Today is Friday and I have to be there at seven tonight for dinner at Capaldi’s. My mother lives in Salt Lake City and I need to get my butt moving if I’m going to make it there on time.
I’ve only naturally assumed he’d take me, and I haven’t bought an airplane ticket as a backup. Yet, I haven’t even asked the man if he’d go with me. I’m not going to lie. I’m scared to ask him to come because at some point I’ll have to explain things. I know I’ll freeze up, or goosebumps will spread across my body like wildfire. I know there will be some sort of reaction from me that grants a question from him. Even with it all, I need him there with me. I sit here on the edge of my bed, terrified he won’t be able to look at me the same after this, but knowing I need the support. There’s no way I’ll make it past the series of events this evening unless he goes with me.
Clearing my throat, I drum up the courage to walk out back where he was smoking a cigarette on the porch and ask him. “Hammer,” I start off, nervousness obvious as hell.
Immediately he turns to face me, raising a brow. “You alright? You sound like you’re about to tell me someone died.”
Of all people, he shouldn’t be the one joking about someone dying. His dad hasn’t, but I don’t believe things are getting any better over there. He hasn’t talked to me about anything for two days, but the last time he did, he got really upset. He’s been talking to me about Oakleigh, though, and how he’s learning more about the girl. It’s so crazy to think he had a daughter for all these years and never even knew she existed.
“I’m not. I was just wondering if . . . if you’d come to Salt Lake City with me.”
A smile breaks across Hammer’s face. “I’d go anywhere with you.”
“We need to leave in a couple hours, it’s for a dinner with my family, and I have to go, and I just really don’t want to go alone.” I stutter and nervousness storms through me. Even though he can pick up on the fact I’m nervous, he softens his expression and nods.
“Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll go with you.”
I’ve done a lot of fucked up shit in my life and even now, I’m not sure how I ended up with this man. He doesn’t ask questions. He simply says what he’s going to do, and then he does it. I don’t know many women who are as lucky as me or any women who end up with a man like him. Guys are always so quick to complain about doing anything, but not him. He takes it upon himself to make me as comfortable as possible. Hell, he even took my car into the garage and worked with Ripper to do a complete rotation, changed my oil, and everything else maintenance-wise I’d need for the summer.
Hammer puts out his cigarette and comes over to me. He’s so quick to wrap his arms around my body and pull me against his chest. “I don’t know why you’re so scared, but don’t be. I’m gonna go with you and shit will be fine.”
Just like that, I can breathe a little easier, like I’m not terrified my entire world will come crumbling down in an instant.
Hammer and I arrived in Salt Lake City an hour ago, wearing the clothes on our backs and a change of clothes. Luckily, his bike has some storage, so I was able to bring some makeup and my mini curling iron. If we’re going out in public for dinner, it’s because there’s a spectacle about it. I told Hammer we needed to both be dressed to the nines, so he got us a hotel room in the city and said we could stop by a store and get some new clothes. He even said we’d take a taxi to dinner, and we’ve both walked in through the front doors of Capaldi’s.
Hammer’s dressed in a way I didn’t think I’d ever see him. He’s sporting a deep burgundy suit jacket and trousers, with a caramel-colored leather Oxford. His tie is a soft toffee color and he’s wearing a dress shirt underneath with a boxed pattern. Right about now, he could be on the cover of GQ.
Meanwhile, I kept my look simple. I curled my hair in loose waves and applied only a spec of makeup. I wanted to show I tried, but I didn’t try too hard. I’m wearing a strappy little black dress that goes down to my ankles with a slit coming up the leg, giving it a sexy yet sophisticated look.
Capaldi’s is one of those restaurants where everyone dresses their best, but upon walking through the door, the hostess wastes no time in taking us upstairs to the private room where I’m sure we’ll be dining. I’m positive they gave her some sort of outdated photograph of me, so they didn’t have to be bothered in the room. My mother’s made quite a spectacle out of this evening, but to think we’d be physically in the public eye isn’t like her. Our family has far too much drama for it. No, I’m sure there will be some sort of photographer upstairs shooting photos of us the entire time we’re here.
The first person I see is my younger brother Brody. He has a fake smile plastered across his face and is laughing at one of the jokes Chelsea is undoubtedly telling him. Chelsea is our youngest sister. She’s twenty-three and thinks she owns the world. Went to all of the best schools, had the best tutors and basically had the best childhood. Brody and I weren’t so lucky,
