by E. K. Blair
“What’s going on?” she asks, picking up on the seriousness in my tone.
“Just tell me. You and Trevor, are you happy?”
“Yeah,” she breathes. “I’m happy. We have our issues. Everyone does, but I’m happy.”
I’m scared to fall any more than I already have for Candace, but I want to. God, I want to so bad. I want to connect. I want everything that I’ve been too afraid of.
My mom and dad used to be happy. There was a time when they really loved each other. She’s told me about it, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t enough, and that love transformed into a living hell. The hell is all I remember. The screaming, the fighting, the beatings, the constant turmoil and fear. Then I see Tori and her family. They’re happy. They’re okay.
I’m still scared though, but the thought of walking away scares me more.
“Ryan, you there?” she asks.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“So are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”
I’ve always been honest with Tori, so I go ahead and tell her, knowing my words are safe with her, “I met someone.”
“Is this that someone you denied back at Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s bothering you about it?” she questions.
“I have a seedy past, and I’ve never done this. I’ve never wanted to. But she’s nothing like anyone I have ever known, and she makes me nervous.”
“You think she’ll judge you for the choices you’ve made?”
“She’s nothing like me. She’s so green, and I’ve been fucking chick after chick since I was fifteen.” Just saying the words is almost mortifying. Sickening. And what was once something I couldn’t care less about is now something that I’m embarrassed about. Ashamed.
“I don’t have a picture perfect record either. You know that. But Trevor loves me regardless of who I was before him,” she tells me. “That’s the thing about love . . . it’s a pretty powerful force that can show a side of you that you never knew existed. Show you that you’re capable of becoming someone you never thought you could be, and you do it for the other person because you love them, because you want to put them before yourself.”
I don’t say anything. I just let her words soak in. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. All I know is, I want to—for her.
“Just a piece of advice,” she adds. “Don’t ever lie to her about who you are. If she ever asks, be honest.”
“Yeah.” When she says this, I begin to have doubts that it will ever get to that point. I don’t even know where this girl’s head is at. Just because I want her doesn’t mean anything. What if I’m just wasting my time? Shit. I see how she is with Jase. What if that’s just how she is with her friends? I even see it when she’s with Mark. All she has given me is exactly what I see her giving to the two of them.
Suddenly, I’m questioning everything.
I’ve been trying to shake my self-doubts about Candace for the past few days. We continue to chat on the phone and text back and forth, but I can’t help wondering if any of this is different with me than it is with Jase and Mark.
Needing a distraction, I decide to get my Christmas shopping done for the kids today. I thought hitting the gym would help, but here I am, still doubting. My cell starts ringing as I’m grabbing my coat to head out.
It’s her.
“Hey.”
“Hi. You busy?” she asks, and something about the sound of her voice erases my questioning thoughts.
“No,” I lie as I toss my leather coat onto the couch. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Jase and Mark left early this morning for Ohio, and I’ve just been sitting around the house. I didn’t know if you wanted to hang out.”
“Oh, I see. Second best since the boys aren’t there to keep you entertained,” I tease with a laugh.
“No,” she drags out in feigned annoyance at my joke. “And you’re not second best,” she adds, and I’m happy she does because I like hearing it.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Anything. I just want to get out of my house,” she says in a way that makes me think of her non-existent roommate. I know she lives with a girl, but in the past couple of months I’ve been hanging out with Candace, I’ve never seen or heard her talk about her roommate, but if she needs to get away, I’ll take her away.
“You up for shopping?”
“Shopping?” she questions.
“Yeah, I need to do some Christmas shopping for my nieces and nephews. You in?”
“Um, yeah. That sounds good.”
“I’ll come pick you up,” I tell her before we hang up, and just like that, my day got better.
When I pull into her drive, I see her walking down the steps of her front porch. She looks perfect with her leopard scarf wrapped around her neck and her hair down. When she gets into my car, she looks at me staring at her and asks, “What?”
Being honest, I tell her, “I like your hair down.” She usually has it in a piled mess on top of her head, which always looks sexy on her, but I have to admit that it’s cutest when she’s in school, and it’s almost always in a tight bun since she dances every day. But I rarely ever see her with her hair down like it is now.
She looks uncomfortable with the compliment and doesn’t respond to it, instead asking, “Can we stop by Peet’s and grab something to drink?”
Laughing at her deflection, I say, “Sure,” before backing out and heading over to Fremont. As I’m driving, I notice that she seems a little absent as she stares out the window.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, and when she faces me, she questions, “Why?”
“You seem distracted.”
“Sorry,” she says and I can tell she’s abashed. “Thanks for picking me up.”
Not sure what’s causing her mood, I intend to dispel it. Smiling over at her, I say, “Anytime.”
We luck out, finding a parking spot right in front of Peet’s, and the place is crowded when we walk in. Candace stands close to me while we wait in line. She’s fidgety, absentmindedly wringing her hands together.
A burst of cold air floods in, and when the chime from the door goes off, Candace startles and turns to see an older couple walking in. Her face is nearly stone when I look down at her.
