Contents
Title Page
Chapter One: Claire
Chapter Two: Damien
Chapter Three: Claire
Chapter Four: Damien
Chapter Five: Claire
Chapter Six: Damien
Chapter Seven: Claire
Chapter Eight: Damien
Chapter Nine: Claire
Chapter Ten: Damien
Chapter Eleven: Claire
Chapter Twelve: Damien
Chapter Thirteen: Claire
Chapter Fourteen: Damien
Chapter Fifteen: Claire
Chapter Sixteen: Damien
Chapter Seventeen: Claire
Chapter Eighteen: Damien
Chapter Nineteen: Claire
Chapter Twenty: Damien
Chapter Twenty-One: Claire
Chapter Twenty-Two: Damien
Chapter Twenty-Three: Claire
Chapter Twenty-Four: Damien
Chapter Twenty-Five: Claire
Chapter Twenty-Six: Claire
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Damien
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Claire
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Damien
Chapter Thirty: Claire
Chapter Thirty-One: Damien
End Notes
This Mess We’re In
by
Scarlett Grove
***
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Acknowledgments
Thank you to my amazing beta readers for all your help and support!
Chapter One: Claire
A person can only take so much chaos before she begins to break. I’d been strong. I tried to do the right thing. Some people told me I was doing a good job. Others looked at me as if I had made a gigantic mistake. I didn’t know which to believe. All I could do was keep going.
Sometimes, even I had to get away. To breathe. To feel anything but agonizing pressure and gut-clenching shame.
The damp scent of redwood and ocean filled my lungs as I pushed open my car door. I hauled Rose from her car seat and maneuvered her into a soft baby backpack slung over my shoulders. Bradly, my dog, whizzed around the parking lot like a maniac on speed. I tugged the leash from under the backseat of my piece-of-crap station wagon.
The car had belonged to my mother. Before.
I caught sight of myself in the window reflection as I shut the door. The pudginess in my face was still evident even a year after Rose’s birth. Long light-chestnut hair tumbled around my shoulders, and my green eyes were concealed behind cheap black sunglasses that made me look younger than my twenty years.
I felt so much older.
“Ready, baby?”
My daughter giggled and clutched a chunk of my hair. Whistling for Bradly, I hiked into the towering redwoods that thrust upward like high-rise buildings, kissing the azure sky.
Bradly sprinted ahead of me, chasing a squirrel up a gigantic trunk. His shaggy black and white fur stiffened with excitement. He was part collie, part mutt, and all rascal. I thought about putting him on a leash, but decided against it. Only one motorcycle had been in the parking lot at the remote hiking trail. It was unlikely I would see anyone. I chose this trail for a reason. I wanted to be alone.
The responsibilities on my shoulders were too heavy for a twenty-year-old. When I let my guard down for even a minute, I felt as if the sorrow and stress I kept pent up inside might burst out of my eyes and leave permanent streaks down my face.
I took a deep breath. The smell of the forest enchanted me. A twig cracked beneath my foot, and I heard a bird break from the bush and launch into the sky with a shriek. I really should have put Bradly on a leash. But I was sick of being responsible, and I let my mutt run free.
The air that deep in the old growth was magical. It was a mixture of damp moss, fragrant bark, and the salty sea life of the ocean. Massive red trunks the width of a truck flanked the trail. I loved that place. I loved the enormous sword ferns you could hide inside. I loved the hanging moss and tangled ivy. I loved the way the water dripped down a rocky ledge over exposed roots and fledgling plant life. I had missed the forest even during the short six months I’d spent in San Francisco.
Relaxation flowed into my blood, and I felt my nerves unwind. In my relaxed state, my mind wandered, and I let myself think about what might have been. Two and a half years ago, after I graduated high school, I had a full-ride scholarship to a prestigious fashion design school in San Francisco.
I loved to make clothes. I’d been making clothes since I was twelve, on my mom’s old sewing machine. By the tenth grade, I could make my own patterns. A few girls in school even wore my dresses to the prom. That helped me win the scholarship. I was practically already a professional by then.
