The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) (30 page)

Whitney straightened in her chair and gave Patty a stern look she’d probably learned from Grams. “I came here because you were supposed to meet me for dinner, remember?”
 

Her words stabbed Patty in the heart. Or, more likely, it was the way Whitney was looking at her. Patty searched her memory and struggled to remember. But then she did and it hit her like a wave, crashing through her heart. Whitney called the week before and they’d made plans to go shopping and out for dinner. She remembered. “I…” Patty stammered. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling well and—”

“Forget it, Mom. I’m not a child,” Whitney said. Although in that moment, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, wearing jeans and a hoodie, surrounded by the deepest contrast imaginable, Whitney looked every bit a child. “You’re drunk,” Whitney said. “Again.”

Patty cringed and her stomach rolled at the thought of what she might have done the last time she saw Whitney. The truth was, she couldn’t remember.
 

“What I don’t get,” Whitney continued, “is why you would let yourself get so hammered in the middle of the day.” She spun in her chair to face Stan. “And how you could let her.” Whitney shook her head in disgust.
 

“I don’t let her,” Stan said gently. “I’ve been trying to get her to stop.”

“When she didn’t show up for dinner, I knew,” Whitney said to Stan. “I came to see you because she needs to quit. It can’t go on.” Whitney leaned forward in her chair. “I’ve heard of clinics,” she said. “Maybe places she could go.”

“I don’t need a clinic.” Patty crossed her arms in front of her, indignant as they discussed her as if she wasn’t there. “Besides. How do you know about rehab? You’re not supposed to know about that stuff at your age.”

Whitney rolled her eyes. “Really.” She waved her hand, encompassing the office and everything that lay beyond the door. “We’re sitting in a strip club, Mom.”

Patty opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again. What could she say? “You shouldn’t be here,” she said after a moment. “Please tell me your grandmother doesn’t know where you are.”
 

“She thinks I’m sleeping over at Kat’s,” “Whitney said with a smirk. “And I will be, as soon as I leave here.”

Patty swallowed the lump in her throat and looked between the two of them again, finally settling on Stan. She’d never felt ashamed of what she did for a living. Not until that moment. “It’s not like in the movies, Whit. It’s just dancing. You shouldn’t even know about this place.” She turned to Whitney. “You shouldn’t even know about me. About what I do.” Panic rising, she turned back to Stan. “Do something.” She jumped to her feet, but unsure of what she should do first, she froze in place, her heart beating in her ears. She didn’t know what she’d do if Whitney turned against her.

“Mom.” Whitney shot Stan a look of concern and rose, going to her mother’s side. She placed a hand on her arm and said, “Look at me.” Reluctantly, Patty looked at her daughter. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she remained focused on Whitney. “I don’t like it, Mom,” Whitney said. “And I’m not going to pretend it’s okay with me. But I’ve known for a while.”
 

Patty shook her head, trying to clear the truth from her memory. “No,” she said, her voice sounding far away to her own ears. “How? I didn’t want you to know.” She turned to Stan again for support. “How does she know?” Patty demanded.

“Mom.” Whitney’s voice was quiet but firm, forcing Patty to look at her. “You told me. A few months ago,” she said. “Remember? We were having dinner at the Olive Garden and you…well, you started dancing.”
 

Patty turned away so she wouldn’t have to see the look on Whitney’s face. She remembered. Part of it, anyway. They’d met for dinner, something Patty tried to do at least a few times a month. But Stan had to drive her because she’d worked the afternoon shift, and as had become her custom, she needed a few shots of vodka to get through it. It was too slow and uneventful, the clientele not as generous as the night shifts. At any rate, she wasn’t in any shape to drive but she’d refused to cancel the dinner. Remembering how she’d climbed on top of the table, shame and heat rose through her. She nodded. “I remember,” she said reluctantly.
 

“You showed me your moves, Mom,” Whitney said and Patty winced.
 

“Okay.” She held up both hands, blocking the little she did remember. “I don’t need to be reminded.”
 

