Taming Rough Waters Read online

  She sobbed and hiccuped in my arms incoherently for a while. I held her, rubbing her back and murmuring what comfort I could offer, until she finally fell asleep again. I carefully extricated myself from her latching arms and tucked her back under the blankets. I pushed her soft hair, that was the same flaxen blond as mine, out of her face. She looked peaceful now, her eyes closed and her long thick lashes resting on her reddened cheeks. I leaned down and kissed her forehead gently, before I climbed out of bed and quietly left the room.

  I made my way downstairs to the darkened kitchen without bothering to turn on the lights. I went to the small table, sat down in one of the chairs, and then it was my turn to cry. I buried my face in my hands and wept pathetically, mourning the life I had because of the bad choices I'd made when I was young and stupid and so naive. Violet was the only good thing to come out of any of the last twelve years of my life.

  "Ella?" a familiar male voice called out quietly.

  "I'm fine," I blurted out as I instantly jerked my head up and began wiping frantically at my eyes.

  My brother Evan stood in the doorway watching me with a worried frown that I could just make out in the dim light filtering in through the kitchen window from the outside street lamp. A car drove by, its headlights shining through the window, momentarily illuminating his face and a pair of concerned steel blue eyes that matched my own.

  Evan snorted out a laugh. "No, you're not," he said in his deep soothing voice. "You're sitting in the dark crying all alone. What part of that says you're fine?"

  "I guess you're right." I laughed it off, not wanting to admit to my little brother that my reaction was because I never cried in front of Ray, not if I didn't want to have an actual reason to cry. It had been two months since the police showed up at my door to tell me that Ray was dead, but old habits died hard apparently. Especially when they were born of fear. I wondered how long the deep psychological wounds my husband had inflicted on me would take to heal and scar over, or if they ever would at all.

  "Was Violet crying again?" Evan asked softly in concern as he walked closer to me.

  I nodded. "I'm sorry if she woke you, or Beth, or the kids."

  He waved off my apology. "Please. Beth and the kids could sleep through an air raid, and I was awake anyway. It's hard to sleep well with a woman who hogs the covers and snores like a congested moose." He grinned. "Don't tell her I said that."

  I smiled wanly. "I won't," I said as guilt fell over me. My baby brother had a wife and two kids, and here I was imposing on him and taking up one of the four bedrooms in his house. That's me, my baby brother's charity case.

  Evan flipped on the light over the table, filling the little galley kitchen with dim light, and made a beeline for the cupboards. My brother had lovingly remodeled it into a warm inviting space with lots of hardwood that still maintained the original homey feel of the early twentieth-century foursquare fixer-upper he bought several years ago.

  "If we're awake we might as well make the most of it." He opened the cupboard door and pulled a box out. "Milk and cookies?" He held it up with a wide grin.

  "That sounds great," I said softly as I watched Evan get the milk and some glasses. Sometimes I was still in awe that this tall able-bodied man was the same little boy who dragged a ratty security blanket with him everywhere he went and thought there were hairy one-eyed monsters in his closet.

  He sat down across from me and poured a glass of milk, and pushed it over to me. He poured some for himself, then tore into the box of cookies with eager enthusiasm, his blond hair sticking out all over his head and his eyes bright and content. I watched him with a smirk. There was that little boy I remembered. Even in a tank top and sweats with his broad shoulders and muscular arms on display, he would always be my baby brother.

  "How's the job hunt going?" he asked through a mouthful of cookie.

  My shoulders slumped. "Awful," I grumbled as the cookie in my mouth began to taste like sawdust.

  "That bad, huh?" he asked with a sympathetic expression.

  "Yeah," I answered. "Apparently, a decade-long hole in your resume is a giant red flag." I snorted bitterly. "You'd think I was applying for a CEO position and not a waitressing job."

  "I'm sure you'll find something," he said reassuringly.

  "I hope so," I said despondently.

  "Well, at least you and Violet have a place to stay until you do." He meant his words to be reassuring. They weren't.

  I nodded and shoved another cookie in my mouth as guilt rose up again. I'd felt like nothing but a leach for the past several weeks I'd been staying here after coming back to my hometown with my tail between my legs. I wanted to be able to contribute, but with only a high school diploma and a long gap since the last time I had an actual job, it might be a while before I could assuage that guilt in any way.

  My brother didn't go to college either, but he'd been driven and determined to make something for himself and get out of The Armpit. He'd gotten an apprenticeship as a lineman for the Power Company right out of high school, he'd applied himself and worked hard, and now at the relatively young age of thirty-one, he was a full-fledged journeyman with a decent salary to boot. He provided well for his family and was proud of what he accomplished for himself. I wish I could say the same for myself.

  I'd been a deluded idiot, and thought finding a man that could give me money and security would get me out of the prison of poverty that was The Armpit, and bring me happiness. Well, money and security got me out alright, but only to be trapped in a different kind of prison with Ray as my jailer and no happiness in sight. Now I was thirty-four and had nothing to show for myself beyond being a mother for my daughter and a penniless widow to a monster.

  "I have another interview tomorrow," I announced.

  "Oh yeah?" he asked. "Where at?"

