“How the fuck do you know I got a girl?” I ask him.
Unlike my earlier contempt, my old man picks up on my barely caged rage and lets me know a little too casually, “Well, Gav gave me a call.”
“You’re talking about Gavin Simons, right? Gavin Simons, the same man who runs all the underground businesses within a hundred-mile radius of the college? The same fucking Gavin Simons who hounded me about a month back, for weeks, telling me how you owed him a shit-ton of cash and were on the lamb. The same man who made me pay him 10K to stop threatening Ma and everyone else that I loved in my life.”
“Now, boy, that was just an honest misunderstanding,” he says as he removes his Stetson and runs his fingertips along the brim.
His casual attitude and ‘Aw shucks, ma’am, it ain’t mean nothing’ actions push me to remind him, “Like when the IRS came knocking on Ma’s door, Dad? Like that honest misunderstanding?”
“Clearly, I’ve come at the wrong time. You’re exhausted from training. Maybe I’ll swing by your place in a day or two. Mr. Simons mentioned your girl was real cute. Smart too. Thought you’d like to bring her to a poker night I’m hosting. A lot of Texas ranchers and big cattle head-honchos are going to be there. I’m sure they’d love to see the next Cowboys quarterback,” he tells me, finally providing me with the real reason he’s come to visit.
“Yeah, this is the wrong time. Every time you’ve showed up here since you left Mom and me behind when I was eight, has been the wrong fucking time. “
“Now, boy—”
“No. I don’t want to hear your excuses or justifications. I’m too used to your piss-poor actions to listen to some trumped-up lie. I just want to see you leave this field. Not breathe a word about my girl, especially when talking to mobsters like Gavin Simons, and go away for another month at least. I’d say my life, but I’m too much of a realist and I know how much you love to drop by for your invitations.”
“Now, son—”
“Seriously, if you don’t leave me alone, or if you mention Parker in any of your dealings, I will go straight to the local authorities or any event you’re hosting and loudly discuss your questionable past characters. Pretty sure fraud charges have yet to be laid by that family who thought you were a qualified lawyer.”
I watch him put on his cowboy hat, take a step back and tell me, “Okay, you’ve made your point, boy. Just thought I’d drop by to extend an invitation. You don’t want to come and introduce your girl, suit yourself.” Then he turns around and walks away.
It’s ridiculous how after only minutes in that man’s company I feel like an angry eight-year old again. Wanting to kick rocks into the stream and run away from everything and everyone in fear that I’ll punch someone. I wasn’t still living by a creek, which means I’ll just have to do the next best thing. I’ll find Andy. If he doesn’t let me throw a punch at him, he’ll at least go to the gym with me and help me run off my anger before I pick Parker up from work.
PARKER
I was sitting at the bar, watching Nate do a last wipe-down and talking about how I was going to tell Gray that I grew up living next door to him. With the topic we were discussing, I was also swirling a drink Nate poured after hours. I sort of hated the taste of bourbon, but he thought I needed strong liquid courage tonight and was willing to risk his job giving it to me. It seemed like too nice of a gesture to ruin it with, “Hey, I’m a complete lightweight when it comes to alcohol, so how about putting some Diet Coke in this?” So each time I took a sip, I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible and the coughing to a minimum.
I took a tiny sip and was just about to tell Nate how his idea that I ask Gray to show me how he jerks off and then nonchalantly mention how I saw that he had jerked off for the first time with a lingerie catalog he stole from his mom was flipping ridiculous.
Grayson, however, chose that moment to open the door of Lucky’s and barge through the empty space, clearly looking for me. At first, I noticed he seemed a little frightened, his eyes rapidly scanning the booths and dance floor before landing on me, but then I was greeted with relieved smile and twinkling eyes. Until he noticed who I was chatting with, and suddenly I knew I hadn’t just avoided conversations about my upbringing. I may have maneuvered around discussions of my favorite work colleague.
“He works with you? No fucking way,” Grayson snarls as he storms toward us.
