Blues Beach [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) Read online

  Then Em had thrown her arms around her. “Thank you, Mommy.”

  Unable to hold back, Tracey had started crying, too.

  That’d been the first time Emma had called her that in…years.

  “He never…he never touched you, did he?”

  “No. Hell no.” Em sat up and wiped at her face. “I would have said something. He was an asshole. He treated me like shit, but we’ve already been through that.”

  “I’m sorry.” Could she ever apologize enough to her daughter?

  Em handed her the papers. “Promise me something. Please?”

  “What?”

  “Next time, I get to sign off on the guy. Me and Grace and Dad and Jeff and Stu.”

  “Oh, believe me, absolutely. That’s without question.”

  “Are you dating?”

  “No. I put in my application at work for the promotion training and tuition assistance program. I’m going to work toward getting a promotion and I’m going to be too busy with you and that and school to worry about a guy.” She smiled. “May need you and Grace to help me study.”

  Emma hugged her again, harder. “Mom, you’re not stupid. I don’t care what those idiots in California think about you. They’re the idiots. Hey, you had me, and I’m in Mensa. You can’t be totally dumb.” Em grinned.

  “Those idiots in California” being the generic moniker for Tracey’s parents, three brothers, and sister. Brandon had dubbed them that years ago, before he and Tracey ever divorced, and it’d…stuck.

  After Tracey finished packing, she looked around her room and bathroom one more time, hoping she hadn’t forgotten anything. There was only one thing left to do before she headed to Brandon’s.

  She sat on the end of her bed and called her parents’ home number, hoping she’d reach their voice mail.

  Prayed they’d be out of town.

  She wasn’t expecting it when her father answered. “Hello?”

  She swallowed hard, the words locked in her throat for a moment. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Tracey?”

  “Yeah. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Well, Happy Thanksgiving to you, too. How are you?”

  She had put off telling them about the divorce, not wanting to hear any lectures or disappointed tones in their words. Wasn’t like she talked to them a lot. Usually only on holidays. She saw them on Facebook and conversed with them several times a week through there.

  That was plenty.

  More than enough.

  Dr. and Dr. Charles and Margot Demmer were busy, busy people, even in their seventies. They were both tenured professors, him teaching anthropology and her sociology, both well-known authors and high-demand speakers in their respective fields.

  “I’m…actually, I’m good.” Chicken. “Just wanted to say hi, and happy Thanksgiving. I’m on my way over to Brandon’s to have dinner with them, then me, Emma, and Grace are going to spend the weekend in Orlando. Girls-only weekend,” she quickly added when she realized that didn’t add up.

  “Oh?” Shit, she already knew she was busted before he even said the next sentence. “I didn’t think Pat liked Brandon. He’s okay going there for Thanksgiving?”

  Stupid stupid stupid! She should have lied to him.

  Might as well rip the bandage off quickly.

  “Pat and I are divorced. In fact, if you have a piece of paper handy, I’ll give you my new address. I moved several months ago.”

  “Wait, what? Divorced?”

  “Yes.”

  Pregnant pause. “Since when?”

  “Finalized two weeks ago.”

  Her father didn’t respond at first. That pregnant pause could have birthed a couple of Duggars and a baby elephant. “Really.”

  Not a question.

  More a judgmental statement and opinion and crystal clear, humiliating condescension, all wrapped in one neat, tidy little two-syllable word.

  If anyone had hated Pat more than Brandon and Em and Grace, it was her family.

  “So, hey, ready to write down my new address?”

  “Just send it to me on Facebook. When were you planning on telling us this? You haven’t mentioned anything about this on Facebook.”

  “Not exactly something I wanted to broadcast, Dad.”

  Silence.

  Sooo much judgment and criticism wrapped up in that, too.

  A weighty sigh from him. “I suppose.”

  Meaning he thought she was an idiot.

