Heartburn (Love By Design 3)

“Thank you?” I replied uncertain. Her father nodded at me, man to man. He didn’t know me from Adam, but he must have gotten enough sense that I wasn’t going to be some flighty son-in-law he’d have to worry about.

The atmosphere turned and he leaned in sparing a glance toward the room his wife occupied and whispered, “But, if you marry her out there, son, I will let my wife eviscerate you.” He sat back smiling taking a long drag of his wine and that’s when I knew it was going to be okay. Mostly.

19

Lia

“Boy, am I beat.” I yawned loudly and made a dramatic showing with my hands. I placed my hand over the cup of lukewarm coffee we picked up at a chain café from the rest stop. I’d love to sleep the rest of the evening away huddled under covers safe from the clawing hands of Brooklyn.

Whit glanced at me inside the jeep and shook his head. The mood was subdued and I didn’t want to spend the time trapped in a vehicle arguing about my parents. “Or you could just say you need some space and ask me to take you home.” Ranger Jones didn’t miss a beat.

“Okay that works too.” Deflated, I sipped my coffee watching the scenery turn more mountainous heading back to New Paltz. The bitter taste reminded me of my mother and I put the coffee down uninterested in the caffeine buzz.

I turned the radio on to a pop station filled with my contemporaries bopping and rapping about life’s woes.

Whit turned the radio off.

“Hey, I was listening to that.” I grumbled.

He made a grumble that sounded like bullshit. “No, you were avoiding me.”

“Can’t let anything go, can you?” I’m annoyed. Irritated. I’d blame my PMS, but Whit is so up my ass at the moment considering our method of birth control he’d call me out quicker than I could pull my calendar out.

“Nothing gets by me.” He’s focused on driving, expertly weaving between traffic making good time.

“Nope. It certainly doesn’t.”

I didn’t know what I expected at this point ,but an understanding boyfriend who sensed how hard today was for me hadn’t really crossed my mind.

“Do you want to elaborate or leave me in the dark? I’m not a mind reader.” He patted my leg and I brushed him off by crossing it and turning toward the window. I can’t have him touch me when he wants to converse. He might swerve off the road or I’d find myself crawling over the console.

“I knew today was going to be difficult. It puts me a mood that takes a few days to unravel because my mother…” I chewed my bottom lip unable to verbalize the strained relationship. She wanted things from me I couldn’t give her. Things like control over my decisions and interests. Telling her I wanted to switch my major nearly made her head explode.

Whit cleared his throat. “Your mother loves you.” I grunted and Whit gripped above my good knee. “In a weird way, I can tell she loves you. I wish I knew what that was like.” He’s suddenly quiet.

I reach for him and he turns his palm up to hold mine.

“I feel like an idiot. Ungrateful. Will you tell me about them.”

“Sure.” I waited a full minute for him to speak again and the roughness in his voice tells me another part of this story. The part where, even the strongest men fall to their knees at some point and loving them is the only thing that brings them back up. I wanted to love Whit enough and have him stand with me.

“I grew up in Boston first. My parents loved the city. The sparkle of lights and busy streets. My mother loved to get dressed up and go out with my father.”

Whit lifted my hand pressing a soft, barely there kiss to it.

“We lived in a pretty brownstone house with cobbled alleyways and a nanny who watched me. My dad’s parents always lived out here. The house I own was my grandfather’s. When he died, I gutted it and had Hunter help me rebuild.”

I’m not sure if he’s going to tell me what happened to them or not, but I know it isn’t good. I knew they died, but I never probed into the circumstances. It seemed like one of those conversations you didn’t start unless invited and Whit was like a brick wall. The mood shifted from subdued to heavy and I would have given anything to break the silence until he spoke again.

“It was a Friday night when it happened. I was ten and they didn’t come home.”

“Oh Whittaker.” I sobbed. It was impossible to contain the well of emotion that threatened to drown me.

“I used to sit in my window seat long after the nanny put me to bed and wait for them to come home. There was nothing better than the sound of my mother’s soft laughter and my dad whispering something meant only for her ears.”

He stopped for a second and brushed his hand over his face wiped off tears. How could not with a memory as visceral as that.

“I waited all night until dawn broke. A ring at the doorbell launched me from my window seat. A police office said there’d been an accident. A gas main exploded and several people had been trapped inside a restaurant, my parents included.”