“Things just don’t always work out, Dad,” I said softly. “A lot happened at once, and I guess he and I just…slipped apart.”
“Well, let me tell you one thing,” Dad said. He grabbed the table, leaned forward, and fought to stand, waving me off when I tried to help. He stood there, tall and proud, even though he was sick. “If you let me being sick stop your life for a second, you’re a fool, Violet. If you were happy there, go there. If you’re happy here, stay here. I won’t pry into your personal life, but I want you to be happy.”
“I’m working…”
“Let me put it this way. Let’s say this cancer gets the best of me and I check out.”
“Dad! Don’t say that.”
He chuckled. “Give me a second here. If that were the case, that this ended up really nasty, my last wish for you would be to find happiness and hold it tight.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Thanks, Dad.”
He winked at me and started to walk away.
“Hey, where are you going?” I asked.
He paused in the doorway. “I’m going to pick at the food. I have a little appetite. Plus, I have to annoy your mother while she’s cooking dinner. It’s a tradition for us.”
I sighed with a hopeful relief. I grew up with that as my example of love, marriage, and finding a way through the twists and turns of life. My parents had a great marriage, no matter what. I waited with a smile on my face for my mother to yell out his name when he started eating the food.
Before that could happen, the doorbell rang.
I popped up off the couch and went to the door. Mom said neighbors had been stopping by to bring food and condolences, and it really pissed Dad off.
I figured I’d head this one off and tell whoever it was that Dad was resting and we were getting ready for dinner.
I opened the door and took a step back.
“Surprise. Figure dinner could use some flowers and a bottle of wine.”
I was shocked…and maybe not in a good way, either.
“Who’s at the door?” my mother called out.
I swallowed hard and said his name. “It’s Davis…”
He leaned over the table and scooped up more mashed potatoes. He slapped them to his plate and returned the spoon to the bowl.
“Barb,” Davis said, “I have to say, these are the best potatoes I’ve ever had.”
Davis smiled big, waiting for attention.
“Um, yes,” Mom said. “I mean, thank you. Yes. I appreciate that.”
Davis nodded, then shoved a spoonful into his mouth as he stared at Mom.
Davis hadn’t been invited to dinner, but he’d showed up anyway. I tried to apologize to my mother secretly a handful of times, but she told me not to worry about it. Davis was my boyfriend, and he was welcome to the house anytime he wanted.
Boyfriend.
That was a heavy word, wasn’t it?
In high school, it was the coolest word ever. Having Davis as my boyfriend was like winning some prize. But now, as an adult with responsibilities and a little better understanding of feelings, the word meant something else.
Davis ate like he hadn’t had a cooked meal in weeks.
And he controlled the conversation the way he wanted it all to go.
My peaceful dinner with my parents had been invaded.
“So, Hank, how are you feeling?” Davis asked. He had this dry tone to him, like a politician asking the question because he had to.
“I feel great,” Dad said.
“That’s good,” Davis said. “You know, having good thoughts is part of the healing process.” Davis looked at me, nodding. “I read that. In a medical journal once. It’s a proven thing.”
“Right,” Dad said. “Happiness is the key to everything. Without it, we’ve got nothing. Money means nothing. Life means nothing. Love is forced.”
I felt the heat building in my cheeks. Dad was making a point to me without actually looking at me.
“I agree, Hank,” Davis said. “I’d like to propose a toast.”
Davis stood up, sending his chair flying back. He grabbed his wine glass and stood up. I looked at Mom, and she forced a big smile while her eyes darted left to right. I looked at Dad, and I could see him mentally debating whether to tell Davis to sit the hell down or go the hell home.
But he kept quiet.
“For tonight,” Davis said. “For Barb and her amazing ability to cook this meal. To Hank, for healing through happiness and a good doctor. To my Violet. For all her hard work and the money she’s making. And I have to give myself a little toast, if that isn’t too rude.”
Davis laughed and looked at all of us.
None of us laughed.
“Right,” Davis. “I, uh, was able to secure a big contract for my company. One of the biggest clients. We’ve been in talks for months now. I finally just went down to their office…”
Davis began to tell a long-winded story as the food grew cold.
I looked at Dad and felt horrible.
He sensed it and quickly winked at me.
It’s okay.
Dad then rolled his eyes as Davis just kept talking. It was a really obvious eye-roll, looking like some actor on a reality show.
“And one more thing,” Davis said.
Dad curled his lip. He jammed his fork into a piece of the roast Mom had cooked and started to eat. He looked right at Davis as he did so.
Davis quickly stopped talking.
“Hank,” Mom growled. “What is wrong with you?”
“I have to eat,” Dad said. “You know what the doc said. When the appetites comes back, I have to take advantage of it.”
“Of course,” Davis said. “Cheers to you all.”
“Cheers,” Mom said with a big smile.
Davis sat and touched my arm. “Sorry about talking so long.”
“No worries,” I said.
“So, Davis,” Dad said. “Glad to see things are working in your company. Tell me again, what happened with your baseball stuff? I swore you were going pro, right?”