  She held the phone away from her mouth so she could take a deep, cleansing breath and let it out again. “You know, it’s fine. I didn’t want people making a big deal over it anyway. It’s not like it’s anyone’s business. Emma made Mensa, did I tell you that?”

  “Yes.” Short, clipped, and having none of her nonsense.

  Shit.

  Oh, Tracey already knew what the topic of dinner conversation in the scenic foothills of Laguna Beach would be today.

  Her.

  Their failure and embarrassment of a daughter and sibling, who not only had been divorced twice now, but was the only Drs. Demmer child who didn’t go to college and get a degree.

  She was certain they’d be busy drawing correlations between the two points, too.

  “Sorry, Dad, I’ve got a call coming in from Em. I need to go. I love you, and love to Mom and everyone else.”

  Another uncomfortable pause. “Love you, too.”

  She barely let him get the last syllable out before she hit end and dropped the phone onto her bed.

  Fuck.

  There went her chill for the day.

  Why did I even bother? I should know better. You’d think I’d know better.

  At least she could distract herself today trying to keep the peace with Brandon’s family. She’d always felt closer to her in-laws than her own family. Which was saying something, considering her in-laws were as friendly and inviting as a bunch of dead fish piled on a beach during a red tide outbreak.

  Now that she was firmly back on Team Brandon, she was determined to do everything she could to help his family accept the fact that the father of her daughter had not one, but two husbands.

  And that Tracey loved both of them like adopted family. They had stood up for Emma when she hadn’t been brave enough to, and her daughter loved them almost as much as she loved her own father.

  The wedding had been…interesting. But, fortunately, it’d been such a brief affair, and there’d been so many people there, that there hadn’t been time for them to do more than be polite.

  Hopefully, that trend would hold today, too.

  If not…at least she and the girls could boogie on out of there to Orlando.

  Chapter Two

  “I didn’t growl at Pop’s family a single time,” Grace snarked. “I should totally get a cookie for that.”

  “Yes, you should.” Tracey was busy helping Stuart put away all the Thanksgiving leftovers in their fridge. “How about you and Em load your things in my car and start saying your good-byes? We’ll be done here in a few minutes.”

  Grace snapped her a salute. “Roger dodger.” She spun on her heel and headed out of the kitchen.

  Stuart snickered. “You’re a braver woman than I am.”

  Tracey snorted.

  Stuart realized what he’d said. “You know what I mean. Taking them alone for the weekend. I hope they don’t eat poor Jeff alive while Bran and I are in Iowa.”

  Stuart was adorable, even Tracey would admit that. Only twenty-six and the youngest of the three men, he was barely an inch taller than her own five eight, had gorgeous green eyes, and kept his brown hair neatly trimmed but not buzzed short.

  “It’s a girl thing,” she said. “I’m looking forward to alone time with them. It’s been too damn long since we’ve spent time like this together.”

  “Pat didn’t like Grace either, did he?”

  “No.” She shuffled a couple of containers around and took another one from Stuart to slide into the gap she’d created. “Thank god he’s
not my problem any more.” She glanced toward the living room, where the girls were talking to Jeff, who sat on the couch. “Is he okay?”

  “Yeah. He just crashed himself really bad a couple of weeks ago.”

  “They can’t do anything about his Lyme disease?”

  “Another PICC line, but he’s resisting it. Brandon told him if the doctor says it’s the only way, he’s going to get one.” He dropped his voice. “Thanks for taking the girls this weekend, by the way. We appreciate it.”

  She envied her ex-husband. Brandon got Jeff and Stuart, although she didn’t envy the health issues Jeff currently suffered. Both of these men loved Emma—and Grace—as much as she did. They’d stood up for Emma even when Tracey knew she wasn’t doing a very damn good job of it.

  And they’d forgiven her and welcomed her as family.

  “I have a feeling Brandon’s got plans for you two this weekend.” She smirked, knowing dang well what Brandon likely wanted to do with his two men. Their matching necklaces weren’t merely jewelry.

