“What’s his name?” I somehow managed the words past the lump in my suddenly parched throat. Please don’t be him.
She watched me intently, and I wondered if she saw my anxiety peak when she opened her mouth to speak. “Rafe Hardwick.”
It hit me like a bullet from a double-barrel shotgun. I felt my body go slack, my arm shooting out to brace against the doorframe. That son of a bitch. I thought we were friends.
I couldn’t catch my breath. He’d lied to her and to me—turned me into something I despised. We had an arrangement: He helped me and I helped him. Friends with a few benefits.
“I…”
Words refused to leave my throat, hiding in disgrace. I’d slept with her husband, multiple times over the last year. He was my go-to when I needed an itch scratched because it felt safer than running through the new guys who bought me dinner or a drink. I didn’t want to be a slut and thought if I could count the guys I had sex with on only one hand then I wasn’t. We used each other for what we wanted and never asked questions.
“I never knew,” I barely offered.
“Really!?” she shrieked and I pulled my head up, hoping she could see the truth on my face.
My body swayed. “He said he was a bachelor. I would never…”
“Right.” She pursed her lips.
Attempting to swallow down my brewing emotions, I spoke clearly, eye to eye. “I swear to you, I’m not a homewrecker. I don’t love him, and our relationship is nothing special. We barely see each other. But I know I can’t apologize enough for your pain.”
She stared straight through me. “Nothing special?”
“Nothing,” I repeated.
“But he bought you a car?” Anger drove her tone.
My head bobbed shamefully. “I’ll get the keys. You can have it back.” I turned, my movements emotionless—but her next statements snapped the last thread of friendliness I had.
“I don’t want the keys. I want you to stop fucking my husband. I’m tired of whores like you destroying families.”
In that moment, I realized nothing I could say would help. Nothing could change my past actions and standing there dumbfounded, taking the blame for Rafe’s sins, was bad enough. I refused to be anyone’s punching bag.
So instead of trying to convince her or myself that I wasn’t a whore, I slammed the door shut without another word.
Chapter Two
After the zillion-mile run with Cassandra, I went home, showered, and sank into my couch. I didn’t share my morning shitshow with her—just buried it deep in the black pit of my heart, like I always did. Cassandra was sweet, graceful, and blonde (everything I wasn’t), but the one thing we shared was unwavering loyalty. I’d protect her from the harshness of the world with everything I had.
Of course, being my best friend, she wanted to discuss Caleb the entire time. But finding excitement about Caleb’s grand opening for the diner, now dubbed Haven Bar and Grill, and the fact that it was finally tonight had fallen way down on my radar. The “what if” fantasies over him were pathetic, even if I couldn’t stop them.
The fact that I still hadn’t seen him, despite my couple (all right, plenty of) walks past Haven over the last few days only put me further on edge. For all I knew, he could’ve let himself go, gained a hundred pounds, or begun balding prematurely.
Still, the more Cassandra and I talked about him and the dress I’d picked out the previous night in blissful anticipation, the more it made everything feel insignificant after what had happened before our run this morning. All I could think about was how I’d slammed the door in that poor woman’s face, and even though she had no right to lay judgment and call me a whore, I understood her pain and hoped I’d get a chance to make things right.
Dad, 10:14 a.m.: Could you stop by the store for me?
His text was a happy distraction. I’d planned on spending the day in my living room, crying over my pathetic life, then making a plan to fix it before finally getting my chance to see if Caleb was still worth this much mental energy around eight tonight. But instead, I could go take care of the one man in my life who actually needed and appreciated me.
Me, 10:15 a.m.: The usual?
Dad, 10:17 a.m.: Yup. Thanks girly.
I was out the door moments later, heading to the one small corner grocery mart that Harmony had. My dad’s “usual” no longer embarrassed me to purchase. I’d only been of legal age for the past year, but when he’d add two bottles of Jim Beam to our shortlist of weekly groceries growing up, I was mortified. I was also petrified I’d get in trouble, always tucking them at the bottom of the cart and mixing them in with the bread and milk on the conveyor belt.
