Return to Me (Breaking Free Book 2) Read online

  Natal seemed like as good of a place as any to wait out the reporters posted outside my place in Trenton. My sister Charity came along to keep me company. The sad, pathetic truth is, I don’t have friends. I have people that want things from me. I have lots of people I could call if I wanted to go out and have a good time, but no one I can trust.

  Having Charity along puts my family’s minds at ease, and it beats sitting alone in this seaside villa. It’s been forever since we’ve spent much time together, and she is vastly different from the girl I shared a room with growing up, in some ways.

  She talks now. She’ll talk your ear off if you get her going on certain subjects, like insects, reptiles, or the inner workings of a vehicle’s transmission. Now that we are staying on the beach, she goes on a lot about the marine life.

  Some things change, but others never change. When I stumble into the kitchen to make some coffee that morning, there is a bunch of seaweed and other smelly crap flattened on top of a sheet of newspaper. I guess she’s collecting this sea gunk now. When we were kids it was those gross rocks from the creek, cicada shells, snake moltings, dead animal bones and skulls she found in the woods.

  “I made you coffee,” she says, arranging the slimy seaweed in even lines. Charity doesn’t drink coffee, but she’s been making a conscious effort to be more normal, her word, not mine. I’m not sure if it’s worth explaining that putting on some coffee may be thoughtful and normal, but drying out seaweed where we’re expected to eat is definitely not.

  “Thanks,” I mutter. “But do you have to put this on the table?”

  “Where else am I going to put it?”

  “You could leave it in the ocean where it belongs. They’re never going to let us you take all this junk you’ve been collecting back through customs when we finally go home.”

  Charity looks at me for a moment, then goes back to her seaweed. She is deeply tan from our four weeks at the beach, and her normally dark blonde hair is almost white. I’ve gained a tan as well, more of a patchy, peeling sunburn, also enough weight that I’m glad the villa I’m renting didn’t come furnished with a scale. My hair is a few shades lighter as well, and I had it chopped off up to my chin.

  I guess I can go on a diet when I eventually go back, and get some hair extensions, or maybe the new Trin Sinclair can be chubby with a bad haircut.

  “Let’s go get breakfast,” I say, eyeing the disaster she’s created of the kitchen.

  Charity goes to put on a breezy sundress over her bathing suit, and a pair of flip flops. I wear a similar outfit, and a pair of sunglasses, not to disguise myself. Not many people know who I am down here. I’m not a worldwide sensation. I’m not even a huge deal in the states right now. My most recent album was a flop. That’s why I had to tour so much this last time, lots of medium sized venues to recoup costs.

  I guess that was my fault. Sinful was pop trash. It was cheap, but it sold just fine. Imperfect was too somber, and not ‘radio friendly.’ The songs weren’t catchy enough. I wanted to do things my way, and my way sucked.

  A few songs from Sinful still get played on moderate rotation, but Brent is choosing to pretend Imperfect never existed. He wants to call the next album either Sinsation or Sinsual, and he expects me to deliver ten to twelve upbeat tracks that a person can dance to. It isn’t just what Brent wants, it’s what the label is demanding. If I can’t make good on that, then they will be happy to contract out a song writer who will.

  I’m beginning to think that’s what might end up happening, because I can’t write a single thing that isn’t sad and mournful. After two months becoming unexhausted, I’ve spent another month laying around on our little private strip of sand, reading novels and eating junk food. Maybe if I chunk up enough, I won’t have to wear a skimpy bodysuit that rides up the crack of my ass when I tour next time.

  Charity drives and I ride shotgun in the little two door car I’m renting. Everyone drives tiny cars like this down here. Something larger wouldn’t navigate well through the narrow streets that criss cross through the heart of the small city.

  We go to a little cafe we’ve been to a few times now. I like it because they have fresh pastries, and coffee that doesn’t taste like rocket fuel. Charity likes it because they are happy to accommodate her request for overcooked and plain scrambled eggs. She does the talking for both of us since she’s actually taken the time to learn a bit of the native language while we’ve been here, and because she uses the practice pretending to be normal.