“Patty,” Stan said, coming to stand beside her. “Is that true? I knew you’d had a few drinks. But…”

“It’s true,” Whitney said.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” Patty tried to reach for Whitney’s hands, but she misjudged and took a faltering step. Whitney closed the gap between them and held on to her mother, keeping her from falling over. Time froze as Patty absorbed what her daughter had said. She’d been so worried as Whitney grew up that she’d be ashamed of her mother and never want to see her again once she found out what she did for a living. She’d done her best to hide it. To lie. For years, she’d lived in fear that her own mother would tell Whitney and rob her of the chance to know her daughter. But after all that, she’d done it herself. And not even realized it. All because she was a drunk.
 

Whitney was talking, and Patty realized she hadn’t heard a word. Patty shook her head and wiped her nose with a tissue Stan handed her. “What?”

“I said that I want you to stop,” Whitney said. She straightened up in her chair and in that moment, Patty couldn’t believe such a strong, poised young woman belonged to her.
 

“Stop dancing?” Patty asked.
 

“No, Mom. I need you to quit drinking.”

“Whitney, I—”

“I mean it, Mom. You don’t even remember spending time with me. If you don’t quit drinking, I’m going to—”

“Don’t say it.” Tears streamed down her face, and Patty had the realization that her teenage daughter clearly had more maturity than she did. “I’ll quit,” she heard herself say. “I will.”
 

“Patty,” Stan said. “Do you mean it?”

She nodded and reached forward for Whitney’s hands. “You’re right.” She squeezed, desperate to keep the connection between them. She’d do anything it took to keep that connection. Anything. “Whatever you want. I’m done.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

If there was any doubt left in her mind, Whitney’s smile was all it took to concrete her resolution. Awkwardly, she got to her feet and pulled her into her arms. Patty didn’t even try to stop the tears as she cried into Whitney’s hair. When it came to Whitney, she’d lost too much. And Patty knew without a doubt, she’d do everything within her power never to go through that again.

Chapter 13

Reid knew he should have let the call go to voicemail. All he wanted to do was get home to Whitney and figure out if what he thought was going on with them, really was going on. But he’d been avoiding most of Duncan’s calls and it couldn’t go on forever, so he pressed the Answer key and braced himself for a barrage of questions.
 

“It’s about time, man,” Duncan said. “Where’ve you been hiding?”
 

Reid put the phone on speaker and set it on the center console so he could keep driving. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?” Duncan laughed. “With what exactly? I’m still waiting for the final workup on the cupcake jingle and it’s due next week so I don’t know what you’re—”

“I’ll get it done.” Reid made a mental note to finish up the silly song later that day. It wouldn’t take long; he’d just been procrastinating so he could work on his songs. But only one of those things was going to pay the bills.
 

“Okay, cool,” Duncan said. “But that’s not really why I was calling.”

“No?”

“Nope. I have way more exciting news then cupcake girls. Although, I have to tell you, they were pretty—”

“Okay, okay.” Reid rolled his eyes and made the turn onto the street. “Get to the point, I’m almost home.” His thoughts turned to Whitney. Hopefully she’d be home, too. In the days since he’d performed her song, things shifted pretty dramatically between them. Whatever flirtation they’d been dancing around had turned into something much more intense. And he still wasn’t sure where things were going with them, but there was no denying that kiss had started something. Something he didn’t think he could stop even if he wanted to—which he most certainly did not.
 

“Dude, are you listening?” Duncan’s voice broke through his thoughts.
 

“Yeah, of course,” Reid said as he pulled up at the back of the house.

“You are not. Otherwise you would have heard me tell you that we’re going out tonight. I need my wingman and you’ve blown me off too many times. We need to have a little fun.”

The idea of going out with Duncan might have been appealing a few weeks ago, but all Reid wanted to do was go inside and see Whitney. Every fiber in his body craved her. He needed to talk to her. Hold her. Kiss her. “Not tonight, man,” Reid told his friend.
 

“Are you kidding me? What’s more important than hanging out with me?”

Reid turned the ignition off and held the keys in his hand as he stared at the house. “I have plans with Whitney tonight,” he said.
 

