Now and forever, p.8
Now & Forever, page 8
“Cassie.” James embraced her. Gwen was going to be sick, and the alcohol was not helping that conundrum. “How’s Patrick? What happened?”
“He… I don’t know… he just… wasn’t well all of a sudden, and when I took his temperature…”
Sarah Welsh approached them with the haughty demeanor of a woman who knew better than anyone else in the room. That included the nurse at her station, and the doctor shuffling down the hall to check on a different baby in the NICU. “Patrick had a bit of a fever, and we thought it best to bring him into the hospital for a checkup. I’m sure everything will be fine.” She rubbed James’s arm with a smile, as if he were her son-in-law. Gwen, meanwhile, stayed far out of everyone’s way. She didn’t want them smelling the alcohol on her breath.
“What if I… what I got him sick…” Cassandra clasped her hands over her face and flung herself into James’s arms. Nah. Gwen was definitely going to be the sick one if she didn’t get her ass to the women’s room in thirty seconds.
She attempted to wash the club and the alcohol off her body. Luckily, she carried a travel toothbrush set in her purse, and by the time she gave her teeth a good scrub and re-emerged from the bathroom, everyone had settled back down into the waiting room. Mr. Welsh fell asleep on the end of his couch while the nanny texted on her phone. Sarah and James flanked Cassandra on another couch, assuring her that she wasn’t a terrible mother and that babies got sick all the time. Yes, even the babies that grew up in the lap of luxury.
She really loves that boy, I guess. Gwen knew that already, but seeing the tragically beautiful Cassandra Welsh sobbing over her child put some perspective into the hearts around her. I can’t fault her for that. Gwen could, however, fault the young mother for dragging James into this shitfest. If the boy wasn’t in danger of dying, did it really require his father to be there? A phone call in the morning should have been sufficient.
Not that Gwen was jealous or anything.
The doctor emerged ten minutes later with good news: Patrick had the flu, but to be on the safe side, he would like to keep the boy for the night to make sure he was hydrated and that his fever could safely come down.
“Things like these are so hard to prevent no matter how you slice it,” the genial doctor said to the group in the waiting room. “Patrick didn’t have his flu shot this winter, did he?”
“His pediatrician worried that he might be immunocompromised,” Sarah explained.
“That could do it. More than likely either yourselves or members of your staff brought it into the home. Boys Patrick’s age are quite susceptible to…”
Sarah interrupted him. “Everyone is required to have their shots before they work in my home. My husband has health issues of his own, and since Patrick was born, I’ve been extra diligent about making sure everyone…” she turned Irene, still texting. “Wait. Did you have your flu shot this year?”
“Uh…” The nanny looked up from her phone. “I… think so? I had some kind of shot before Christmas, Madam Welsh.”
“I knew it,” Sarah snapped. “That man you go gallivanting off to see on Tuesdays. He’s probably riddled with diseases.”
James intervened before the nanny could be embarrassed in the middle of a hospital waiting room. “It could’ve as easily been me.” Never mind Gwen knew for a fact that both she and James had their flu shots… it had been made very clear to them that nobody was visiting Patrick until needles were in arms. James had quipped that it might prevent him from getting the flu that year. Who knew!
“James…” Cassandra put her hands on his.
“Anyway,” the doctor motioned to a door at the end of the short hallway. “Now’s a good time to see him, Mr. and Mrs. Merange.”
Nobody corrected him. Not even Gwen, who swallowed a lump the size of her oncoming headache down her throat. James shared one exasperated look at her as he stood up, Cassandra’s hand still in his. The look was apologetic, but Gwen knew what it meant. “Sorry, hon. I’ve gotta do this. Be right back.”
Gwen didn’t bother closing the gap between herself and the Welshes. They likewise did not acknowledge her.
Nobody was forbidden from going up to the Patrick’s room door and stealing a peek. Gwen had no intention of doing that. It wasn’t her business. Plenty of people could line up in front of her to see her stepson.
