I rolled my eyes. “I think you’re biased, Dad. I wasn’t talking about looks, though. I think it’s because I come from money. Maybe that’s what happened with Nathan too … guys think that they won’t be able to support me.”
“Well, that part may be true,” my dad said through a chuckle. “I wonder that myself. How’s the job hunt coming?”
A groan escaped my throat. “It’s working. I think. I might have found one with my friend Morgan. At Tijuana Flats.”
My dad nodded encouragingly. “Perfect. I like that place. It’s also good for college students to wait on people, teaches them about serving others.”
“Exactly when have you ever had to serve others?” I asked, raising a brow.
“I didn’t have the money your mother had, honey. I did anything and everything I could to pay my way. Florida didn’t have the programs it has now. I had to work my butt off. I mowed lawns in the daytime and washed dishes at night until I found a good-paying job as a bar-back. Not to mention that I also took out nearly a hundred thousand dollars in student loans.”
“I didn’t know that, Dad. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “Don’t be. I want to give you everything I never had, Charity. But I also want you to work so you’ll appreciate what you have.”
I frowned, letting him know he’d offended me. I’d grown up a lot in the last six months. “I appreciate what I have.”
My dad sighed. “You do. I don’t mean that you’re ungrateful. But how can you really appreciate what you have if you’ve never been without. I might not be around forever, sweetheart. What if —”
“Oh, Dad!” I cut him off. “Don’t say that.”
“With everything that’s happened in our family, I have to think like that. That’s my job.”
I flung myself off the bed into my father’s arms. I did love him. I loved both my parents, but I had always been closer to my father than to my mother.
My father brushed the hair off my face. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m not dying or anything. Just being a realist.”
“I know, Dad. But I want you to know I love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
After my father kissed my forehead and left my room, I tried to control my breathing, wondering if I’d ever be strong enough to deal with life the way Kayla was. She’d seemed so strong over Thanksgiving, even if a little distant. I truly hoped that all would work out well for her.
***
Christmas passed in a blur. I’d received numerous texts from Morgan, asking if I was all right. I answered most questions with short, to-the-point responses: Fine. I’m okay. Yeah.
Nathan had messaged me a few times, begging me to take him back, but I didn’t bother calling him back. I didn’t feel like listening to him trying to explain how sorry he was. And I had no desire to get back together with him — ever.
I glanced at my phone for the hundredth time in a month, looking for anything from Brock. I had called him a few times, but I hadn’t bothered to leave a message. I didn’t know what to say, so I was hoping he’d eventually pick up.
Brock had probably gotten back with his ex-wife. I felt bad about the way we’d left things. About the fact that he had never let me explain why I was at Nathan’s that day.
It didn’t matter, though. None of it mattered. I was going out tonight. It was New Year’s Eve, and I was going to enjoy myself without a guy. I didn’t want a man in my life. I didn’t need the hassle. Didn’t need someone else to worry about. I had a hard enough time controlling my own life, let alone taking care of someone else.
My door swung open, and my mom burst in, her eyes red and swollen. My mother never cried. Not anymore. After losing her twin sister, nothing came close to horrible enough to make her cry. The suddenness of her in my room, where she rarely came, her arms around me, frightened me like I’d never been scared.
“What happened?” I wailed, bursting into tears without even knowing why. But if my mom was in my room, crying, her arms squeezing the life out of me, something had happened. Something I didn’t want to know about. I couldn’t handle any more tragedy. I’d been through enough with the family, and truth be known, I’d been holding back so much lately that I felt like I might explode. “Oh, my God, Mom, did something happen to Dad?”
My mom sniffed, then leaned back, shaking her head. “Kayla …”
Chapter 11 – Brock
I dialed the number I’d dialed a hundred times over the last month. Only this time, I actually hit send, and held on, waiting for Charity to answer.
She didn’t pick up. But unlike the previous attempts, when the last thing I wanted to do was to talk to her, I felt I had to. Scratch that. I wanted to talk to her, ached to comfort her.
