Sweet Sunshine (4 page)

Because I was
so
mature like that.

Derrick

FUCK
.

I stifled the groan that wanted to work its way from my chest as I pulled my cell from my pocket before I collapsed into the worn, cracked faux leather chair at my desk. The piece of shit was uncomfortable as hell, but with the department dealing with budget cuts, we had to take what we could get. At least I
had
a chair.

“What do you want, Layla?” I said by way of greeting.

I could hear her indignant huff through the line, not that I gave two shits what upset her or not. I stopped having to give a damn once the ink on the divorce papers was dry, a process that I never wanted to go through again. Getting married once was the biggest mistake of my life. Staying married for eight miserable years was the second worst. At least I got Eliza out of it. That made all the bullshit I had to stomach for damned near a decade worth it. She was the only thing I had in my life that mattered for anything.

If the last several years of hell had taught me anything it was that I was never,
ever
taking those goddamned vows again. Marriage just meant a woman got to sink her claws into you and tear your ass apart. No, thank you. Once bitten, twice shy. It might be for some, like Noah, the sorry son of a bitch, but I was bowing out.

“Wow, nice way to greet your wife, asshole.”

“
Ex
-wife,” I reminded, clenching my teeth at the fact I had to remind her of that fact over a year after the fact. “And the fact you’ve got some old, rich dick paying your way should be reminder enough of that.”

“God,” she cried through the phone. “Why the hell did I ever marry you?”

“Ask myself that same question every goddamned day,” I grunted. “Now, you call for a reason, or did you just want to help me start my day with your own personal brand of bitch?”

“You’re a pig,” she seethed, and I’ll admit, I got a little bit of pleasure out of ruffling her feathers, after all, she’d only called to screw with me, might as well get some shots in for myself, right?

“You’ve got two seconds to tell me what you want or I’m hanging up. One—”

“I need you to take Eliza for the rest of the week and through the weekend,” she talked over my counting. “Harold surprised me with tickets to Barbados. We’re flying out tomorrow.”

I clenched my eyes closed over the red haze that was building behind my vision. How I was ever stupid enough to stick my dick in this woman was beyond me, let alone enough times to knock her up. But the fact that she was the definition of world’s worst mother had that stupidity leaving a sour taste in my mouth. She didn’t
deserve
to call herself a mother, especially not to a kid as sweet-natured as Eliza. I was convinced the woman had snake venom running through her veins.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I gritted out. “It’s not enough you couldn’t bother to pick her up from school yesterday,
or
come get her last night, but now you don’t even want her to come home? Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Layla! Doesn’t this Harold douchebag realize you’ve got a kid? You can’t just go flying off to the goddamned Bahamas or some shit whenever the hell you want! You have responsibilities!”

“It’s Barbados!” she snapped. “And I don’t have to sit here and listen to you talk to me like that! We’re not married anymore,
remember
? If I’d have known watching your own
daughter
was such an inconvenience to you, I would have asked my sister to do it!”

“Don’t you dare,” I warned in a low voice, not caring that I’d drawn the attention of the entire department. It wasn’t the first yelling match they’d witnessed when it came to Layla, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. “The only woman on this planet more toxic than you is that sister of yours. You are
not
asking Lilith to watch my kid while you go gallivanting off with your sugar daddy, you hear me?”

“Why do you insist on making my life so difficult, Derrick? Jesus Christ! It’s like you never wanted me to be happy! First, you made me suffer through that marriage, now you’re killing whatever chance I have at happiness with Harold!”

She was so full of shit. And the sad thing was, she actually believed the stuff spewing from her mouth. She’d done her best to bleed me dry, and had it not been for the fact I was smart enough to keep our bank accounts separate when she
conveniently
ended up pregnant and insisted I marry her, God only knows the damage she would have done.

“You want happiness so badly? You want to build a life with your old-as-fuck, wrinkly-balled boyfriend? Have at it. I won’t stop you. All you have to do is give me full custody of Eliza and we’ll be out of your hair, that’s what you want anyway, right?”

It was a fight we’d had incessantly since I told her I didn’t want to be married to her anymore. She held Eliza over my head, using her as a pawn through the entire proceedings. I tried to get custody of my daughter, I fucking fought for it, but there was nothing to prove she was an unfit mother. That’s what killed me the most, knowing she had no interest in raising her own flesh and blood, but wouldn’t give her to me because she was a game piece she could continue to play even when we were officially over.

Her sharp, biting laughter echoed in my ear. “And miss out on making you as miserable as you make me?” The manipulative bitch. “I don’t think so, Derrick. You could always try and take me to court, but seeing as your income as a
deputy
is laughable, and Harold would insist on paying for me to have the best lawyers in Wyoming, you don’t have a leg to stand on. Now are you going to keep Eliza or not?”

“You know I am,” I ground out.

“Good,” she chirped and that damned smile I could hear in her voice grated on my already frayed nerves. “See, that wasn’t so hard was it.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear and disconnected before I could say something that would put everything I was working for in jeopardy. I’d been keeping a log of every time I kept Eliza on Layla’s days, of how many times her school had called me when her mother just
hadn’t shown up
to get her, of the bronchitis she got last winter that was left unattended so long it turned into full-blown pneumonia that put my baby girl in the hospital for three of the worst days I’d ever had to live through.

