by Dinah McLeod
"Six years," he whistled. "That's a long time."
"Yes, it is."
"And you don't have anything to say after six years of being with the man? What happened, if you don't mind my asking? I would imagine after nearly a decade you would have been heading toward the altar."
"Me too," I admitted. "But…" I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. I hadn't talked about this to anyone, not even Lucy knew the gory details. "I got diagnosed with cancer last year."
"Oh, Michelle, I'm so sorry." He wrapped me in the warm cocoon of his arms. Being held so tight gave me the courage I needed.
"Thank you, but I'm fine now. The doctor says I'm fine," I amended. "And anyway, after that…I don't know if it was just too much for him or what. He was there through the whole agonizing ordeal, but then he broke up with me."
"What a dick."
I drew back, just as surprised by the heat in his tone as I was by what he said. "Josh!" I exclaimed with a giggle. Once I'd started, I couldn't stop and I found myself laughing until my sides hurt. Josh just watched with a grin on his face until I settled down.
"It's good to hear you laugh, Shelly. You should do it more often."
"I guess I'll have to keep you around, huh?"
"You better," he replied, leaning in for a kiss.
I snuggled close, laying my head on his chest. I listened to the steady, comforting rhythm of his heartbeat, still amazed to realize that thinking about Ben no longer hurt. In fact, I didn't feel much of anything. It all seemed like ancient history, like something that happened a long time ago to someone else.
"I can't believe any self-respecting guy would do that," he muttered.
"You know," I said thoughtfully, "I think I can understand. I didn't, at the time, but… I never let go in front of Ben. I never cried—not about my mother, or my cancer. He always felt like I didn't trust him enough or something. He said that I hid my feelings from him. I thought I was being strong, but…in the end, I think it was too much for him."
"Ah. He was trying to take care of you and you wouldn't let him."
"I guess so."
"That can be devastating to a man's pride, you know."
"Don't worry, you're safe. I've already cried in front of you twice."
"So you have," he said, giving me a squeeze. "One of these days I'd like to show you how good a spanking can feel, but I'm worried you're too naughty to ever earn a good girl spanking."
The idea was so absurd that I started giggling again, loud peals of laughter that I couldn't contain. Before long, Josh joined in and I laughed until tears were pouring down my face.
***
By the time Josh dropped me off—at ten o'clock, right on the dot—I felt like I was floating on a cloud. We'd talked some more and cuddled, kissing anytime the desire struck, which was often. I was disappointed when we had to pack up the picnic basket and head back, but Josh reminded me that he'd see me at school and that the weekend was right around the corner.
"But I can't do this at school," I'd murmured, leaning on tiptoe to capture his lips while my hand found his cock. It was still hard and only lengthened in my hand as I ran my hand up and down.
Josh pulled away with a groan. "You're going to be the death of me, woman."
"So just give in," I'd encouraged, batting my eyelashes at him.
"You know I can't do that. You're still being punished and if I make love to you I won't be able to deny you your orgasm. Not the first time, anyway. Now stop."
Boldly, I squeezed his cock, only to be rewarded with a stinging spank that made me yelp.
"Don't test me on this, Shelly. Now go get in the car."
I pouted, but obeyed and before I knew it we were headed back to my place. Josh rolled down the windows and cranked the radio up and we sang together at the top of our lungs as the wind whipped my hair around. I couldn't remember when I'd had so much fun. It really had been a wonderful evening. I was so happy that nothing could spoil it.
At least, that's what I'd thought until I opened the door and saw my dad waiting, his arms across his chest, his lips tight in a frown. "Oh, hi."
"Hello. Did you two have a nice time?"
"Yeah, sure did. I better get to bed, though. I'm tired." I yawned and stretched my arms above my head for emphasis.
"Just a minute. What is this?"
He held out a piece of paper in front of me and I took it, eyes scanning the page. I swallowed hard when I saw the traffic ticket I'd gotten a few days ago. I'd nearly forgotten about it. "What does it look like?"
