All or Nothing at All
Page 8
He pushed the thought of Sydney from his mind and concentrated on winning.
chapter three
Mama, it’s almost my birthday! Can we get an ice-cream cake?” Sydney laughed, grabbing her daughter and pulling her onto her lap. “Of course. You know that’s my favorite. What do you want to do, sweetheart? Have you decided?”
Her daughter tilted her face and scrunched up her nose. “Can we go to Chuck E. Cheese?”
Sydney couldn’t help wincing. It may be a kid’s paradise, but it was a mother’s nightmare. The loud, flashing games, overexcited children hunting for prize tickets and winning only enough for a spider ring, and a large mouse character that danced in a purple sweater. She always left with a headache.
Maybe she could sneak in a flask and fill it with wine.
“Sure. Just get me a list, and we’ll send out some invitations.”
“Okay. And I want to see Uncle Cal and Morgan and Dalton and Tristan and Uncle Brady. Can they come to my party? ’Cause they’re my family.”
Her chest tightened, but she managed a breath. The guilt was manageable this time. Practice did make perfect. “Yes, honey. But we’ll have a cake for you at Uncle Cal’s house, and Morgan said she’s making your favorite dish.”
“Spaghetti and meatballs?”
“Yep.” She savored her daughter’s soft body sprawled over her lap and the scent of her coconut shampoo. Her pink T-shirt boasted her favorite Disney princess: Ariel, because she had the same color hair. Her jeans had pink sparkles and matched the glittery nail polish on her fingers and toes. Already Becca was moving away from her cuddling, demanding more alone time and independence to read, draw, or play on her Kindle. How had so much time flashed by without Sydney realizing it? She used to laugh at mothers warning her to enjoy the toddler years, when she’d just prayed to be out of diapers and formula and sleepless nights. Now her daughter was reading on her own and had a group of friends she insisted on seeing at regular revolving playdates. She was going to be a powerhouse one day, but until she grew into that power, Sydney tried to keep her daughter’s temper, and independence, in check. “I can’t believe you’re going to be seven,” she murmured, stroking her daughter’s hair.
“Was Matilda in the movie seven?” Becca asked. “’Cause I want to be like her.”
“I think so. Wait a minute—you want to have terrible parents who lock you up, are mean to you, and don’t let you go to school?”
Her daughter giggled. “No, but she gets to watch TV all the time. I’d like that part.”
“Brat.” Another giggle. Becca was always trying to finagle more television time. “For now, I need to get started on dinner. Sorry I’ve been working late this week. This new job will be a bit challenging, so I’ll need you to help out more and understand I won’t be home as much. Just for a while.”
“That’s okay, Mommy. I’m happy you got a premition.”
“Promotion.”
“Yeah, that. But don’t forget about my ballet recital.”
“I’d never forget your recital. Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
“We’ll get there early so I can be in the front row, okay?”
Her daughter’s smile was Sydney’s heaven and earth, making her heart explode with a fierce emotion that still humbled her. The moment Becca had pushed her way into the world, wailing in fury, Sydney had tumbled into a love that knew no bounds.
The voice she’d shoved deep inside, trapped in a locked box of her own making, slithered up to whisper.
She doesn’t just belong to you . . .
Dear God, it was getting worse. Every day since the Pierce brothers had come home, she’d struggled. Her peaceful, ordered existence was shredded. Now she was haunted every day. Every night. Haunted by the truth she’d sworn to hide when Becca was born.
Her thoughts broke off as her daughter shot out of her lap, snuggling complete. “I’m hungry, Mama. Can I go play?”
“Yes, I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” She watched her daughter bound up the stairs, and with a sigh, she headed to the kitchen. Her home was small but perfect for the two of them, a yellow-shingled bi-level on a dead end. With a fenced-in yard, she had no worries about traffic, and she felt safe and secure, tucked away from the world. She’d decorated the house with all the girly stuff she loved—from throw pillows in bright teal to cozy afghans and fuzzy rugs supersoft under bare feet. She liked her work ruthlessly organized and her house casually messy. A good thing, because Becca was a whirlwind of activity, and Sydney was constantly reminding her to pick up her toys so she didn’t trip on Barbie dolls, DVDs, and books.
