Page 68 of Legs

Ainsley clapped. “I’m buying the shoes and necklace. Jimmy will die when he sees you in that. And Rachel,” she called as I turned, “that pierced conversation isn’t over.”

“Yeah,” Gwen chimed in, “I have questions. We can have a whole sex ed night. You’ll use your dildo to show us exactly how his jewelry affects your pleasure.”

Damn them and their needling selves. But the thought of Jimmy seeing me in this mini-skirt put a bounce in my step. I hadn’t told him about my school plans yet. As much as he’d pushed me to consider viticulture, the choice needed to be mine. No outside influence. I had to make sure it was what I wanted this time.

The second I decided, though, I knew. I’d also bet my father was smiling down on me, pleased I’d taken the risk.

Suddenly I was desperate to share my news with Jimmy, and finally tell him I loved him. I’d been waiting, thinking we’d celebrate after tonight’s final contest round. He and the Schnozinator would be serving top wine critics, both vying for the coveted sommelier position. Jimmy was sure to win, and I wanted the moment I shared those three words to be special, but I knew better than to delay important milestones. Losing my father had taught me that. The where or when or how of spilling my heart to Jimmy didn’t matter.

Living without regrets mattered.

I had to drop by the gym to pick up my paycheck, then I’d run to his apartment and catch him before the contest. Tell him I was going back to school and that I loved him so much it turned me inside out. I’d give him the best good luck kiss in the history of good luck kisses. Maybe we’d have a quickie, too. My smile nearly split my face.

* * *

I reached the gym at four. Normally George and I would be on our treadmills by now, walking in time, him asking me about my “boy.” I hated skipping our forty minutes together, time I’d grown fond of, but shopping with the girls and seeing Jimmy took priority. What I didn’t expect was to hurry through the doors and practically walk into 911 himself.

I cringed, guilty for having ditched him. “Sorry I missed our workout. I hope you weren’t waiting for me.”

Instead of offering a signature gruff response, he touched the woman beside him. Her figure was slight next to his bulk. She turned and studied me, critical at first, a warm smile following. “Rachel?”

This woman was much younger than George. Thick black hair spilled over her shoulders, a turquoise pantsuit accentuating her trim frame. Something in her full lips tugged at me, the slope of her cheekbones and dimple in her chin subtle in their familiarity. She reminded me of a celebrity, maybe. Catherine Zeta Jones? Either way, she was gorgeous.

I smiled. “Yep, I’m Rachel. And you are?”

Her gold necklace rose as she inhaled. “I’m Alena—George’s wife and”—her arms shook slightly—“Jimmy’s mother.”

“Jimmy’s…my Jimmy’s mother?” My hand shot to my mouth, and I stepped back, my gaze flitting between this stunning woman and the old man I thought I knew. George. 911. The grumpy father figure I’d confided in. The man who’d asked me questions about my boyfriend, never letting on who he was, stealing information about his son. A violent storm set sail in my stomach. “I don’t understand.”

“Jimmy is my son,” George confirmed, and my mind reeled.

Was there a hidden camera? Was I being punked? Maybe I’d slipped in those stilettos at the store, had hit my head, and was in a coma, the swelling in my brain causing hallucinations. I bit my cheek, tasting blood. Not a coma.

Somehow I found my voice. “You lied to me.” And he was so old to be Jimmy’s father.

“I did no such thing,” George said, his snarkiness ever present. “If you had asked, I’d have told you.”

“Excuse me?” The harshness of my tone had his watery eyes widening. “You said you only had one son.”

His face hardened. “Family matters are complicated.”

“Complicated?” My volume rose, but I didn’t abate. This was the man who’d torn Jimmy down and ruined his life. A man who’d abused my trust. “We’ve spent hours together and you never, not once, mentioned who you were. But you had no problem asking me about my ‘boy.’ So you could what? Spy on him? On us?” My voice dropped, disappointment and sadness seeping through me. “I’d hoped Jimmy was wrong, that he could mend things with his family. Looks like I was being naïve.”

Jimmy would also potentially lose his shit. I’d been hanging out with his freaking father. For weeks. How would I explain that? Suddenly ill, I sat on the nearby couch. Guests often sat here and picked through fitness magazines, killing time. I wanted to curl into a ball and block out this reality.

“What I did,” George said, “I did for my family.”

Alena said something to him about giving us space. I didn’t watch him go, barely noticed her sit beside me. I was in khaki shorts, the black leather cool under my thighs. I fought the urge to press my forehead to the armrest, instead squeezing my eyes. His freaking father.

“I’ve been trying to reach Jimmy for a while, as you know.” Alena’s voice was soft but strong, the same as it had been on the phone. The day Jimmy and I had nearly broken up.

What was even happening?

“I found out where he lived,” she went on, “and I stopped by a few times, but never knocked on his door. It was one thing for him to ignore my calls. If he’d looked at me with hate…it would have crushed me. But I’d watch him, from time to time. Not often, but when missing him became too much, I’d follow him awhile, to gauge if he was happy. That’s when I saw you.”

Lines creased Alena’s forehead, sorrow in the depths of her eyes. Her despair was potent. “My husband is a good man,” she said, “but even good men do bad things. What happened with Jimmy was wrong. What George said was potentially unforgivable, and my silence was equally as harmful.”

When I didn’t comment, resignation laced her tone. “At the time, I thought my interference would make things worse. I decided to give them space to heal. Then everything happened with Sophia, and it spiraled out of control. I gave Jimmy six months, hoping his anger would lessen. By the time I contacted him, he wouldn’t speak with me.”