Regret (Under My Skin Book 1) Read online

  I filled my cup to the brim and then took a long sip of my coffee, forcing the sappy thoughts down my throat along with the warm liquid.

  I was also hoping like hell the dark, magic liquid woke me up enough to make it through my day. Though Brin was on the other side of the apartment, I’d admit having the man in my space certainly disrupted my thoughts all evening long.

  “Okay if I jump in the shower?” I asked around a yawn.

  “All yours,” Elijah replied. “You’re the only one with a schedule today.”

  “You work weekends?” Brin asked and then averted his eyes like he wished he hadn’t said a word. I hid my smile behind another sip because it gave me a slight thrill that maybe, just maybe, by the end of his stay we could find some sort of common ground.

  “No. I just…” Why was it so hard for me to admit I was doing something for myself? Because I didn’t deserve it, plain and simple.

  “Nick takes classes on Saturdays—to work toward his cosmetology license,” Elijah supplied as he sank down on the couch with the TV remote and his coffee.

  I threw him a death glare that I could tell he didn’t quite understand, given his raised eyebrows. Even though Brin and I were being cool to each other Elijah didn’t have a clue what the hell was going on between us and I was probably in for a drill session as soon as he got me alone.

  Brin on the other hand, looked flabbergasted for a different reason. “Cosmetology? As in…hair?”

  “Best part is, Nick cuts mine for free,” Elijah added and I rolled my eyes. If there was one thing Elijah was, it was cheap. He even hated buying brand-name toilet paper or toothpaste.

  “In fact, he promised to use the clippers on me this weekend,” Elijah said, rubbing the back of his neck where the last trim I’d given him had long grown out.

  “Yeah? That’s uh…cool.” Brin seemed to have trouble even making eye contact with me and leaning in to pet along the dog’s hind legs was probably a good diversion for him.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” I replied as I skirted past the three of them to use the bathroom. “Gotta run.”

  I exited the bathroom after my shower, and I adjusted the towel firmly around my waist, suddenly self-conscious about being half-naked in front of Brin. He might’ve seen me completely bare when I was just shy of eighteen, but plenty of time had passed since then. I wasn’t the solid third baseman I used to be, though I wasn’t ashamed of my body and I certainly had nothing to prove, especially to somebody who disliked me anyway.

  Except the apartment was quiet as I passed through the kitchen, so I closed my bedroom door behind me in relief. As I glanced out the window to check the weather, I spotted Brin outside on the tree lawn with Tallulah. What a fucking mouthful for a name. He was bent over talking to the dog and affectionately rubbing her ears. Damn, he was cute—really fucking cute. But it didn’t even matter what I thought because there’d never be a chance in hell we’d be friends again.

  And now that I got a decent look at the dog, he sort of reminded me of our yellow lab named Maverick. My sister, Zoey, was crazy about that dog, and after she passed away, he’d burrowed under my blankets with me, providing a constant, unyielding warmth, while I prayed for my nightmare of a life to end. Maverick died of old age a couple of years before my dad passed. Suddenly my hands were clammy and my breathing escalated. Where the hell were these memories coming from, and why were they feeling so close to the surface?

  Fuck you, Brian Schubert, for showing up in my life like this.

  After I moisturized, got my bangs to lay just right in a high arc away from my forehead using some of my favorite hair products, I got dressed. I slipped into dark jeans and a gray T-shirt, with a plan to wear my red Adidas sneakers.

  Lifting the bottle of Zoloft from my dresser drawer, I stared at the hundred-milligram tablets before reaching for my glass of water on the nightstand. I’d been seeing Dr. Penny the past few years for my panic attacks, and the yellow pills along with intensive therapy definitely helped me get over that hurdle so I could function day to day. It wasn’t a cure-all, though. Nothing could ever be. Not for what I’d done. Still, nobody had to know that life was an endless struggle. I was like a ghost in a world of humans, constantly trying to stay in the moment.