“I’ll see you next shift,” I call out to Nate as I rush toward my boyfriend, grab his hand and drag him outside.
Thankfully, Gray lets me, because I’m not stupid enough to believe that I could have moved him one inch if his 200-pound body didn’t feel like moving. Before we completely exit the building, Gray does manage to rein in his frustration and grunts over my shoulder, “Bro, heads-up, dear old Dad’s in town.”
When we get outside, I don’t know what to say first. Do I ask him about his dad? Yell at him for reacting that way to Nate and me chatting? Or ask him to hold my hair, because after two straight bourbons, then running and dragging Gray out of the building my stomach was contemplating a revolt. I decide to cross my arms in front of my chest, steady my breathing and glare at him while he paces back and forth. Stomping out his fear and frustration.
When he finally stops and goes to reach for me, I take a step back and ask sarcastically, “So, how was your day? Did you get the first two little piggies?”
“Sorry, what?” he asks.
“Well, you come storming in huffing and puffing growling at everyone like the big bad wolf. I figure you must have already been to the house of sticks and straw. Lucky’s must be the house of bricks, am I right?”
“Babe, stop being cute. I’m pissed. And we need to talk.”
“Good, I feel like talking. I get that you and Nate have some serious family stuff going on. But he and I are friends, which means—”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. That shit has to stop.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You and him being friends. It’s not okay,” he tells me, raking his fingers through the strands of hair that have fallen in front of his face in exasperation.
“Excuse me? I clearly misheard you, because I do believe I thought you just tried to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with,” I growl.
“Babe, don’t care about any chick on campus you want to befriend,” he replies, raising both hands in defense as if that makes up for his prior statement.
“Sorry, let me rephrase. Did I just hear you trying to tell me which males I can and can’t be friends with?” I question, crossing my arms and giving him my ‘are you fucking serious’ glare.
“Yep.”
“Are you forgetting about Marissa?”
“Nope, you can be friends with her all you want,” he replies, mirroring my position by crossing his own arms. If it were anyone else having a standoff with their partner out the front of a bar with both arms crossed in a heated staring competition, I probably would have giggled. Relationship fights are the best. Although, when it’s you and the guy you’re seeing, it’s hard to find the humor in this idiotic situation.
“So, you get to have friends of the opposite sex who are completely platonic—which I trust, by the way—and I don’t?” I ask, feeling the need to clarify exactly how ridiculous he was being.
“Exactly.”
I look directly into the eyes I love and let him know, “That’s bullshit.”
Except then I get hit with Grayson logic. “I don’t give a fuck if it’s bullshit. No fucking way a guy is hanging out with you, with your fucking gorgeous hair and golden eyes, and not wanting to get in there. ”
“Babe, guys can want whatever the hell they want, but they won’t be getting me. I’m with you. Completely. One hundred percent. In fact, I’m usually with you every moment of the day except for when I’m at work and class. Although, I do want to state that you’re wrong about Nate. I know in my gut that isn’t what he thinks about when he looks at me.”
“Well, I know he likes to pretend to be my big brother, but he isn’t. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a stranger. And like any guy off the street, I want to make damn sure he knows he doesn’t have a shot at you by limiting the times he sees you without my arm around you. If I have to I’ll be there for all your shifts.”
There really are no words. After taking a sharp inhale, I say, “That is definitely not going to work.”
“Stars, not really giving a shit if you think it’s not going to work. As long as you bloody well try.”
“And are you telling me that girls aren’t looking for a way in with you? Did you see how many phone numbers I had to pull out of your jacket pocket when I borrowed it yesterday?”
“Stars, you know they shove those numbers in my pocket and I always throw them out. I don’t give a fuck about any of those girls or plan on calling them,” he tells me, rolling his eyes skyward.
