I clutch the cheap phone tighter, my heart racing. I can’t believe he’s here, in California. That he came for me despite everything. “I should tell him to kick you off my property.”
An irritated sound leaves him. “You know you don’t mean it. Come on, Syl. Call off your watchdog.”
“Let me talk to Roland.”
Spencer pauses for a moment. “You promise you’ll tell him it’s okay that I’m here?”
“Just let me talk to him.”
A low growl escapes him and then Roland is back, his breathing accelerated, amplified as he exhales into the phone. “I’ll kick his ass if you want me to, Miss Lancaster. Just say the word.”
A laugh escapes me and I cover my lips with my fingers to contain it. “That won’t be necessary, Roland. Go ahead and let him come to the house.”
My groundskeeper grunts. I can tell he’s not pleased with my answer. “I’m following him. And I’ll stick around until he leaves.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I start, but he interrupts me.
“I’m doin’ it.” The stubborn tone in Roland’s voice is one I decide not to argue with.
“See you soon,” I say cheerfully instead, and end the call.
Men. They go feral around me for some reason, and I don’t understand it. There’s nothing between Roland and me. He’s more like an overprotective father—something I’m not familiar with.
A rasp of a laugh leaves me and I shake my head. It’s like I can’t help but insult a random family member every chance I get.
Realizing that Spencer will be here in a matter of minutes and I have no idea what I look like, I run into the house, ducking into the guest bathroom, so I can check out my reflection. I wrinkle my nose at what I see, hating how messy my hair is thanks to the ocean wind. I run my fingers through it, licking my lips. I have no makeup on—what’s the point? My cheeks are pink, thanks to all the sun I’ve been getting lately. Plus, I’m not drinking.
I always look better when I lay off the alcohol.
I’m heavier than I’ve ever been, which isn’t saying much. But I do look different. Some might even say healthier.
Not my mother though. She’d be disappointed she couldn’t see my collarbones protruding. The hollows of my cheeks.
Mommy gets off on skinny, skeletal Sylvie.
I hear the gentle rumble of an expensive engine creeping up the drive and my heart is in my throat, making it hard to swallow. To breathe. Knowing that Spencer is here, that I’m about to see him again. I blink at myself in the mirror, my chest rising and falling rapidly, nervous excitement running through my veins.
He came, I remind myself. Spencer may have walked away from me that night after Whit and Summer were married, but he’s here now.
That has to mean something.
Blowing out a harsh breath, I give myself a thumbs up and a grimace in the mirror, then march out of the bathroom, through the house and onto the front porch. Just in time to see Spencer roll up the driveway in his sleek black Audi, the engine purring. Roland is right behind him in his older model Ford truck, his blue ballcap pulled low, a grim look on his weathered face.
I wait anxiously, wringing my hands as Spencer cuts the engine. Gathers his things. Taking his time.
Driving me slowly out of my mind.
Roland leaps out of his car as if his butt is on fire, striding toward me so fast he’s directly in front of me in seconds. “Want me to call the police?”
“Absolutely not.” I slowly shake my head, glancing around him to watch as Spencer finally opens the driver’s side door of his vehicle. “It’s not necessary.”
Roland doesn’t know my whole story, but he knows some of it. That I’m a widow in hiding from my family and friends. Trying to get away from the incessant noise that is my life, and that I’m searching for peace. He’s been so good to me from the moment we met, and I appreciate how he checks up on me. Watches over me.
“Are you sure? That young man,” Roland jerks his thumb over his shoulder, “is kind of an asshole.”
I laugh, throwing back my head, letting the joy flow through me. No one could ever call Spencer an asshole. Not the Spence I knew. He was protective of me, watching over me.
Much like Roland does now.