Everything Worth Fighting For

by Street, K.

With shaky legs and a pounding heart, I got out of the cart and waited for him.

  His grin was huge. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “It was great.” I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face if I tried.

  “Where to now?”

  “Bumper cars.”

  After the bumper cars, we went on the Sea Dragon, a swinging pendulum ride. Then, we followed it up with the carousel.

  “Hungry?” Nash asked as I dismounted my horse.

  “I could definitely eat.”

  We walked through the midway to the food vendors.

  Nash pulled out his wallet and handed me a twenty-dollar bill. “How about you go get us two lemonades and snag a picnic table? I’ll be right back with the food.”

  “All right. See you in a few.”

  We split off, and I headed to the lemonade stand. The line was about ten people deep, and even though the sun had gone down a while ago, it was hot and muggy. I reached into my purse, grabbed one of the hair ties I kept stashed inside, and gathered my hair into a ponytail.

  After I got the lemonade and plenty of napkins, I scanned the area for a place to sit. A family of four was in the midst of vacating their table, and I swooped in just as they walked away.

  I spotted Nash and waved him over.

  He balanced all the food in a makeshift cardboard tray that had previously housed soda cans. “I thought we should have the full experience.”

  I took in the smorgasbord before us; it was clearly the gateway to coronary heart disease and diabetes.

  “This is perfect.”

  We sat across from each other. I picked up a fry, dipped it in ranch dressing, and popped it into my mouth while Nash sampled the smoked turkey leg.

  I wiped my hands on a napkin. “Thank you for tonight. I’m having a really good time.”

  “Me, too.”

  We people-watched while feasting on nachos and fried pickles. For dessert, we had funnel cake topped with powdered sugar.

  When we finished, we stood to gather our mess.

  Nash looked at me, his eyes fixated on my mouth. “You have powdered sugar …” He pointed to his own face to indicate the spot.

  My cheeks warmed as I reached up to wipe it away. “Here?”

  “No, the other side.”

  I tried again.

  “Let me.” Nash’s thumb skimmed my face. His stare grew more intense as he slowly dragged it around the corner of my mouth. When he pulled it back, a trace of white residue remained.

  I watched him suck the sweet substance from his skin. My mouth went dry, and my breath caught at the sight.

  Everything faded away.

  The lights.

  The noise.

  The people.

  Until it was just the two of us standing there, gazes locked, desire blazing between us. Heat bloomed between my legs.

  Kiss me, I shouted at him in my head.

  “Excuse me? Are you done with this table?”

  The world around us burst to life once again, breaking the spell.

  A woman with a hopeful smile held a sleeping toddler while maintaining a death grip on the horn of an overstuffed unicorn. She looked as if she might topple over if either of her possessions shifted their weight.

  I tried to speak, but Nash recovered more quickly.

  “It’s all yours,” he said, moving toward her. “Here, let me help.” He reached for the prized stuffed animal and set it on the uncluttered end of the table.

  “Thank you so much.” The woman rubbed her little girl’s back and lowered herself onto the bench.

  I regained my ability to form words. “No problem. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

  We collected our trash and tossed it into the bin.

  As we walked away, Nash’s hand claimed mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. In another life, it had been.

  The line for the Ferris wheel was nonexistent.

  “Come on.” I tugged us toward it.

  “How are you folks tonight?” The attendant pressed a button, and it slowly spun to a stop.

  “Good. How about yourself?” Nash asked.

  “Fine. Just fine.”

  Together, we boarded the empty car. Once the operator checked the latch, he nodded and went back to the control panel.

  The giant wheel gradually climbed higher and higher, and when we reached the top, it came to a halt. A sense of déjà vu swept over me.

  “Scared?”

  I turned to him, our eyes meeting, before my gaze dropped to his perfect mouth. “Terrified.” And it had nothing to do with the fact that we were stranded hundreds of feet in the air.

  My tongue made a slow sweep over my bottom lip.

  He angled his body and leaned into me, closing the inches between us. His full lips brushed so gently over mine that it was more a caress than kiss.

  Need vibrated in my throat, the sound a cross between a moan and a whimper.

  His fingers burrowed into the hair at my nape, and he cradled the back of my head in his palm. He kissed me again.

  Unhurried and tender.

  My hands went to his chest and traveled to his jawline; his stubble scratched against my palms. I pulled him closer, craving more of him.

  Nash dipped his tongue into my mouth, leisurely twirling it with mine.

  The ride began to move, but we didn’t stop kissing. Not until the Ferris wheel made another full rotation, and we had to get off.

  We strode hand in hand toward the exit. On our way out, Nash won me a giant stuffed sloth in one of those water gun games.

  He carried my prize in a chokehold and laced the fingers of his free hand in mine again as we made our way back to the car and headed home.

  “I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun,” I stated as Nash walked me to my door at the end of our date.

  “Me either.”

  With my keys in hand, I unlocked the door but didn’t open it. “I guess I should get inside.”

  “You should.”

  “Well …”

  Nash’s lips met mine in a slow, sensual kiss. “I’ll call you.”