  I watch the waiter give Charity the once over as she rattles off our order in broken Portuguese. Charity is super pretty, which I don’t think she realizes, but men sure do. When the waiter eventually returns with our food, and lingers a little too long trying to converse with my sister, I tell him to scram. Despite the language barrier, he receives the message loud and clear.

  “Why did you do that?” Charity wants to know, as she arranges her eggs carefully on the plate.

  “Charity, that guy isn’t interested in hearing about sea urchins, or whatever you were going on about. He wants to get in your panties.”

  “You think he wanted to have sex with me?”

  I giggle. “I bet the thought crossed his mind.”

  “I have been thinking I should find a boyfriend. I’m almost twenty three. Most women my age have had several by my age.”

  I sputter a mouthful of coffee. “Is that on your list of normal things to do?”

  Charity nods solemnly.

  “Maybe if you’re looking for a boyfriend, you should wait until we get back stateside, unless you’re planning to relocate, or drag someone home with you.”

  “I should probably find someone to have sex with first, that way when I eventually find a boyfriend, I’ll know what to do.”

  My loud laugh ends in a choking cough when a bit of danish lodges temporarily in my windpipe. “You could just find a boyfriend you want to have sex with, and kill two birds will one stone.”

  “I would never kill a bird. Those skulls I have at home are from birds that were already dead. When I found them, they were decomposing, or only bones remained.”

  “Charity, it’s an expression. Nevermind. If you want to find a boyfriend, you probably want to avoid talking about rotting animal carcasses.”

  “You’re the one who brought it up.” Charity takes a dainty bite of her limp, browned eggs. “What’s it like?”

  “Having a boyfriend, or having sex?”

  “Both.”

  Looking out across the narrow, cobblestone street, I let out a weary sigh. “You’re asking the wrong person.”

  Gabe wasn’t just my only real boyfriend, he’s the only man I’ve ever slept with when I wasn’t wasted. I’m starting to think between the two of us sitting at that tiny, sidewalk table, Charity has the best shot at a real relationship. Maybe after this next album, I can move here permanently. I’ll learn Portuguese and change my name to Isabella.

  “I’m not talking about Kane,” Charity says in a rush. “I wasn’t supposed to bring him up.”

  I roll my eyes. Even my family thinks I went cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs over that idiot.

  “I plan on waiting until after Mama dies anyways,” Charity says. “She doesn’t think I should get a boyfriend.”

  Swallowing thickly, I rub a hand across my peeling forehead. “How’s she doing?” I ask.

  But I already know. Her doctor reports to Brent, who reports to me. That most recent round of experimental medication failed to do the trick. It bought her a little more time, but she’s well past the point of a cure.

  Charity shrugs. “Faith says she’s doing okay.”

  I’ve spoke to my sister Faith, but she hasn’t mentioned my mother to me. After my eight week inpatient stay at the loony bin, I told her firmly that if she cares about my sobriety and my mental health, she’ll stop with the nagging and guilt trips. My mother has my number. If she wants to call me, she can.

  Two weeks later, Kane is spotted on the arm of an up and
coming singer from Las Vegas. They are photographed all over the place, and Brent confirms what I already suspected. Kane has a new fake girlfriend.

  Brent wants to know if I’d like to comment publicly. I don’t want to do anything publicly right now, so he drafts a statement on my behalf.

  I’m happy for Kane, who I still consider a close, personal friend, and I wish him nothing but success with his new relationship, and his upcoming solo debut.

  It’s not too far off from the truth, besides the close and personal part.

  A week after that, the news vans have cleared out from my place in Trenton, and I decide it’s probably time to say goodbye to the beach. It’s time to brave that long plane ride home too. I never realized how much I hated flying until I did it sober, but I’m going to be learning how to do everything again sober, so I may as well get used to it.

