Hold Me (Stark Trilogy 4.1)

Then I climb into Coop, whip out of the garage, and push that Mini to the max as I race from Studio City back home to Malibu. I check the clock obsessively as I drive, and I have to remind myself not to be reckless and jump lights or zip back and forth between lanes. Maybe it would buy me a minute or two, but the idea is to get home to my kids, not to end up with a mangled car. Or worse.

Still, I’m anxious for the entire drive, and it’s only when I turn onto our street with five minutes to spare that I relax. I made it.

I race through the gate, waving to our guard as I pass, then avoid the garage, instead skidding to a stop on the circular drive, right in front of the entrance.

I hurry inside, calling out, “Mommy’s home!” But I’m greeted only with silence.

I frown, then trot up the stairs to the third floor, calling for Bree as I do.

It’s only when I reach the kitchen and see that the kids’ snack bag is gone that I allow myself to believe what I’ve already figured out—that Bree took the kids early. That no one is home.

Like Damien, I’ve now missed one of the “firsts” for our kids. Just a children’s class, sure. But I wanted to hold Lara’s hand. To stand beside her when they make balls bounce on the parachute and walk in a circle in time to music, or all the other stuff that the director told me about when I signed up for the class.

I’ll take her next time. And the time after that. But even if I take her to every class from here on out—even if I take Anne to her very first one when she’s two—I’ve missed this first. And I can’t ever get that back.

I sigh, then drop into one of the chairs at the small kitchen table. For a moment, I consider following them, but I’d end up arriving late, and I don’t want to be that mom. The one who interrupts class and disrupts all the kids.

So instead, I just sit here in the quiet, empty house. No kids. No Damien. No Bree. Even Gregory is gone, the valet who’s been with Damien for years and now serves as a butler and everything kind of guy. His sister in Connecticut is ill, and he flew out a week ago.

“Just me and you,” I say to Sunshine, who’s wandered in for kibble. But even she’s not interested in me. She comes for one single pat on the head, then trots away, presumably to find a sunny spot in which to curl up and sleep.

I feel much the same way.

I’m still in my clothes from last night, and I feel grungy and achy. I want sleep, but I want a shower more, and so I head to the master bath, stripping off my clothes as I go. I turn the shower on full blast, the heat cranked up almost to scalding, and I let the room fill with steam.

I adjust the temperature back to tolerable, then step in, tilting my face up toward the spray as I lean against the tile wall and let the water sluice over me, washing away the day, my troubles, my mistakes, my disappointments.

Except even the hottest shower can’t do that, and as I stand there—the water pounding down on me—the hard, cold truth hits me. It just flat out hits me.

It’s not the firsts that matter, it’s the moments. Little moments that make up a life. And I missed countless moments in the last twenty-four hours alone. And not only moments with my kids, but with my husband.

I missed a night out with Damien.

I missed an afternoon with my kids.

How many smiles have there been? New toys? New discoveries.

That impish grin when Lara crawls sneakily up to attack Sunshine.

Anne’s expression of wide-eyed wonder when the light makes a rainbow through the window. Or her gurgle of delight when she strokes the cat’s fluffy tail.

So many moments I want to witness. So many that I’m going to miss.

I’ve known it, of course. But now the weight of that reality seems too heavy to bear, and I sink down and drop my face to my knees and let my tears flow as the water beats down on me.

That’s where I am when Damien finds me, his urgent voice pulling me back to the moment.

“Did you cut? Dammit, Nikki—did you cut?”

He’s holding my hands, crouched in the shower beside me as the water soaks his clothes.

“No,” I say. “Damien, you’re drenched.”

“What’s going on? Goddammit, Nikki, talk to me.”

The fear in his voice breaks my heart, and I squeeze his hands as I look deep into his eyes. “I didn’t cut. I swear. Honestly, it didn’t even occur to me.”

His gaze skims over me, hunched up on the floor of the shower, and I can see the disbelief in his eyes.

“I promise. Please, turn off the water. I’m fine. I love you, and I’m fine.”

He hesitates but does as I ask, then gets two warm, fluffy towels from the drawer. He wraps one around me, then peels off his clothes, leaving them in a wet pile on the floor of the stall.

When he’s dry and the towel is twisted around his hips, he holds out his hand to help me up. I take it, then let him lead the way into the bedroom, trading my towel for my snuggly robe along the way.

“All right,” he says once we’re both in robes and sitting on the bed. “What happened?”

I give him the rundown of the crisis at Greystone-Branch. “Abby was amazing,” I say. “Smart and focused. I couldn’t have been more impressed.”

“You hired good people.”

I shrug. “Eric left.”

“That’s the risk you take with good people.”

I nod but brush it off. We’ve gotten too far off topic. “The point is that I came home exhausted. But even on no sleep and completely drained, I wanted to make it in time for Gymboree.”

“Lara’s first class.” There’s a wistful note to his voice, and I realize that he’s gone this same road, too.

I take his hand, then nod. “I wanted to be there. But I missed it. Bree left earlier than I expected. And I just missed it.”

I press my lips together, determined not to cry again. When I’m certain I’m in the clear, I say, “That’s it. Just sadness. And exhaustion. But no cutting. Not even an inkling of a smidgeon of a thought about a blade. I promise.”

The relief on his face is palpable, and I know that I’ve finally convinced him. “I need to sleep now,” I say. “But why are you here? The house was empty when I got home.”

“I got your text,” he says. “And since I have a meeting soon in Santa Monica, I thought I’d come home and see my wife. But I need to go now.” He strokes my cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do I need to reschedule my meeting?”

“No—no, seriously, I’m fine.” I take a deep breath, then smile. “Honestly, right now I’m feeling steadier than I ha

ve in days.”

And it’s true. Unexpected, maybe. But true.

Damien’s brow furrows, and I can tell he’s uncertain. “You’re thinking about something,” he finally says.

“I am,” I agree. “I’m thinking I desperately need a nap.”

What I don’t say is that I think I’ve made a decision, but I have to figure it out for myself before I can tell him. And right now, it’s all still a blur in my head, everything mixed up together. Work. Damien. The kids. Even the fact that I didn’t want to cut. That I didn’t even think about it.

The tangle of thoughts reminds me of the code that Abby and I attacked. All the bad stuff had been twined together with the good, so we had to hack carefully to get to the core. But when we finally got that one essential thread, the rest was easy.

That’s what I need, I think.

Right now, I need to find the core thread inside of me.

Chapter 9

The sun is low in the sky when I wake from my nap to the sound of Lara giggling outside. Damien’s left the doors to the balcony open, and her sweet laughter is floating in with the ocean breeze.

I’d changed into sweats and a T-shirt before lying down, and now I pad barefoot to the balcony, which has a view of a portion of the pool deck and a grassy area that had been wild with ground cover before the kids, but which we’d had landscaped during the months that we were waiting for our travel authorization to go to China.

Now, it has a neatly manicured lawn, a sandbox, and a toddler-friendly playscape.

Right now, Damien is wearing Anne in a baby sling as he pushes Lara on the rocking horse swing.

She’s holding on tight and alternating between squeals and cries of “Geep!”, which I’m assuming means giddy-up.

Now she turns toward me, and I wave, then blow her a kiss.

“Mama! Mama! Come here, Mama!”

Since I can hardly turn down an invitation like that, I wave again, then yell that I’ll be down soon. That I just have a couple of things to take care of first.

Since it’s cool outside now, I head first to the closet for some canvas flats and a light hoodie, then go back toward the door, planning to take the outdoor stairs down to the first level.