  5

  Nick

  I said my goodbyes to Elijah, and avoided running into Brin—who was still outside with the dog—as I strode down the back stairs to my car. As soon as I buckled myself in, my chest felt lighter and I couldn’t fight the smile stretching my lips. My Saturdays belonged to me, the only time spent all week not worrying about my mom’s happiness or trying to keep the family business afloat. Truth of the matter was, if I didn’t have something small for myself, something I looked forward to, I wasn’t sure what I’d become. I certainly didn’t want to cause even more heartache for my mother.

  I drove down Clifton Avenue, crossed over to Detroit Road, and pulled in the parking lot close to where the Stanton cosmetology school was located. It was right next to a new breakfast place, so I scarfed down a bagel with cream cheese at a table near the window before heading to my class on coloring hair.

  I found the room, waved to a couple of female classmates I was friendly with, and sat down in my usual seat at a table near the back of the room. Even though I’d probably never have the opportunity to work in a real salon, I took the classes anyway.

  My friend Darren plopped down beside me. When I slid the extra bagel I bought his way, he flung his arm around me in a one-armed hug. “Thanks, dude. I owe you next time.”

  Darren was the only friend I’d kept in contact with from before. Before Zoey died. Before we moved to a new suburb and school system to give us all a change of scenery and a new chance to breathe. He knew what happened back then and how it had totally wrecked all of our lives. But he never brought it up or bugged me to talk about it. He was simply a quiet and steady anchor of support in the biggest fucking shit storm of my life.

  Had I given a relationship with a guy any real credence besides occasional hookups, I might’ve been into someone like Darren. But I was actually glad we worked as friends—no way I could be anything more to someone, really. Besides, he already had a great boyfriend of his own.

  Last year when he’d mentioned he’d be working toward his cosmetology degree while bartending, I started asking questions. Most people in my life didn’t know hair styling was an interest of mine, outside of me being slightly fussy about my own. So it didn’t take much for Darren to twist my arm to sign up for my first class and we’d been on the same part-time twenty-eight-month schedule ever since. Every Saturday and two weekday evenings a month for practical experience in a student-friendly salon.

  Six hours later, after Darren and I had scrubbed the dark color from beneath our fingernails at the sink, we said our goodbyes and parted ways. I drove to the nearest grocery store to pick up a bouquet of white daisies before heading to the cemetery on Brookpark Road.

  The ornate gates always filled my chest with a weighty gloom as I absently steered my black Jeep Cherokee to our family plots. My father was buried alongside my sister and somehow the idea of them possibly being together always eased my pain, if only momentarily.

  As I pulled beside the grassy embankment, I noticed my mother’s white SUV parked a short distance ahead. Damn. We rarely visited at the same time.

  I exited the car and walked toward the center of the trees, which were now budding from the warm spring days. They served as a marker even though the path was already burnished in my memory from the numerous times I’d walked this footpath since Zoey’s death. I didn’t remember much from the actual day of the funeral. Had I not been so pumped full of prescription sedatives, I would’ve never managed to stay upright.

  As it was, I could barely look anybody in the eye after that horrific day. Everyone in our small community had known what I’d done, and the shame was insufferable. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I could scarcely get out of bed. Nightmares about her ragged breaths an
d lifeless body had me sobbing and puking too many times to count.

  The weight of my disgrace and heartache mixed with my parents’ profound sorrow had rested so heavily on my shoulders that most of that summer I was curled up in a ball of crumpled sheets in the corner of my bed.

  My sister’s coffin being lowered in the ground along with the sound of my mother’s keening cry had shattered my soul. With time, I had gathered the shards of what was left, and coming here had become a form of solace for me. It was my way of connecting with Zoey—trying to make it up to her. And when my father was buried beside her years later, I’d continued my weekly visits to both of them.

  I could still hear my mother’s constant mantra.

  We don’t blame you.

  I don’t want to lose you too.

  And that was what ultimately made me get out of bed every day.