She sat down on a chair on the far side of the room. Fifteen minutes later, she nearly fell asleep.
Suppose it wouldn’t hurt to go get a countdown to when we can go home…
She didn’t look at the Welshes as she tiptoed down the hall – well, flailed down the hall, because getting up on her heels after three shots of liquor and fatigue claiming her did not lend itself to tiptoeing – and quietly approached Patrick’s door. Gwen didn’t know what she expected to behold. A toddler sleeping in a hospital bed made for children his size. His parents quietly discussing what to do now that their son had survived his first real hospitalization since his birth.
Instead, Gwen saw something she knew she was never meant to see.
Both James and Cassandra stood over their son’s bed, silent and full of their private thoughts Gwen would never understand. Cassandra sniffed every few seconds, her red eyes and the tear stains on her cheeks begging someone to take pity on her. The infuriating part? Gwen genuinely did not believe Ms. Welsh did that on purpose. She was so absorbed in the well-being of her little boy that there was no space in her heart or head to seduce everyone into taking care of her.
That’s how she was. Gwen would never understand what it was like to be Cassandra. Cassandra probably barely understood it.
So why was Gwen so surprised to see James wrap his arm around the mother of his child and accept a sob to his chest.
No, it wasn’t the act that surprised her. James was such an empathetic dumbass that he would pick a crying woman off the street and give her a big hug and a wad of cash. That was supposed to be endearing about him. James shirking the mother of his own child, and the girl he once called his best friend, would have been more shocking.
What sliced Gwen open at the gut, however, was how perfect they looked together.
Was there a couple in town that looked more beautiful and natural than James Merange and Cassandra Welsh? No wonder everyone around them thought they would get married.
No wonder people looked at Gwen with shock and disbelief. It wasn’t her pedestrian background that made people reel. It was the fact she wasn’t Cassandra – not even a little bit, not even in the hair, the face, or the demeanor. James’s destiny had marked him as a fated match for a demure woman like Cassandra. The perfect foil to his outgoing yet lovable personality.
Gwen could easily see them as The Meranges, that well-welcomed union of two old families that were always meant to merge. The chuckles about Sarah and Albert would come full circle as their children married and accomplished what they never could in the eyes of the public. James would be the hardworking businessman as he prepared to take over his family’s company and continue to make millions of dollars a week. Cassandra would be the quiet socialite who heralded pet causes and raised her black-haired children to be as kind as their father and as sophisticated as her. How many kids could they have? Three? Four? James had the fortitude to take on a big brood, and Cassandra seemed the type to define herself by her family. The yearly family portraits would be the talk of the country club.
Where could Gwen possibly fit into that? She didn’t have that kind of bond with James. Nor did she look at children with the sort of gaze James begat his son.
I don’t want to see this… The reason Gwen had foregone visiting Patrick didn’t have much to do with how uncomfortable the Welshes made her, and everything to do with James’s destiny to be a dad one day. Where does that leave me?
Gwen put her hand on her stomach and pretended she didn’t have flashbacks to two years ago.
“Please don’t be sick outside of my grandson’s room.” Sarah Welsh approached from behind, keeping her voice down. “He already has the flu. He doesn’t need whatever you have.”
Gwen whipped her head around, ire burning from her throat to her eyes. “Trust me. I don’t want much to do with this.”
“Good Lord.” Sarah looked as if Gwen had doused herself in vinegar. “Are you drunk? You reek of liquor.”
“Didn’t drink any less than James.”
“I’ll pretend that was in English, and inform you that because your man can drink half the alcohol in the room and still stand up, doesn’t mean that it’s becoming of a lady.” Sarah sniffed, gazing into the room. “Not that I expect you to know much about being a lady.”
“You’re right. I don’t. I didn’t go to those fancy boarding and finishing schools.”