You’d think buying alcohol in this town every week at age twelve would raise a red flag. But since everyone, including the owner of Bell’s Market, was friendly with my dad and sympathized with the way his life had gone, they only rang me up with a discount and sent their love his way.
I pulled up in the driveway of the house, which was situated between a church and a row of other turn-of-the-century homes, and smiled. No amount of passing time would ever change the fact that this was my home. The swing on the porch may have been weathered and rusted, but it represented all my favorite memories.
“They had a sale on salmon,” I announced, kicking the door shut behind me after I entered. “Figured you should give it another try.”
I was greeted with his typical huff. “Tasted like shit last time. You think them putting it on sale is a sign everyone’s racing for more?” I heard the recliner click a few too many times—he needed a new one—followed by his bootsteps.
“Well, you won’t know till you try it,” I said, smiling at his dreary expression.
“I’ll pass.” He grabbed a chair and sat at the small tin table, pulling cash from his wallet. “You’re the only one I can count on, Hilary, but you can stop adding shit to the list you know I ain’t ever gonna eat.” He tossed the money down and reached for the bottle I’d just un-bagged.
“Out already?” I asked, snatching it first.
His brows drew together. “Hil…”
“Dad,” I challenged.
It only took a few seconds before he broke, first as usual, his deep chuckle prompting a smile from me. Still, I put the bottle on the counter, out of reach for the time being.
“You give any thought to what we discussed?” I asked casually, already knowing the answer. It was the same every time.
“Nope.”
I placed the groceries in the cabinets, with his favorites to the front. “Come on. Jackie wouldn’t even notice. So why not give me at least one excuse already?”
“Still ain’t got one, baby girl. Only bullshitters need excuses.” His expression suddenly turned stern. “And she’s your mother, not Jackie. Have a little respect.”
As if she deserved any. “Fine.”
“And you don’t think she’d notice when she had to sign the papers?” he asked, skepticism in his voice.
With the cabinet full, I sat across from him, ignoring his question. “So you’re saying you’re not a bullshitter?”
I had to laugh at that. And the sparkle in his eyes told me he did too.
Jackie, a.k.a. my mother, was the very definition of a train wreck: a weak-minded, selfish person who cared more about herself than her family. I could never understand her, and I’d long since stopped trying.
My dad, on the other hand, was my rock. He was the only family I had left aside from an aunt up north who sent birthday cards every few years. He was the one person I never wanted to disappoint, which was why it was so damn frustrating that he still felt responsible for her. As far as I knew, he hadn’t even been out with another woman his entire life.
When I was little, it was easier to accept Jackie’s place in my world, ignoring the whys and what-ifs, but the older I grew, the more my resentment did as well. She may have been alive and kicking, with my father still legally her husband, but she’d never been a mom.
&nbs
p; “You hear old man Miller passed the other day?” he asked, changing the subject.
My shoulders fell. The Millers were the nicest couple. They’d owned the mansion next to Cassandra’s grandparents’ house, the one she now resided in, and lived there until they moved into a retirement home a couple of years ago.
“No.” I pulled a hair tie from my bag and twisted my long locks up into a loose bun. “I hadn’t heard. Saw they sold the house.”
“Yeah. Heard some young punk bought it.”
I laughed. Not sure about punk, but tall, ripped, and masculine were spot-on descriptors. I may have only caught a quick look, but it was a satisfying one. Cassandra should appreciate having a neighbor that good-looking.
My dad’s expression transformed slowly as he watched me sit there reminiscing, so before he could ask, I did first. “How’s his wife?”
He gave me a knowing look but answered, “Probably not too good. Dead husband and stuck in a damn retirement shithole. Sounds like hell to me.”
“Yeah.”
He then added, “Praying she’s too old and senile to feel it.”
“Me too.” After a short pause, I raised my eyebrows. “Praying, huh? You ever actually try that?”