  "Some place called The Indigo Room."

  Evan's eyes rose in surprise. "The night club?"

  "I guess so." I shrugged. I never heard of the place, but it paid well. I'd never worked in a nightclub before, but I'd tried so many restaurants without any luck that I'd take anything at this point.

  "Huh, I never pictured you working at a place like that."

  "What?" I asked crossly. "You don't think I can handle it?"

  "No," he answered fervently. "Not at all, but a meat market like that is just so shallow, so..." He grimaced, "vacuous," he added in disgust.

  "Vacuous?" I asked with a smirk. "That's a mighty big word there, baby brother."

  "You should see me do math," he said loftily as he pointed his cookie at me. "And I'm pretty much all self-taught."

  "And humble," I added with a laugh.

  "What can I say? I'm the bomb." He straightened in his seat with a cocky expression that I knew was complete bullshit.

  "Shut up and eat your cookies," I told him with a shake of my head.

  He grinned with a shrug, then shoved two cookies into his mouth at once and chewed them with his mouth open on purpose. And there was the annoying and disgusting little brother I remembered again. I rolled my eyes and ignored him. It was best not to encourage him when he got like this.

  "Oh, can you watch Violet while I have my interview tomorrow afternoon?" I knew Friday was Evan's normal day off. He usually worked four ten-hour shifts on Monday through Thursday. "And can I borrow your car again?" I asked apologetically. Yup, back to feeling like a leach again.

  "Shit, El," Evan said with a pained expression. "I can't. I picked up an extra shift tomorrow. I'm sorry."

  Somehow I couldn't help suspecting that he was picking up extra shifts to cover for me staying here. I felt my eyes start to sting. "I...I guess I can call and see if I can reschedule it," I said waveringly. I clamped my teeth together and fought down the waterworks.

  "No, don't do that." Evan reached across the table and grabbed my hand. "We'll figure something out. I know how important this is to you. Maybe Beth can leave work early tomorrow, and you can use her car. Then she can watch Violet."

>   "I can't ask her to do that," I immediately replied. Beth was a nursing assistant at the hospital. She didn't make a lot, but I wasn't going to cost her any of her pay.

  "I can give you money for a cab," Evan offered.

  "Okay," I said grudgingly, even though I didn't really want to take any more of my brother's money. "I guess I can bring Violet with me."

  I hoped that bringing her didn't cost me the job, but what choice did I have. I couldn't use the daycare that the hospital provided for Beth since I didn't work there. I didn't want to leave Violet home alone either for obvious legal reasons, but also because she was very emotional and clingy with me right now. I didn't want to make this harder for her than it already was.

  "There you go," my brother said as he squeezed my hand. "We got it all figured out."

  I nodded, unable to stop the tears that spilled this time from equal parts gratitude and guilt. Evan immediately rose and came around the table to sit next to me. He pulled me into his arms and comforted me while I wept bitterly for everything I'd lost or never even had to begin with.

  This wasn't how my life was supposed to be. This wasn't where I should have been. It was the painful moments like these that his face always came back to me, these moments that hurt the most. I saw piercing crystalline blue eyes, soft almost black hair, and a kind loving smile that said I meant the world to him. I saw the young man who treated me right, who loved me, the one I should have stayed with twelve long years ago. It was hard not to think that I deserved everything I'd wrought upon myself for the real love that I so callously and stupidly left behind without a backward glance.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  ____________________

  Calder

  I walked out into the midday heat of a warm June day feeling equally gratified as much as I was anxious. It never made any sense to me feeling like this every time I left a meeting, but no matter how many I went to, no matter how many years I'd managed to stay clean, it was like this every time. Sharing personal things never came easy to me, doing that in a room full of people didn't either, but I'd learned to do it, just like I learned to play the roles that I needed to run my businesses. They were necessary evils I needed to manage my life.

  It was only when I was alone or with someone I trusted, which I might add was a very short list of people, could I truly be myself. The solitary introvert who really didn't like to talk, the man who struggled with a host of demons that still to this day could rise up and tear him apart if he let go for one single second of the hard-won control he fought so arduously for.

  I stood out on the sidewalk staring off across the street as the other recovering addicts from the meeting filed out around me, thankfully leaving me alone to catch my breath metaphorically. Unconsciously, I brushed my fingers over the tiny raised up scars on my left elbow under the rolled-up sleeve of my dress shirt, the map of pain and self-loathing I'd inflicted on myself with heroin. I used to be ashamed of them, constantly wearing long sleeves to cover them up, even in the sweltering heat of summer that probably made it seem more suspicious than if I didn't. Now I wore my old scars like a soldier who'd won a hard-fought battle. I was proud of what I accomplished by being sober for the last eight years, even though the battle was never really over. The scars reminded me of that stark fact too.

  "Hey," a familiar and welcome male voice said in a smooth and relaxed tone. "You have time for lunch before work?"

  I glanced over to see Scott Conrad, my best friend in the world and my brother in every way but blood really, watching me with calculating blue eyes and a sober expression. He was a few years younger and a good four inches shorter than my six-three height, broad-shouldered and fit, and dressed in a ratty T-shirt and cargo shorts. As a private investigator, he pretty much wore whatever he liked on any given day. It must be nice. As a business man I had certain expectations to live up to, and didn't have that luxury.