Sydney opened the refrigerator, removing the thawed tilapia and slipping into mechanical mode. She still told Becca it was special chicken, since Becca gave her a hard time about eating fish. Dumping the fish into a pan, she doctored it with citrus, dill, and basil, olive oil, fresh garlic, and Himalayan salt. She scrubbed the potatoes and slid them in the oven, then grabbed a bag of frozen peas to steam—her child’s only accommodation with green vegetables. She pulled a bottle of Chardonnay from the refrigerator and poured herself half a glass, sighing with pleasure at the first cold, fruity sip.
As she moved around the kitchen in a dance she could complete with her eyes closed, she mentally ticked down the list of items to finish before the weekend. Time was a challenge, but Charlie was a quick learner and taking on more responsibility in the office. Sydney and Tristan were visiting the site tomorrow, and she’d need to meet Adam in the city soon for final contracts. She relished being more hands-on with the renovation and creative process, but she’d stepped right into Tristan’s territory, and he wasn’t letting her forget it.
He was always . . . around. Questioning every move. Lifting that arched brow in silent regard, forcing her to doubt her initial instincts. Trying to check up on her like she was a child and hadn’t been working for the company since she was sixteen. He drove her mad, and eventually something was going to break. It was more than his judging stares and intense amber eyes. No, he seemed to be analyzing where she fit, as if trying to figure her out on a deeper level.
And that scared the hell out of her.
She set the timer and sipped her wine. God, she missed Diane. Whenever there was a problem, Sydney could sit in her cozy kitchen, talk, and be fed warm, filling food that always made her feel better. Grief struck like a stinging slap. Her grandparents had raised her with love and care, but Diane had been the mother figure she’d been missing. Growing up in the Pierce household gave her a sense of belonging, and working for the company only cemented her place. Funny, she’d always known exactly what she wanted to do with her life. She’d had no dreams of going away to college or leaving Harrington.
chapter three
Mama, it’s almost my birthday! Can we get an ice-cream cake?” Sydney laughed, grabbing her daughter and pulling her onto her lap. “Of course. You know that’s my favorite. What do you want to do, sweetheart? Have you decided?”
Her daughter tilted her face and scrunched up her nose. “Can we go to Chuck E. Cheese?”
Sydney couldn’t help wincing. It may be a kid’s paradise, but it was a mother’s nightmare. The loud, flashing games, overexcited children hunting for prize tickets and winning only enough for a spider ring, and a large mouse character that danced in a purple sweater. She always left with a headache.
Maybe she could sneak in a flask and fill it with wine.
“Sure. Just get me a list, and we’ll send out some invitations.”
“Okay. And I want to see Uncle Cal and Morgan and Dalton and Tristan and Uncle Brady. Can they come to my party? ’Cause they’re my family.”
Her chest tightened, but she managed a breath. The guilt was manageable this time. Practice did make perfect. “Yes, honey. But we’ll have a cake for you at Uncle Cal’s house, and Morgan said she’s making your favorite dish.”
“Spaghetti and meatballs?”
“Yep.” She savored her daughter’s soft body sprawled over her lap and the scent of her coconut shampoo. Her pink T-shirt boasted her favorite Disney princess: Ariel, because she had the same color hair. Her jeans had pink sparkles and matched the glittery nail polish on her fingers and toes. Already Becca was moving away from her cuddling, demanding more alone time and independence to read, draw, or play on her Kindle. How had so much time flashed by without Sydney realizing it? She used to laugh at mothers warning her to enjoy the toddler years, when she’d just prayed to be out of diapers and formula and sleepless nights. Now her daughter was reading on her own and had a group of friends she insisted on seeing at regular revolving playdates. She was going to be a powerhouse one day, but until she grew into that power, Sydney tried to keep her daughter’s temper, and independence, in check. “I can’t believe you’re going to be seven,” she murmured, stroking her daughter’s hair.