That was all gone now.
I sighed and continued down the path, anticipating the first glimpse of the ocean. I could feel the cool breeze blowing up from the beach. Distracted by the beauty of my surroundings, I forgot about the past and focused on the here and now. Rose’s weight on my back was a comfort, and her gripping little hands gave me a strange sense of security.
As I moved through the clearing toward the view, Bradly barked threateningly at something behind a downed redwood.
“Bradly,” I called. “Come here. Stop it now!”
Bradly continued barking. I tried to see what had gotten him so riled up and peered around the gnarled, exposed roots that rose almost ten feet into the air.
A man, in his mid-twenties, stepped from behind the tree and glared down at Bradly. I shouted at my dog, but I was too distracted by the stranger’s absorbing presence. He wore black cargo shorts and a white tank top that hugged his toned stomach and chest. I could see the ripple of his abs and the rise of his pecs beneath the thin fabric. His arms bulged with toned muscle, and tattoos ran from his wrists to his shoulders.
He frowned at Bradly, but his crystal blue eyes were youthful and kind. He had short dark brown hair, and a day’s dark stubble covered his strong jawline, inching toward his high cheekbones.
“You should have your dog on a leash,” he said.
“Bradly, come here!” I knew I looked like a spaz, shouting at my dog. Bradly finally listened and cowered in front of me. I knelt down, my hair tangling in my face with my sunglasses. Rose shifted on my back. I could feel the guy’s eyes on me. He probably thought I was a complete dork.
“Sorry,” I stammered, trying to regain some sense of self-respect.
Once the dog no longer threatened his life, the mystery man seemed to relax. He held a sketchpad in his hand and flipped the pages with his fingers as he looked at me.
“It’s fine. I didn’t expect anyone to come by here.”
“Me either,” I said, stepping back and stumbling over a root. I nearly fell on my ass with my kid on my back. Tattoo Guy reached out and grabbed my arm, holding me steady until I had my balance. His touch sent a wave of energy up my arm and into my chest. I hadn’t felt that sensation in so long. I bit my lip and looked down at the ground.
“Easy there,” he said. His voice was husky and rich. I felt hot, like I needed to take off my hoodie.
“Thanks.” Bradly yanked my arm, wanting to chase something. I held him steady. “I love this place,” I said.
“Me too. I came here to relax and draw while I had the chance.” He bent the sketchbook in his hands. I felt a moment passing. I wanted to reach out to him, to know him somehow.
“I’m Claire,” I offered. “Claire MacKenna.”
“Damien Cruz.” He extended his hand, and I quickly shifted Bradly’s leash so I could take it.
The same electric sensation traveled up my arm as his big
hand gripped mine. I took a deep breath. The handshake was too short.
“Is that your baby? You look pretty young. Are you married?”
“She’s mine, and I’m not married. It’s a long story.”
I backed away, suddenly feeling vulnerable. I didn’t want to talk about it. We were the only two people in the huge forest, and I wasn’t in the mood to tell him my life story. I could barely deal with it myself.
“See you around,” I said, pulling Bradly with me.
“See you around,” he said, waving. I drew my eyebrows together and turned away. He was so damn hot. Sadly, I hadn’t been touched by a guy since before Rose was born. I certainly hadn’t felt that since before Rose was born. I could still sense the warmth of his hand holding mine.
I tugged Bradly and continued down the trail. I hadn’t been to the beach in a long time. My feet seemed to glide down the path. My head was in the clouds from the brief encounter with Damien Cruz. I wondered where he was from. I hadn’t seen him around town, and everyone knew everyone in Leggetville.
He was probably just some passing tourist on summer vacation. I would never see him again. A feeling of regret sunk in my stomach, but the last thing I needed in my life was a guy. I couldn’t deal with any more mess.