I kept a record of everything. If it was the last thing I did, I was going to get my child out of that house and into a home where she was surrounded by nothing but love. But I had to be patient in order to do that, and when it came to my Eliza’s welfare, patience was a virtue I struggled with on a daily basis.

That was why, at only nine years old, I’d given her a cellphone so she’d always be able to reach me. Did it make me feel like shit, having to explain to a little kid that she couldn’t let her mom know she had it because she’d take it away? Of course it did, I never wanted to have to put Eliza in that position. But desperate times called for desperate measures. And I wouldn’t leave her without a way to get to me.

“You okay, man?” Perkins, one of the other deputies in the Sheriff’s department, asked.

“Yeah,” I grunted, standing from the battered chair and re-pocketing my phone. “I need coffee. I’ll be back in a few.”

I turned without a backward glance, my mind set on one thing, and that was getting the best cup of coffee in Pembrooke to try and calm my tattered nerves. I should have known better than to answer the phone to Layla without caffeine in my system. Wouldn’t be a mistake I made twice.

Pushing through the doors of the station, I dragged my ass, and my bad mood, down the board walked sidewalks toward Sinful Sweets, silently praying no one stopped me to chat. I was just pissed off enough to rip even the most unsuspecting person’s head off. And it didn’t help that in order to get my favorite coffee, I had to deal with the
other
woman in my life hell bent on doing my head in.

I could only hope Chloe wasn’t working the counter when I got there. I still hadn’t figured out what the hell was up with her, why she’d gone from sunshine to snow queen in the flip of a hat. And in my current mood, I didn’t care to find out.

Chloe

I SHOULD HAVE
known things were about to go south — or even more south than they were already going — when Derrick pushed through the door of the bakery with a thundercloud hanging over his head. If I’d have been wise, I would have bolted for the kitchen the moment I saw the stormy expression on his face, but in my defense, my brain always seemed to malfunction around Deputy Anderson.

“Uh… hi,” I stuttered as he made his way to the counter, a frown permanently etched into his features. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbled under his breath. “Coffee. Black.”

Wow, so he was going full caveman this morning. That was different. “To go?”

“Yep.”

Concern tugged at me as I backed away to fill his paper cup to the brim, making sure to give him the largest we had. “You want a muffin or something?” I asked once I snapped the lid on and slid it over.

“Just the coffee, thanks.” Another grumble. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, tossing a few bills on the scuffed wood between us without a word.

“You sure you’re okay?” Don’t ask me why I kept pushing. It was more than obvious the guy was in no mood to talk, but his bad mood was worrying me. It was just so unlike him, not that I
really
knew him all that well. I’d just never seen him be so gruff. And it bothered me. I didn’t like it. I wanted to see the laidback Derrick again, not the guy currently standing in front of me.

“Like I said, I’m fine.”

He turned to go and I stupidly opened my mouth and pushed… again. “Are you really sure? Because if something’s wrong I could—”

The moment he spun back around, I realized how wrong I was to keep pushing. “You could what, Chloe? You gonna talk me through it? Be a shoulder for me to lean on? Listen to all my problems?” he laughed bitterly. “Because that’d really be a switch from the ice queen routine you’ve been throwing my way for the past fucking month. You’ve been so busy pretending I don’t exist I thought I’d become damn near invisible. What? You have some twisted fetish where you’re hell-bent on finding some poor, damaged soul that you can heal and make him fall in love with you? Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m not your guy. I said I was fine. Just leave it alone.”

I was frozen in my spot, pain and anger coursing through me at such a fast pace the only thing I was able to do was stand there immobile as the tears began to brim in my eyes. I was going to cry.
Damn it
. I was such an ugly crier. And once I started, it was almost impossible to stop.

Seeing the moisture pooling in my eyes, Derrick’s own went wide, as if he’d been in a fog as he spat such hateful words at me, not even realizing what he was saying cut into me like a sharpened knife. “Oh, fuck,” he murmured, the sullen attitude disappearing in an instant. “Chloe,
fuck
. I didn’t mean that. I’m so sorr—”

“Get out,” I whispered, the lump of emotion in my throat threatening to choke me.

“Please just—”

“Get. Out. Now,” I said between clenched teeth as the tears finally breached my eyelids and began cascading down my cheeks. “And get your coffee from somewhere else from now on.”

“I’m sorry. Believe me. Christ, I’m so sorry, I’m just in a shit mood—”

I lifted my hand, not wanting to hear another word. I hadn’t thought it was possible for Derrick to break my heart more than he had when he couldn’t even remember my name. But I’d been wrong. I told myself before that I wouldn’t make that mistake again and I meant it, damn it!

“Fine, you won’t leave, then I will. And you better be gone before I come back in here.”

With that, I spun around and shoved through the swinging door leading into the kitchen, ignoring the concerned faces of my employees as I blew past them and through the back door that led to the stairway to the upper level. Taking the stairs two at a time, I burst into my cozy apartment that sat right above my bakery — I fell in love with the space because of this particular convenience — collapsed onto my couch, and for the second time in just over a month, cried my eyes out over Derrick Anderson.