by Amy Faye
“Does someone want to clue me in on what is up with you two today? Did your cheerios go rancid or something?” Dad’s face pinched together the way it always did when she bullied him, but she wasn’t going to back off when he was acting so fucking weird. “Anybody?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Dad said finally.
Brett’s eyes flashed with something that Amy thought was anger, but it was gone in an instant, before she could be certain, replaced with cool control. “If he doesn’t want to talk about it, then he doesn’t want to talk about it.”
Amy’s first instinct was to slap him. Both of them, really, but Brett would have swallowed it more easily. It might have done something. Slapping Dad would have just shut him down even further.
“Well, you’ve both been acting weird since you got here, and frankly, I’m sick of it. I’m supposed to be excited, and you’re both acting like—”
Brett broke first, cutting her off. “Look, I’m sorry if I acted funny.”
“Oh, if it were just you, that’s one thing. I’ve been here, what, two weeks at the outside? I still barely know what ‘normal’ is for you. But… Dad?”
She looked at him expectantly. He didn’t respond at first. Not that she’d expected him to, really, but there was always some hope that he would. That he’d just turn back on and whatever the hell was on his mind, he’d just talk about it for once. But he was her father, and she knew better than to expect the impossible.
He did what he always did, instead: changed the subject. “How did you sleep? Must have been stressful, waiting for word back. Hope you slept alright.”
A voice in the back of her mind wondered if it was only a coincidence that after she’d given in to her foolish desires, he was bringing it up. After all, any other time, she’d have thought nothing of it. The pinched look to his lips made her wonder if maybe she wasn’t right to worry. Then he started walking away.
“Come on,” she said. “I’ll drive you back.”
Dad looked at her with a cocked eyebrow, as if he were surprised. But then he nodded his agreement and walked back. Brett looked at her curiously, but said nothing.
“I’ll see you when we get home,” she offered.
“Yeah, drive safe.”
“I will.” Then she started off in the opposite direction. Dad was quiet behind her, but he followed. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets as if he were cold.
She didn’t try to talk to him again until she was sitting in the car, the key turning between her thumb and her forefinger. She tried to keep her frustration off her face, but she didn’t know if that was in her power, so she forgave herself the deepening furrow between her brows and the acute frown.
Dad buckled into the passenger seat and Amy lowered the parking brake under her elbow, easing the car into Reverse and then slowly rolling out of the spot. “Are you trying to, what, get back at me, for… what, exactly?”
She looked over at him as she shifted into drive, her feet still pressing the clutch and the brake to the floor. He had a defiant expression, but when he spoke, his voice didn’t hold any particular edge to it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said again. “I’m not acting strangely in the least bit. If anything, you’re the one acting strange.”
“Dad, you know, I love you, but you can’t lie to me. I always know.”
He sniffed in annoyance. “And, what? You think I can’t?”
She started the car moving in spite of her very strong desire to stay there and continue the conversation without the distraction of driving. “I didn’t say anything like that.”
“Not in so many words,” he agreed. “But you sure didn’t think I should know anything, either, is that right?”
Her jaw set. Bingo—that was exactly why he was mad. “What exactly was I supposed to tell you?”
“What the fuck you were thinking, for one thing. He’s your brother, for Christ’s sake!”
She swallowed a sniping response. “No, he isn’t, Dad.”
“Don’t try to play that game with me, Amy, I’m not going to—”
“He’s your wife’s son, but he’s not my brother. Your wife, whose funeral you refused to attend.” That earned her the response that she’d wanted, and she immediately regretted it when he dropped his head into his hands and shut up. “Dad—”
“No, you’re right. Just do whatever you want.”
“Talk to me. What the heck are you so upset about?”
“Does this mean you’re moving back to Michigan?”
She looked at him sideways. He’d changed the subject again, unless the two were directly connected for him, somehow. That seemed to be the way with him.
“I took the job, and I’m not going to stay in Arizona and fly to work every day.”
It wasn’t an answer, per se, but it didn’t leave a lot of room for uncertainty about the answer, either. Dad let out a long breath and laid his head back.
“You’re serious about this?”
