Hovering above her, pulse hammering, hips still grinding, I pose a hopeful question as she gasps at the friction. “Mailman?” I ask, and she shakes her head.
“It runs in the afternoon.”
Groaning in frustration, I spring from her and grab my Glock. By the time I’m armed, she’s already got her Beretta, missing the swipe of my hand to block her as I give chase, tugging on my sweatpants, as I stumble after her.
“Goddamnit, Cecelia!”
“Chill, Frenchman,” she snaps behind her as she heads toward the living room.
I’m halfway to where she stands at the entryway when she turns from the window and rushes toward me, paling with every step. Alarmed, I reach for her to get her behind me, and she stops a foot away before thrusting her gun toward me. Gripping it, and knowing she’s aware of who’s in her driveway, I search her face as the alarm drains from it and concern kicks in. “What’s wrong?”
“Go shower, okay? I’ll get rid of them, and then we’ll have breakfast.”
“Rid of who?”
“Tobias, please, just let me handle it.”
I move to walk around her as a door opens and closes, and panic fully blooms on her face.
“Please!” She begs, jumping in front of me and placing a hand on my chest. “Tobias, let me handle this. Please.”
Jealousy snakes in, and I narrow my eyes. “Who. The. Fuck. Is. It. Cecelia?”
She twists her hands in front of her like a teenage girl. “Tobias, when you got here, I completely forgot about it. We made plans so long ago. It slipped my mind.”
“I have a text waiting that will tell me exactly who it is, and I’m not fucking moving until I know, so out with it.”
She lifts terrified eyes to mine. “It’s my mother.”
Stunned briefly by her admission, Cecelia leaps into action before I gather myself in time to stop her freak out. Within seconds, she slips out the front door as I shuffle to ditch the guns and dress. Racing to the bedroom, I place them in the duffle, not bothering to check my cell, an oversight I won’t repeat. It was both reckless and careless to ignore any potential warning. After yanking on a hoodie, I shove into my sneakers before charging back in the direction Cecelia fled. By the time I clear the front porch with Beau whining in tow, I’m able to hear harshly exchanged words of a hushed conversation at the back of a massive RV.
“Mom, please, just go, okay. I’ll call you and explain later.”
“You’re being ridiculous. We just got here, and you know we’ve been coming for months. What’s changed?”
“Everything, Mom. Please, just go, and I’ll call you.” Her plea is for me, to protect me, which only makes my love for her grow.
“That’s not necessary,” I speak up, stepping into view, laying eyes on both women as they turn to me with gaping mouths.
“Tobias,” Cecelia says mournfully, her eyes closing as her mother’s bulge.
By reaction alone, it’s easy to see Cecelia never told her about us, as her mother rapidly pales, her eyes darting wildly between us.
I always assumed Cecelia kept our secrets—even from those closest to her—and the proof is standing in front of me, seeming to be on the verge of passing out. Cecelia kept her involvement with me from her mother even after her confrontation with her eight months ago. I never asked her for the details because I was too busy trying to accept her goodbye.
Cecelia looks back at me, sheer panic in her eyes when she sees me moving to greet her mother.
“Hello, Diane,” I say, inching my way in as she takes a lingering look at her daughter before lifting mortified eyes to me. “This is what you’ve been hiding for so long?”