Rose’s dad had been my last mess. We’d known each other since we were kids. When we got older, we started going out. It had never been serious. I loved him, mostly like a friend, but I genuinely did love him. It wasn’t even until I came back from college to deal with my family that we did it. Yeah, you can get pregnant the first time. It happened to me.
I carefully maneuvered down the narrow natural steps that led to the beach. Anticipation rose in my chest, as I grew closer. I couldn’t wait to let Rose feel sand between her little toes for the first time.
Driftwood lay strewn across the wide, rugged beach. Big, salt-bleached logs littered the dark-gray sand like beached whales. I squinted into the glare for a place to unpack Rose. Near a patch of green and pink succulents, I tied Bradly to a heavy piece of driftwood.
With my dog secured, I sat and gently leaned backward into the succulents, unsnapping the baby backpack. I turned and picked her up, bringing her into an embrace.
Her sweet fragrance filled my nose as I held her. She pushed away, wanting to explore. Her blond hair curled around her ears, reminding me so much of her dad Jessy. She had Jessy’s round, happy face, his sparkling blue eyes, and the mischievous grin he always wore. I took a deep breath, holding back a sob.
Losing two people I loved so close together… It was too much.
I stood and let the backpack fall from my waist. I untied Bradly and took Rose’s little hand in mine, guiding her along the beach. I bent to watch her experience the funny feeling of wet sand in her toes. The tide was low and the breakers gently washed in and out. With Bradly’s leash in one of my hands and Rose’s hand in the other, we made our way down to where the ocean met the shore.
Cool water rose up Rose’s bare leg. She giggled at the sensation of the surging water on her skin, showing the few teeth she had in her pink gums. The sound of her laughter and the gleeful look on her face filled me with joy.
Bradly hopped around in the water, tugging to be freed. I wanted to let him go but didn’t want any more embarrassing encounters. I could sense Rose tire. I lifted her into my chest and let her legs dry against my bulky green sweatshirt. The sweatshirt had been Jessy’s. A skateboard company logo was scrawled across the chest, and the cuffs and hem were frayed from dozens of washings.
I had imagined wearing my own designs and chatting with artists in San Francisco by the time I was twenty. That wasn’t what I got. I took Rose back up the beach and tied Bradly to a log. I sat on the ground and tried to maneuver Rose into the backpack behind me. She cried and wouldn’t cooperate with me at all. Whenever I heard her cry, it felt like daggers piercing my soul. I couldn’t think. My brain almost literally went blank.
Getting the freaking backpack on was a hell of a lot harder than getting it off. It really took two people to do it right, but I didn’t have two people. I just had me.
“Need a hand?” a husky voice asked above me. I turned to face the voice. He stood in the glare of the sun, and I squinted up at him. It was Damien Cruz, coming to rescue me from the evil baby backpack.
“Fancy meeting you here. Are you stalking me?” I wasn’t sure why I said it. Irritation and embarrassment burned in my face.
I sat sprawled on the ground. I had wet sand all over my ugly old sweatshirt, and my hair plastered to my face. He chuckled — a tantalizing sound.
“Maybe. You’re totally stalkable.”
“Thanks?” I said in a questioning tone, not sure if I should take it as a compliment. I felt vulnerable before his overwhelming, masculine presence. I also felt completely unattractive.
“Let me help you. You seem stuck.”
The straps of Rose’s backpack twisted around my arms and stomach, and half were covered in sand. Bradly barked from his tether on the driftwood. My life. So fucking awesome. I must have looked like a massive reject.
“I guess. It would help me out a lot.” I reached around and picked up Rose. Her fussing melted my brain. I stood and the backpack fell over my hips. Holding her in one arm, I pulled a strap over my shoulder. Damien watched me. I scrutinized him briefly. Did I really feel comfortable letting him touch my kid? His full lips puckered, and he shifted from one foot to the other.
“Okay. I’m going to hand her to you. Sorry, she’s cranky. Just slip her legs through the holes and help me pull the other strap over my shoulder. Do you think you can do that?”
