Chapter 17: Ava - Reckless Love

Jenny passes me another sample of the cologne fragrances the development department put together after our last meeting. The cedar and maple notes in the other versions have been good, but nothing is quite hitting.

I suck in a deep lungful of the new scent, and my knees go weak. They added citrus. I didn’t even suggest it, and the scent is so, so close to Stephen that I want to bathe in it.

“Oh, my god,” I moan. “This one.”

Jenny lets out a self-conscious laugh. “It’s tested well with our target demographic.”

“I don’t even care if it’s tested the highest. I need at least one bottle of this.”

“For your husband?” she asks, eyeing me.

Instead of answering, I take another deep lungful. It’s been two weeks since I saw Stephen, and I’m not sure I’ve taken a full breath during any of those days. Some part of me is subconsciously seeking him around every corner, every closed door, every tinted car window that resembles his. To know he’s back in my orbit, that I could crash into him again at any moment is both thrilling and exhausting.

But this smell is making all kinds of things so much better. If I could get myself off at all, I’d surround myself with this scent so I could breathe it in during each wave of my orgasm, just like old times.

Stupid and reckless, but the idea of it positively makes me tremble.

“Are things better at The Nile now for your husband?” I ask to drag myself back to the here and now.

Jenny perks up, clearly surprised that I raised it. But I’ve been subtly nagging Raul—sending him articles on how happy employees increase production and whatever else I can find that confirms that his inkling to be a total dick to everyone who works for him is actually wrong. So, so wrong.

“I’m not sure it’s going to get better anytime soon, if I’m honest.” Jenny holds out her hand to take the sample back, and I reluctantly place it in her open palm.

“Why’s that?” I ask.

Jenny eyes me, and she’s clearly weighing something. But she takes so long that I decide to settle another thing that’s been on my mind.

“When you talk to people who work for me, they’re happy, right?” I ask. Raul’s comment has been niggling at me even as I try to push him to change.

“You’re a fair boss,” Jenny agrees. “Some employers do a climate survey, if you want to get the worker sentiment. Of course,” she continues carefully, “you’d have to be prepared for whatever it says.”

“You mean people might not be happy.”

“You can never make everyone happy,” she says. “That’s just the reality. But I think putting out the survey gives people a chance to be heard. Then if you can implement some of the suggestions, that goes a long way too.”

Truthfully, HR did suggest a survey like that about a year ago, but when I mentioned it to Raul, he said it was a waste of company money because you could never make everyone happy. But I think Jenny’s take might be better than his. No, I can’t make everyone happy, but I could satisfy a few more or at least make some people’s lives better.

“I’ll look into that,” I say. “I’ve been doing a lot of reading about what makes a happy, productive workplace, and I want that for here.”

“You’ve got good bones at Reckless. The wages you pay are a great start,” Jenny says. “A few tweaks would probably make even more people satisfied.”

“So why do you think things are going to get worse at The Nile? Raul’s been doing the same reading as me.” Or I hope he has. He hasn’t said anything about the articles and videos I’ve been sending him.

“Has he?” Jenny lets out a little laugh of disbelief. “I suspect the message he’s taken from all of it is very different.”

“What’s that mean?”

Jenny sighs and purses her lips, clearly torn. “The workers are talking about mobilizing a strike.”

“A strike? But they just unionized.”

“According to my husband, the union coming in has only made Raul angry and bitter. It’s not a good situation all around. Raul has told the union spokespeople that he’ll bring in scab workers if they strike. My husband says it’s going to get nasty,” Jenny says.

“Raul knows they’re going to strike?” All of this is news to me, and I’ve even been asking him how things have been at work. I haven’t been indifferent. I’ve been trying. My solution to bettering my relationship with Raul and improving my feelings about my marriage had been to try harder. If my son and my company were the collateral damage, I couldn’t just give up.

“He really doesn’t talk to you?”

“When we got married, I agreed to stay in my own lane—which is here—and to not interfere in his lanes.”

“I guess if that works for you both…” Jenny gives me a slight smile.

It used to. Or maybe it never did. I’m not even sure what to say.

“I’ll keep talking to him about fair practices,” I say. “I can’t guarantee it’ll matter.”

Jenny gives me an appraising look. “Turning over a new leaf?”

“I’ve been feeling differently about a lot of things lately,” I say, keeping my voice light even as my stomach churns with exactly how true that statement is. “Waking up, maybe.”

“There will be a lot of people who’ll be happy to hear you’re standing with The Nile employees.”

A chill races across my skin when I realize that might get back to Raul. It’s one thing to send him articles and videos and to talk to Jenny, but it’s quite another to speak out against him in any sort of public way.

“Working behind the scenes, I might be able to make a difference. You never know.”

“I’ll get a test bottle of this fragrance made,” Jenny says, wiggling the small sample she brought to my office. “I’ll have it sent up as soon as it’s ready.”

As my office door clicks closed behind her, I wonder how long it’ll take before I get yanked into the frontlines. My goal was to be a better person, more present, to grow my relationship with Raul instead of letting it wither and die.