"Don't get smart with me, Shelly. When did you get it? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why didn't I tell you?" I echoed incredulously with a raised eyebrow. "Probably because it wasn't any of your business."
"It's not my business? You've been under my roof for almost three months now, how long until it's my business?"
I scowled at him and ignored the question. "What were you doing snooping in my room, anyway?"
"I wasn't snooping, I was getting your laundry. If you didn't want anyone to know you should have found a better hiding place than the middle of the floor."
"I wasn't hiding it!" I insisted.
"Then why didn't you tell me about it?"
"Because I could care less about what you think!" I exclaimed.
Normally, he would have backed down, but this time he met my glare head-on. "You know, Shelly, I'm disappointed in you."
"You're disappointed in me? Well, I guess we can take turns for a change."
He ignored me and kept lecturing. "I think it's safe to say if your mother were here—"
I gasped, my eyes widening. "Don't you dare mention her to me! You don't have the right—you lost that when you abandoned us!"
"How long are you going to make me pay for that mistake? I'm doing the best I can, but nothing's good enough for you!"
"How exactly can you make up for the decade and a half you missed? I can't get those years back and even if I could, I wouldn't! You don't deserve it!"
"I'm starting to think there's nothing I can do to make you happy! What's it gonna take, Shelly? Would you like to see me locked up, dead on the side of the road? What can I do to make it up to you?"
I clenched my fists into balls at my sides. "There's nothing you can do," I spat at him. "I wouldn't even be in this mess if not for you!"
"What are you talking about?" he asked, clearly exasperated.
"The officer who gave me the ticket? Yeah, when he found out I was your daughter he couldn't write it out fast enough!"
"That's not the way it works, Shelly. You don't get tickets if you're not doing anything wrong."
"Well, apparently you do in this town if your last name is Johnson! Did you honestly let yourself believe that the people here would ever forget what a degenerate you are?"
"I don't like your tone." I could tell he was striving for calm, even though his face had paled.
I couldn't find it in me to care. "I don't give a damn what you do and don't like. Stay out of my business and stay out of my life!" I demanded before I whirled on my heel and stalked to my bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me as hard as I could.
I tossed and turned all night, haunted by the things I'd said, by the look on my dad's face. I hadn't said anything that I hadn't meant, but I still didn't feel good about having said it. Finally, I sat up in bed, giving up on sleep. A quick glance at my alarm clock showed that it was nearly six o'clock. I let out a long, exhausted sigh that had more to do with the turmoil of emotions going on inside of me than actual tiredness.
I was a mess, an emotional wreck. It just wasn't fair. Why should he get to have this effect on me? Why did having an argument—during which I'd told him nothing but the truth—twist my stomach into painful, guilty knots? He'd gotten no more than he'd deserved. Much less, in fact.
Yet, when I went to the bathroom, splashing my face with water in a futile attempt to wake up, I caught sight of my face and grimaced. My eyes had dark bags under them, blue-is
h purple shadows that stood out starkly against my suddenly pale skin. I didn't look like a woman who had meted out justice.
The only thing I could think of in that moment was Josh. I needed to see his face, to have him pull me into his arms and tell me that everything would be all right in that deep, steady voice that made me believe he knew what he was talking about. Right then, I'd never needed anything more.
Without giving it another thought I slipped into a pair of jeans and a pink t-shirt, putting my hair up in a messy bun. The only makeup I bothered with was lipstick—why try to hide the rest when it would only make it even more noticeable?
I crept down the hallway trying not to make a sound and silently praying that my dad hadn't fallen asleep on the couch, which he did often. Once I saw that the coast was clear, I made a beeline for the door. I slipped outside, feeling the chill in the air the minute I set foot outside the door, but unwilling to go back in. I went to my car and got into the driver's side before trying to crank the car. It sputtered, but the key didn't turn over in the lock. I tried again, and again with similar results. All my car was interested in doing was making loud, metallic whinnies.