“Hey,” I say as gently as I can, and when she turns around, I ask, “You sure you’re okay?”
Fixing a smile on her face, she looks up at me and assures, “Yeah. Maybe I should just get a decaf tea or something,” with humor I’m not buying, but I’m not questioning it either. I reach down and when I take her hand in mine, she grips me tightly as if she needs the comfort of my touch.
After we order our drinks, we walk out into the brisk air, and she finally seems to breathe easy. Crowds. I forgot for a moment that she doesn’t like them, and Peet’s was packed with people needing a hot drink to warm up.
Opening the car door for her, I help her up and then walk around to get in. We drive across town to a massive toy store that’s my go-to spot for the kids. We listen to an old David O’Dowda album as we fight the holiday traffic, and when we pull up, we grab our drinks and head inside.
“So, what are you looking for?” she asks as she gets a cart and starts following me down one of the aisles.
“Don’t know. These kids aren’t too hard to please though,” I tell her as I stop and flip through a few board puzzles.
“How old are they again?”
“Young. All under five,” I say as I start wandering around. “Honestly, they’d be happy with a box of tissues and a stick.”
She laughs at my words, and I turn back to her to get a glimpse. “That’s nice,” she says, teasingly.
“It’s true.”
When we turn down the next aisle, filled with pink . . . everything, Candace stops to admire a collection of dolls. I step up behind her and quip, “You want one?”
She looks at me over her shoulder, and mocks, “No, I don’t want one,” before looki
ng back at them. “They’re pretty.”
“Grab a couple,” I tell her and watch as she picks out two of the dolls and puts them in the cart.
We take our time, slowly strolling, grabbing toys here and there as she continues to ask about my family.
“So, seven nieces and nephews . . .”
“Yep.”
“All cousins’ kids?” she asks.
“I’m an only child, remember?”
Nodding her head, she says, “That’s right. I forgot. You all sound close.”
“I’m closest to my cousin, Tori. We spent a lot of time together while we were in high school. We lived in different towns, but would always get together on the weekends. Partying and surfing.”
“You surf?” she asks as she looks over at me.
“I grew up on the beach.”
“Jase surfs,” she tells me.
“Yeah, he’s mentioned that to me. Grew up in San Diego, right?”
“Uh huh. He goes to Westport every now and then.”
“I’ve been there a few times, but I go back to Cannon Beach frequently, so I normally get my fill when I’m there,” I tell her and catch her staring down the next aisle. “What are you looking at?”
“I always wanted one of those,” she whines with excitement as she starts walking towards a huge wire bin filled with inflated Hop N Bounce balls. I laugh while I watch her grab one out of the bin and turn to me. “My friend had one of these when we were little, but she would never let me play with it.”
“Why didn’t you ask your parents for one?”
“I did, but . . .” she trails off, and when she does, I encourage, “Take it for a spin.”
She completely surprises me when she doesn’t even hesitate. Holding the ball by the handle, she walks over to me and hands me her drink. “Here. Hold this.”
Taking her tea, I question, “You serious? That’s a toy for an eight-year-old,” I poke.
She sets the large ball on the ground and sits on top of it, saying with a huge smile, “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m about the same size as an eight-year-old,” before spinning around and bouncing away from me down the aisle.
I watch her, laughing as she bobs up and down, enjoying seeing her let go for a moment. She isn’t worried about how she looks; she never has been. Not embarrassed in the slightest and I revel in this moment.
When she turns to bounce back towards me, I start cracking up at the laughter coming out of her. I’ve never seen her like this—so carefree. It’s beautiful, and I just want to grab her off that stupid ball and kiss her. Just take her and make her mine, so I can touch her whenever I want—to have her.
She finally stops bouncing and stands up, still holding the ball in her hands. She continues to giggle while telling me, “Totally worth the wait.”
“Must have been a good ride,” I say. “I think the whole store heard you laughing.”
She tosses the ball into the cart, and as I cock my head in question, she clarifies, “You have to buy that for the kids.”
She takes her tea out of my hand, and I’m lost in her. Everything about her. I follow her lead as we continue to make our way through the rest of the store, thankful that she doesn’t skip a single aisle because I need all the time I can get with her.
“Michael here?” I ask Mel when I walk into the bar.
“Yeah,” she hollers over to me. “Upstairs.”
The place is busy tonight as I head up to Michael’s office. It’s been a good day, although dropping Candace off at her house to come up here was the last thing I wanted to do, but I need to sit down with Michael. He’s been dropping the ball on a few things, and shit needs to get back on track.
His door is open, so I go ahead and walk in.
“Ryan, hey, man,” he says from behind his desk, which is a mess of papers.
I cut to the chase and say, “Talk to me.”
While he sorts and stacks a few files, he asks, “About what?”
“Not showing up. Supply orders going in late. Schedules not getting out on time.”
He drops the files onto his desk and leans back in his chair. “Fuck, man,” he sighs.
