Page 38 of My Puckin' Luck
Anastasia
He’s sleeping like a baby. A big, huge, baby-man. A part of me wants to understand and feel compassion for whatever he’s going through. Another part of me wants him to grow up. All of me worries whether we can survive this.
I kiss him softly. “I’ll see you later.” He doesn’t move.
With a glare toward the menacing drawer as I walk out, meant for the woman and baby holding his heart and soul in their hands, I’ve never been more jealous in my entire life.
18
CANNOT COMPETE
ANASTASIA
It’smy big night and I should be excited. Finally, the movie premier ofA Little Luck at Christmasis here. After a grueling day of interviews and pretending that everything with me is just peachy, on my ride home, every inch of me aches, filled with dread at seeing Saint again.
He didn’t answer my calls and texts all day. I left little in the way of voice and texts, simply begging him to talk to me. I have no idea what to expect, as I make it home from the hair salon, where the women worked and tamed my thick hair into a softly swept updo, and caked on the makeup to make the purple bags under my eyes go away. Miracle workers.
Before I get dressed, I search for him, knowing where he’s likely to be. I peek my head through the porthole door, confirming my suspicions. There he is, sprawled on the Adirondack chair of his rooftop sanctuary. Alone, like the broody man prefers.
An empty bottle of whiskey sits on the side table, and next to it, the green rabbit’s foot on a key chain that looks like it’s been manhandled way too much. In his hand, a paper looks almost ready to drop to the floor.
Thinking he’s passed out, I slowly drag it from his grasp and study it carefully. It’s a program of some kind for a memorial service. The date strikes me—Held today?
I cut a sharp glance at him. Is this where he was all day?
The ten-year memorial was for Lilah and baby St. James. I can only guess this was his wife and baby. Married once and lost them? I shiver, suddenly cold as if ghosts are nearby, and they are. Haunting Saint for the rest of his days. My heart cries for him.
He stirs.
I startle and replace the program in his hand.
“Anastasia?”
“Hi. I-I came to see if you were ready to go to the premier. I thought you were passed out again.”
“Not as drunk as last night. I don’t think.” He slurs his words and sets the program on the arm of the chair.
“Well, I need to go. The car with Nana should arrive any minute.” I leave him be, hoping for a fast exit. After wishing for the truth, now that I have it, I’m not sure I can deal with it.
“Wait. I’m coming. Give me a few minutes to shower and change.” He sits up, elbows on knees, hands rubbing his face.
“You don’t have to.” My eyes shift between him and the program.
He notices my gaze and shakes his head. “You saw that, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Why didn’t you just tell me about her?”
He scoffs. “It’s the anniversary of the accident. Lilah was m-my wife. She was pregnant with our baby when it happened, the night of our wedding. She left with her brother to go pick up more alcohol. He was driving when they got hit. He walked away, they didn’t.”
Now he spills it all, almost stoic, when we’re supposed to leave in a few minutes. But finally hearing the truth from him,my heart breaks. The suffering he must have gone through all this time…
“I was invited by her family to attend a memorial for her at the cemetery. That’s where I was today. When I got home, I came up here to clear my head, but one drink led to… I guess I lost track of time.”
“If only you had opened up. I would have droppedeverythingto be there with you today, so you wouldn’t have had to face this alone,” I explain. I rub my arms, the late November breeze a sign of seasons changing, fall to winter. Are Saint and I changing too, from whatever romance I thought we were in to whatever this is right now? I swallow down the truth, but it comes right back up. “Saint, I don’t know if I can compete with your memories of them. They have such a hold on you.”
“I’ve never asked you to.” He scowls and stands, and in one step he’s in front of me, taking over rubbing my arms, but swaying like he’s about to stumble. The strong scent of alcohol tumbles toward me. He’s in no condition to escort me tonight.
I put my hand up against his chest to prevent him getting closer. “They’ll always come between us, won’t they?”