“Hey, Charity — sorry … Char. I just wanted to talk to you, see if everything was okay. Tom didn’t say much. Understandable. He’s upset.” I paused, not wanting to upset her. Charity had said that she and Kayla had gotten close in the last year. Since neither of them had any siblings, they had started talking more often. I could only imagine how upset Charity was. “Anyway,” I continued, not knowing quite what to say. She wasn’t my girlfriend … wasn’t my concern. But for some reason, even though she’d hurt me, I still wanted her in my life. I just didn’t know how to tell her without handing over my balls. Now, I didn’t care. I longed to take away any pain she was going through. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay and was wondering if you heard anything else,” I continued, feeling stupid that I was rambling over a recorder. “Tom ran out of the office after giving me minor details, so I’m really not sure what’s going on.” I looked up at the ceiling as if the words I really wanted to say would be written there. Not finding the words, I just finished with, “Okay … just … umm … call me, okay? Bye.”
I hung up the phone and just stared out my window at the residents setting up for a luau type of New Year’s Eve party in the pool area of my apartment complex. Tiki torches and strings of hibiscus flowers were the main attractions. It was warm for being the last day of December, but that wasn’t unusual. You never knew what to expect with Florida. It could be twenty or eighty in December.
The last thing I wanted was to spend the evening watching people get drunk and make out while I sat brooding on my balcony. But I wasn’t sure what else to do. Autumn was on the road again, and Mom had decided to take a trip to New York to be with her sisters for the New Year’s holiday.
Maybe I’d just show up at Charity’s. What was the worst thing she’d do? Kick me out?
“No, the worst thing would be to find her snuggled up with that wussy ex-boyfriend of hers,” I said to the empty wall of my apartment.
Screw it!
I walked into my bedroom and pulled a clean pair of blue jeans off the shelf and a flannel shirt off a hanger. I looked at the two pieces of clothing, remembering how Charity had said I’d looked like I should be in a country bar. I started to exchange the flannel shirt for a sweater my sister had bought me, but changed my mind. I was who I was, and if Charity wasn’t in a relationship with that crying sissy, I was ready to listen to her explanation. Hell, the way I felt now I didn’t care if she was in a relationship. I was still going to make her mine.
I snatched my keys off the counter and headed to the door, pulling it open with resolve, but stopped in my tracks.
She was there. Charity. In my doorway, hand raised, ready to knock and dressed to the nines in a sleek black dress. Her eyes were red and puffy, though. She dropped her hand and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry —”
Without any thought of what had happened or why she was on my doorstep, I grabbed her and pulled her inside, wrapping my arms around her. She burrowed her head against my chest, and all I could hear was sobbing. I kicked the door shut with my foot and scooped her up into my arms, carrying her to the couch.
Almost afraid to touch her face, thinking she might disappear, I ran just my fingertip across her forehead to brush her hair away from her eyes, then down her face
and under her chin, coaxing her to look at me. “Is everything all right?”
She nodded without looking up. “It’s just … It’s been a rough year,” she murmured into my chest.
I kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry.”
Charity swiped at her tears, then moved off my lap to her feet, her head lowered. “I need to clean up. I don’t know why I lost it like that, especially since everything is okay.”
“I understand,” I said. “The bathroom’s on the other side of the hallway.”
I watched her walk away, and my heart pounded. She’d come to me. That had to mean something. In desperate need of something to do, anything that would keep me from going crazy while I waited for her, I walked to the kitchen. “Are you —” I slapped my hand over my mouth before I asked if she was hungry. I sounded like my mother, as if eating would fix everything. Then it hit me. Maybe my mother offered food because it made her feel better to do something she was comfortable with when she or someone she loved was upset.
With that thought, I pulled out the leftover spaghetti I had in the fridge, along with some butter. I heated the butter in a saucepan, then added the spaghetti and meat sauce. Mai had called it fried spaghetti, and it was one of my favorite leftover meals. I always made extra spaghetti just so I could make it the next day.