With a scowl, I hopped out of the car, glowering. "You hunk of junk," I accused under my breath, kicking the tire for good measure. I glanced longingly over at my dad's truck, but there was no way I was taking it. Not after the fight we'd had. The only option I had left was to walk.
It wasn't that it was far, but it was chilly and I was all too aware of the fact that I looked like crap. Still, Josh's face beckoned and I found myself putting one foot in front of the other and making it down the block. Two and a half blocks later, and I finally arrived on his doorstep, breathless and more than a little bit sweaty. What was he going to think when he saw me standing there looking like a lost puppy in need of a bath?
Only one way to find out, I thought wryly as I raised my hand to knock.
When he came to the door, he definitely looked taken aback, though not repulsed, which I took for a good sign. "Michelle? Isn't it a little early for you to be up? Oh, wait, I know—you never went to bed."
"In a manner of speaking."
His teasing grin went down a notch as he studied me. "Do you want to come in?"
"Yes, please," I accepted gratefully.
Josh held the door open wider and allowed me to step in before he shut it behind me. "How about a cup of coffee?"
"That would be great," I said meekly.
"Okay, follow me."
As I trailed behind him, I took a few cursory glances around his house. All the wood was dark and masculine and everything in the house seemed to be just-so, like the man himself. Wait until he finds out what a slob I am, I giggled to myself. My mood was brightened for an instant, but it dissipated as quickly as it came.
He gestured me toward the breakfast nook and I took a seat, staring at my hands and wondering if I'd been stupid to come. Sooner or later, he'd want to know why I had and I had to say something. The truth was, I wasn't entirely sure myself.
I looked up as he pushed a cup toward me. He was on the other side of the counter, watching me as I picked up my cup and swallowed. It was black and strong, with just a hint of cream. I didn't normally drink my coffee without sugar, but that seemed irrelevant at the moment.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes, of course." I gave him the best smile I could manage, but he didn't look convinced.
"Did something happen?"
I gave a tiny jerk of my head.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"I…I'm not sure I'm ready."
"All right." He leaned over and gently brushed a hand over my hair. "Well, I'll be here when you're ready. In the meantime, I should go ahead and get a shower."
"Want company?"
I could see by the desire in his eyes that he liked the idea very much, but he shook his head. "No, I don't think that would be such a great idea."
"Why not?"
"Because you're clearly vulnerable right now. I wouldn't feel right about it."
"Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes," I muttered, staring at the marble countertop and very well aware that he was giving me a look that said watch it. I could almost hear him saying it and a quiver ran through me.
"I'll be back out soon. Help yourself to anything I've got."
I raised my head just in time to see him turn and head for the living room. "Wait."
My plea had been uttered in a near-whisper, but I knew he'd heard me when he stopped and turned toward me. "Yes?"
"I do want to talk to you. I just…I don't know where to start."
"I understand," he assured me as he moved toward me. He took a seat beside me and turned my chair until I was facing him. "How about at the beginning? Did something happen when I dropped you off last night?" I nodded in the affirmative. "Something with your dad? Did you two fight?"
Another question, another nod.
"What about?"
"Uh, well…you remember the day I was late to work? You were going to write me up, but…" I trailed off, too embarrassed to finish the sentence.
"I remember."
"Well, one of the reasons I was late was because I got pulled over."
"I see." Even though his tone was level, I'd become quite adept at telling when he was irked with me.
"I got a ticket and my dad was pissed when he found it."
"I can't say I blame him," he put in mildly.
I jutted my chin out defensively and glared at him. I mean, I'd expected him to be upset that I'd gotten a traffic ticket, but I certainly wasn't prepared for him to take my dad's side in this. "He has no right to know anything going on with me, Josh."
"Oh, I see."
"No, you don't," I snapped, peevish. "You think you've got everything and everyone all figured out, don't you, but this is one thing you don't know anything about."
"I know you got a ticket and you hid it from him."
