by Jane Anthony
“What else is there?”
Rolling my eyes, I lean forward on my forearms.
The drinks don’t stop, but neither does my desire. Line ’em up, knock ’em back, fill ’em up, over and over until I’m rotting from the inside out.
A band of girls stumble inside. The once garish sky notably dusky and dark as they enter, giving off a vague note of the hours I’ve spent on this stool. They whisper and giggle as they wander past. I barely take note, but Mark perks up like a hungry dog begging for a treat.
“Now we’re in business,” he mumbles in my ear. “You see the tits on that blonde?”
I don’t bother with a response. Mainly because I don’t care, but I’m also hoping Mark gets the hint. I’m not interested in being his wingman. The girls who frequent this establishment can’t hold a candle to the one I had.
I sink another shot and slam the empty glass on the counter. “Another!” I shout, shuddering at the taste.
The amber liquid glimmers in the neon light as the bartender fulfills my request. I throw a few bills on the sticky bar top, but the man doesn’t take them.
“Compliments of the lady at the other end.”
My fuzzy gaze rolls to the other side of the room. A blonde—judging from the low cut of her shirt and the cleavage spilling over the top, I can only assume the one Mark spoke of earlier—offers a shy smile. “No thanks.” I push the bills forward, and the bartender takes them away.
I pretend not to notice as he meanders her way. I’m not in the mood to make new friends. Yet, to my utter chagrin, she leaves her friends and strolls down. The clack of her heels gets louder as she approaches. “You don’t want my drink?” A veil of hurt crosses her expression as she squeezes her slender body between my stool and the old man next to me. Something tells me no isn’t a word she hears very often.
“Thanks, but I’m good.”
“You have something against independent women?” Her burgundy lips screw in a heart-shaped pout. Blow job lips. Thick and full and pursed just enough to make my cock twitch, but it’s purely physical. My dick knocks on my fly, but my head and my heart just want her to leave.
“Just trying to unwind with my friend.” I gesture with my thumb in Mark’s direction.
“Hey, beautiful,” Mark slurs. “You can buy me a drink if you want.”
Her pretty pout turns into a scowl, but her hazel eyes remain fixed on me. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” Sex drips off every word. She runs her hand up my arm as she sidesteps from the bar and saunters away.
“What’s with you, man?” He jabs me in the side with his elbow. “You coulda had her.”
“I don’t want her.”
A pfft stutters on his lips. “You’ve been walking around like a goddamned wet mop for months, man.”
My frustration with the situation continues to grow. I just want to be left alone.
He throws back the last swallow of his drink and slides the glass to the edge of the bar. “That chick did a number on you. Lousy bitches. You’re better off without her, man.”
My pulse ratchets up to eleven. I grind my teeth to keep my temper from detonating like a stick of dynamite. If Mark has any sense in his puny brain, he’ll stop talking right the fuck now.
But Mark’s a dumbass. He’s always been a dumbass, and he’ll die a dumbass.
Maybe even today.
“What you need is a girl who looks like her. Find a cute little redhead, fuck her hard, and get her out of your system. I’ll bet she’s already done the same for you.”
The dam bursts.
My arm sweeps on its own accord. It clotheslines across Mark’s chest and knocks him to the floor. The stool crashes as he falls like the pile of shit he is. I hover over his stunned expression. “You mention her again, and I’ll murder you in your fucking sleep.” Spittle shoots through my clenched teeth.
Mark just lays there looking up at me as I pant like a rabid dog.
“Leave me,” I snarl, gulping down breaths.
He scrambles to his feet and scurries out the door. I turn and amble back onto my stool and resume the same hunched position as before as if nothing ever happened.
The old man next to me orders another drink, then takes a long sip. “I like the way you handled that guy. Smooth. I was never able to hold my temper that way,” he says, licking the foam from his mustache. “At your age, I was full of piss and vinegar, ready to fight anyone who looked at me sideways.”
“Mark’s harmless. He just needs to know when to keep his mouth shut.”
