His Promise Page 6

  Lisa throws her arms around my neck so tight, I gasp for air. Her sobs fill the space around us as she buries her head in my jacket. “That’s just it!” She cries. “I can’t teach her how to avoid those people. I am those people! I’m filled with the same darkness I want to hide her away from.”

  “I’m sure you’re just being hard on yourself.” I try to comfort her, or myself. Either way, I don’t think it’s working. “If you really feel that way, I can help you find some help, you know. I don’t mind. In fact, I’d be really happy to set it all up for you…”

  Her tears dry up, and her blue eyes turn icy as her mood changes again. Dropping her arms from my neck, she crosses them across her chest like she’s trying to fold in on herself. Glancing over at Madison, her smiling face tells me she hasn’t picked up on her mother’s meltdown. Thankfully.

  “I appreciate that, Colt.” Her voice blasts my ears like an arctic breeze. “But there’s no help you can find me that will make any difference. It’s too late for me.” Her chin trembles and her eyes fill back up with more waterworks. I’m starting to wonder if I should start recording these conversations. Surely this level of instability would be admissible in a court case? I know I’ve brought it up to Frank before, but there must be some kind of loophole we can exploit. “I think the devil is in me at times.” She whispers so low that I run the statement through my mind several times before fully understanding the gravity of what she’s saying.

  “Oh?” Try to sound supportive. Cool. Calm. Not like you’re freaking out. “How’s that?” It takes all of my effort to sound nonchalant and to try to keep judgement from my tone.

  “Well, I try to stay away from the bottle. You know that.” She looks over at me, and I nod, but I have my doubts. “But he keeps dragging me back down into sin. And it’s getting worse. I make so many mistakes, but I think the devil takes me over, you know? He must because I wake up the next day and don’t remember hours and hours of the night before. It’s just gone. Poof!” She opens her hand like a magician throwing sparkles at a kid’s birthday party. “But his mistakes aren’t gone. The spending, the partying, the men.” Fat tears fall onto her cheeks as she disappears into her fragmented memories.

  “Lisa, that’s just a blackout. Everyone who drinks a lot—er, everyone has dealt with that from time to time.” I try to prop her up. There’s no use in tearing her down, not when she still has so much control over Madison’s destiny. The best thing to do is make Lisa feel good about herself and insulate her with as much external help as possible. I still need to sort out another nanny too.

  “Colt! Come here.” Madison jumps excitedly in the sand, interrupting our conversation. In a way, I’m grateful for the distraction. “Help me on the swing. Come here.” She insists, pointing at the smaller set of swings setup for toddlers across the park.

  “I’ll be right there, baby.” I look over at Lisa, but she’s back to her almost drugged state, with hazy eyes and a dreamy smile.

  I take my blessings where I can get them and decide to play with Madison while she’s in a slightly more stable state of mind. If you can call it that.

  “Okay, Madison! Let’s get you on that swing, honey.” I head over to the prancing, two-year-old bundle of energy.

  “No, Colt. I not a honey! I’m a Madison.” She points to her little belly.

  “You’re right, Madison.” I laugh this time, unable to contain it. I need to do right by her. I need to figure out how to wrangle custody away from her crazy mother. She deserves more than this.

  So much more.

  13

  Isabella

  I can’t believe this is going to be my life. Untying my apron and peeling it off my diner uniform, I look around at the other waitresses taking over now that I’m off. Jennifer is barely twenty, and Fiona is still just a fresh-faced baby at nineteen. They’re both almost ten years younger than me, and yet they have plans to go to school in the fall and leave this diner as a greasy stain on their résumés.

  At twenty-eight, every month that passes by seems to whittle down my life options. I thought I had this figured out. Last week I received an acceptance letter from New York’s City College for their Undergraduate Childhood Education program. I had jumped the first hurdle to reaching my dream of getting my Bachelor of Science in Education, and I was ecstatic. My shifts at the diner flew by as I started planning my life after this place. Hell, I wasn’t even upset that Colt never called me like he said he would.

  Then yesterday it all came crashing to a halt when I found out I wouldn’t be getting enough student funding to cover my tuition, let alone books and fees. This job barely pays the rent as it is, so it’s not like I’ll be dipping into my extensive savings.

  Basically, I’m fucked. Now I have to figure out another way out of this dump. This isn’t a job for a woman soon to be in her thirties, and this isn’t the job I want to raise a family on.

  Of course, I’d have to find a man who actually calls me to start thinking about kids. Maybe I should teach myself to type at a decent speed and get into a temp agency somewhere for some clerical work, but I’m not holding my breath.

  Watching Fiona and Jennifer laugh and joke around makes me feel old and sad. I need to walk my sore feet to the bus stop and have an early night. Heading out into the darkness, I grab my phone. Two missed calls and a voicemail. Did Julia get back from her honeymoon early? Listening to the message, I’m shocked when Colt’s sultry voice teases my ear.

  “Hey, Isabella, it’s Colt. I’m just finishing up my business trip and flying back into New York tonight, so I thought I’d check in and see if you’re still up for grabbing some dinner or drinks sometime. I’d love to hear from you. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since I left. So... I’ll be in tomorrow if you want to give me a call. Oh, I guess I should give you my number.” He laughs and my heartbeat flutters. “It’s 212-573-5431. Talk soon.”