  “Sounds good.”

  After one more chaste kiss, he said, “Go on. I want to make sure you’re safe inside before I leave.”

  “Good night.”

  “Sweet dreams, Mace.”

  I twisted the knob, and as I opened the door, I flipped on the light switch and then shut the door behind me.

  “Lock it,” I heard Nash say from the other side.

  The dead bolt clicked into place, and his footsteps carried him back to his car while mine took me down the hall to my bedroom.

  It was only a matter of time before I lost my heart to Nash … but I guessed you couldn’t lose something you never got back in the first place.

  12

  Nash

  I pulled the blue shop towel from my back pocket, wiped the sweat from my brow, and then replaced the air filter on Mrs. Williams’s Lincoln Town Car.

  It had been a couple of weeks since I took Macy to the carnival. The more time we spent together, the more I wanted to be with her. We laughed and joked and reminisced about the old days before it’d all gone to shit.

  We shared kisses so fucking hot; I half-expected us to detonate. That was as far as it went, much to the dismay of my dick. We were teetering on the edge, but it had to be her call. I wasn’t going to push her.

  The Macy who’d left all those years ago and the one who had come back were two different people. Sometimes, it felt like she was hiding something. I wanted answers, but at the same time, I didn’t. If I pushed her, she’d either push back or completely shut down. We were finally moving forward, so I tried like hell to push it to the dark corner of my mind.

  “You going to stand there, staring into the engine compartment all day, or are you about done?”

  I turned at the sound of Tucker’s voice. “Hey, man.”

  Tucker suspiciously eyed me. “What’s been up with you lately?” />
  “Nothing. Why?” I answered.

  After I made sure everything was intact, I lowered the prop and closed the hood.

  “You and Macy have been spending a lot of time together.”

  I started gathering the tools. “What’s your point?” The wrench clanked as I set it inside the toolbox and looked at Tucker.

  “No point. Just an observation.”

  Observation, my ass.

  “Tuck”—I wiped my hands on the rag—“if you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

  “You’re like a brother to me, man.” I saw the slight flash of pain in his eyes before he went on, “Macy is like a sister. Just be careful.”

  It wasn’t so much his words as the look on his face that told me what he really wanted to say. I understood, but I couldn’t resist giving him shit. That was how things were between Tuck and me.

  I laid one hand over my heart and topped it with the other. “Aw. We’re having a moment, aren’t we?” I batted my lashes. “Maybe we should go into your office, paint our toenails, and watch Say Yes to the Dress.”

  Tucker barked out a laugh. “You’re such an asshole, you know that?”

  “I’m aware.” I glanced around the garage.

  Tucker started walking away.

  I asked his back, “Hey, Tuck?”

  He pivoted to face me.

  Arms crossed, a serious look fixed on my face, I told him what I was sure he already knew, “I love her.”

  “I know, man. Just keep doing what you’re doing and try not to fuck it up.”

  “Good plan.”

  Macy holds all the cards. I’m just happy to be sitting at the fucking table.

  Admitting that aloud would make me sound like a pussy.

  “You two belong together.”

  “Thanks, brother.”

  “You good?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Now, get your ass back to work.”

  “Thanks for the talk, boss.”

  He flipped me off as he walked away.

  After I changed out the wiper blades on Mrs. Williams’s car, I cleaned my hands and went into the lobby to cash her out.

  “You’re all set, Mrs. Williams.” I smiled over the counter at the elderly woman.

  She approached with her credit card at the ready, and I handed her the car keys.

  “That’ll be sixty-five dollars.” I reached for her card and slid it through the machine.

  “That’s all?” Her eyes scrutinized me. “Did you put on the new wiper blades?”

  I gave her my signature all-American-boy grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The receipt printed out. I handed her our copy to sign along with a pen and watched her scrawl her signature.

  “Thank you, Nash.” She pushed her glasses up further on her nose and slid the paper back to me.

  “Have a nice day,” I said as she walked away.

  “Same to you,” she called out.

  I made a note on the receipt, pulled a ten-dollar bill out of my wallet, opened the cash register, and dropped it in to cover the shop’s cost of the wiper blades I had installed on Mrs. Williams’s car. Mr. Williams, her husband, had recently suffered a stroke. I had known them for years, and I knew money was tight, given the new medical expenses, but they were proud and didn’t want charity. That was something I understood. I had a soft spot for the older couple. They never had children, and all they had was each other. They still held hands and looked at each other like nobody else existed. Theirs was the kind of love that stood the test of time.

  My thoughts turned back to Macy. Maybe it was time for the conversation she had hinted at. I decided to shoot her a text.

  Me: Dinner tonight?

  I was surprised when the dots on the screen started jumping. It usually took her a few minutes to respond.

  Macy: I can’t.

  Me: Hot date?

  I joked to play off my disappointment.

  Macy: Hot being the operative word. It’s 8,000 degrees in this damn house.

  Macy: I’m waiting on the AC guy. FML.