  Brandon was their Master, and they were his slaves.

  Lucky bastards.

  She hadn’t had quite that formal or deep a dynamic when she’d been with Brandon, but Brandon had definitely been the default Dom in their marriage and took control in the bedroom in ways that blew her socks off.

  One of her bigger mistakes early on with Pat had been mistaking his domineering behavior for dominance.

  It had nearly cost Tracey her daughter.

  Stuart smiled, adorable and sweet. “Yeah. I’m sure he does.”

  She gently bumped him with her hip. He was like having a little brother, in a way.

  One that she was actually close to, versus the one she had. Him and Jeff both.

  Brandon walked in. “How we doing?”

  “Nearly done, Sir,” Stuart said as he handed Tracey another container.

  “Excellent.”

  She heard the smile in Brandon’s voice and glanced at him. Yep, his blue eyes sparkled with an evil gleam she recognized.

  And missed.

  Desperately missed.

  I need to be alone.

  She’d jumped into the relationship with Pat more out of fear she couldn’t support herself and Emma than true love. When she’d finally peeled back the layers and took a hard and honest look at their marriage, it was too late to escape—or so she’d thought.

  Then she’d spent a couple of years trying to make Emma and Pat get along, frequently finding herself forced to take Pat’s side, even when she didn’t want to, just to keep the peace because he was her husband and made her life hell in Emma’s absence when she didn’t.

  Survival tactic.

  Too much anger and pain boiling inside her at the time, directed at Brandon, to allow her to see the truth about Pat and admit her own mistakes.

  Too much of her father’s eyes and attitude when Tracey looked at Emma back then.

  It’d been easier to just…let go. Give in.

  Never again.

  They got the last container stowed and Stuart headed out to the living room to say good-bye to the girls. Brandon pulled Tracey in for a hug and it was too damn easy for her to remember the good times, the early times.

  The times when she’d felt he was her world and everything was perfect.

  He’d helped heal her heart when it’d been broken and she’d never thought she’d find someone to replace—

  She cut off that line of thinking at the kneecaps.

  “Thank you for being here today,” he said.

  She allowed herself to rest her head against his chest, the way she used to. “Thanks for having me.”

  His chin nuzzled the top of her head. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  “Yeah, I will be. I need to…decompress.”

  A chuckle rumbled from him. “And taking those two to Disney on a holiday weekend is your idea of decompressing?”

  “You know what I mean.” She forced herself to look into his blue eyes. There were still times she wanted to cry when she met his gaze for too long.

  Too many old, painful emotions she hadn’t dealt with properly the first time around, masked by anger, that now demanded addressing.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “I’m always going to love you, sweetheart. You’ll always be a part of this family. When you’re ready, the Frightful Five said they’ll help you meet someone.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ever going to be ready. Anyway, I have Emma and Grace to take up my time, and work, and maybe even school. I’m applying for that program at work.”

  He smiled, wide, open, genuine. “That’s great! Anything we can do to help, let us know.”

  “I already told Em and Grace I might need help studying.”

  “Anything.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead before releasing her. “We’re always here for you.”

  How sad was it that she was closer to her ex-husband and his husbands than she was to her own family?

  Pretty.

  Fucking.

  Sad.

  Tracey turned to the living room. “Who’s ready for Rat World?”

  Grace nudged her glasses up her nose. “Please let me ask the front gate people if we’re at Rat World!”

  * * * *

  Grace volunteered to sit in back so Em could ride shotgun. As they headed toward I-75, Tracey noticed Em wore a happy smile.

  “What?” Tracey asked.

  “This is cool. Thank you for this, Mom. Seriously.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Mama,” Grace chimed in from the back seat.

  Grace had been dubbed their “bonus daughter,” the same way that Emma and Grace had dubbed Jeff and Stuart their “bonus dads.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad we could do this.”