Now, how do I stay angry when he says things like that? Even if he is being a hypocrite, I still can’t help but be astonished and touched that he is stupid-jealous and completely smitten to the point of lunacy with me. I figure the best thing to do is maybe try and work out what is really upsetting my guy. No way all of this anger is about Nate. I know he doesn’t trust him right now, but given time I really think he’ll see that Nate would be a wonderful brother. I also think he already knows this deep down. He’s just afraid; afraid of Nate turning out to be just like their father. A guy that was perfectly happy to walk out of his life and only return when in need of a handout.
“Okay. How about we agree right now that it’s something we will talk about later and you instead tell me about what’s really upsetting you?” I ask.
Thankfully, Gray exhales and straightaway asks, “You talking about my dad?”
“Yeah, your dad. You just told Nate he’s back in town, remember?”
“Yeah,” he grunts, uncrossing his arms and reaching for my waist. Like always, his embrace is like going home. Strong. Solid. Safe.
“He visit you at training today?” I murmur as he wraps me in his scent.
Gray rests his head on top of mine before confiding in me. “Yep, just like always. Dressed as a fucking cowboy, if you can believe that shit.”
“A cowboy?”
“Yeah. Every time he visits, he’s some new character. Some new lie. I can’t stand it. I have no fucking tolerance for liars. Or people who think they can put on a fucking outfit and become someone different.”
Okay, he isn’t talking about me, and that isn’t what I did exactly. But as Gray leans on me, letting go of the anxiety his father has stirred up, suddenly I’m reminded of my initial plans for the day. And not in a good way. Because I can see how our conversation might go. I tell him that I grew up next door and then why he hasn’t recognized me might come up, or how I lied when I told him I grew up in this town will.
Unfortunately, I did start dressing differently at the beginning of the school year and I lied, which means Gray just gave me the answer to my question regarding how he’ll react when I finally reveal myself. With no fucking tolerance.
Except, I want to be wrong. I want the fantasy I’ve been living. I’m not ready for reality. So even though I know the answer, I can’t help but ask, “Don’t you think there are areas of grey though? Like some lies are told because of special circumstances, like no self—”
“To be honest, babe, it’s all the fucking same to me. My dad isn’t some drug addict; he just gets off on this bullshit. Enjoys thinking he’s smarter and better than everyone else. But no matter how you spin it, lying is just a game. With winners and fucking losers. I didn’t get to pick the dick that is my lying dad. I’m stuck having to deal with and lose to his penchant for deceit every day of my life. I’m thankful I get to choose my friends and the rest of the people I keep around. It means I don’t have to waste a second on anyone else’s compulsive neuroses.”
Damn.
I knew it.
The moment I tell Gray I lied, I’ll go back to who I was.
I don’t get to live on the stage forever. My life will be ordinary. It will be in the shadows.
Now it’s just a matter of time.
Am I ready for it to be the time, right now, where I say good-bye to the last few weeks of bliss?
PARKER
The plane home was noisy and crowded, a sign of the approaching festive season. Passengers bustled on with oversized fragile packages that would clearly struggle to fit in the overhead compartments, and everyone seemed to have limited patience for the flight attendant’s cheery attitude and sparkling turkey earrings.
I had hoped the two-hour experience would give me a chance to relax.
I prayed that as the plane took off I might begin to feel excited about seeing my dad, Millie and Grandma Mimi for the first time in months and forget the possible struggles I might face going home.
However, I sat anxiously upright in my chair the entire flight. I was numb to the toddler enthusiastically kicking the back of my seat because I was picturing my bedroom window and the necessary actions I would need to take upon arrival. My heavy drapes would have to be closed for the duration of my stay, to ensure that Gray celebrating next door remained unaware that I was less than a few feet away.
I would also need to borrow some of Mimi’s sweaters. Maybe the one with the Persian on the front that hangs to my knees.
I was so busy planning my holiday disguise as I made my way off the tarmac I nearly missed seeing my dad at the terminal gate, waving a huge banner that read, ‘I missed my daughter.’