Now, I fear I’ll end up at war with my husband.

* * *

Landon rushes into my arms at the end of his school day, and I have to admit that I missed picking him up consistently during the weeks we had security. I loved the evenings in our house with Stephen, but the pure joy on my son’s face when he runs out of the schoolyard and sees me waiting is worth cutting out of work early at least once a week. That’s what I decide in that moment as I hold him close—just because he’s in school, I’m not going to forget that we’re each other’s sun, moon, and stars.

“Can we go somewhere?” Landon asks when I finally set him back on his feet and lead him to our car.

“Like where?” I ask, already mentally going through all our usual places.

“Where’s Stephen? Can we go see him?”

I let Landon clamber into the back seat, and I wait for him to be buckled in before I get into the driver’s spot. “I don’t know where he is,” I admit. “He doesn’t work for us anymore.”

“What about his house? Where’s his bed?”

I stifle a laugh at Landon’s question. In his mind, everyone has a place to sleep, and whenever I’ve been vague about where we might find someone or something, he asks where the person or animal or object sleeps. It’s the cutest quirk.

The steering wheel is warm from the sun, and I flex my hands around it. We could go see Stephen’s parents, and Stephen might be there.

“Do you know where he sleeps?” Landon prods again.

“I do,” I admit. “I’m just taking a minute to think.”

“About how to get there?”

“We could…” Even as I start to frame it, I know my suggestion is the worst idea, but the chance to possibly, maybe see Stephen is too much to resist. I mean, this wasn’t my idea. “We could go see Stephen’s parents, who live in the same building as Stephen, and maybe Stephen will be there if we’re lucky.”

“Yes,” Landon says, pumping his fist.

“We can’t stay long,” I warn, although I’m not even sure what a short time frame looks like. His parents seemed quite happy to have me barge into their home the last time I did it. Maybe they’ll welcome the company.

Landon chatters about his day at school while I navigate us back to the middle-class neighborhood where Stephen took us once. I have to circle the block twice before I’m confident that I’m choosing the right driveway.

At the door, Landon is practically vibrating with excitement when I knock. I’m not at all surprised when the woman who answers is wearing scrubs. She’s not the same one as the last time I was here, and I’m about to introduce myself when a male voice from inside calls out, “Send Ava and her son in.”

In the entryway, we shed our shoes and follow the nurse into the main living area. Stephen’s dad, Walter, is in a recliner, and his mother, Lorraine, is on the couch again.

“What brings you here?” Walter asks, swiveling the chair to take us in at the doorway.

“We were in the neighborhood,” I say. “Landon was hoping Stephen would be home.”

“No such luck,” Lorraine says. “He’s working long hours. You know how it is.”

I do, but I hate that he’s working those same hours for other people.

“Sit down,” Walter says, gesturing to the couch. “No need to hover. You’re welcome to have a visit.”

I usher Landon around the L-shaped couch, and then we both perch on the opposite side from Lorraine. “How did you know it was me at the door?”

“Stephen had this new-fangled thing installed,” Walter says, holding up a mini-iPad style of device. “Got cameras all around the outside of the house now.”

“Boy’s paranoid,’ Lorraine says. “We’ve got nothing worth stealing.”

“Maybe Stephen’s taken on a dangerous client?” I say, but the idea makes unease snake down my spine.

“Wouldn’t say.” Walter holds up the device again. “I quite like it. Even little animals set off the recording sensor. For someone who can’t get out much, it’s amazing.”

“Gave Vanessa one of those tablet devices to monitor cameras around her place, and he’s got one too,” Lorraine says. “Seems a bit much. The only people who go in and out of any of the other doors are Stephen and Vanessa. Deliveries, salespeople, friends, and relatives—they all come through our front door.”

“Vanessa and Stephen have their own entrances?” I ask.

“Round back,” Walter says. “Our apartments are connected—Vanessa over there,” he points to the left wing of the house, “and Stephen over there,” he points to the right, “and us in the middle.”

“Mom,” Landon says, tugging on my arm.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say. “Landon, these are Stephen’s parents. Lorraine and Walter, this is Landon.”

“Nice to meet you, young man,” Walter says. “I’m always giving Stephen a hard time about having kids of his own soon.”

“Do you think that’s…” The last word sticks in my throat, and I force it out, “likely?”

“He works too much to even meet anyone,” Lorraine says.

“Is that checkers?” Landon whispers, staring at a small table near Walter’s chair.

“It is checkers,” Walter says with a chuckle. “Do you play? Sometimes my kids still play with me.”

“I just learned,” Landon says. “Can we play?”

“You’ll need to bring the board around,” Walter says. “I haven’t got the mobility to do it.”

The nurse and I angle the table around, and we draw a second chair forward to face Walter for Landon to use.

I watch them for a moment, and my throat tightens at the realization that this is another thing Landon misses out on because of who his father is, who I married—attentive grandparents.

“Do your parents spend much time with him?” Lorraine asks, nodding toward Walter and Landon.

“No,” I say, my tone wistful. “As a baby, yes, but now that he’s older…”

“Shame,” Lorraine says. “I often think about how life doesn’t always give us what we want most.”

