161
I sit up, bathed in sweat, crying out in the darkness. I’m breathing rapidly with shallow gasps, my fingers gripping the sheets cruelly. My heart is beating fast and loud in my ears, fear gripping me as I come to and try to focus on my whereabouts. I was dreaming horrid, awful dreams.
What the hell?
I can’t even remember exactly. The dream is already starting to fade as my senses become fully alert. I look around, trying to regain calm from the surroundings, which are so different from where I was moments before in my dream, in Chicago, with my mother. We were fighting … no … talking. I remember the snarl of a face close up; I remember there was blood, but it’s hazy. My mother was sobbing, and then she wasn’t; darkness in the shadow enveloped us both and took her from me … lifeless. She fell to the ground at my feet, and I knew she was dead.
With shaking hands, I reach out to the lamp on the bedside table; with the merest touch, it instantly springs to life, Jake and his love of gadgets. I scan the room around me, grounding myself again and taking slow, deliberate breaths. It’s six in the morning. I see my phone on the docking port nearby; impulsively, I pick it up and dial my mother’s landline, ignoring that it’s only 5.00 a.m. in Chicago. My hands are shaking as I try to slow my erratic pulse. After a long wait, she finally picks up.
“Hello?” A grumpy, sleepy, slow voice brings me more relief than I ever knew was possible, and my body sags.
“Mom?” I breathe softly, using the term I haven’t uttered since I was seven years old, overwhelmed and not myself.
“Emma? Is that you?” Her voice sounds instantly more alert and awake as it dawns on her it’s me. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I just … I dreamt you died,” I answer and break into a sob, then there’s nothing but silence between us; I know she must feel awkward. She doesn’t know emotional Emma; I don’t think she’s seen her for a very long time. She’s no idea how much I’ve changed, what Jake has done to me, or even that I’m with him. The last time we saw one another ended badly, and she’s probably wondering what’s changed.
“I’m fine, darling. I’m just bobbing along. You know … getting on with things.” She sounds wary. She doesn’t know what to say, which helps me reel back the tears and regain my equilibrium to the Emma she’s more familiar dealing with. My mother isn’t one to be overly emotional, and she sounds uncomfortable at the evidence I am.
“I think I might come home for a few days … with Jake,” I add, surprising even myself. Knowing her, she won’t even ask why I would bring him.
“Oh, that would be lovely … for both of you to come. He’s done so much for me, and I would like to say thank you in person,” she responds, beaming down the phone. The last time she saw him, it was obvious that she was enamored with the impressive Carrero heir. She doesn’t even ask about us or our relationship, just accepts that I’ll bring him. She doesn’t mention our last meeting. This is how she is; this is what she always does. My life is of no interest to her unless it impacts hers.
“I better go and let you sleep,” I finally add, my need to speak to her dissipating now, and that nudge of disappointment she always makes me feel grows steadily inside me.
I don’t know why I always delude myself that she will be different, that I’ll get some sort of emotion for once. The affectionate names are all just an act.
“Okay, sweetheart …” She pauses as though she wants to say more but doesn’t, then, “Just text me when you’re going to come, and I’ll get your old room ready.”
I say nothing, knowing we will stay in a hotel close by. I’ve too many harsh memories to stay there. We say our goodbyes, and I hang up, feeling only marginally better, a different kind of emotion waving through me now.
I sigh and send Jake a text for when he wakes up, but part of me hopes he awakens with the vibration of his cell. I need to hear him.
“We’re going to Chicago to see my mother. I finally bit the bullet and called her. P.S. I miss you xx.”
I slide my phone onto the bedside table and lie down reluctantly. Jake won’t be awake at this time; he can fall asleep anywhere and quickly. He’ll reply when he gets up and maybe call me. I settle into the bed, trying to get comfy, toss, and turn before I finally start drifting back off.
* * *
I wake slightly energized, knowing Jakes’s coming home today; it thrills me in ways I never thought possible. I feel like he’s been gone forever. I jump up and shower with renewed happiness, but then the memories of last night return, and thoughts of Chicago damp it down again. I’m not regretting calling my mother, but somehow, in the light of a new day, I regret saying I’m going back there. I know Jake doesn’t quite see my mother in the same positive light he used to, so maybe taking him with me isn’t a good idea after all.