“Oh, those were old dreams,” Davis said. “You know how things go.”
“Right,” Dad said. “Never took you for one to quit.”
“Dad,” I said.
“What?” Dad asked.
“Hank,” Mom said. “Let’s just enjoy this meal. Together. I’ll get some dessert in a few. And coffee. Who wants coffee?”
Davis eyed Dad. They had a little stare-down and it made me very uncomfortable.
Luckily, dinner didn’t last much longer. Mom brought out coffee and cheesecake, and we ate and drank in silence. Before the conversation could pick up again, Davis excused himself to take a phone call. Mom grabbed some plates to clean up, leaving just me and Dad at the table.
“I’m sorry for that, Violet,” he said. “That was wrong of me. To rag on him. I…”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m sorry he showed up. I didn't invite him. I’m so…”
I stood up. I shook my head.
As I left the dining room, Dad reached out and touched my wrist. “Violet. Happiness. Please. Remember that.”
Davis came back through the front door, tapping his phone to his hand. “I hate to do this, but I have to go. Just got a call from Jack. He needs me to run a few more figures on this deal. Might be a late night for me. I’ll be at the office.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’m going to talk with Dad a little and head back home.”
“I’m sorry that he’s not feeling well,” Davis whispered. “I don’t take anything he said offensively. Just so you know. I know he didn’t mean it.”
Oh, but he did, Davis. He doesn’t like you.
I forced a nod.
Davis hugged me and kissed my cheek. He made sure to weasel his way into the kitchen and hug Mom, thanking her for dinner. Then he shook hands with Dad and wished him better health.
Then Davis left.
I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
/>
Dad walked his way to the kitchen. Mom was doing dishes when I butted in and made her take a break.
“I have something to say,” Dad announced.
I turned off the water and looked over my shoulder.
“I think the word kids your age use,” Dad said, pointing at me, “is douche. Or is it douchebag?”
I snorted in shock.
Mom slapped a towel off the counter. “Hank!”
“What? Am I wrong?”
“That’s Violet’s boyfriend,” Mom said. “He was just trying to be nice. Polite.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dad said. “I like the other guy better. Bigger. Stronger. Meaner.”
“Meaner?” Mom asked. “Oh, Jesus, Hank. They’re not cars.”
“Right,” Dad said. “Sorry for that. He’s not a douche or a douche bag. Whichever one it is.”
Dad winked at me again and then shuffled away.
Mom looked at me and put her hands to her hips. “I’m sorry, Violet. He has his moments when he’s not feeling well. He loves you. He’s worried about you.”
I nodded. “I get that. He’s always worried about me. I should show him my bank account. Maybe he’d relax.” Then I cringed. “Was that greedy?”
“Hardly,” Mom said. She came to the sink and started to dry the dishes. “You’ve worked hard, and you’ve done great with your life so far. Just keep doing that.”
“Am I an idiot for dating Davis again? Trying to assure myself of comfort?”
“I can’t speak to how you feel,” Mom said.
I sighed. “Well, whatever happened before doesn’t matter. The apartment finally called me back. After months of fighting over my stupid lease, they agreed to give me some of my security deposit back. You know they won’t even mail it to me? I have to go pick it up.”
“Just a minor inconvenience,” Mom said.
“Yeah.”
I washed more dishes and then caught my reflection in the window.
I’d have to go pick up the check in person.
Which left me with one question.
Would I see him? Would I see Mason?
5
A Hallway Glance
(Mason)
My phone vibrated against the nightstand, and I opened my crusted eyes. It felt like someone had dropped an anvil on my forehead. I went blind at times and had flashes of the night before. Meeting up with Hunter. Talking business. Having beer after beer after beer. I vaguely remembered asking him to let me buy back into the business. Him laughing, slapping my shoulder, telling me I could work for him.
Then some guy bumped into me and called me an asshole. That guy ended up on the floor, licking the grime for running his fucking mouth at me. I had to buy everyone at the bar a round to keep my ass from getting kicked out.
Then the women showed up. Three women.
They wanted vodka.
Beer and vodka. Vodka and beer.
No wonder my fucking head was throbbing.
I sat up and grabbed for my phone. I turned my head and saw a woman in my bed next to me.
Ah, fuck.
I pulled the covers down past her shoulder and saw a tattoo on her left one. It was of a big blue rose with some initials on it. She had bright blonde hair, a nose ring, and she was sleeping almost angelic. However, I was pretty damn sure nothing angelic happened between me and her the night before. I touched her tattoo, my attention always drawn to ink.
She stirred and groaned.
Fuck. Don’t wake up. Bad enough I let you sleep over.
I leaned down and kissed the tattoo.
“Sleep,” I whispered.
She let out a comfortable purr as I threw the covers off my body.
I was butt-ass naked.
My dick was semi-stiff and flopping wherever I moved.
I checked my phone and saw there was a text message from Stacey.
My wife.
I need to talk to you ASAP
I rubbed my forehead and got out of bed. I grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and snuck out of the room to see that the apartment was full of sunlight. It was like it was in the middle of the afternoon. I looked at the clock on the stove and realized it was the fucking afternoon. Almost three.