A sniffle came from behind me, so I whipped around, anxious to see her. I’d gone too long without seeing her. “Hey, you okay?”
Charity gulped, then nodded. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sure you’re expecting company for dinner.”
I gestured my hand to the stove. “This? This is leftovers. I thought you might be hungry since you said you’re always hungry.”
She forced out a laugh, but it didn’t show in her eyes, which were still watery. “Oh. Right.” She dropped her head again.
“Are you?”
Her head popped up, and a hopeful look lighted in her eyes. “Am I what?”
“Hungry,” I said, finding it hard to hide a smile. I made my way around the counter bar that separated me from her. “Are you hungry?”
A tiny gasp escaped her throat, and a sheen of water covered her eyes, making them even bluer than normal. “I’m starving …”
I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her to my chest. “Me too.” I moved my hand to the back of her neck and steadied her as I took what I was starving for.
Her mouth opened, and she ravenously returned my kiss, making me believe she was just as hungry as I was. That she wanted me as much as I wanted her. That she’d never hurt me again.
“Oh!” As much as I didn’t want to, I dropped my arms from around Charity and raced to the kitchen, smacking a lid over the pan, hoping I caught the smoke from the burned butter before the fire alarm went off.
She burst out in a laugh, then covered her mouth. “It’s always going to be something, isn’t it?”
For good measure, I waved the smoke away from the fire alarm with a dishtowel, then tossed the checkered cloth on the counter. Before the mood was gone, I raced back around the counter. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, turned off the ringer, then threw it on the coffee table. Next I went to the stereo and cranked up the volume on the Pandora station I’d been listening to.
I turned to Charity. “Give me your phone.” She furrowed her perfectly sculpted eyebrows, but handed over her iPhone. I turned off the ringer and set it beside mine. “First, is everything with your family okay?”
She nodded. “Yes. Scary, but I think everything is going to be okay. It just scared my mom to death when we got the first call, but Kayla said everything is going to be okay.”
“Thank goodness.” I pulled her into my arms again, gazing into her sapphire eyes, eyes I never wanted to be parted from ever again. How had I stayed away from Charity for more than a month? “Where were we?”
She blinked, then smiled. “You were burning dinner …”
“I can save it.”
Charity shook her head. “Later. I need to talk to you, explain.”
As much as I wanted an explanation, I realized I was wrong. “We weren’t exclusive. I had no right to be upset.”
“Brock, you made it clear what you wanted, and I was prepared to accept …” She shook her head. “Nathan called me, crying. He said if I didn’t take him back he’d kill himself. I didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t tell me why he was so upset. He just said if I didn’t come over that he would hang himself.”
“Oh, Charity. I’m so sorry. What a rotten thing for him to do. He was fine. I heard him crying into the phone, then he covered the mouthpiece and spoke completely normal. What a Zángano.
“A what?”
“Nothing. Sorry. Something my friends used to say.” I rubbed my hand over my forehead. “Is that normal for him to do that?”
She looked up at the ceiling for a second as if she didn’t want to answer, then finally her eyes found their way back to me. “He’s always been depressed …” She shook her head as if it wasn’t her place to share her ex-boyfriend’s issues. “He’d been going on at the party … saying he felt so guilty. That he could never forgive himself —”
I threw up my hand again. “Wait. What? What party? You mean Thanksgiving night? You went back?”
Charity turned to leave. “You know what … I shouldn’t have come.”
“No, no … don’t leave. Wait. I’m …” I dropped my head into my hands. Was I sorry? How many times could I keep saying that? I’d called her ex-boyfriend a Zángano, but I was acting like one, too. “Charity,” I said, making sure my tone made it clear I was serious. She stopped her retreat, but crossed her arms, waiting. “You did nothing wrong. I understand, and I had no right to be upset.” I pulled in a deep breath and let it out before I continued. I stepped forward, turning her toward me. I had hem-hawed around before, but not anymore. “I want you in my life, exclusively. Call it what you want. Talking. Going out. Seeing each other. Girlfriend. Partner. Hell, put any label you want on it as long as you understand I want you to be mine.”