Gravely laughter rumbles in his throat. “Only a woman can make a man crazy enough to turn his back on his best friend.”
“He’s not my friend. Just a guy I work with.”
The old man shrugs. “Still . . . he had it comin’. He had no right talkin’ about your lady like that.”
My fury wanes to remorse as I sip my beer. “She’s not my lady either.”
“Coulda fooled me the way you’re throwin’ back them shots. That’s woman-hurt.”
I glance at the man as he takes a long pull from his glass. A graying beard obscures most of his leathery face. I can’t imagine we’ve ever met, but there’s something so strikingly familiar about him, nonetheless.
“What’d she do? Throw ya out?” he continues.
“It’s not her fault. I forced her hand.”
“Cheatin’?”
A boulder sits on my chest, crushing my rib cage until it’s hard to breathe, but the alcohol numbs the pain to a dull, livable ache. “No, I would never do that to her. Shit just got complicated.”
“Dealing with women is always complicated.”
I let out a genuine laugh for the first time in months. The old man seems like a pretty nice guy. “Nah, that’s not it. She got pregnant, and everything just fell to shit. They’re better off without me anyway. I’m an asshole. I’d only screw that kid up royal.”
“Everyone’s father is an asshole,” he warbles around the lip of his glass.
“I guess.”
Wrinkles form across his thick brows. “So, in a nutshell. You had a fight with your pregnant girlfriend and split.”
I wince, hearing it said out loud. “There’s more to it than that, but yeah. Basically.”
The old man erupts in a fit of filthy laughter. “Jesus Christ, son. You turned out no better than I did,” he wails, patting his chest.
I lean back with wild eyes blurry, my heart picking up speed. He turns to face me head-on, and for a split second, I feel like I’m dreaming. Bags hang under each blue eye, his gaunt cheeks dappled with untamed scruff. When he pulls the trucker hat off his head, a tumble of greasy blond hair falls out from underneath.
Chills skitter across my skin. It can’t be. There’s no possible way this is happening.
“Dad?”
His palm comes down hard on the bar. “I knew it was you! Goddammit! You’re a good lookin’ son of a bitch, just like your old man.”
I blink my eyes, trying to focus. My head swims in booze. I’m finding it hard to say the words jumbling around my brain like a bowl of alphabet soup.
His lips curl over yellowed teeth. “Today’s your birthday, isn’t it?” He leans over the bar and yells out, “Barkeep! A round of drinks for my son. It’s his birthday!”
A monotonous ripple of applause waves through the room. I can’t think straight sitting down. “Where the hell have you been?” My voice wobbles as I stagger from the stool.
“Hell and back, boy.” He stands to face me and claps his hand on my shoulder. “But I always knew you’d find me.”
I shrug him off, grabbing the bar for support when I waver. “I wasn’t looking for you.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s fate, son. Livin’ your birthright as a free man just like the rest of us.”
“Fuck you,” I sneer. “I’m nothing like you.”
A greasy grumble of laughter grouses from his nose. He side-eyes me with a hard expression that twists my
guts like spaghetti. “You’re worse. Least I stuck it out for a few years before going AWOL.”
The powder keg of emotion detonates, blasting through me like gunfire. I lunge forward, my shoulder slamming into his as we tumble to the floor.
He plays defense at first, but the rage inside me boils over to a hot, piping flame of fury. The crowd around us hoots and hollers, but no one dares to get involved.
Fists fly, both his and mine. A strangled snarl of hate spews from my lips as I pummel the man who gave me life, then took it away in the blink of an eye. All the pent-up hate I’ve been holding in finally pours out until my arms feel too weak to throw another punch.
A crack across my cheek has me seeing red. My head snaps as the blood trickles across my tongue, but I just keep coming. Numb from the whiskey and blind with wrath, I keep going until a steel cage of arms wraps around my middle and hurls me to the side.
