Stella stood and paced the room. “And so the moral of the story is I should tell Brandon how I feel so I don’t live with the same regret, right? Is that why you told me this…this little fable so I don’t make the same mistake you did?”
Gloria stood and wrung her hands. “Honey, I…at the time I thought I was making the right decision.” She paced the floor, alternating between sniffing and running her hands through her hair. “I was so young, and I didn’t really have anyone. Your grandparents had kicked me out of the house, so I went to live with my grandma three hours away. And then after you were born, I was exhausted and overwhelmed.” She pinned Stella with watery, sorrowful eyes. Stella bit back a lump of remorse for lashing out at her mom. “Honestly I never meant for it to be this way. I did the best I could with you, Stella. You have to know that.”
Stella’s head jerked up. “The best you could, Mom? Really? Dragging me all over the country every few months so I never made any friends was the best you could do? Slipping into a three-week depression after another man walked out on you was the best you could do?”
Gloria’s red-rimmed eyes widened, showcasing disbelief at Stella’s accusations. But how could she not know? How could she have been so oblivious all those years? “Stella, what’re you talking about? That’s not how it was.”
“Wasn’t it, though? That may not be how you remember it, but that was my reality,” Stella continued. “You being emotionally unavailable for me when yet another loser took off. And then dragging me to another city with more empty promises that everything would be different. ‘You’ll see this time, baby,’” Stella repeated the same speech Gloria had given her over and over again. “‘It’ll all be different now.’ That’s what you used to say to me. But it never was, Mom. It was never different. It was always the same story no matter where we were. We’d be good for about a month, and then you’d shut yourself in your room for two days when another jerk-off left after getting what he wanted from you. And I was left to make my own dinners and walk to the bus stop so I could make it to my dance classes on time. Then I’d have to bum a ride home from a friend and have to lie to their mom about where you were.” Stella plugged on, ignoring the devastation on her mom’s face. “I knew, when I got to our apartment, I’d find you in the exact same position you’d been in when I left. Tucked under your covers with a half-drunk bottle of Scotch on the nightstand.”
Out of breath and drained from dredging up memories she swore she’d never unearth again, Stella jabbed her hands on her hips and slowly inhaled. Her heart was hammering in her throat, heating her cheeks and bringing forth the familiar bout of panic.
“Stella—” her mom whispered.
“And then,” Stella interrupted, “having to watch you parade around with Terry as I tried to hide my disgust when the creep had copped a feel in the kitchen the night before. Knowing I had to hide my feelings about him, because once he took off, you’d slip back into your shell like nothing else in your life mattered.” Stella swallowed when her voice broke. “Including me.”
Gloria reached for her with a trembling hand. Stella ignored her mother’s distress and stepped around her, snagging her purse off the floor. “I can’t talk about this anymore.” She opened the front door and tossed her mom one final look. “I want you gone when I get back.”
The door slammed behind her, shutting off her mom’s cry of despair.
Brandon drew his arms back over his head, gripping the golf club with two hands, and took one last look at the empty net on the other side of the yard. He brought his arms down in a wide arc and tagged the golf ball with a satisfying whack. And it went flying over the lawn. The little white ball landed in the net, creating a nice dent with a satisfying whoosh along with it.
“Not so bad,” he muttered to himself. He picked his bottle of beer off the deck railing and took a deep pull, then eyed Duke, who was stretched out on his side on the lawn. “What d’you think, bud? Pretty good for a non-golfer, huh?”
Duke thumped his tail on the grass in show of his support. Yeah, Duke was faithful like that.
Brandon replaced the bottle on the railing and picked up his golf club. Snagging another ball, he dragged the thing over and lined up another shot. This time he missed and the ball sailed into Virginia McAllister’s yard. He winced when he heard the ball land in the shrubs.
He hooked his club around another golf ball and braced his feet apart for another shot. He was just about to bring his arms back when Duke let out a deep bark.
Brandon kept the club over his head, not wanting to break stride for what was sure to be a money shot. “Hush,” was all he told the dog.
But Duke jumped up off the grass and barked again, this time with more enthusiasm. With a heavy sigh, Brandon dropped his arms. “Dude, do ya mind?” he asked the dog, and turned to see what had disturbed his otherwise introverted animal.
And froze when he laid eyes on Stella, standing just outside his sliding glass door, looking so damn lost and beautiful that the breath left his lungs.
“Sorry,” she blurted out. “I, uh”—she gestured behind her—“I rang the bell and no one answered, so I let myself in.” She replaced her two-handed grip on a gift bag with tissue paper sticking out of the top. “I saw your truck was here, so I took a chance.” She stroked Duke behind his ears after he’d finally made it up the deck stairs to greet her.
“It’s fine,” he told her.
Seriously? That’s all you can say?
She held up the bag. “I have a birthday gift for Matt. I was out and thought I’d drop it off.”
Brandon leaned the golf club against the railing. “But his birthday isn’t until next week.”
“I know,” she answered, still petting Duke’s head, whose eyes were probably rolling shut. “But I know how busy he is and I had a free moment, so I wanted to give it to him now.”
Brandon took the steps to the deck two at a time until he stood in front of her. “He’s not home. He’s at a friend’s house studying for a test.”
Stella nodded and dropped her gaze to Duke, who was staring up at her with half-closed eyes while she rubbed one ear and then the other.
“Everything okay?” Brandon asked her after noticing her bloodshot eyes, swollen lips, and tear-streaked cheeks. Brandon wanted to pummel the person who’d sucked the life out of her clear blue eyes and replaced it with misery.
Her gaze flickered to his long enough to know she was about to lie. “Sure.” She held the bag up. “I’ll come back next week and give it to Matt.”
Brandon took the bag from her fingers. “You can just leave it here and I’ll give it to him.”
She blinked at him, sweeping her dark lashes down long enough to display exhaustion along with whatever else had happened to her. “All right,” she answered.