  “So what giant stick is collectively wedged sideways up Pop’s family’s asses?” Grace snarked.

  She sure had a way with words. “They’re not…cuddly people.”

  “I’d rather lick a porcupine,” Grace said.

  “As bad as they are,” Em said, “I’ll take them over those idiots in California.”

  Tracey sighed. “They hated Pat. You weren’t old enough to remember them before I married Pat. You’ve only seen them a couple of times.”

  “A couple of times too many.” She turned to face Tracey as far as her seat belt would allow. “I mean, seriously. I’m supposed to call him ‘Grandfather Charles?’ Who insists on that?”

  “At least he’s not Margoooooot.” Grace affected a snooty tone. “Oh, my dear, there’s no reason to enforce the patriarchal standards of blah blah, blah blah blah blah.” She snorted. “Good thing it doesn’t rain a lot where they live. They’d drown every time they walked outside with their noses that far in the damn air.”

  Grace had a filter. Tracey had seen her use it.

  On occasion.

  But Grace frequently chose not to use it.

  “Did you get a Thanksgiving card from them?” Tracey asked Em when she was sure she wasn’t going to burst out laughing over Grace’s antics.

  “Yes, and yes, I already thanked them. I sent them an e-mail.” She rolled her eyes. “On one side, I have the grandparents who we can’t really come out to, because we’re worried they’ll flip. On the other side, I have the grandparents I won’t come out to, because I know they’ll bombard me with unsolicited advice showing me how progressive and accepting they are.”

  “You got my parents,” Grace said. “And Jeff’s.”

  “Yeah, that,” Em said.

  “And at least you don’t have Pat’s parents trying to save our eternal souls from hell anymore,” Grace reminded her.

  Em smiled.

  Tracey couldn’t help smiling with her. “Did you have to eat red Jell-O?”

  Grace burst out laughing.

  Emma’s smile transformed into an evil grin. “The woman totes deserved it, and like I told Dad, it was go big, or go home.”

  They could laugh about this now, but Tracey still
felt like the world’s shittiest mother for not letting Emma have the seasick meds during that trip.

  Scratch that, she felt like the world’s shittiest mother for tricking Emma onto the cruise in the first place, at Pat’s insistence, trying to wrangle his parents into giving him some of his inheritance early.

  Then Emma—who had always suffered severe seasickness—spent the weekend throwing up and got so dehydrated she had to be airlifted off the boat by the Coast Guard and flown to the hospital.

  And Tracey had let Pat manipulate her into believing it was Emma’s fault. At the time a lie Tracey had been eager to latch on to, rather than admitting she was the world’s shittiest mother.

  “Let’s get back to the cookie issue,” Grace said. “I didn’t growl at Pop’s family a single damn time.”

  Tracey wasn’t as strict with the girls on swearing as Brandon was. Which she knew might also make her a bad mother, but she was learning to pick and choose her battles.

  To her, that wasn’t a battle worth wasting time and energy on. The girls always watched their language around younger kids, or around people—like Brandon’s family—who might not appreciate it.

  “I’m very proud of you, Grace,” Tracey said. She changed lanes to make the turn onto the I-75 northbound entrance ramp. “I’ll even buy you an ice cream Mickey head.”

  “Yeah! Now that’s what I’m talking about, Mama.”

  * * * *

  It was after eight that evening by the time they checked into their hotel, grabbed dinner, and then returned to their hotel to collapse. She’d let the girls share the second bed rather than making Emma sleep with her. She agreed with the rules Brandon and Grace’s parents had put into place after Jeff had caught the girls fooling around together and they’d admitted they’d been dating for over a year, keeping that news from all the adults to give them more opportunities to sneak around behind everyone’s backs. No more same-bed overnights, like they’d been having, until they were seventeen.

  But they were sixteen. And it was doubtful they were going to try to do anything more serious than cuddling with Tracey sleeping right there in the next bed.