My back slams against a metal barstool. I yelp in pain and drop to the ground a second time. Adrenaline rushes through my veins. It’s only then that I feel the sting in my face, the blood trickling down my cheeks and splattered on my shirt. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
The bartender hovers between us, holding his arms out. “No fighting in here!” he shouts, but my bloodshot gaze stays fixed on the object of my hate.
I struggle to stand. “You’re a fucking bum,” I seethe, red spittle shooting between my teeth. I hock it to the floor, a deep crimson mess dappling the concrete at my feet. “I wish you’d died for real.”
He doesn’t reply, just wipes the bloody snot from his nose as I turn my back on him the way I should have months ago. I let him get inside my head, but now I see for myself. I see the truth.
Eddie Dylan is a pathetic, empty piece of shit.
And I’m not him.
His leaving was the best thing that ever happened to me. I became a man despite it, one who hurts and feels and still loves without hesitation. I let him inside me. I allowed him to eat away the best parts of me, but no more. I’m done.
I’m done feeling sorry for myself.
I’m done wishing I was someone else.
I’m done thinking I don’t deserve happiness.
I’m just done with being Eddie Dylan’s son.
My father died when I was five. That’s the memory I cling to as the sounds of sirens whir around me.
CHAPTER 35
Wren
BANG! Bang! Bang!
The sudden slam on my front door jars me from a dead sleep. I sit up hard, my head swiveling back and forth in a sleepy-eyed stupor.
Bang! Bang!
My attention whips to my bedroom doorway. I throw my feet over the edge and pad quietly down the hall, my hackles raised as I approach the door. Red and blue lights swirl over my kitchen curtains, illuminating the room in splashes of color. My stomach drops. Cops at midnight is never a good thing.
With trembling hands, I unlock the deadbolt and pull open the door. My heart riots in my chest, slamming against my ribs without remorse.
“Ma’am. You know this man?” A young officer stares stoically from beneath the brim of his cap, but I’m not looking at him. I’m too entranced by the man swaying on his feet beside him.
Jesse.
Is this a dream?
It has to be.
It’s the only explanation for his sudden appearance after all these months with zero contact. I raise my hand to his chin. Encrusted blood covers his face. But it’s not the ooze pouring from his broken lips and puffy eye that makes me feel as though I’m breathing underwater. It’s the pool of tears drowning his crystal eyes as he falls to his knees.
The cop who brought him takes a step forward. “It’s okay.” I wave. “Thank you for bringing him home.”
The officer nods and ducks back into his car.
Too stunned to speak, I stand against the cold backdrop of night. Jesse grips me like a lifeline, sobbing like a baby. Incoherent words mumble against my stomach. There’s nothing I can do but hold him in return. My fingers trailing into the soft tufts of silky waves around his head, I hush his wails with soft whispers in the dark.
“C’mon. Let’s go in.” I catch him when he struggles to stand. He leans against me for support, his neck too loose to hold his head, and his feet sluggish with sleep, I drag him to the couch. “Wait here.” I rush to the bathroom and turn on the faucet. The water blasts to the beat of my pulse. Angry, hard, and unrelenting. I wet a washcloth and return to where he’s sprawled out, his head pressed against the back of the couch with his arms stretched out on either side.
He whimpers as I press the cold cloth to his face. I don’t want to know who else’s blood is mixed with his. I just need to wipe it clean until his perfect face is all I see. Shattered and bruised, yet still as beautiful as I remember.
But the tears.
They continue to leak from his eyes. I’m not even sure if he knows he’s crying, or if it’s the booze I smell wafting from his breath causing the rush of emotion to pour across his cheeks.
“You want to tell me what happened?”
He slouches against me, his large hand wrapping my middle. Another string of illogical rambling ekes against my neck, his deep baritone too thick and muddled to make out any words. All except two: love and sorry.
“You don’t have to tell me tonight,” I whisper against his hair. “I’m just glad you’re home.”
It isn’t long before his despondent wails begin to wane, and his breathing slows to an even keel. I hold him close. His chest rises against mine, our hearts beating together the way they once did. It all feels so long ago. As if another five years have passed us by instead of just a handful of months.