“You know I can’t have this, so either we figure it out or I’m gonna have to let you go,” I tell him honestly. No need to bullshit when it comes to my business.
“No, I’m getting everything in order. Things have been a little crazy at home, and I let it filter into work,” he explains.
“Kids okay?”
“It’s not the kids,” he says and takes a pause before revealing, “I found out that Amber’s been fucking around on me.”
Seems Mel’s eavesdropping skills don’t suck.
“Shit, man.”
“Yeah. It’s fucked up,” he tells me. “Don’t worry about things up here though. I’ve got it under control.”
Not too comfortable with chatting about this guy’s issues, I leave it as is and let him get back to work, trusting that he’s gonna get his crap together.
I make my way back down to check in with Mel, and as I pass along the edge of the bar, someone grabs on to my arm. Turning around, I’m face to face with my past.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, and when her hand lingers on me, I take a step back and out of her grip.
“Having a drink. Waiting for a friend, but he’s running late.”
“You should pick a different bar next time,” I tell her, turning to leave and spot Gavin walking in.
“M.I.A.,” he calls out to me while shaking his head.
I’ve found myself drifting from Gavin as well as most of my bad habits, so seeing him is a little awkward, but not as awkward as him walking past me and straight to Gina, kissing her.
Irritation causes my shoulders to tighten, and when Mel appears from behind the bar, I snap, “Back room.”
She follows behind me as I head into the back stockroom, closing the door behind her.
“What the fuck did I just see?”
“He brought her in here the other day,” she tells me. “Said he’s been hooking up with her for a couple months now.”
The door opens, and Gavin walks in, thankfully alone.
“You mad?”
“Mad? No. Disturbed? Kinda,” I respond. “Dude, weren’t you screwing her roommate?”
He gives me an almost proud smirk and boasts, “Yeah, man.”
“Have fun with that one,” I tell him.
“So we’re cool?”
“I don’t care who you’re hooking up with, but that girl seems like trouble,” I tell him.
“Maybe so, but she’s good in bed, you know?” He laughs and then adds, “Yeah, you know.”
Regretfully, I do know. I wanna forget, but that isn’t gonna happen. It’s my past, and unfortunately, you can’t escape your past. I’ve dealt with that little piece of knowledge my whole life. But I do what I can to shut it out and tell him, “Don’t bring her back up here again.”
When he turns to walk out, not responding to me, I face Mel and say, “I’m serious. You see her in here, I want her out.”
“Yeah, no problem,” she says. “You okay?”
Switching the subject, not wanting to discuss it any further, I tell her, “Let me know if anything starts to fall through the cracks up here.”
“Did you talk to Michael?”
Being irritated as shit, I don’t want to go into this with her, so I leave it with, “Just let me know,” before walking out and calling it a night.
Can you help me run an errand?
Yeah. What do you need?
I want to go pick up some firewood but I want enough to last and it won’t fit in my trunk. Can you take me since you have the space in your jeep?
At gym now. Will you be ready in a couple of hours?
Yes. THANKS!!!
After I finish my workout with Max, I head home to grab a quick shower and a bite to eat before I leave to pick up Candace.
The night is colder than usual as I walk out to my jeep. I ma
ke the short drive through the neighborhood, and when I get to Candace’s house, I run up to her door to get her. She’s shrugging on her grey, wool coat when she answers.
“Hey,” she says with a smile when she sees me.
“You ready?”
“Yeah.” I watch her slip on her black gloves as we walk out.
As I pull away from her house, she tells me, “There’s a tree lot on Holman, up from eighty-fifth street.”
“How much are we getting?”
“I dunno. Probably just a fourth of a cord,” she answers as she adjusts the vent on the dash.
“You cold?”
“Yeah,” she says, and when I laugh, she turns and asks, “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. You just have no meat on you to keep you warm,” I say teasingly. She’s lean with defined muscles, but nothing that takes away from her femininity.
“Yeah, well, I can’t do much about that,” she shoots back at me.
When we get to the tree lot, Candace places her order with one of the attendants. After paying for the firewood, we find ourselves strolling the lot, looking at the Christmas trees as the guys load up the wood.
She stops in front of one of the trees and looks up at it, shivering. Reaching down, I take her hands and rub mine over hers, trying to warm her up. She seems a little apprehensive as she looks up at me, but she doesn’t back away. When she starts to drop her arms, I reach down and hold her hand. It isn’t the first time I’ve made a subtle move like this, and I hate the uncertainty of it all. Not knowing how she’s feeling about this—about us.
“I miss Jase,” she quietly says out of nowhere as she looks at the tree. She turns to me, and with an almost apologetic look, she explains with a shrug of her shoulders, “I’m not used to him being gone.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“This morning,” she says and then turns back to the tree. “We should buy this.”
I look down at her, and even though she didn’t mean it literally, I like that she said ‘we.’
As she helps me unload the firewood and stack it in her garage, I ask, “What are you going to do for the next few weeks?”