  A plan began to take shape in my head. One that involved pizza, cold beer, and Macy.

  Me: What time is he supposed to be there?

  Macy: Between 6 and 8.

  I looked at the clock on the opposite wall from my perch at the counter. It was five now.

  Me: I’ll come by when I get off.

  Macy: Thanks for the offer, but you don’t have to do that. I can handle it.

  Me: I never said you couldn’t. I’ll see you later.

  I shoved my phone into my pocket. It wasn’t a question of whether or not Macy could manage it herself. Too many repairmen looked at women and decided to dick them around. I just planned to stop by to make sure that didn’t happen.

  There wasn’t a business as lucrative in the South as air-conditioning repair. Florida didn’t really experience the change of seasons like most other states in the US. Here, it went something like hot, hotter, Satan’s ball sack, and January. Given today’s temperatures, I was certain Macy could use a cold beer or two, and I wanted to see my girl.

  Thankfully, the next hour passed quickly, and at a few minutes after six, I was out the door.

  13

  Macy

  It was days like today that I truly hated living in the Sunshine State. Moisture beaded above my brow, and I used my forearm to wipe it away. Some women perspired. Not me. That word was far too classy for what I had going on. Don’t even get me started on the boob sweat. Few things were more disgusting. It didn’t matter that it was just after seven in the evening or that it had rained earlier. It had only made it that much stickier and rendered the air so thick with humidity; it was hard to breathe.

  I stood, watching over the repairman’s shoulder while he inspected the air-conditioning unit on the side of the house, and silently pleaded for an easy fix. One that wouldn’t put too big of a dent into my savings.

  The sound of a slamming car door caught my attention, and I turned to see Nash carrying a cardboard pizza box and a six-pack of beer.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said to the repairman.

  “Sure.” He didn’t look up from his work.

  I walked toward Nash with a smile on my face, happy to see him and the beer. “You come bearing gifts.”

  “I thought you could use a cold one.” Nash returned my smile.

  He leaned in and brushed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. I barely contained my appreciative hum as I inhaled his scent. He must have gone home to shower before he came over.

  Together, we walked to the porch where he set the pizza and beer down on the small wooden bistro table.

  Nash took out one of the beers and twisted off the cap. “Here.” He extended it to me.

  “Thanks,” I said, the bottle already at my bottom lip. I tipped my head back and chugged half of it.

  Nash opened his beer and took a long pull. Then, he said, “Let’s go see what the verdict is.”

  As we walked to the side of the house, I playfully bumped his arm with my shoulder. “Thank you for coming over and for the beer and pizza.”

  “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

  I peered up at him. His gaze met mine, and I could see the truth in his eyes. Nash meant every word.

  We turned our attention to the repairman.

  Biff, according to the white patch with red embroidered letters sewn to his shirt, looked like he was about to drop some news on me that I didn’t want to hear.

  Nash switched the beer to the opposite hand and used his now-free one to extend in Biff’s direction. “How’s it going, man?”

  Biff wiped his hand on his jeans and then gripped Nash’s outstretched one. “Hot and busy.”

  After they shook hands, Biff took a step back.

  “All right, so how bad is it? Do I just need a little Freon, or should I trade this out for something harder?” I waved my beer bottle in the air.

  “You need a new fan motor, but as far as repai
rs go, it’s one of the cheapest. However, I don’t have one on the truck, and I can’t get one until Monday,” he said.

  On one hand, I was thankful it wasn’t the condenser or the compressor. I knew those were a hell of a lot more expensive to fix.

  I can always stay at my parents’, I thought.

  Then, I remembered they had rented out my former childhood bedroom turned guest room to a college kid. Some friend of a friend’s son who was doing an internship in St. Charles. There was no way I’d make it the rest of the weekend without AC unless I went to buy a few box fans.

  I groaned inwardly and dropped my head. “All right. So, what time can you be here on Monday?”

  Please don’t be a dick like the cable company and give me a six-hour window.

  He looked toward the sky, as if the answer to my question were written there. “I can be here around nine, and it shouldn’t take me over an hour.”

  I nodded. My first showing on Monday was at eleven. “Sounds good.”

  “I’m going to grab some paperwork for you to sign,” he said before turning to walk away.

  Once Biff was out of earshot, Nash spoke, “He seems like a decent guy.”

  “What made you come to that conclusion?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

  “He addressed you instead of me,” he stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  I laughed. “Well, that’s because it’s my house.”

  “No. It’s because he’s a decent guy. He didn’t dismiss you and start talking to me about the repairs.”

  Nash had a point. Before I could comment further, Biff returned with a clipboard in hand and a pen.

  I pulled my credit card from my back pocket where I’d shoved it earlier, already knowing that I’d likely need it. I passed my beer to Nash and traded my credit card for the clipboard. Then, I signed at the line marked with an X next to it.

  “That will be eighty-five dollars for the service call,” he confirmed.

  “That’s fine,” I told him.

  He slid my card through the reader attached to his phone and then gave me his phone and took the clipboard. “Just sign on the screen, and I’ll be on my way.”