  Scott liked to talk in front of people at the meetings even less than I did, being the laconic man he was, but it didn't disquiet him as much as it did me. He was too calm and relaxed to get too worked up over anything really, and his personality was a good influence on mine when I felt at odds with myself like this. I was grateful everyday that we met in rehab ten years ago. I knew each of us would have died of an overdose long before now if not for the other.

  "I'm sorry," I said apologetically. "I've got a meeting with a promoter, and interviews this afternoon for new waitstaff at The Indigo Room before the club opens tonight." My phone chirped in the pocket of my slacks, and I pulled it out to glare at the text I'd just received. I sighed. "And apparently a fucking crisis with my alcohol distributor at Désir Dangereux too."

  Scott frowned as he ran a hand through his short light-brown hair. "You know, you really need to delegate some of that shit. You own too many clubs and bars to run it all by yourself now, and you're spreading yourself thin."

  "I know," I replied, but said nothing else. My control issues were strong and ran deep, and they were hard to let go of, especially considering I thought they were the biggest reason I'd remained clean and sober for as long as I'd managed.

  Scott gave me a look that spoke volumes without him having to say a word, his brows raised and his expression dubious. I understood his underlying implication that wearing myself too thin could lead to too much stress, which could in turn lead to a relapse.

  I met his eyes with determination. "I know," I said more strongly this time. "I'm working on it."

  "Work harder," he said sternly.

  "It would be easier if you came and worked with me," I grumbled out.

  "You don't want me to do that," he replied like he always did to that suggestion. "I'm your silent partner for a reason, Calder. I have no fucking clue about money and business like you do, or know the first thing about running a nightclub. You know that."

  "You could run security," I suggested.

  He frowned. "I set up your security so it can practically run itself, and you have Pete. You don't need me." In addition to being a P.I., Scott was also a physical security specialist and set up the security systems and measures in all my clubs.

  "I guess," I said quietly.

  "You should let Gwen do more," Scott continued with another suggestion I didn't really want to hear. "She's lasted as your assistant for three years without quitting or killing you. She could probably do a better job than you at this point."

  I glared at him, done with this conversation.

  "Just think about it," Scott said in a softer placating tone. "Okay?

  I nodded grudgingly. "Okay."

  "Catch you later," he said with a smile and a quick tap to my upper arm, then sauntered away like he didn't have a care in the world. I knew that wasn't true, he had just as many demons as I did, he was just better at it keeping them under wraps.

  I headed in the opposite direction to my sleek black Tesla Model S and took off toward The Indigo Room. When I arrived and walked in, Gwen accosted me after I'd barely set foot through the door into my small office suite and was slipping on my suit jacket for the day.

  "You have a scheduling conflict nightmare today, Calder," she announced as she stalked across the small waiting area from her office toward me in the royal blue sheath dress that I knew was her favorite because she wore it often.

  Gwen Yadava was a striking woman of Indian descent with long thick black hair, gorgeous dusky skin, and big green eyes. I knew she was in her early forties, but you couldn't tell by looking at her. She had a timeless grace and beauty to her that made figuring out her true age difficult. Sometimes I had a hard time believing she had a twenty-year-old son. She was very competent at her job, and somehow managed to put up with my obsessive control issues and demanding perfectionism. No one else ever lasted a month until Gwen. I couldn't run my businesses without her, or my life for that matter.

  I sighed deeply. I could tell it was going to be a long day already. "Lay it all out for me."

  She nodded brusquely. "The pro
moter had to push the meeting up an hour and a half, which coincides with the waitstaff interviews this afternoon. The alcohol delivery to Désir Dangereux never showed up this morning, so we need to put that fire out first so they can open on time tonight."

  She continued on with a bunch of other little details that required my attention. I started to feel overwhelmed and anxious as tension began to tighten the muscles across my upper back. I'd already exercised and done my yoga this morning, but suddenly it felt like I'd done none of it. Even after all these years, I still got an itch for the euphoric oblivion of heroin when I felt stressed like this, and back in the day these were the times I'd go looking for a hit. A deep craving fell over me, and just thinking about using had fear coursing through me with icy tendrils of panic.

  Shit, was Scott right? Was this just another heroin craving like I dealt with everyday for the last eight years, or the first stirrings of a full-blown relapse? Heroin was the second love of my life, and I'd used it as a crutch to get through the darkest most painful time of my life when my first love walked out on me twelve long years ago.

  My life had been an uphill battle all alone ever since. Leaving heroin behind had been just as hard for me as truly having to deal with the pain of her leaving me when I finally stopped using. Both left me scarred and broken, inside and out. I'd slowly and painfully managed to put the pieces of myself that were left back together again after all these years. Going back to using would only lead to total self-destruction.

  Gwen continued talking, oblivious to the jumbled mess I was dealing with inside my head. "...so if I reschedule the interviews or the promoter, you can get back on-"

  "You do the interviews," I suddenly blurted out in a panicked tone, interrupting her mid sentence.