“Plans, hey?” Duncan’s laugh came through the speaker and filled the car. “Well they better be some freakin’ awesome plans if you’re blowing me off. I’ll let it go this time,” he said. “But next time—”

“I promise I’ll go next time,” Reid said as he got out of the car. He’d deal with the next time when it happened. “I’ve gotta go. I’m home. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Have fun tonight.”

“Oh, I plan to,” Duncan said. “And you have a good
talk
.”
 

Reid laughed and hung up on his friend before heading into the house.

He dropped his keys on the kitchen table. “Hello. Whit? Are you home?” He hadn’t really expected to find her in the kitchen. The only time she spent in there seemed to be when she watched him cook.

“In here.”
 

He followed her voice into the living room, where the red-blooded delusional man part of him was hoping to find her waiting in some sort of completely ridiculous lingerie. Whitney looked up from the couch, where she was surrounded by cookbooks of all things, instead of the silk and lace he’d been hoping for.
 

“What are you doing?” Reid walked over and kissed her lightly on the forehead before sitting in the chair across from her. What he really wanted to do was pull her into a passionate embrace, but he settled for taking it slow, at least until he figured out where things stood with them. He grabbed a book from the pile. “
Cooking for Dummies
? What’s going on?” Reid raised an eyebrow and watched her scribble something furiously on a pad.
 

“I’m going to do some cooking. I was thinking about a roast,” she said. “What do you think? It probably can’t be that hard. And I’ll do potatoes and maybe those dough things.”

“Dough things?”

“You know…” Whitney picked up a book and started flipping through the pages. “I found a recipe for them in here somewhere. They don’t look very hard. It’s only flour and egg, really.” She looked up and Reid had to smile at the seriousness in her expression. “The book said they go really well with roast beef dinner.” She looked back to the book and continued flipping. “What are they called…”
 

“Yorkshire pudding?”

“That’s it! You’ve heard of them?”

“Yes.” Reid tossed the book down in the pile and sat back. “Whit, what’s going on? You’re not seriously going to cook a roast dinner with Yorkshire pudding are you? I mean, why?” He still clearly remembered the blackened shrimp she’d attempted the night he’d moved in. “I really appreciate it and everything, Whit, but you don’t have to cook for me.” The image of a blackened chunk of beef and rubbery dough balls flashed through his mind. “In fact, I’d be happy to cook for you if you’d like. I can do a roast and—”

“It’s not for you.” Her face morphed and she started laughing. “You thought I was going to cook for you? Oh my, you must certainly think a lot of yourself if you think I’m going to go into battle for you,” she teased.
 

“So you wouldn’t?” he challenged.

“I didn’t say that.”

Reid stood up and crossed the room so he was standing over her. “You didn’t say you would, either.” He grinned mischievously and before she could respond, he dropped to the couch, straddling her, and taking a chance that she was ticklish, he ran his fingers down her sides.

It worked and she squealed and squirmed. He locked his legs, ensuring her captivity and kept tickling. “Are you ready to admit it?”

She shook her head furiously. “No…way…” she gasped between giggles. “I won’t do it.”
 

He stopped and looked down on the most beautiful sight. Her disheveled hair, flushed cheeks, and panting breath was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. “You won’t cook for me or you won’t admit that you would?” he asked, his own voice coming out in a rasp.
 

She waited a few seconds before answering. But it was worth the wait. “I like you too much to cook for you.”

So much for taking it slow. Reid’s reply was to close the distance between them so his mouth was on hers. She tasted of coffee and peppermint and he couldn’t get enough. He adjusted their bodies so they could lie down, and he slowly lowered her down beneath him. One hand slid down her body, taking the time to feel every curve through her clothes. When he got to her hip, she lifted it and locked her leg around his back, allowing him to fit perfectly against her. There were too many clothes between them. He needed to feel her skin. To touch her. To see her. Reid reached between them to the buttons on her shirt. With one hand, he managed to free them and push the fabric aside.
 

Reluctantly leaving her mouth, his lips trailed down Whitney’s neck. He kissed a beauty mark on her collarbone before gently trailing his fingers across her body to cup her breasts. He bent again and dropped a kiss at the top of each cup where the lace met skin and a shudder rippled through her body.