I don’t understand how everything fell apart so quickly. It all seemed so simple then. Now I’m drowning in the tide, working so hard just to stay afloat. He walked out on me without warning. Told me he loved me, then turned his back. How can I forgive that? How can I see past these quiet, lonely months and welcome him back with open arms? How can I learn to trust him again when he’s taken his love and stolen my heart twice without warning?
God help me, I don’t want to love him this much, but I do, and I can’t turn it off no matter how hard I try. All it took was a single look, and it brought me right back to that place inside. That moment when I first saw him sitting in the diner, when my heart thundered and head felt light.
A halo of light crests the morning sky. My head is fogged with the need for sleep. I gently untangle from his embrace and cover him in a blanket “Happy Birthday, baby,” I whisper before heading off to my own bed. Cold sheets welcome me as I slip between them, the warmth of his embrace still burning my skin.
Tears soak into my pillow. He belongs in this bed, holding me close as I drift off to sleep, but we’re still miles apart, and I don’t know how to get us back.
I WAKE with the sun warm on my face. A picture-perfect springtime day. The birds sing outside my window, the first sign of winter’s demise.
With a fierce yawn, I stretch and amble to a sitting position. My son shifts inside me. “Morning, little guy,” I coo aloud, running my hand over my stomach, my heart blooming at the notion of meeting him soon. Seven months—almost eight—have passed, so he’ll be in my arms before I know it.
But the trace of red smeared across my middle makes my blood rush in my ears. Last night was . . . I don’t even know what that was, to be honest. Jesse appeared out of nowhere, bloody and bruised and drunk off his ass. I can only imagine the train wreck he is today.
I waddle from my bed and trudge down the hall, my pulse pounding as I round the corner and find the couch empty.
“Jess?” My gaze sweeps the room. The blanket is folded neatly on the edge of the couch, the washcloth rinsed in the sink. I stand in the center of it all, goose bumps trailing my skin from head to toe.
For a moment, I wonder if I imagined the whole thing. If his sudden arrival was a lucid dream like so many I’ve had during my pregnancy, but the proof stays embedded in
the fabric of my pajamas.
He was here.
Now he’s gone.
I sit on the sofa, touching the cushion where he slept, wanting to feel his warmth, but it’s gone. No trace of Jesse remains. Another disappearing act right on cue. I was a fool to let him back in. Not only in my home but in my heart. I should have turned him away when I saw him at the door. No, I should have turned him away at the diner. Told him to go to hell and never come back.
But he always comes back. Just when I think I’m moving on, Jesse Dylan stomps through the wall I’ve erected and tears it down brick by brick. I can’t unlove him, but I can’t make him love me if he doesn’t. Last night in the dark, in the wee hours of the morning, I laid down my heart. I felt the power brewing between us, but I was alone. He mustn’t have felt it, or he would have stayed.
When I grab the blanket, a small piece of paper flutters to the floor. Rocks tumbling in my gut as I stare at it. Too many unanswered questions plaguing my mind. I squat down to pick it up, afraid to read what’s scrawled across the faint blue lines.
WREN,
I’m embarrassed having barged in on you in the middle of the night. For that, I’m sorry. I made a mess of us. Ruined what we were, and I take the blame. You’re an innocent in this fight against myself, but I put it on you anyway. It was easier than facing it. Now, I can’t face you. I can’t look in your gorgeous green eyes and see the hurt I’ve put there. I can’t stand the thought of you hating me for what I did.
I’m a coward. A fool who fell in love with a girl too far out of his league and couldn’t handle the fallout. I know you’ll have a beautiful life without me in it. You’ll be the sun in someone’s sky, someone who deserves your love the way I never did.
Never stop chasing your dreams, Bird.
Jesse
TEARS FALL down my cheeks as I clutch the letter to my chest. The idea that he thinks he’s undeserving smashes my heart to sand. If anything, I’m the one who doesn’t deserve him. I made him go, knowing he was hurting. I lost faith in him when he lost himself.
CHAPTER 36
