stiletto heels clicking angrily against the cement,
she tugged her arm away and sped back up.
 
Lucky made the mistake of stopping.
 
She made it to her jeep but heard every word in the exchange between
Lucky and Vangie.

“You know, if you were smart, you’d stay
away from her.
 
That slut is a
home-wrecker and no matter how well you think you know her, trust me, there’s
only one man on her mind.
 
And honey, it
isn’t you.”

Oh hell.
 
Here we go
.
 
Lucky was speechless.
 
She thought he’d forgotten how to speak.
 
But when he did, she could have cried.
 

“Excuse me, lady, but you need to take a
good long look in the mirror.
 
Everything
you lack, Trista has it in spades.
 
Decency, honesty, caring.
 
You have no idea how much more a woman she is than you.
 
I hope my cousin wakes up from this nightmare
you call a home before he loses whatever it is that Trista sees in him.”
 

She couldn’t help but turn and face
him.
 
Lucky would never hurt a woman but
she didn’t trust Vangie not to strike out.
 
Ready to go to his aid, she watched, hands fisted at her sides.
 
Lucky stood his ground, like he dared Vangie
to say one more bad word against her.

Of course Vangie could care less about
that.

“You’re a fool, Lucky.
 
A damned fool.
 
Jaxon knows what he gets with me.
 
You have no idea what you’re getting into
with her.
 
Not a fucking clue.”
 
And then she turned on her dangerously red stiletto
heel and disappeared into her castle behind the heavy wooden door.

Chapter
Seventeen

Lucky let his pent-up irritation take to
the winds of the Jeep’s open windows.
 
He
watched Trista closely as she maneuvered them through the streets of Jaxon’s
seaside neighborhood.
 
“Hey, you
okay?
 
You want me to drive?” he asked.

“No, it’s all right.
 
That was nothing.
 
Really.”
 

It would have been hard to believe if he
hadn’t seen it for himself but she appeared to be over it.
 
Numb.
 
Not bothered in the least.

“It doesn’t make it right.
 
I can’t believe Jaxon just let’s her act
like…”

“Don’t, Lucky.”
 
Trista settled her hand over his denim jeans,
like she knew it belonged there.
 
Or
maybe that was just him.
 
“You don’t understand,”
she continued.
 
“Maryella means the world
to him.
 
It’s the only way he has of
keeping her close.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.
 
People get divorced all the time.
 
They share custody of their kids.
 
I’d say this is the perfect example of that
being necessary.
 
Maryella would be
better off.”

“No, you don’t know what you’re talking
about.”

“You say that and it makes no sense.
 
The situation is crap, Trista.
 
How do you figure a child is better off
growing up in that environment?
 
You
should know better than anyone that…”
 
He
didn’t mean for it to slip out.
 
Damn it.

“Thanks, Lucky.
 
You’re right.
 
I do know.”

Regret balled up into the fist he kept
clenched but hidden on his far right side.
 
“I didn’t mean it like that, Trista.”

She drew her lips in and bit down but if
she was trying to keep something from slipping off her tongue, it hadn’t
worked.
 
“First off, they aren’t married
so there would be no divorce.
 
Second,
Vangie has never listed Jaxon as Maryella’s biological father on her birth
certificate.
 
Third, she has threatened
more times than I can count to use his past against him if he ever tried to
take Maryella away from her.”

“What past?” he asked.

“Well, up until about three years ago, he
was a practicing alcoholic, mix that in with having just about anything he
could dream up thrown at his feet, women, partying, you name it, he’s had his
fair share of brushes with the law.
 
Management can only sweep so much of that crap under the rug.
 
It doesn’t matter how long he’s been
clean.
 
All she has to do is mention a
handful of things from his past and he’s afraid it would be enough to keep him
from Maryella until she’s eighteen.
 
And
then he risks having a daughter grow up who hates him.
 
No doubt the things Vangie would say to her.”

Man, he’d gone and shoved his boot in his
mouth without bothering to open up first.
 
“I understand.”
 
He wanted to
apologize for his slip about her in-depth understanding on the topic of growing
up in an abusive home.
 
But she’d ignored
it, instead explaining to him what he should’ve been able to figure out on his
own.
 

Jaxon was a rock star.
 
He’d led a good portion of his life in the
stereotypical fast lane.
 
And now it hung
over the one thing he had worked very hard to change for.
 
His only child.

“How do you not slap that woman in the
face?”

Trista smiled, perhaps at the honesty in
his voice.
 
“Years of practice.”
 
She managed a laugh.
 
“Seriously though?
 
More than anything, I just want Vangie to
change.
 
To wake one morning and realize
what she’s got.
 
That would make Jaxon
and Maryella’s life so much better.”
 

She had no idea how much of a bigger
person it took to say what she’d just said.
 
And honestly, he’d had no idea she had it in her.
 