“Was Matilda in the movie seven?” Becca asked. “’Cause I want to be like her.”
“I think so. Wait a minute—you want to have terrible parents who lock you up, are mean to you, and don’t let you go to school?”
Her daughter giggled. “No, but she gets to watch TV all the time. I’d like that part.”
“Brat.” Another giggle. Becca was always trying to finagle more television time. “For now, I need to get started on dinner. Sorry I’ve been working late this week. This new job will be a bit challenging, so I’ll need you to help out more and understand I won’t be home as much. Just for a while.”
“That’s okay, Mommy. I’m happy you got a premition.”
“Promotion.”
“Yeah, that. But don’t forget about my ballet recital.”
“I’d never forget your recital. Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
“We’ll get there early so I can be in the front row, okay?”
Her daughter’s smile was Sydney’s heaven and earth, making her heart explode with a fierce emotion that still humbled her. The moment Becca had pushed her way into the world, wailing in fury, Sydney had tumbled into a love that knew no bounds.
The voice she’d shoved deep inside, trapped in a locked box of her own making, slithered up to whisper.
She doesn’t just belong to you . . .
Dear God, it was getting worse. Every day since the Pierce brothers had come home, she’d struggled. Her peaceful, ordered existence was shredded. Now she was haunted every day. Every night. Haunted by the truth she’d sworn to hide when Becca was born.
Her thoughts broke off as her daughter shot out of her lap, snuggling complete. “I’m hungry, Mama. Can I go play?”
“Yes, I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” She watched her daughter bound up the stairs, and with a sigh, she headed to the kitchen. Her home was small but perfect for the two of them, a yellow-shingled bi-level on a dead end. With a fenced-in yard, she had no worries about traffic, and she felt safe and secure, tucked away from the world. She’d decorated the house with all the girly stuff she loved—from throw pillows in bright teal to cozy afghans and fuzzy rugs supersoft under bare feet. She liked her work ruthlessly organized and her house casually messy. A good thing, because Becca was a whirlwind of activity, and Sydney was constantly reminding her to pick up her toys so she didn’t trip on Barbie dolls, DVDs, and books.
Sydney opened the refrigerator, removing the thawed tilapia and slipping into mechanical mode. She still told Becca it was special chicken, since Becca gave her a hard time about eating fish. Dumping the fish into a pan, she doctored it with citrus, dill, and basil, olive oil, fresh garlic, and Himalayan salt. She scrubbed the potatoes and slid them in the oven, then grabbed a bag of frozen peas to steam—her child’s only accommodation with green vegetables. She pulled a bottle of Chardonnay from the refrigerator and poured herself half a glass, sighing with pleasure at the first cold, fruity sip.
As she moved around the kitchen in a dance she could complete with her eyes closed, she mentally ticked down the list of items to finish before the weekend. Time was a challenge, but Charlie was a quick learner and taking on more responsibility in the office. Sydney and Tristan were visiting the site tomorrow, and she’d need to meet Adam in the city soon for final contracts. She relished being more hands-on with the renovation and creative process, but she’d stepped right into Tristan’s territory, and he wasn’t letting her forget it.
He was always . . . around. Questioning every move. Lifting that arched brow in silent regard, forcing her to doubt her initial instincts. Trying to check up on her like she was a child and hadn’t been working for the company since she was sixteen. He drove her mad, and eventually something was going to break. It was more than his judging stares and intense amber eyes. No, he seemed to be analyzing where she fit, as if trying to figure her out on a deeper level.
And that scared the hell out of her.
She set the timer and sipped her wine. God, she missed Diane. Whenever there was a problem, Sydney could sit in her cozy kitchen, talk, and be fed warm, filling food that always made her feel better. Grief struck like a stinging slap. Her grandparents had raised her with love and care, but Diane had been the mother figure she’d been missing. Growing up in the Pierce household gave her a sense of belonging, and working for the company only cemented her place. Funny, she’d always known exactly what she wanted to do with her life. She’d had no dreams of going away to college or leaving Harrington.