I expected a chuckle to match my own, or at least a smile, but instead I watched his face pale. His eyes looked thoughtful—an expression I’d seen rarely as a child, but enough to remember. It was something too raw to face.
I looked away quickly. “Sorry.”
He buried it away as fast as it had appeared. “Don’t be. Maybe if I did more praying, your mama would be the one putting away groceries instead of…”
He trailed off. We both just sat there, silently.
Over the years, I’d watched my single father drift further and further into reclusion. He may have drunk himself into slumber every night, but he never missed a day of work or forgot to tuck me into bed, snug as a bug in a rug. The factory and bottle slowly became his only escapes, so when they shut the place down during my senior year of high school after twenty-four years of his total dedication, it only fueled his need to drink.
“Have you seen her lately?” I asked, knowing the answer. My dad never missed his monthly visit; it was one of the few times he ever left the house. But his burden of obligation and guilt was all I saw. Any love once there had long since faded away.
“She’s doing well. Felicia said she got a new roommate this week. I’ll find out more next Sunday.” He offered a tiny smile.
Unsure of how to respond and not caring to know anything else, I stood quickly. “Felicia stopped by?” I grabbed two glasses from the cupboard, not completely surprised and unable to hide my smile.
She’d been dropping by since I’d moved out. Before then, every time she brought me home or Cassandra over to spend the night when we were kids, she’d stay and talk with my dad. She was as close to a mom as I’d ever had, and I was thankful she trusted my dad and saw that he was a good man. She knew he drank, but she also knew he spoiled Cassandra and me every chance he had and was totally devoted to a woman who didn’t deserve it.
Felicia also knew my mother well, as they’d grown up together. She was supposedly the only real friend Jackie had when she got pregnant at seventeen. And when my grandparents made her choose between marrying my father and living on the streets with a baby, she picked the better option. My mom just wasn’t cut out for the family life, and I was old enough now to at least accept that even if I didn’t agree with it.
“I told Felicia she didn’t need to worry about me anymore but she’s so damn headstrong,” he said. “No doubting where Cassandra got it from. Sure the hell wasn’t from that coward father of hers.”
I walked to the fridge and poured us some orange juice, smiling to myself. Headstrong was putting it mildly. I still remembered sitting on the stairs when Cassandra and I were eight while Felicia was yelling about my dad’s drinking and threatening to take me away if he didn’t get it under control. She won, of course, and he promised only to drink after I went to bed and never when Cassandra was over. It was the best she was going to get, and she knew it.
It was also the first time she took his keys, which he didn’t hand over lightly, but it quickly became somewhat of a ritual: him surrendering them every time Felicia dropped Cassandra off for an overnight visit.
“You know, she’s still single…” I teased, like always. Cassandra and I had given up on our matchmaking attempts with those two several years ago, but we still agreed it would’ve been amazing to be sisters.
“Gonna take a tough one to earn her,” was all he said on the matter. “How’s Cassandra doing? Haven’t seen much of her lately. Had a run-in with Mark, though.”
It was me who grunted this time. “Did he say anything to you?”
“Hell no. That boy ran through traffic to get to the other side of the damn street, which was a smart move. Cassandra may not be my blood but she’s a daughter to me, and I won’t share a sidewalk with someone who thinks he can do better. Hate what that boy did to her. Broke the poor girl.”
“He’s a loser that never deserved Cassandra in the first place. And he didn’t break her!” I defended. “She’s stronger than most.”
His eyebrows shot up. “She moved out to the country, away from civilization, to hole up, alone.”
“She needed space,” I attempted to convince him. “And besides her heart being a little broken, she’s as good as ever.”
“Can’t believe I raised a bullshitter,” he replied, then finished off his juice and smiled.
I couldn’t help my laugh. Damn him. “Anyway, she’s been letting me tag along on her morning runs,” I said, standing again and walking over to the sink. “I still want to lose about five more pounds.”