“Sure.” He put his sketchpad between his knees and held his big hands out to take the baby. He looked silly standing like that, and I felt relieved. I gently handed Rose to him, making sure he had her. When I was certain she was secure, I turned and held the backpack open with my hand. He carefully lowered her into the leg holes and supported her back while he pulled the strap around my shoulder. Once I had the strap, I snapped the locks closed across my chest.
“You’re my savior,” I said, turning around as I pulled my hair out of Rose’s grasp.
“All in a day’s work.” He winked. “Hey, I don’t want to sound like a stalker, but can I show you something?” He flipped through the sketchbook. The white paper fell open, and I glanced at the graphite marks. The glare of the sun reflected off the page, blinding me.
He tilted the sketchpad toward me. I could see a scene of me, Rose, and Bradly on the beach. It was so lifelike and angelically sweet. I blinked several times, not believing that anyone could perceive me that way. I usually felt like some kind of statistic, but he made me look like a Norman Rockwell painting.
“Wow. That’s gorgeous. You’re really talented. Like, really talented.”
“It’s the subject.”
I blushed, not knowing what to say. Most people looked at me like I was a mistake. So what if I had a kid? I had the right to keep her. She was mine.
“I want you to have it.” He ripped the page from his sketchpad.
“Thanks,” I said, genuinely grateful. I could look at it when I started to feel like a failure. I took the sketch and rolled it into the small pouch on the side of my baby backpack. Rose wailed. I seriously had to get her home. She needed to eat and nap. I bounced her up and down to sooth her quiet. “I’ve got to go. Are you on your way out or…”
“Not yet. I want to sketch the beach. Wish I’d brought watercolors, but I like to travel light when I ride my bike.”
“That was your bike up there?”
He nodded. Rose fussed, and she would embarrass the hell out of me if I didn’t start moving.
“Thanks again, Damien. I’ve got to get her back.” I gave him a little wave, untied Bradly, and turned to the trail leading up the sea bluff.
“Thank you, Claire,” he called after me.
Why was he thanking me? I didn’t do anything.
The hike back felt faster than the hike
to the beach. I ran everything I’d said to Damien over in my mind. All I did was keep my dog from eating him, and Bradly was more excitable than dangerous. That didn’t seem thank-worthy.
In the parking lot, the chrome of Damien’s motorcycle glinted in the fading sunlight. I imagined him straddling it and I quivered. Rose tugged at my hair and howled at me for stopping. Snapping away from my imagination, I loaded Rose and Bradley into the car.
Chapter Two: Damien
I watched her struggle up the bluff with her baby and her rowdy dog. I turned away, feeling my heart contract.
Poor girl.
She seemed so vulnerable out there all alone. I glanced back for one last glimpse before she disappeared into the forest, but she was already gone. I felt good about giving her the drawing, but I also wished I’d kept it. Meeting her was the first thing that made me feel anything but trapped in weeks. I shoved my sketchpad in a pocket of my cargo shorts and pulled myself on top of a massive driftwood trunk.
The view of the ocean from up there was incredible. I enjoyed the solitude of the isolated place. You never got that in southern California. Every beach was covered in an endless mass of people trying to impress each other with their bodies, or their money, or both.
That girl, Claire, was the most real person I’d seen in a long time. As a tattoo artist in Hollywood, I didn’t tend to run into many sweet little mommas like her. Not that I resented my clients. They were all cool people. Lately, I’d started to want something else, something real. Especially now. Now that I was trapped.
I took out my sketchpad and made a detailed drawing of a pile of driftwood tangled together like a knotted fortress of wood. It was good practice to examine the minute details of the interwoven patterns.
When I finished, I was satisfied with my work. The wind picked up. I let the salty breeze blow through my hair and over my pricked skin before I hopped off the driftwood trunk and made my way back up the trail.
In the gravel-lined parking lot, I slipped on my leather jacket and helmet. Straddling my custom Harley, I revved the engine, flipped the kickstand, and took off down the winding narrow road. There was nothing like the freedom I felt on the back of a motorcycle.