Another memory flashed into my head.
The woman in my bed begging me to fuck her against the window as the sun came up. I looked at the window, and sure as shit, there were handprints on the glass and a pile of clothes on the floor. A pink pair of panties with a cat on the front.
“Pussy,” I whispered, shaking my head.
Letting her sleep over was not a good thing. Unless she was cool with just fooling around. Then again, even that was some kind of attachment to me and my dick.
I needed her the fuck out of my apartment.
Before that, I needed to deal with my wife.
I hated calling Stacey. I hated talking to her. I hated her voice. I hated everything about her.
I was torn between coffee and a beer when Stacey picked up.
“Did I pull you away from one of your whores?”
“What do you want?”
“What I always want, Mason.”
Money.
“Where are you?”
“Back in Vegas for a few days,” she said. “Then I was thinking I’d come out and we could have a romantic weekend together. Spend some time alone. Maybe go to the beach. We could fuck each other senseless right there in the sand.”
I gritted my teeth. “Not a chance in hell, Stacey. How much money do you need?”
“Aw, you don’t put up a fight anymore?”
“I’m not doing this for much longer,” I said.
“Divorce me then. Let’s see how that shakes out.”
“It was a bogus Vegas marriage,” I said. “We were both drunk.”
“Legal is legal,” Stacey teased.
“You said you’d stay away,” I said. “I spotted you enough cash to start your life over, Stacey. And then you came back. At the worst fucking time, too.”
“Aw, that little thing you were fucking took it to heart, huh? You should have seen her face when I told her I was your wife. It was like her little heart ripped into pieces right in front of me. I have to say though, of all the people, I pictured you falling for…well,definitely not for something like that. You’re better than that. She had those small towns eyes, Mason. Scared by the big lights and big city.”
“How much do you need?”
“Enough. And then a little extra. You could be my little extra, Mason. Come on, we never gave it a shot, did we?”
“I woke up next to you in bed, Stacey. We were married. You stole my credit cards while I was in the shower and took out cash advances and then wrote me a note.”
“I returned the credit cards, though,” she said. “Right?”
I felt the anger rising in me. I wanted to fucking snap.
“I don’t know who you think I am, Stacey.”
“You’re Mason,” she said. “I don’t need to know anything else about you. I don’t give a shit about your past, your family or friends. I don’t give a shit about the woman in your bed. I don’t give a shit that you miss the woman I chased away. When I call or text, you answer. If you don’t, I raise hell. Now, where’s my money?”
“I asked how much do you need…”
“And I gave an answer,” Stacey said. “I want what you can send.”
“You were supposed to start over,” I said. “You were lost out there. Looking for a way out.”
“And you ate up that story like a fat kid with cookies when his parents aren’t looking.”
She fucked me. Oh, she fucked me good.
“I don’t have time for this,” I said. “Why don’t you call a lawyer and get your money that way?”
“Don’t tempt me, Mason. I like this arrangement better. I ask for money. You give. I show up. We have great sex.”
I cringed. I shouldn’t have fucked her the last time she was here. That was my fault. I let the moment get the
best of me. I figured if I was throwing down heavy cash, I should get something out of it.
Fuck me.
“Great sex,” Stacey repeated.
“This call is over,” I said. “This fake fucking marriage is over too.”
I ended the call.
I dropped the phone on the counter. It took all of twenty seconds for the phone to vibrate with a message from Stacey.
It was a picture.
Of her tits.
I quickly deleted it and squeezed my cell phone so tight I wanted to break the fucking thing.
I walked to my bedroom and saw the woman still sleeping in bed. I opened the top-drawer dresser and took out a piece of paper. I slipped it into my back pocket, just like I always did.
My blood was boiling, and I had two choices.
Pick a fight with some guy or go get some ink. My skin was filling up more and more, and at the rate I was going, I’d run out of space soon. Unless I went insane and started getting my face tattooed. Then I could really turn into a different person.
My phone went off again, and I wound up to throw it across the apartment before I looked at the screen and saw it was Hunter calling.
“Where did you end up last night?” I asked.
“Good afternoon to you too. Did you just wake up?”
“Fuck yeah.”
“Figured,” Hunter said. “I swung by just before sunrise to check on you. You and Leslie were pretty hot and heavy.”
“Leslie?”
“The woman…oh, shit, did you boot her out? Do you even remember her?”
I glanced at my bedroom door to see it partially open.
“She’s still sleeping,” I said.
“You didn’t know her name, did you?”
“I don’t remember much from last night.”
“Well, I’m on my way over. We have to talk.”
“Why?”
“Shit, you really don’t remember a thing.” Hunter laughed.
“It’s not fucking funny, man.”
“It is. You’re too stubborn to fix everything. Well, at least for the most part. You’ll see soon enough.”
“Don’t come here, man,” I said. “No fucking way. I have to get out of here.”
HATE ME AGAIN: a bad boy romance novel Page 4
