Beth Andrews - A Not-So-Perfect Past

“She’s enabling him to slide by. Let’s have him switched to a different classroom.”

He stepped toward her and she grabbed the serving tray off the table and crossed the room. “I have a lot to do before I can close up. Did you want something else?” she asked as she cleared the dishes from Dillon’s table.

She didn’t want to argue with him. She’d done enough of that during her marriage. Besides, she’d learned long ago that standing up to Trey was a waste of time and effort. She couldn’t win.

But she could divert and evade—the only tactic that had ever worked for her.

Trey’s mouth thinned. Either he was angry she had the nerve to try to change the subject or he blamed her for getting sidetracked from his original goal.

“What was going on with you and Dillon Ward?” he asked, his hands on his narrow hips. “What if someone walked by and saw you two in here, alone, after closing? Do you realize how that looked? What people would say?”

At the next table she loaded dirty coffee cups onto her tray. “It’s snowing like crazy. I doubt anyone in town is out walking or peeking into storefront windows.”

“That’s not the point,” Trey said stiffly.

“We were just talking—”

“Men like Dillon Ward don’t just talk to women. More than likely, he sees you as an easy mark. You’re single, own your own business and are ripe pickings for someone like him.”

She tossed dirty silverware onto her tray with a loud clang. “Ripe pickings? What am I, a piece of fruit?”

“You’re being overly sensitive. All I’m saying is that you can’t let your guard down around someone like him. You’re an attractive woman.” His gaze skimmed over her. “Even with those few extra pounds.”

She spun on her heel and walked back behind the counter, her stomach churning, her face heated. She shouldn’t let his words affect her. But God, she hated how looking into his eyes made the memories rush to the surface. Made her feel like less than nothing.

She shut off the industrial coffeepots as if they demanded her full attention. Every self-help book she’d read during the past two years said the only way someone could hurt you is if you gave them power over you. She gripped the counter, the hard edge digging into her palm. But she didn’t give Trey power. He took it. And she ended up feeling worthless, fat and inadequate.

Just like he always told her she was.

“Dillon isn’t interested in me,” she said, brushing past Trey. She placed a chair upside down on the table. Someone like Dillon wouldn’t look twice at her. She was too vanilla—plain, boring and unnoticeable. “We were discussing his eviction.”

Trey grinned, the same grin that had wrapped her around his finger all those years ago. She still remembered how her stomach had fluttered the first time he’d smiled at her like that. How shocked she’d been that he’d noticed her. How flattered.

How stupid.

After double checking to make sure the table was clean, he leaned back and crossed his arms. “I’m glad you listened to my advice. This is best for everyone concerned. Ward is dangerous.”

She moved to the next table. “Of course you’re glad. You got what you wanted.”

He shook his head, his expression magnanimous. Composed. As if he was talking to one of his patients. “It’s not what I want that matters, Nina. Even though things didn’t work out between us, I still care about you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

She bit her lip. Cared about her. Right. Which was why he made her feel worthless. And then left her for the tall, thin, sexy—and let’s not forget successful—Dr. Rachel Weber.

“You made the right decision,” he assured her as he patted her shoulder. She twisted out of his reach, but either he didn’t notice or didn’t care that she couldn’t stand him touching her. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll pick the kids up at six Thursday. Please have them ready on time.”

As he walked out, she slammed the next chair on the table and imagined it was his head. Her pulse raced. Talking to Trey always made her feel like she’d just run a race.

And lost.

“Marcus had three cookies,” Hayley said as she skipped into the room.

Marcus, hot on his sister’s heels, said, “Nu-uh. I had two.”

“Daddy says Marcus needs to stop eating so much ’cause he’s getting fat.”

Nina fisted her hands. While Marcus had put on some weight since the divorce, her son was far from fat. But Trey wouldn’t tolerate anything less than perfection. Especially in his children.

“They were small cookies,” Marcus mumbled, his cheeks flushed pink. “I’m pretty sure they equaled one regular-size cookie.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I told you one cookie,” she said, forcing a brightness she didn’t feel into her voice. She ruffled his mussed hair. “But not because I’m worried about your weight. I just want to make sure you eat the dinner Grandma’s making. You can work up an appetite by helping me put the rest of the chairs up on the tables.”

Hayley tugged on Nina’s jeans. “I want to help, too.”

“Run and get the broom and dustpan. And no more tattling.”

Hayley raced off while Marcus dragged his feet toward the first table. “How was your weekend?” she asked.

He shrugged. Turned a chair over before hefting it in place. “Dad signed me up for the indoor soccer league.”

She helped him lift the next chair. “I didn’t know you wanted to play soccer.”

“I don’t. I want to play basketball.”

“Then why—”

“Dad wants me to.”

“Well, it might be fun—”

“No, it won’t. None of my friends are playing and I think soccer’s boring, but Dad wants me to play it because he says I’m not good enough to start at basketball, which means I’ll be on the bench for most of the games and won’t get enough exercise.”

She crouched in front of him and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Dad just wants what’s best for you. Come on, give it a try. If you don’t like it after a few weeks, I’ll talk to your dad about quitting.”

Marcus frowned, but it wasn’t the anger on her son’s face that made her throat constrict. It was the disappointment. “No, you won’t. You always say you’ll talk to him but it never changes anything.”

She sat back on her heels. “Honey, that’s not true. Dad and I may make decisions that you don’t like but we’re only thinking about what’s best for you.”

“Basketball’s what’s best for me.”

“Well, then,” she said slowly, “I’ll discuss it with your dad.”

He searched her face. “Promise?”

The idea of confronting Trey, of subjecting herself to his put-downs and arrogance made her palms sweat. But for her son, for that hopeful look on his face…

“Of course I promise.” Something crashed in the kitchen. Nina stood. “Could you please check on your sister?”

As she watched her son leave, his back stiff, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing the right thing. She wanted to teach her kids how to get along with their father. To protect themselves from his stinging comments and wicked temper. So why did she feel like she was failing them?

And in the process, failing herself?

ONE GOOD THING about his latest foster parents. They had decent taste in music.

Kyle Fowler loaded AC/DC’s “Back In Black” into the SUV’s CD player and cranked the volume. He switched on his high beams but that made it harder to see in the heavy snow.

Their vast CD collection was the only good thing about Joe and Karen Roberts. Sure, during the past seven months with them they’d given him a cell phone—to use in case of emergencies—and bought him some new clothes. But they were no different from any of his other foster parents.