"I didn't hide it!" I exploded. "It was in my room, where I left it. Did I run to him crying when I got it? No, I didn't. You want to know why? Because he was never there for me to run to when I was younger, why should I let him now?"
"Because you need someone," he answered with such calm conviction that, however temporarily, I was at a loss for words. "You need someone to watch over you and hold you accountable."
"Isn't that what you're doing?"
"I do my best, but you didn't tell me either."
"Because I didn't want you to get mad!"
"Well, who can argue with flawless logic like that?"
I refused to smile. He couldn't make me. "You know what, maybe I shouldn't have come."
"So why did you?"
I jumped from my chair, my arms clenched at my sides as I glowered at him. "How can you be so calm and reasonable and…and…so fucking perfect all the time?"
He raised his brows at me, clearly disappointed, but I stood my ground. Even as heat flooded my face from my outburst, I refused to apologize. If he was going to side with my dad, he deserved whatever came along with his treachery. "I don't consider myself perfect, Michelle. Not in the least bit. And while I can appreciate you wanted to come here, if you thought I'd automatically side with you regardless of the situation then I'm afraid I have to disappoint you."
"Fine," I muttered. "I'll leave." I turned to go, but found myself restrained by his hand on my shoulder.
"You don't have to go. Look, if we can't handle this we don't really have much of a chance, do we? I want to make this work, Shelly, so please, let me help you."
I bit my lip as I considered his words. Not that I had a chance—the sincerity in his eyes, the concern etched on every line of his perfect, handsome face was more than enough to win me over. I opened my mouth, intending to tell him what a jackass my father was and how tired I was of living with him, but what came out was, "I'm so tired of being mad all the time."
"I know, honey." He pulled me into his arms and I leaned into him, so grateful for the comfort that he offered.
"I just…I can't seem to stop it, you know? I'm so mad all the time and I used to think…well, I thought it was the cancer, or Ben breaking up with me, or having to move in with my dad, but really, I can't remember a time in the last few years that I haven't felt this rage. I try to push it down and ignore it, but I always know it's there."
His arms tightened around me. "You've been through a lot."
"Nothing's been the same ever since Mom died," I told him, my lip quivering. "I just miss her so much, I'd give anything to just tell her that I love her and that…that I'm so s-sorry." I burst into harsh, wracking sobs, falling into him as I buried my face in my hands. In that moment, everything faded—the fight with my dad, losing my job, everything. Even Josh went to the back of my mind until all I was left with was the all-consuming pain I'd been carrying around with me for the last few years.
"Shh, honey. It's going to be okay, I promise."
"It's not okay," I hiccupped. "I'm a horrible person."
"Michelle, don't say that." He pulled back to give me that look of his, but I yanked free.
"It's true! I'm a horrible person and it's never going to be okay, ever again. If I could have just told her…if I'd known how little time I had left with her, I never would have…" I trailed off, unable to speak coherently through the tears.
"Hey now," he gentled, walking toward me. Josh reached up and brushed my tears away with his fingers, but they were quickly replaced with new ones. "What's this about, sweetheart? Why would you think those things about yourself?"
"I d-don't think it," I insisted stubbornly, looking at him through watery eyes. "I know it. I w-was an aw-ful kid. I was so…so mean. I said such mean, awful things, Josh," I wailed. "I was terrible to her and she was n-nothing but nice to me!"
"She was your mother," he reminded me patiently. "She loved you. She knew you didn't mean it."
"But wh-what if she didn't?" Finally, I spoke aloud the thought that had been haunting me since her death. "What if she died thinking I…thinking I h-hated her?" Just hearing the words spoken aloud was enough to send me back into a fit of heaving sobs.
Josh pulled me to him, holding me and patting my back while I cried. He didn't say anything or try to shush me; he kept me in the safety of his arms and let me cry it out. I didn't know how many minutes passed—it could have been five or fifty for all the notice I took. All I knew was that when I was finally able to stop, I felt weak and exhausted.