  Chapter 11

  Gabe

  The day I spot Trin filling up at the gas station, I almost don’t recognize her. She’s bundled up in a heavy parka. A blustery wind is blowing her shortish, blonde curls all around her bright red face. At first I think her skin is chapped from the cold, but as I stride closer, I realize she’s sunburnt.

  I hadn’t planned on going over to say hello, but for some reason my feet carry me right across the parking lot. I doubt she wants to see me, and the startled, wide-eyed expression on her face when she catches sight of me confirms it. I should’ve just kept on walking, and saved us both this awkwardness, but I’m here now. Turning around and retreating at this point would only make it worse. “How’ve you been, Trin?”

  “Fine. Better.” She laughs under breath, and her face goes a little redder. “How ‘bout you?”

  That voice still gets me everytime. It’s not the one everyone hears on the radio either. That voice is smoothed out, auto-tuned. It’s not Trin. I could listen to the real Trin all day long. She’s something to look at too, even with the short, choppy hair and peeling sunburn. I have to remind myself not to stare intently into her baby blue eyes lined in pale lashes.

  “I’m good.” I shove my hands in my pockets as she withdraws the gas nozzle from her tank. “Looks like you got a new car.”

  “Yeah, I got rid of that stupid thing I had before. I would’ve killed myself trying to drive it in the snow, if we ever end up getting any that is.” She withdraws a slender wallet from her coat pocket. “It’s too bad your friend didn’t take me up on that offer while he had the chance,” she says with a small smile as she swipes her card through the reader to pay for her gas.

  “I wasn’t sure if you remembered that.”

  “Oh, I remember.” Trin rolls her eyes. “I told you I wasn’t high, and I had a breakdown, not amnesia. I sort of wish I didn’t remember. I’m a little embarrassed about all that.”

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re really doing okay now?”

  “Yup. I went and got a few screws tightened up here.” She pauses to tap a finger against her temple, and throws me a small grin. “And I’m almost four months clean and sober.”

  “Congrats. That’s good to hear. You look good.” I pause to swallow. “You look like you’re doing better. Looks like you spent some time in the sun too.”

  “Yeah, I hung out on the beach with my sister for a bit.”

  “Faith?”

  Trin shook her head. “Charity.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Fabulous. She’s on the prowl for a boyfriend.”

  We both laugh. “She just rebuilt the front end on my Jeep last year.”

  “She’s pretty good at that stuff, but I don’t know how she’s gonna fare in the dating world.”

  “I’m sure she’ll figure it out. How’s your mom?”

  Trin shrugs, and the smile on her face winks out. She wraps her arms around her torso for warmth. “I hear she’s fine.”

  “I won’t keep you, Trin. I’m sure you’re busy, but I just wanted to say thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “That was you that donated that money, right?”

  She shakes her head towards her feet.

  “You don’t have to say anything. I know it was, but it sure made my life easier. O’Sullivan’s too. They hired two new guys, and we both got bumped up to days. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was working nights with Rose.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  How the hell would I know? I get her two measly days a week. She spends more time with this new guy than she does me, but that was my choice, Leah is quick to point out. I made my choice, and I have to live with it. We’ll be officially divorced in the very near future. “She’s doing okay, I think. We’re all adjusting.”

  “I guess it’s a big adjustment, nights to days. I’m happy for you. I’m… I’m freezing my ass off.” Trin pauses to laugh, her normal tinkling laugh, not the wild, broken cackle I remember from that night. “Sorry. I’m gonna get out of here, but you take care, Gabe. It was nice seeing you again.”

  “You too, Trin.”

  I walk away, resisting the urge to take one more peek at her over my shoulder.

  I’m in a weird headspace as I drive on out to Leah’s place to pick up Rose. I’m glad to see Trin’s doing better. Memories of that night have plagued me for months, popping up at the strangest times. Trin always seemed so impervious to things. She could laugh about anything, but I suppose I already knew from back in the day that wasn’t really true. Seeing her come unglued like that shook me, and seeing her better today shook me for a whole different reason.