There was no way, absolutely no way, no
how,
he could give up on her, ever.
 
Buried in his little sidewalk flower was a
saint.
 

* * * *

“Sorry for the mess.
 
I haven’t been here in a while.”
 
Trista thumbed through a stack of mail on the
counter, knowing full well any visions Lucky’d had of her quaint romantic cottage
had probably been flushed down the drain.
 
“Well, not for more than ten minutes at least.
 
Thank God Ben has practically adopted
Figjam.”

Lucky followed closely behind, his hand
on the small of her back.
 
“Who or what
is that?”

“My cat, poor thing.
 
He’s got to hate me on a whole new level at
this point.
 
I’m a bad mommy.”
 
She gave up on sorting through the stack.

“That’s an interesting name.”

“Oh yeah, it’s some Australian
thing.
 
He was Jaxon’s, and then I
inherited him when Maryella was born.
 
But he spends more time around Ben anymore.
 
I should officially hand over the parenting
reins.”
 
She still couldn’t forget the
way two stray pieces of her kitty’s fur had sent Vangie off the deep end.
 

“You should officially hand over the
housekeeping reins.”

“Wha—?
 
I cannot believe you just said that!
 
Is it that bad?”
 
She would have smacked at his arm playfully
except for she really did wonder if it was that bad.

The wide grin marking his lightly tanned
face eased her worries.
 
“No, I’m just
teasing.
 
I’ve seen how nice you keep
your office if that makes up for it.”

“Well, a little.”

Lucky moved a pile of stacked sewing
magazines from their spot on her loveseat to a protected area under her coffee
table and sat down.

“Can I get you something to drink?
 
I don’t have any Coke but I’ve got some…uh, some
water and some questionable orange juice.”

“It’s okay, I’m fine.”

“You know what?
 
This place really isn’t fit for company.
 
I have a great idea.
 
Hold tight.”

She skip-scooted her way to the
compartment she called her bedroom. There wasn’t much more to the place than
the small kitchenette, the living area where Lucky sat filling it up, and a
bathroom that could be seen from the couch if she left the door open and craned
her neck.
 
It was, however, her favorite
room.
 
Wallpapered in bright yellow
flowers, she used it as much as a mood booster as a toilet.
 
When she came out, her cheeks had warmed and
swelled.
 

She grabbed Lucky’s hand to tug him up
off her couch.
 
“I have a very cool
surprise for you.
 
Remind me to bring a
bouquet of flowers back for Mrs. Duchester.”

She tried tugging him out the door but
he’d become like a steel spike lodged in the cement, like he wasn’t going
anywhere without the surprise first.
 

“Who is that?” he asked, his arms hugging
her waist.

“She’s my landlady and she’s also very
awesome.”
 
She gave him a quick peck on
the lips but then turned and led them outside.
 
Funny how in the blink of an eye, he’d gone from complete stranger to
the one man she couldn’t wait to dazzle.

She left the Jeep in a lot designated for
occupants only, checking Lucky’s face frequently to see if he was figuring out
her surprise.
 
He was close, judging by
the way his hand kept squeezing hers and his eyes got all baby blue and bright.
 
They started up the ramp to the pier,
bypassing the sand below.
 
His stride had
slowed so much she had to remind herself not to tug on him.
 
The very first time was always the best—to
stand at the edge of the world, trying to follow the line of the ocean’s edge
until it disappeared into the horizon.
 
He followed her down the wooden pier but stopped several times to watch
the waves through the cracked slats below.

“Trista, this is the first time I’ve been
to the ocean.
 
Thank you for bringing me
here.
 
I’ve never walked on a pier quite
like this.”

She smiled and knew she was about to blow
him away.
 
“Then I take it you’ve never
slept on one either.”

Hadn’t he noticed the last half of the
pier was lined on each side with small cabins?
 
She pulled out a single key on a chain and put it in the lock, opening
the door to their quarters.

“Are you joking?
 
Are we staying here tonight?” he asked.

“Would you like to?
 
It’s probably the only chance I’m gonna have
to sleep away from the office.
 
I had to
promise Ben a month’s worth of new vests to get out of work tonight.”

“Vests?”

“Yeah, I make him vests.
 
I know, it’s weird.
 
But he’s my friend and he keeps me sane.”

“Heck, I’d like to help you with some of
them to thank Ben myself.”
 
He seemed
equally indebted to her landlady whose name he couldn’t get quite right.
 
“And Mrs. Dorchester?”

“Duchester,” she corrected.

“So this is her place?”
 

“Yes, I don’t owe her anything
though.
 
She’s so sweet.
 
I just told her I had a friend who’d never
been to the ocean and she offered it up to us.
 
But I definitely want to bring flowers back.”

“Absolutely, those are on me, by the
way.”

Seriously, could life have sent her a
nicer guy at a better time?
 
Yeah, no.
 
Now if she
could just figure out a way to get over herself and keep him.