Yours Completely (Reign 2)

“No. Anything overly painful or joyful leaves equal scars. So, you can move away from them, find ways to deal, but moving on? No.”

It was a bleak outlook, and yet freeing at the same time. I couldn’t change the past, but I could grow as a person, which was the path I was fighting to stay on. A path that had gotten threatened and I’d lost myself.

But for now, I had Cal. He understood me on a level I didn’t realized existed until this moment. Pain hurt. It was science. A reality. Love hurt. Maybe moving on was impossible, but using it to my advantage could be doable.

Brock won’t win over you.

I agreed, because I wouldn’t let him. We may be at a constant battle, but I wouldn’t let him win.

“What are you moving away from when you chase?” I asked.

“Several things,” he said stiffly, as though my question seemed to hit something deep. Then he got up, brushing off his hands. “I start a two on today. So, if you need me, I’ll just be across the street.”

I gave a soft smile. He was clearly done talking about himself, and I was not even close to finished. I wanted to know more. How was he able to understand me? Why did he run? Why was he the way he was? The little information I had was a dangerous thing.

“By the way,” he said, kneeling in front of me to meet me eye to eye. “How do you feel about turkey?”

Odd change of subject, but I answered, “I feel fine about it.”

He smiled. “Good, because my aunt is expecting you for Thanksgiving.”

He kissed my forehead, then headed toward the door.

“Wait, what? I can’t just—”

“You really want to bail on my sweet Aunt Bea?” he said, guilt coating every word. I may not know the woman well, but she was tough as nails, despite her sweetness. His comment did effectively shut me up, though.

“I’ll come pick you up. It’ll just be the three of us. See you Thursday, Kitten.” Tossing me a wink over his shoulder, he shut the front door behind him, knowing full well that he’d just ordered a command, and damn if I wouldn’t follow through.

~

I stared at the canned food aisle and attempted mental math. In one hand was cranberry sauce which was fourteen ounces and in my other hand, literally, was cranberries with juice that was twelve ounces.

I pursed my lips and looked at my options. Bea had said she needed two pounds of cranberries, but did she want that in sauce form? Or juice? And twelve ounces was a pound, right?

Ugh! I went back and forth. “Maybe the sauce would be good…” I muttered to myself. Then looked at the other can. My lack of cooking skills were surpassed only by my lack of shopping skills. I had the basics down. Salads, yogurt, and the occasional hot pocket. Yeah, I ate like I still lived in the dorms, but, honestly, I’d never been taught how to shop or cook, so Harper and I just learned off each other. When I was young living with my dad, we had cup of noodles a lot, and after he married Anita, a cook was part of the staff. I showed up, ate, and left, no one caring or even at the table at the same time usually.

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nbsp; But, in this case, I was certain I could succeed. In my one foggy memory, my mother had cranberry sauce, and she cut it, there was no juice.

Sauce it was.

I grabbed two cans and put them in my little hand basket. I was actually getting excited about Thanksgiving. Bea and Cal were family, and inviting me into theirs for the day. I loved her house, her warmth, everything about the dynamic they had. She also trusted me with an ingredient for her cranberry sauce, so I was smiling like a goon.

I turned to walk toward the checkout when my stomach bottomed out. My chest felt like a metric ton of gravel had just been dumped on it.

“Dad?”

He faced me, his pressed suit and tie matching his seamless expression. “Hello, Lana.”

I walked up to him faster than I’d meant to, and he took one step back. I glanced at his feet, hoping I hadn’t seen that right. I was going to him, with some kind of…joy?

No, that couldn’t be right. Last time I’d seen him, he’d lied to me, sold me out, and sent his wife to threaten me.

“I called you,” I said. It was after I had found out about Brock and Erica, and for some reason, thought my dad could help. Once again, I was wrong, since he didn’t return my call or show any evidence of having interest in me whatsoever.

“I’ve heard of the issues with your brother, and I just wanted to make sure we were clear on a few things.”