The Beginning of Always (50 page)

“Hi.” My voice held forced cheer.

Florence glanced away. “Hi.” The sound was soft, the flutter of a feather against the wind.

I took a shallow, tentative step toward. “How are you feeling?”

Florence tightened her lips and glanced down at her hands. “She’s gone,” she whispered to them.

Florence’s eyes watered and tears rolled down her pale cheeks, but she didn’t move to wipe them away. She just let them fall.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out.

I was at her bedside in two long strides. I crouched down on my knees, my hands to her shoulders. “It’s not your fault, none of this was your fault.”

Florence shook her head fiercely, in long, hard jerks that scared me in their insistence. “Yes. Yes, it was. I wasn’t strong enough, Alistair. I wasn’t strong enough.”

I pulled at her, wanted so badly to gather her up in my arms. She collapsed weakly into my hands, resisting any expression of comfort I could provide, her body curled down in despair.

“Stop. Please, stop. It’s okay, you’re okay now. Don’t worry about it.”

She continued crying, loudly, with sobs that wracked her entire body until it shook violently. “I’m sorry for losing her, Alistair. Don’t hate me, please don’t hate me.”

Now, I pulled her towards me so she fell into my embrace. I hugged her tightly, wanting to take her pain away, needing her to transfer that misery from her soul to mine. “I couldn’t ever hate you, don’t ever say that.”

Florence pressed her cold fingers into my sides, burrowing her face into my chest. She sobbed, “I knew how badly you wanted to be a dad.”

I shook my head. “I want to be with you. That’s all.”

So we remained there, locked together, clutching at each other, fighting desperately to share in each other’s pain. Florence cried silently, her tears wetting the front of my shirt. My own heart was close to bursting in pain and misery, but tears didn’t fall. I didn’t know why. I was hollow and at a loss for what to say, how to comfort her, how to make it all better.

Finally, when she had cried her tears out and she made no more noise, Florence rustled softly in my arms. “Is everything going to be okay?” Her voice was so soft, I had to strain to hear it.

I kissed the top of her head and whispered to her, “Everything is going to be just fine.”

I couldn’t do anything but lie. Because deep within me, I knew the answer.

I was no good for her. I’d ruined everything and with me, Florence would never ever be just fine.

Our imperfect love wasn’t enough.

Chapter 26

I
was sitting at a roadside diner, spacing out with a mug of cooling, average-tasting coffee, when my phone vibrated. It shook me out of my stupor and even before I read the text, I knew who it was.

Alistair.

Where are you? Are you okay?

I stared at the screen for several seconds too long, and then typed a response before I could change my mind.

I’m at that Mimi’s Surf Diner off PCH. Getting breakfast. Can you come here?

I barely waited ten minutes before the jangle of the wind chimes on the door clanged his arrival. Alistair’s hair was properly rumpled, and he was wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses and an outfit of t-shirt and jeans hastily thrown together. I wondered vaguely where he’d even begun to find t-shirt and jeans in that business-formal closet of his, but before I afforded that any more consideration, the reflective lenses of his glasses glinted in my direction and he spotted me.

In conjunction, my hair was pathetically finger-combed into a wavy jumbled mass over my shoulders. When I’d rushed out this morning, I had pulled a sundress and flip-flops fished from the bottom of my suitcase. I was makeup-free and wondering if I appeared as exhausted as my soul felt. If I really was as old as every bone and muscle in my body told me I was.

I held my palm up in a small wave and gave a bare smile.

Alistair’s expression was grim as he made his way over. He sat down opposite me, suddenly taking up way too much space. He removed his sunglasses.

He didn’t appear to be mad like I’d thought he’d be. A bit worried, maybe frustrated. But not mad.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he said.

I shrugged and lowered my gaze to the cracked Formica tabletop. I hated this; I was completely undone in Alistair’s presence. All the strength and resolve I’d built over years seemed to mock me, telling me my growth had been nothing.

I was sixteen all over again.

“Aren’t you supposed to meet with Thomas and everyone?” I was fishing wildly for a topic, any topic that didn’t involve us. “It’s almost eleven.” I waved a weak finger to his watch to reinforce my equally weak point.

Alistair’s fingers clenched into a fist. “I already told them I was taking the day off, so they’re having meetings in my stead. But that hardly matters.”

I nodded but didn’t meet his stare.

“Flor—”

“Hey, there, kids, what’ll the lad have?” The waiter came rolling up to us, heralded by the snap of his gum between his teeth.

Alistair’s left eyebrow rose a bare couple of millimeters at that tone. The waiter was younger than us, with holes in his shirt, and appeared as if he’d slept the night on the beach.

“Coffee, black. No sugar,” Alistair said after a pause. “And whatever the lady is having.”

The waiter turned towards me, but when I shook my head, he said, “Lady didn’t order breakfast yet.”

“Then just coffee for now,” Alistair said.

The waiter walked away and I turned to Alistair, producing a sad smile. “We look ten years younger.”

It was true. With our casual clothing and halfheartedly prepped appearance, we could be any young couple who’d just rolled from their beachside cottage into a late breakfast.

“Florence,” Alistair said. I didn’t budge. “Florence, look at me.”

I tilted my eyes up and was met with hazel-colored concern.

“Are you okay? Are you sorry about what happened last ni—”

I cut him off. “No. I don’t regret last night. I don’t regret anything. I just don’t know where we are, what’s to happen.”