  Usually Leah has our daughter bundled up and ready to roll when I arrive, but not this time. She swings the door open for me to come in out of the cold. Rose rushes over to fling herself at my legs. I pick her up and love on her for a moment while Leah watches on with dry, but red rimmed eyes. From the looks of it she was crying about something earlier, maybe the night before. “Can we talk for a minute?” she asks.

  I barely suppress a groan. “Sure. What’s up?”

  She takes Rose from me, sets her back on her feet, and sends her off to her room in search of something. “I don’t want to do this.”

  “Do what?” I ask plainly, although I already have a fair idea what she’s about to say.

  “Gabe, we can’t get divorced.”

  “Sure we can. People do it everyday, and we’re going to be those people in…” I pause to count forward from today’s date. “Eight days.”

  “But we don’t have to be those people.”

  Her eyes are rapidly filling with tears. I really don’t want to deal with this right now. Maybe I sound heartless, but Leah can turn on the waterworks when she wants on cue, and it’s been months since she’s come at me with this nonsense. “What happened to Roger?”

  “This has nothing to do with him. This is about us.”

  “There is no us anymore, Leah.”

  “There could be.”

  Do I want to come home everyday and see my daughter. Absolutely. Is there some small part of me that wishes we could fix this and put our family back together. Maybe. If it wasn’t for Rose, would I want a thing to do with Leah? Nope. No part of me wants to fix us. Why try to fix something that was broken to begin with?

  I let out a long, weary sigh. “Did he dump you or something?”

  Her green eyes flash with anger. Looks like I’ve hit the nail on the head. “No, but with the court date coming up, I’ve been thinking-”

  “And I think that guy changed his mind about leaving his wife for you.”

  Leah starts to cry in earnest. “I made a mistake, Gabe. I’m sorry. I just want to fix this before it’s too late.”

  It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. From where I’m standing, she made a series of mistakes, the biggest of which was bringing this guy around our kid before she was sure about him. Rose has already been talking about him. She’s already gotten used to him popping around in the afternoons, and now I guess she’ll have to get used to not seeing him again too. “Leah, you
don’t want to be with me. You’re just emotional right now.”

  “Are you already seeing someone or something?”

  I made that mistake once. After things fell apart with Trin, I jumped straight to Leah, and look how that turned out. “Of course I’m not. We’re not even divorced yet. Why don’t you call your sister, or one of your friends. Maybe you can go do something to take your mind off it.” I pat her shoulder lightly, and bite back another sigh. I’d rather avoid her melting down with Rose in the next room, but in what universe is it fair that I’m expected to comfort my almost exwife after she gets left by the man she was cheating on me with? This whole situation is utterly ridiculous. “That guy seems like an ass anyways. You can do better than him. He’s was too old for you, and if he’ll cheat with you, he might cheat on you, right? You can’t trust someone like that.”

  “I don’t need dating advice from you,” she hisses.

  “Great. Fine. I’m going to go get Rose ready so I can get out of your hair.”

  Leah trails after me in the direction of Rose’s bedroom. She leans against the door jam and watches while I put socks and shoes on our daughter. Rose starts to fuss, wanting to take some new doll along, but I remind her she’s got another exactly like it at my place.

  “Just let her take it,” Leah says in a weary voice. “It doesn’t matter.”

  After I pull Rose’s coat on, Leah gets all tearful again at the door. I fix her with a sharp look. Can she at least try to pull herself together in front of our daughter? Rose seems unaffected, and just eager to get out the house.

  Once I’ve gotten her buckled into her carseat, and I’m seated behind the wheel, I ask if she wants to go get some lunch. She says yes, and I don’t ask where she wants to go, because I already know she’ll say Mcdonalds, and I’m sick to death of that shit. I drive us across town to a small, local diner that serves an approximation of home cooked food.

  Inside we’re led to a booth seat by the windows. Rose shrugs off her coat and leaves it in a heap beside her. I move the napkin dispenser, salt and pepper shakers, ketchup, and small tray of sweeteners closer to my side of the table before she can get to them.