“Yours is grandchildren, I take it?”

She sighs. “Since Stephen’s come back from that overseas job, he’s different. Probably the accident, but I can’t see him having kids now. Too focused on climbing the ladder at Tucker Securities. And Vanessa’s still got big dreams, even if she pretends she doesn’t.”

“I heard Stephen’s accident was bad,” I hedge, sure I shouldn’t be prying but unable to help myself.

“Almost died,” Lorraine confirms, her voice growing thick. “I don’t know all the details. Stephen’s not allowed to talk about it, but Owen Tucker did something wrong. Felt guilty as hell about it. That’s all I know.”

Saying that to anyone—especially someone like me—seems slanderous if Owen’s concerned about his company’s reputation. However, giving Stephen a stake in said company makes him even less likely to say a peep. They win or lose together.

“You play like Stephen used to as a kid,” Walter says with a chuckle.

“Stephen taught Mom and then Mom taught me,” Landon says.

“Speak of the devil,” Walter says as the tablet beside him lights up. “Barely nightfall and he’s already home. A bit unusual.”

My heart starts to race, and suddenly, I’m not so sure that coming here was a good idea. While I wanted to see Stephen, I’m almost positive he won’t be pleased to see me here.

“Landon, we should go,” I say, rising from the couch. “We don’t need to take up any more of Lorraine and Walter’s time.”

The sound of the front door opening causes a sweat to break out across my palms. Coming here was a mistake.

“But Mom, I’m winning. Can’t I finish the game?”

Stephen appears, his shoulders filling the doorway, and a shiver of awareness runs down my spine. I shouldn’t want him with such a ferocious need, but I do, as though my body has finally remembered what it’s like to need someone again.

He’s in a well-fitted suit, and the furrow in his brow confirms that he’s not pleased I’m here.

“Are you okay?” he asks me, scanning my appearance. Then his gaze flicks to Landon. “Your son is okay?”

“We’re okay,” Landon pipes up before moving another checker. “Your dad says I play just like you, and I’m winning!”

He grimaces and shoves his hands into his suit pants’ pockets. “Can I speak to you outside?”

“Can I finish my game?” Landon asks.

“We were just leaving,” I say, drawing my purse close to my side.

“You can finish your game,” Stephen says to Landon. “I need to speak to your mom for a minute. Dad, send him out when you’re done.”

“Will do,” Walter says, his gaze flicking between the two of us with a curious, concerned edge.

“Stephen, I—”

“Outside,” he says, stepping away from the doorway to let me slip past into the main hallway.

I shove my feet back into my high heels, and I open the door to escape. He doesn’t put his shoes on, just steps out behind me in his socked feet, and then he draws the heavy door closed. Maybe he’s going to yell at me. That rarely used to happen, but it feels like something he might do now. Barely leashed tension vibrates off him.

“You’re really okay?” he asks me, scanning me from head to toe again.

“Yes, I just…”

“I don’t understand what you’re doing here.”

“Landon wanted to see you.”

Stephen swallows and then runs a hand down his face. “You can’t just stop by to see me or my parents or anyone in my family.”

“I didn’t mean any harm. Your parents seemed… They were happy to see us.”

“Come on, you’re not this naïve.” His frustration is clear. “You’ve never been this naïve.”

“Landon doesn’t have a lot of positive male—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that.” He shakes his head. “Logan fucking Bishop is his uncle—the best player in the World Hockey League who adores your sister. Brice Summerset, a literal prince who does a lot of philanthropic work, is his uncle. Nathaniel, who volunteers his time for countless charities, is also his uncle. Gage, for all his problems when he was younger, also seems to have a pretty stable life now. He has positive role models in abundance outside your home. What you just tried to say is bullshit, and we both know it.”

“Okay,” I say, and my throat is tight with tears. “Okay. Maybe I need you in my life.”

“You’ve survived the last six years just fine without me.”

“Survived, yes. But that’s not really much of a life, is it?”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he meets my gaze again, determination coats him. “You cannot just stop by. That’s not who we are anymore. You coming here with your son doesn’t look right, and anything that raises the eyebrows of the wealthy on this island puts my company and my reputation in danger.” The door opens behind him. “Don’t do this again,” he says in a harsh whisper, intended only for my ears. “Hey, buddy,” he says, turning around and lifting Landon into his arms. “Did you win?”

“I did.” He wraps his arms around Stephen’s neck and hugs him tight. “I miss you.”

Stephen cradles him close, but he doesn’t tell him he misses him back, even if his embrace says it anyway.

“School’s going well?” he murmurs instead.

“Yep,” Landon says, drawing back to put his hands on either side of Stephen’s face. “I think I could beat you at checkers too.”

“Maybe someday, we’ll find out.”

“We should get going, Landon,” I say with a catch in my voice. No part of me wants to leave.

Stephen sets Landon down, and he rushes toward the car without me. I catch Stephen’s gaze one last time, and he says, “I meant what I said.”

Then he turns and goes back into the house without casting me another glance.