“Then why did you leave this morning?”

I licked my lips. “I went to the drugstore.” I turned and rummaged through the plastic bag next to me. I pulled out a box and threw it in between us.

Both our gazes homed in on the hastily opened box of morning-after pills that sat there. And at that exact moment, the waiter’s gaze also fell onto the table.

My face heated just as the waiter’s eyes widened. But if he was going to say something, Alistair’s death glare got in the way and the waiter hastily threw down Alistair’s coffee and scampered away.

Alistair turned in his seat to watch the poor kid’s escape, but when he turned back around, I continued in a low voice. “We can’t be having sex without protection. I mean, it was both our faults we got carried away last night but …” I fisted my hair and shook my head. “That was so stupid of me. I can’t believe myself. I can’t believe I didn’t stop you or ask about a condom.”

Alistair leaned forward and said in a low voice, “It’s not the same as before. You don’t have to worry about all that. We’re both established, and I can take ca—”

“No!” My protest was louder than I intended. Alistair gave a slight flinch.

I leaned forward, my face contorting with emotion. Rage. Worry. Flooded with the reality of bitter inequality, the unfairness of it all.

“That’s not the point,” I hissed in anger. “The point is that I have no business getting pregnant now. Just like before. It’s not even an option. I don’t give a shit if you have enough money to trust fund the kid five generations deep.”

I glared at Alistair, daring him to continue, to argue. Why was it that I suffered every time we made a mistake? I had to be the one who got judged by the pharmacist and some surfer working at a Malibu diner.

Alistair always made out unscathed and untouched.

He was able to wash his hands of the “situation,” of me, of her, of us. And I was chin-deep in everything, every struggle, every tear, every agony, physically and emotionally. Years of acrid resentment threatened to burst out in this moment, at his words in response.

But Alistair’s expression softened and he reached over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry.” My body twitched slightly in shock. “It was my responsibility and I should have been more careful.” He pulled his hand back and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

I shook my head as all the anger dwindled down. The panic had slowly ebbed after I had taken the first dosage, and my micro-blowout had expelled all my rage. I couldn’t have a kid. I couldn’t get pregnant. Sure, I was better off than I had been back then, and logistically we could more than take care of a child. But to go through that again? While I was fighting to figure out the mystery of us?

I gave a deep sigh and ran my fingers through my hair.

“Okay. Yeah, so that’s why I left this morning. I couldn’t wait around for waffles or anything.”

Alistair nodded.

“What do we do now? Where do we go from here?” I asked.

“I want to start over. I want it to be clean.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but Alistair continued.

“I love you, Florence,” Alistair said. At the look I gave him, he added, “No, I don’t expect you to feel the same way yet, but I want us to be together. And I know you do too.”

I leaned forward with my elbows on the edge of the counter. I fussed with a napkin, tearing it into small strips.

“Did you request me for the article? Was this all a trap or something?”

“No.” Alistair shook his head. “It was just a coincidence. It was chance that brought us together.”

“What about the article?” I chewed my lip. “I can’t be seen dating you and then have the article come out. It’ll destroy all my credibility,” I continued, needing desperately for him to understand. “My job, my career—it’s important to me, Alistair. I won’t throw it away. I’ve worked too hard.”

Alistair nodded. “You won’t.”

“I mean, my career is one of the few things I have that are truly mine. That’s not tainted.”
With you
, my mind finished.

My home. My family. My heart. My body. My memories. My soul. It was all his, they all had traces and tracks and potent punches of Alistair. Until this profile, my job was the only thing that had fallen outside that, and I liked it that way.

Now, I had no idea where it stood. Perhaps everything I had was now his, and that prospect terrified me more than anything could, even pregnancy.

“I understand, Florence.”

I lowered my eyes; looking directly into his gaze was too difficult. “I don’t know if dating is a good idea.”

Alistair reached over and pulled my hands towards him. His fingers were strong and warm, and the feel of them sent tingles radiating down to my toes.

“Don’t think about it too much. I’d just like to spend more time with you, beyond you being forced to for your job.”

I smiled awkwardly. “You really suffered having me around these past two weeks, huh?”

Alistair grinned back at me. A real grin, a dimpled one that reached his eyes and produced those furrows that twisted my heart and soothed me into thinking everything was going to be okay. “You have no idea how badly.”

“Oh yeah?”

“That first day you wore that pencil skirt? I nearly lost it every time you bent over. Mercy mercy, Ms. Reynolds.”

I laughed, but Alistair’s face turned serious.

“I’ve been sleeping like shit. Last night was the first time in ages I was actually able to relax. And then I woke up and you were gone. I almost had a heart attack.”

I grimaced. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. Just … don’t do it again. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

I nodded, my heart just south of believing him fully. He had made promises before. Reassurances. And look where those had gotten us. But I didn’t have it in me to bring it up. I didn’t want to ask and be faced with the truth, because there were secrets I had kept from him, reservations of the soul and promises I had broken as well. I preferred to keep those in the past.

But Alistair, in his sheer excitement, stood up and rounded the table. He plopped down next to me, pulled me into the crook of his arm and kissed my forehead.

It was such a painfully sweet gesture. My throat seized.

“I don’t want you to worry about anything anymore. It’s all going to be okay.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

Alistair smiled down at me. “Now, how about those waffles?”

Chapter 27