I had no defense against the onslaught of emotion I experienced when I finally snapped out of my trance and noticed his cheerful exuberance. Thankfully, my dad saw the early glistening tears resting at the top of my lashes and immediately wrapped me in his arms, the sign forgotten at his feet, forcing those exiting the plane to walk around us.
The ulcer I’m sure is growing in my stomach, built up from swallowing the truth over and over again, finally dissipates knowing how happy my coming home has made my dad.
When we finally let go of one another, Dad takes in my new stylish curls, skinny jeans and tank top and tells me, “I can’t believe it, but my girl has come home prettier than when she left. And she was stunning when she left.”
My dad is such a corny sap.
For as long as I can remember, he was always calling me beautiful and pretty.
It hasn’t really been until Grayson lavished me with attention and I started carefully putting together my outfits that I finally started to believe it.
I always just thought that’s what dads always did—worship their kids with love and attention. Tell their little girls how pretty they are, even if they aren’t. Although, talking with Grayson and Nate about their dad and his deceitful games, I realized how lucky I am.
“Hey, Dad, thanks for picking me up,” I tell him as he tucks me under his left arm so we can walk toward the baggage collection still cuddling.
“I’m actually really glad you decided to fly. I would have been worried you trying to drive the Beetle back again.” I felt so guilty. Not only was I still lying to Gray about having known him before I came to Penmore, now I was lying to my dad.
It wasn’t like I could tell him that I needed to fly because I needed my boyfriend’s friends to see my car and everyone to think I was still at school over the holidays.
“Yeah, me too.”
“You still okay with heading straight to Grandma Mimi’s and dropping your bags at home later? She’s been calling non-stop to find out when you land,” he tells me as he pulls my bag from the conveyor-belt.
“Sounds perfect.”
Pretty much anything that meant I was far away from our house, and Gray, would be perfect.
GRAYSON
“So, how come I don’t get to meet the new girlfriend?” Ma asks as she fills the freezer and fridge with the mountain of groceries she bought for Thanksgiving and Christmas. It is ridiculous, really, the way she shops for both ho
lidays at the same time. I think she hates to watch families shopping together more than once, reminding her of when our family used to prepare for Christmas together. Of course, she distracts me with talk of Parker before I have a chance to tell her to sit down and let me put them all away.
“I asked, but she told me she needs to work over Thanksgiving so she can spend more time with her dad over Christmas. It sucks, but you’ll see her when we make the championship,” I explain, winking at her across the kitchen bench as I swipe a muffin from one of her Whole Foods grocery bags.
“I’m surprised you didn’t stay with her,” Ma replies, humor in her eyes.
“Yeah, well, she sort of bullied me. With the team getting a break over Thanksgiving but having to play on the twenty-sixth in Dallas, she knew this might be the only time I could visit before the championship.”
Before I can tell her how much she’ll love Parker when she meets her, Ma tells me quietly, “You know, I always thought you would end up with the little Elliot girl.”
Her soft, pensive statement stops me in my tracks.
“Who?” I ask, struggling to recall any girl in our small town named Elliot. Before I stop myself, I ask, “What sort of screwed-up parents name their daughter Elliot? That’s fucked up.”
“Her first name isn’t Elliot, you knucklehead. I’m talking about Paul Elliot’s little girl. The one who lives right next door and has been in love with you since you were six,” she tells me rolling her eyes. “Also, don’t swear in my house.”
I quickly catch the apple she throws at my head for ignoring her house rules, and I can’t help but state, “No way there’s a girl next door. What the hell’s her first name then? And how the hell have I not noticed some chick with Mr. Elliot? Is she hidden in their attic like Quasimodo?”
“I’ll have you know that the Elliot girl is absolutely stunning, in a cute nerdy sort of way. The fact that you never noticed her, baby boy, I think is something you can answer for yourself. And I think her name’s Penelope. Or maybe it’s Kate… or Cara. Don’t give me that look. I at least knew she lived next door. She’s just always been so timid around me and I got in the habit of calling her ‘Precious’.”
Stars (Penmore #1) Page 14