Jake calls me a little after ten, seven in LA. He left it until after his gym workout and run time in case I was still asleep, and I’m ecstatic to hear his voice again.
“Hey, Bambina.” He’s happy, and I grin at his mere sound and melt at his usual affectionate term.
“Hey, sexy,” I giggle, elated.
“Did you miss me? I missed you last night.” His voice takes on a husky tone that sends shivers through me, and the sudden urge to have him wrapped around me claws at my chest.
“Of course not; I hardly noticed your absence,” I jest, and he laughs softly. He knows me better than that. I can’t get anything by him.
“I couldn’t sleep last night. I think I tossed and turned until almost three before I finally got some shuteye,” he says. “Think I was yearning for my live teddy bear.” There’s a smile in his voice.
“That’s odd; I woke up just after six with a horrendous nightmare, which was 3.00 a.m. your time,” I say. “I dreamed my mother died, and … Vanquis was here.” It comes out a little too shakily, as though I’m more upset about it than I am.
Maybe I am …
My hands are trembling at the memory.
“I wish I’d been beside you, dolcezza.” He sounds somber, his joyous tone dropping. “I hate that you woke up alone after that.”
“I don’t have nightmares when you’re here,” I add in haste to reassure him, my heart aching at the tone of his voice and the guilt he feels at not being here.
“I hate that leaving you means they come back, then. You stopped having your night terrors when we started sleeping together?” He sounds genuinely surprised.
“I guess. I haven’t had a dream like last night in weeks. And that one night, we shared a bed in Chicago? I didn’t have one then either,” I admit, my face flushing at the memory of that night and kissing him in his sleep. I still haven’t told him that I initiated it. Maybe I will; he’ll like that.
“It makes me happy to know that I keep them away, that I’m somehow protecting you from your past.” He sounds pleased, then his tone changes subtly, making me a little wary, “Is that why you called her? Why you want to see her?”
“Yes. You don’t think I should anymore?” I push gently.
“She’s still your mother. Maybe I don’t favor her as much as I did, but only you can choose your relationship with her.”
I can hear Daniel’s voice in the background and Jake telling him playfully to get lost.
“Do you need to go?” I ask, disappointment washing over me as he sighs lightly.
“Yes, but I’m not going to. Stay on the phone, baby.” The noises I hear from the phone suggest he’s getting up and moving around, maybe putting his shoes on. “Daniel is eager to get breakfast, but not here; the menu is as bad as the room,” he jests, and I conjure up images of fancy seafood platters and elaborate poached egg dishes. Jake hates fussy food displays; he likes food to look like food, plain and simple. “I can still talk to you while I walk, though.”
“Do you think you’ll get everything sorted today?” I know I should ask. After all, it’s why he’s out there, but even uttering the words causes me a great amount of heartache. Life would be perfect if it weren’t for this little hurdle.
“I hope so. I don’t want to go back and forth with lawyers for much longer. I’m not leaving until some legal agreement is reached regarding money, visitation, and boundaries.” His voice goes quiet as he moves the phone away; I can almost imagine him sliding his jacket on. I close my eyes to see him in my mind’s eye, aching to touch that face and those biceps.
“You think she’s ready to agree?” I force myself to open my eyes again and not get lost in the memory of his touch.
“Yes. I told her that if she wants me to have any relationship with the baby, she needs to back off because my love life has nothing to do with her.” He comes back clearer and louder, the phone back where it belongs. “I’m not going there with her calling the shots on this. I made it clear that it goes my way, or I’m on the first flight home.” He sounds determined, typically dominating Carrero on a role. Marissa has no idea what she’s trying to go up against.
“I forgot you are the king of negotiation,” I laugh. More accurately, he’s the king of manipulation and getting his own way.
“Right, Bella, I’m heading into the elevator, so I’m going to lose you. Ti Amo, piccola ragazza,” he says, so seductively my insides tremble.
“I love you, too. Bye, Jake.” I smile down the phone as he utters his goodbyes, and then he’s gone.
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