He ran his hand over his bearded chin and grunted. “Five pounds from where? You’re the most beautiful goddamn girl in this hellhole—spitting image of your mama. You sayin’ she’s fat?”
“Absolutely not!” I rinsed his glass in the sink. “Just want to get in better shape.”
“I see. So it don’t have anything to do with a certain Townsend boy strolling back into town?”
“Oh, is Luke home?” I played coy, sitting back down.
Luke was my age and had moved away with his mom when we were all in the fifth grade. Rumors swirled that their parents had divorced over abuse, but they were just that: rumors. Caleb had stayed behind with his dad, but the two were rarely seen together.
My dad leaned forward and gave me the biggest grin. “See? Total bullshitter I raised.”
I pursed my lips, fighting a smile. “So what do you know about Caleb’s return, huh?” I conceded, but only because I wanted all the details.
He stared a moment then stood, walking to the fridge. Once he had it open, perusing inside, he said, “Felicia mentioned he was the one fancying up Main Street with this hip new place. Said he was staying quiet on where he’s been since he escaped.”
“Escaped?” I deadpanned. “A bit dramatic, don’t you think? Harmony’s not all that bad. And hip? Pretty sure they won’t allow old-timers with your vocabulary anywhere near Haven.”
He pulled out the salmon and held it up. “I expect you to cook and eat half this crap.”
I laughed. “Yeah, yeah. So, anything else in the Townsend department?”
Dad continued his perusal, his back still to me. “Well Byron, isn’t saying much. Seems he and Caleb aren’t on speaking terms, considering he hasn’t dropped by to see him yet.”
I shrugged, then defended Caleb with ease. “He’s been busy renovating all summer. Probably doesn’t have time.”
My dad glanced back at me with a frown. “You wouldn’t make time to see your old man if you were in his situation?”
Fair point, but I remained mum.
Dad finally found something appetizing, standing and shutting the door. “Byron was always too hard on that boy. Luke was lucky he got to leave, but Caleb, he was so damn stubborn. Never had a problem going toe to to
e with his old man. I have to respect that.”
He paused a moment before adding, “Too bad his balls are bigger than his brains. Hell, everyone but Byron knew he’d never go the college route and take over the law firm. That kid was born to raise hell—meant for something bigger than this tiny place.”
“Maybe,” I said softly, hating that I wanted to hear more. “You never know, though…what if he came home to settle down?”
He pulled a loaf of bread from the cupboard, and I noticed the lunchmeat I’d just stocked sitting in front of him. “Girly, that man may be all grown up, but he ain’t ever gonna stop hustling. It’s who he’s always been.” My dad looked back at me. “I ain’t no fool, and I sure as hell ain’t blind, baby girl. You stay clear of Caleb, got me?”
With a scowl on my face, I stood. “Daddy, I’m not a little girl anymore. I can handle myself just fine with Caleb or any guy.”
He turned fully to face me and walked over. “Maybe so, but next month you start using that degree you worked hard for. Being the new second-grade teacher in this town means people will be watching you…”
“Dad…”
“And judging you.” He tipped my chin up. “Time to start making some good decisions, Hil. No more fuckin’ around.”
With that, he turned back to building his sandwich while I was left pale and nauseous. What did my dad know about my decisions? Did he know about Rafe? I never wanted him to worry about me. It was the reason I’d lied and told him I’d gotten a full scholarship when, in fact, I’d taken odd jobs during the day and waitressed at night at a very private and very illegal poker game to pay my way, as well as taken out a small student loan.
I didn’t want him to put himself in debt for me, not anymore. I was an adult and could take care of myself. How could he know anything outside of Felicia and a couple of buddies who came by to drink with him a few times a month? All he could know was gossip.
I gave him a quick hug from behind and shouted that I loved him from the front door before closing it. He was right about one thing: This town spent too much time talking, and most of it was a load of crap.
Inferno (A Harmony Love Story) Page 2