She lifted and lowered her head slowly as if she wasn’t quite sure what I meant.
I took another tentative step, lifting my hand to her cheek. “It’s New Year’s Eve. How ’bout we start off the new year together, as a couple.”
Not just her mouth, but her entire face turned up in a genuine smile, the type of grin that even made her eyes look like they were beaming. “I’d like that, Brock Ryan.”
She leaned in, so I kissed her, sealing our exclusive arrangement, but I made it short and sweet. It still wasn’t time for us to go further. I wanted this to work, and I was afraid if I made it about my physical wants, it wouldn’t.
As hard as it was, I pulled away from her. “I’m going to change into something that’s more appropriate for New Year’s Eve if that’s all right with you.”
“What you’re wearing looks great, but if you insist.”
“I insist.” No way was I going to have her on my arm without looking as good as she deserved. I reached for another of the shirts my sister had bought in Miami, clothes she said would suit a Puerto Rican man. She was forever telling me that I’d never get past the velvet ropes in South Beach. As if I ever wanted to hang out in the clubs in South Beach. Regardless, every birthday and Christmas, Autumn would purchase me a new outfit. I snatched a pair of distressed Savage jeans off the shelf that she had purchased — which, I loved — along with a button-down lavender shirt that I never, not in a million years, would have picked out, but tonight was the night to wear the outfit. Then I finished off the outfit with a pair of Doc. Martens, another item I hadn’t complained about. The black boots were sweet.
I brushed my teeth, smoothed back my hair as much as possible, and hurried out to the living area to find Charity sipping a bottle of the Mike’s she’d left behind. I didn’t know how I felt about her drinking since she wasn’t twenty-one yet. I just wouldn’t be a contributor anymore, I decided.
She lowered her bottle and stared up at me. “Dang … Brock!
You clean up nice.”
If my face wasn’t so tan, I was positive she would have seen me blush. I laughed to play off my embarrassment. “Autumn spends a lot of time in Miami. She’s forever trying to dress me up. She’d always liked dolls when she was young. So now I think she likes dressing me up, see if she can make me perform.”
“Tell your sister that she has excellent taste. You look as good as any runway model I’ve ever seen.” Her eyebrows lifted. “Have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Performed?”
Smiling inwardly, I strutted to the sliders as though I were a runway model, then turned quickly, striking a bent-knee, one-shoulder-forward pose. At the same time, I sucked in my cheeks and puckered my lips, giving Charity my best Zoolander pose, hoping to make her laugh.
Charity rewarded me with a belly laugh I’d never heard from her. “Oh, my God! You’re awesome! I meant … do you sing with her on stage, but that was great.” She jumped up and threw her hands around my neck. “I love that movie. I love you!”
I pulled back, but kept my face absent of any expression, knowing she hadn’t meant that she really loved me. Girls just said that all the time. She hadn’t meant that she really loved me, as much as I wished she had.
Chapter 12 – Charity
Did I just tell Brock I loved him? Yes, I did. I hadn’t meant to say that. It just slipped out. So few people got my dry sense of humor, but Brock did. And he wanted me. He really, really wanted me. Not just my body, as most guys did. Otherwise, he would have taken advantage of the state I was in when I arrived at his apartment, instead of insisting we go out. And he wanted to be exclusive, even though we hadn’t had sex yet.
But he’d also been cool and hadn’t felt the need to return my sentiment. Which was understandable. After all, I’d hurt him, and we hadn’t seen or talked to each other in more than a month. What did I expect? He’d said exclusive, and I was ready for exclusive, so that would be enough.
Love Until It Hurts (Crazy Love Book 2) Page 9