  “Nicky.” Mom waved in my direction as soon as she spied me through the trees. “How are you?”

  “Hey, Mom.” I leaned in to kiss her cheek, which was salty from tears. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, fine,” she replied but didn’t meet my gaze. My heart sat like a lump in my stomach. She must’ve been having a rough day. “The weather was so pleasant, I decided to take a drive.”

  There was something she wasn’t saying, and I didn’t press. More than likely it was something she needed to work out on her own. We had plenty of these kinds of days strung together between the two of us.

  We no longer discussed the specifics of my father’s sudden heart attack nor Zoey’s death—yet it was ever present, hanging like a heavy cloak on a blistering hot day. I would carry it like a shroud to my own grave.

  “Do you have plans tonight?” she asked as I bent down to place the bouquet on their gravestone, next to the one she’d brought.

  “Yeah, with Sarah.” I straightened, reminding myself to text her after my visit. “How about you?”

  Her eyes darted away. “I’m meeting a friend for dinner.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was trying to appease me, which wouldn’t surprise me, since her well-being was a constant source of worry. I wasn’t sure who wore that badge of honor better—mother or son.

  “What do you think about bringing her to dinner next week?” she asked in a tentative voice.

  Mom and I had kept up our tradition of eating a meal together almost every Sunday, unless she had plans with one of her various charity or church groups like she did tomorrow.

  I cringed inwardly. “I don’t think we’re at that point yet.”

  “Okay, honey,” she replied trying hard to disguise her disappointment. I could almost hear the words she didn’t speak, at least not this time. I only wish you’d find a nice girl and settle down.

  Yeah, Mom, I know. Fuck.

  “But you’ll still bring Elijah? You know how much he loves my lasagna.”

  Sure, if he didn’t have plans with his boyfriend, I wanted to say. But that was another topic we no longer discussed, at least not after that first time when she asked if my roommate had a girlfriend.

  Normally Elijah was free on Sundays because Stewart worked every weekend at the local coffee shop. We not only appreciated a good meal, but the leftovers Mom always sent home that lasted us at least a couple more days.

  “He wouldn’t miss it,” I replied, and truth be told it was nice to bring a friend along for some needed distraction. It was pretty quiet with only my mom and me.

  Mom smiled and draped an arm around me. “I’m glad you’ve got some nice friends.”

  Her comment suddenly made me think of Brin—he seemed to constantly intrude on my thoughts. “By the way, we have a friend staying with us because his condo flooded from a burst pipe. Do you remember Brian Schubert from Jefferson High?”

  “Schubert?” she asked as she tapped her finger to her chin. “The name rings a bell. Did he help tutor you in math?”

  I knew she’d figure it out, because she definitely had a penchant for details, which was why she did so well with her home health patients. “Yeah, that’s him. Though he goes by Brin now.”

  “How nice for you boys to reconnect.” I turned away so she couldn’t see my grimace. If only that were the case.

  After I walked her to her car, she slid into the front seat and then suddenly cracked the window. “Feel free to invite Brin on Sunday.”

  My stomach knotted up. “We’ll see.”

  I watched her drive away before I walked back to the gravestones. “Hey, Dad and Zoey.”

  I squatted down and placed the palm of my hand on the cold stone, which was strangely soothing on such a warm day. Absently tracing their names with my fingers, I talked to my father about Heartfelt Impressions, asking advice that would never be answered and pretending Zoey was a teenager with a busy social calendar.

  After several long minutes, I stood up and dabbed at imaginary grass from my knees. “I hope I’m making you proud,” I muttered as I swiped a tear from the corner of my eye and made my way back to my car.

  6

  Brin

  “Damn it,” I muttered replacing the handset on the phone base a little too forcefully Monday evening. I glanced through the glass partition to the daycare side of Doggie Styles and spotted Tallulah playfully wrestling with a black Labrador puppy named Cooper.