  After I left Colt’s place in a cab nearly two weeks ago in the middle of the night, I never expected to hear from him again. I didn’t think he really had a business trip to go on, since I’ve heard it all before. That night went from being one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life to feeling like just another fuck and chuck in minutes.

  When he didn’t call me the next day, or the days after that, I pushed him out of my mind as well as I could. I don’t want my hopes to be soaring as high as they are right now. It’s a long way to come crashing back down from up there. Yet, I can’t help the excitement shivering through me at the thought of going on an actual date with Colt. Just hearing his voice again made my body go from feeling like it’s been doing hard labor to spending a day being pampered at a spa.

  Should I call him now? He might be in already. No, I don’t want to come off as desperate. Watching the bus arrive, I’m drawn into the eerie glow lighting up the tired faces inside. It looks like a portable waiting room at the doctor’s office, where everyone is avoiding eye contact and hoping not to catch anything from the people they’re crammed in with.

  My self-control lasts as long as it takes to find a seat. I pull my phone back out. After all, one little text message doesn’t seem desperate. If anything it’s just good manners to let him know I got his message, right?

  Happy to hear you’re back soon. Looking forward to dinner :)

  I read my message over and over, hoping it sounds friendly but casual. This is the problem with technology. It makes every little sentence take on so much more meaning. I swear world wars have been started over things like misinterpreted texts. Then again, I might be blowing this out of proportion.

  Just a little.

  Pressing send, I sit and watch my screen like a hawk, hoping to get a reply. By the time the bus reaches my stop, I still haven’t heard anything, though. Well, at least I have something better to focus on than self-pity and my exhaustion tonight.

  14

  Colt

  “Okay, when you said we were going out for dinner and drinks, this isn’t what I pic
tured.” Isabella huddles into me and watches as the Chelsea pier grows smaller in the distance and the seven o’clock harbor cruise pulls out of port.

  More people are crowding at the diminishing dock. Now that we’re farther from land the air is becoming too cold to enjoy. I look over at my side and see a stunning young couple, no older than their mid-twenties, smiling and holding each other.

  “I wanted to make sure I had the whole evening with you, so I figured one of these dinner boat tours would work. Now you can’t get away,” I joke, wrapping my arms around her and pressing tight against her from behind as we watch the harbor spread into a breathtaking view of Manhattan from the open deck.

  Looking back over at the couple, it’s now an elderly pair with white hair snuggled up together. As if a time warp occurred when I looked away, and the first couple had transformed into a vision of their future about sixty years from now.

  “Hey, I’m not the one who cut our last evening short, remember?” The ocean air swirls in around us, making her shiver a little. Her short, low-cut dress isn’t exactly practical sailing attire, but I’ll be damned if I’m complaining.

  Even when she looks like she’s fighting hypothermia, she’s sexy.

  “Fair enough. I do want to apologize for that, Isabella.” I rub my broad hands over her arms in an attempt to warm her. “I should’ve told you before we went home that I had an early morning. I guess you could say, I got distracted.”

  Desire infuses my voice. I’m starting to question my decision to take her on a three-and-a-half-hour cruise. It’s an unbearably long period to restrain myself against so much temptation.

  “There’s no need to apologize.” Her tone is as breezy as the salty air. “I still would’ve made the same decision if I knew.”

  “Good.” I’m flooded with relief as the tension drains from my arms. “I was worried you’d get the wrong impression.”

  “If you were worried, why didn’t you call or text?” She searches my face for answers, but now isn’t the time to drag her down with Lisa’s baggage. My shoulders tense back up and my jaw clamps shut. I’ve only just gotten away from dealing with another bout of Lisa’s insanity. The last thing I want to do is ruin this evening hashing it all out again. I don’t want to start a romantic evening by being prickly.

  “Come on, let’s go down below. You’re turning into a block of ice!” I grab her hand and lead the way to the glassed-in observation deck below us. It’s much quieter inside without the whirling breeze and waves crashing loudly against the side. “Would you like a drink?”

  She nods in reply.

  “I’ll have what you’re having.” She finally finds her voice.

  Cupping her face, I give her a quick kiss before making my way to the bar. Waiting for the bartender, I know I should be watching the view of the shore sailing by, but I can’t manage to pry my eyes from the spectacular view of her ass. Somehow, I manage to stop gawking like a teenager and look back out the window to the second best view I’ve seen today.

  After gathering our glasses from a polite young man who looks underage to be serving alcohol, I cozy up beside Isabella. “Penny for your thoughts?”

  “I was just thinking about the future, I guess. Nothing too interesting.” She takes the glass of wine from my hand, and her eyebrows reach skyward as the first sip splashes over her tongue. “Mmmm, this is really good.”

  My thoughts race as a moment of jealousy strikes me, wishing she were swallowing my seed down her throat as eagerly as she’s gulping her wine.