“Just the school of hard knocks, right?” That wasn’t true humor in Sarah’s voice, even though she chuckled. “It’s none of my business who the father of my grandchild cavorts with. He’s not married to my daughter, after all.” The way she gazed into the room dictated that she wouldn’t mind the idea, though. “But I will warn you that I will not tolerate any of this…” Sarah flicked her finger in Gwen’s direction, “around my young and impressionable grandson. I hold everyone who comes around him to a high standard.”
“Don’t worry about me.” Gwen turned away from the door before she was truly sick. “I have no intention of butting into your grandson’s life.”
“Curious how you’ll manage that, when James inevitably asks for visitation rights as the boy gets older.”
Gwen didn’t say anything.
“Or do you not plan on being around long enough for that to happen?”
There were a million words swimming in the back of Gwen’s head, but she knew none of them were good enough to speak her mind while putting Madam Welsh in her place. This woman was worse than a mother-in-law. She was a master manipulator. Were people like her even truly capable of love? Did she really love her daughter? Did she really love Albert? Or were they mere pawns to make her feel better, to give her a place in the world?
Where did James fall into Madam Welsh’s plan?
Gwen knew where she fell. Nowhere. If anything, Gwen was a hindrance to the master plan Sarah Welsh had concocted the moment she gave birth to a girl and her lover begat a boy.
It didn’t help that when Gwen glanced back in that room, she was met with every reason James should be with Cassandra instead of her.
Seven Years Ago, Part 2
Gwen emerged from the back room of the bar to find James there, again.
She shook her head in nothing but curious amusement. That guy showed up twice or thrice a week at the most awkward time. (Was it too much to ask to have no customers while Gwen cleaned up and prepped for the rush sure to come in the next two hours?) Usually, he kept to himself, but occasionally he made light conversation with her. That didn’t count the amount of times she glanced over her shoulder while she did some dishes or took inventory and caught him staring at her ass.
Typical. Men always stared at her ass. They often hit on her, too. It wasn’t a Saturday night unless Gwen made a pile of tips because she charmed the men that came into the bar into thinking they had even the slightest bit of a chance with her.
Okay, so sometimes they did. Gwen didn’t make a habit of it, but for the right guy, she was willing to go home and have a good time. Bonus points if he came into the bar again and continued to give her tips. As long as they didn’t think she was their girlfriend, all was good.
James was trouble.
Cute, charming trouble.
Their conversations over the past few weeks had revealed that he was in training to take over his family’s business, whatever it was. Once guys started talking about business, Gwen tuned them out. Blah, blah, blah. Stocks, bonds, buyouts, and mergers. Whatever. Sounded like a goofy ‘80s movie.
James was a goofy kind of guy. He may have looked like he stepped out of a men’s watch catalog – that wasn’t knocking his appearance, by the way – and was affable enough to joke around with, but every time James started saying something serious, he pulled back and turned it into a jest instead.
At least he was genuinely funny, and he didn’t rely on crass, offensive humor to get his points across. While most of those jokes weren’t fit for a kid’s ear, Gwen didn’t have to hear curse word after slur, and that was always a pleasant night at the bar.
That night, when she emerged to find her favorite customer waiting for her at the far end of the bar, she spared him a smile and approached with a slight wave of her hand. “Hey, stranger,” she said. “Get you the usual?”
“If the usual will make me forget that horrible meeting I had earlier.”
Gwen had a feeling it would, especially if she pumped it with a little extra liquor. “Bad day at the office again?”
“The worst. My dad is a tyrant. News at eleven.”
Chuckling, Gwen swiftly made his favorite drink using the same top shelf stuff he singlehandedly made them reorder more than once since he started coming around. “Your life is so hard. Mr. Trust Fund.”
“Hey, I work for that trust fund.” James winked at her when the glass appeared before him. “I work to keep my father happy. A happy father means a happy trust fund for many years to come.”