  “What’s up?” Tristan, the owner of Doggie Styles asked. He was seated in front of the computer at the far end of the room punching in the receipts for the ten-day packages we offered. I was working on the grooming side today and had learned quite a deal from Tristan about not only his keen business sense, but also his careful technique when it came to the care of animals. His husband died of a brain tumor two years ago and though he’d been through hell and he’d come out the other side a changed man, he was still a great boss.

  “I called Mrs. Reynolds again and no answer,” I replied with a heavy heart. “So I tried her emergency contact number. It was a neighbor, who told me she had a stroke and passed away.”

  “Oh no! Poor Mrs. Reynolds,” Elijah remarked as he cleaned out one of the tubs we used to bathe the dogs. “Did you mention Tallulah?”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “Apparently Mrs. Reynolds only has one living relative—a sister, who traveled from California to arrange her memorial. She doubts she’d have anything to do with the dog and suggested I place her in a shelter for adoption.”

  “You left our number anyway, right?” Tristan asked in a bummed voice and I nodded. “Well, at least Tallulah had a kind owner and pretty decent life. Let’s hope she’s not adopted by some asshole that grumbles at her constantly.”

  I knew without asking Tristan was referring to one of our customers who was rude as hell to everyone, including his own dogs. For some reason, that guy was a huge burr in his side and we all suspected it had something to do with his shy and sweet boyfriend who sometimes came in his place.

  Tristan always avoided checking the ornery customer out, if he could help it, whom we’d all dubbed Mr. V, which stood for Voldemort. But when the boyfriend came in his place, he made sure to be present in some way, shape, or form—so he was either very concerned or totally smitten. And that was nice to see after so much heartache.

  Speaking of heartache, my gaze shifted to the daycare side where Brooke was bent over Tallulah and affectionately rubbing her chin.

  “Let me talk to Nick,” Elijah said as he twisted the warm water nozzle. He was about to shampoo a one-year-old Saint Bernard that surprisingly remained still as a mouse given his size. “He should be okay if we bring her home again.”

  “Don’t want to be any trouble,” I responded, shaking my head. Or any more indebted to him. “Not only a temporary roommate, but a dog too?”

  “You should give him more credit for being a decent guy,” he said with exasperation. I turned away and rolled my eyes.

  A black and white Border collie whined from his pen against the wall and I walked over to give him some attention. He’d just gotten shaved for the upcoming summer weather,
along with his ears cleaned and nails clipped. His owner was a handsome man in his forties we’d all admired more than once. And if Tristan wasn’t still grieving Chris’s death, I might’ve even teased him about that customer too, but we all knew it would’ve been too soon after almost twenty years of a committed relationship.

  “I’ll drive her to Hope Valley tonight,” I said, making my decision about Tallulah then and there. It was the shelter I volunteered at a couple of times a month in a scenic wooded section of Rock River, only a stone’s throw away from my condo.

  “Good plan. Connie always takes good care of the dogs and you’ll be able to visit until she’s adopted,” Tristan remarked, patting me on the shoulder as he passed through the door to the daycare side. “You never know, maybe Mrs. Reynolds’s sister will come through.”

  A customer stepped through the entrance to pick up her yellow Labrador and after I cashed her out I heard a notification from Elijah’s phone he’d left on the shelf beneath the counter.

  “Your phone has a message. Want me to bring it to you?” I asked over my shoulder. “Don’t want to keep Stewart waiting, he’s liable to send out a search party for you.”

  “Screw you. Is that who it is?” he asked in a pitched voice, which only further confirmed my suspicions that Stewart kept a tight leash on him. “He knows I’m at work. Check the message for me.”

  I picked up his phone, brushed my overgrown bangs out of my hair, and was startled to read a text from Nick. You guys want me to pick up dinner tonight?

  You guys. Was he including me in his message? “It’s Nick. He wants to know about dinner.”

  “Oh shoot, I left him hanging from earlier,” he said, lifting a soapy hand and swiping his forearm against his brow. “Tell him I’ll pick up Danny Boy’s pizza on the way home.”