  I manage to compose myself, focusing back on the conversation instead of my dirty thoughts. “You’re right, the wine is great. But you’re wrong if you think the future isn’t interesting. I’d love to hear about your plans.”

  She sullenly stares out the window. “I’m not totally set on anything right now. Still just figuring it all out, you know?”

  “That’s wise.” I nod. “It’s better to take your time and make the right decision than rush into something you won’t want five years from now.”

  She looks down at her wine glass like she’s reading tea leaves.

  Can she see her future in the bottom of her nearly empty drink?

  “Everything okay?”

  “Oh, I think I’m just a little tired.” She snaps back from her daydream. “Anyway, I don’t know much about the future, but I can tell you I’m enjoying the moment right now.” She smiles up at me, and my body aches for the privacy to show her how I really feel.

  “So am I.”

  15

  Colt

  “Mmmm.” Isabella closes her eyes, savoring the bite of garlic roasted chicken we’ve been served for our entrée. “I miss cooking like this. You know, I wish I’d paid more attention when my mother was in the kitchen. She’s a fantastic cook. She stayed home and cooked us three square meals a day. I guess I just assumed everyone could cook like her. Turns out not so much.” Her eyes roll back when she takes another mouthful.

  “Do you need a minute alone with your supper?” I laugh.

  “Sorry, I think I’ve been eating too many meals at the diner lately.” She looks bashfully at her plate.

  “Don’t apologize. I told you before. I like how much enjoyment you get from things. Whether it’s dinner”—I nod at her plate—“or dessert”—I sweep my hand down over my shirt like I’m showing her the prize she won on a game show—“I love learning what you like.”

  Her smile holds my gaze longer than I intend to stare. Something about her mesmerizes me into an almost hypnotic state. I’ve never met any woman who can hold my attention with just a smile. Somehow I manage to bring myself back to the conversation, after an eternity of studying her flawless face.

  “How about you? Do you come from a big family?”

  “No, it’s just my sister and me and our parents.” She grimaces.

  “Were your parents good cooks?”

  “My mom was. Well, she is. When I was a kid, Sundays used to be my favorite day of the week. First I’d go to my father’s service, and then my mom would cook us a huge dinner.” She winces as she seems to recall what she claims was a happy time. I’m pretty sure I’m missing a large part of the story when her actions don’t sync with her words like this.

  “What do you mean by service?” My eyebrows crowd together as I wait for the story to unfold.

  “My father is a pastor. He was the one who married Julia and Parker, actually.”

  “Oh, really! You didn’t strike me as a preacher’s daughter.”

  “Pastor,” she corrects me, “and I don’t strike them as one either. It’s tough to live up to those expectations, but my sister measured up pretty good.” Isabella drags her fork from the candied carrots to the cooling hasselback potatoes, a little annoyed that I’m pursuing this conversation, but knowing about a person’s family is greater insight into who they are than just about anything else.

  “Well, those Sunday dinners sound nice. Maybe I’ll get to meet them at one?”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.” She sighs, staring at her dinner glumly.

  “Why’s that?” I tease. “Are you ashamed of me? Am I a secret you plan to hide from your folks?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. My family, uh, we’re just not close anymore. I don’t visit them unless I have to.” The words come out so sharp, I’m surprised they don’t cut my ears.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I’ve pushed too far. Obviously this is a sore spot for her. I just hope she’ll eventually open up to me about why.

  “Don’t be. I don’t care anymore. It’s been a long time since we’ve all seen eye to eye.”

  “Hey.” I reach across the table and snake my fingers between hers. “It’s clear you still care. We don’t have to get into this right now, but I will say one thing. If you don’t have your family, you’ve got nothing. I believe that with all my heart.”

  Isabella stares out the window of the boat, watching the twinkling lights of Manhattan drift by on the shore. I wonder i
f I’m being a hypocrite, given the state my own family is in. If family is everything, what do I really have?

  I give her hand a squeeze. “Isabella? I think you disappeared on me there for a second.” I smile, letting the fleeting moment of sadness drift by us as quickly as the buildings on the banks of New York. “I’m sorry I put a damper on our conversation. Let’s talk about something else instead. Have I told you how stunning you look tonight?”

  Her eyes crinkle as she smiles at the compliment, and I can’t help but smile back.

  “You have.” She laughs, running her fingertips over her jawline. “But that’s a conversation I could listen to all night.” She tilts her head.

  “Well then, I’ll just have to think of new ways to tell you. With my words. With my kisses.” I lower my voice. “With my body.”

  “If we weren’t stuck on this boat, you could show me right now.” She looks up from under her lashes.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think this through very well.” I chuckle. “I’d love if you’d spend the night at my place tonight.”

  “Are you sure you don’t have an early flight or meeting?” She scolds me gently.

  “No, I don’t. And I did apologize for that.” I try to keep the irritation out of my voice.

  How many times does she want to bring this up tonight?

  “If you want to come to my place tonight there will be nothing dividing my time or attention. All of my focus will be entirely on you.” Rubbing his thumb up her leg, her thighs squeeze together around my fingers before I make it too much farther than the hem of her short skirt.

  “I’d like that. No, I’d love that,” she admits, tangling her foot with mine under the table.