“Is that how they work? I wouldn’t know. I’m from scholarship country.” Gwen braced herself against the bar. She knew her breasts were pushed toward James’s face, but she had long since decided she didn’t care if he respectfully ogled her. The man paid her enough tips to make her think she was in one of those clubs, anyway. Might as well give him a little extra for his time.
“Of course it’s not how they work. But if I pretend it is, I can feel like I have more control over my fate.”
“Ah, yes, fate. Is that what keeps bringing you into my bar?”
“Why, Ms. Mitchell,” James said with a waggle of his eyebrows, “are you finally flirting back with me in earnest?”
She snorted. “You’d like that, I bet.”
“I mean, your lovely face and ability to banter with me is the second reason I keep coming back here.”
“Only the second?”
“The drinks are top notch, Gwen. I’m telling you, it’s amazing this place doesn’t have more customers.”
She laughed. “Wanna hear a secret? I don’t water your drinks down.”
She left him with that nugget as she walked away. She would have been disappointed if he weren’t staring at her ass.
James was the kind of customer Gwen appreciated while always keeping a careful eye on him. Guys like that? The ones with the big wallets and not afraid to drop in during the slow times to make light conversation and crack jokes? They usually wanted something. Namely, her.
Gwen had been dealing with guys like James for years, long before she started bartending full time. Apparently, she had a cool je ne sais quoi that made her popular with men of all types and backgrounds. Most of them weren’t worth her time. Occasionally, she picked up a temporary boyfriend or a one-night stand that was adequate enough for her to keep doing it. But there were some men that made her uneasy, and she wasn’t sure why.
Sure, creeps were creeps, and Gwen smelled them from a mile away. Those were the obvious ones. Sometimes guys were so good at hiding their creep levels that Gwen went out on dates and soon regretted it. After a few years of dealing with one creep after another, she was content to live the single life and ignore any guy who followed established patterns of behavior.
She couldn’t make out what kind of guy James Merange was.
Lovable buffoon that had a crush on her? Or a sinister playboy playing the long con? Some unholy mix of the two?
Gwen returned to the counter to find James glancing at her from his phone. Did he think she was fooling her with the old, I’m on my phone trick? The screen was black.
She was curious enough to ask him what his deal was, but knew better than to risk whatever professional bartender-client relationship they maintained. No matter how cute James was, Gwen was better off…
“Do you have a boyfriend, Gwen?”
Ah. There it was. His next move would be to hit on her.
A part of Gwen wanted to see where it went. It had nothing to do with his supposed money, either. (Gwen didn’t bother Googling him or his family until they started going out. What an eye opener that was…) James was intriguing, wasn’t he? Boyish charms encased in a mature, masculine air. A youthful quality that clashed against his expensive clothes and a smart head for business. James wasn’t childlike or immature. He was in careful control of his humor. For all Gwen knew, these trips to the bar were one of his only chances to let his real nature shine. That almost makes me feel special. He chose to be around her when letting off steam. Alone, but was he really alone when Gwen was only a shout away? They had casual conversations for weeks before taking it further.
Casual enough for him to ask if she had a boyfriend? Maybe.
“I’m single,” Gwen said, standing a few feet more than usual away from him. Survival instinct. James would either take the news graciously, or he would up the sleaze. As much as Gwen wanted to believe that James was different… she wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t. Life had jaded her.
James narrowed his eyes, sat back in his seat, and asked, “How?”
Crossing his arms was a nice touch, but Gwen wasn’t buying it. “What do you mean how? How what? Do I not have a boyfriend?”
“Yes. Unless you broke up with someone five hours ago, I’m not sure how you could possibly be single.”
“Like I haven’t heard this pickup line before.”
“Who says I’m trying to pick you up? I’m trying to understand how someone as nice and amiable as you is single.”
She snorted. “Not all of us want to be attached to the old ball and chain.”
“Who said anything about marriage? I’m talking about having a man who treats you right and puts that extra skip in your step.”
“And is easy on the eyes, I’m sure.”