“As serious as a heart attack,” she agreed, uncertain whether or not she was making a mistake.
He went quiet for a long time. She couldn’t blame him for it; there was a lot to think about. A lot to worry about. Dad was always a worrier, and no matter where he lived, that didn’t change.
When they got back to Brett’s house, he still hadn’t spoken a word. But the way he looked out the window, the way that he stood when he got out of the car… something had changed.
For a minute that stretched on until she held the door open for him, and he settled into the seat by the door, she thought it might be a change for the better.
She closed the door behind them, and a minute later it opened again, and finally, Dad decided it was time to talk. Brett barely had his jacket shrugged off one shoulder when he noticed them both there and froze in the doorway like a flash-frame.
“Is something wrong?”
“If you hurt my daughter,” Dad said in a surprising imitation of a real Dad, “I’ll kill you.”
Then his face twisted up into a smile, one that she knew was forced. But so were most of his smiles, she thought.
“What?”
“I think he means…”
“You changed your mind?” Dad shrugged, but the look on his face said that the guess wasn’t far off. “What made you decide differently?”
Dad looked up at her as Brett walked over. “My daughter seems to like you,” he said. “So I’ll get over it, I guess. God only knows, you both did a poor job pretending to back in high school.”
2006
Amy could feel herself getting a little sick. Nobody had mentioned her quitting school, which was good. Well, no–it wasn't that she was quitting, per se. But all that talk, back at Christmas, about 'knowing what you want to do' had gotten to her. Then it seemed like a mighty bad idea to be spending her money going to classes because she was supposed to.
If she knew what she wanted, she should be chasing it. If she didn't know, then she shouldn't be doing anything until she did. That was how she saw it. Helen had given her a lot of push. Dad hadn't.
But however they both felt, now that it was more-or-less settled, they seemed to have decided not to talk to her about it. Nor to talk to each other about it. She woke before they did in the morning, went to sleep after they did in the evening, and for the most part if they spoke, it wasn't more than a few words.
Dani picked up on it. Amy certainly picked up on it. The entire atmosphere was oppressive, frankly, but she had to deal with it. They both did. There were always tough times, and Dad at least was more used to being alone than being together, not to speak for Helen. Two years wasn't enough time to learn to be 'together' again.
None of it probably meant anything, she assured herself, digging through the attic. And besides that, even if it meant something, even if it meant everything–she wasn't worrying about other people. She was worrying about herself.
Leaving school because you didn't know what to do
was foolish; Amy could be stubborn, even foolish, but she didn't try to act the fool, and she didn't try to convince Dad that she was being perfectly rational when she wasn't.
They had to have brought it. Neither of them had a few hundred dollars to replace it, and they weren't likely to find that kind of money in the next six months. If she didn't have time to practice, none of it meant a thing.
It wasn't the sort of future that was full of guarantees. She wasn't going to be a doctor or a lawyer or some shit. Not that those options were open before she'd quit out of a god damned community college.
But at least she still had options there. She could end up as a CPA; she could get into nursing. She could get into a trade program and probably get placed at on-the-job training without much trouble, even.
But that wasn't what she was going to do. She wasn't going to become a carpenter or an accountant or a nurse. She wasn't going to become a personal trainer.
Amy let out a breath and settled down on top of a plastic box, rubbing her face with one bent wrist, fingers too covered in tree seedlings and sap to want to get them anywhere near her face.
Taking a look around, she started to plan the next steps. The attic wasn't exactly well-appointed, and it seemed as if Helen and her family had brought every single thing they'd ever owned, most of it going right up inside that attic. But she didn't have the option of forgetting about it, either.
A big pile over in the corner could have been large enough. If the case had gotten knocked over, then maybe it could be under the smaller piles, but she didn't bet on it. Everywhere else that seemed sufficiently obvious, she'd checked. Deep breath in. Slow breath out.
When she'd been in high school, the cello was an instrument for nerds. The worst sort of nerds, really. She might have been one. She wouldn't deny that to herself, not after it was all over. But she didn't want anyone else thinking it.
She wondered how much thought he'd put into that book. There was certainly a good chance that he hadn't put any at all in. Brett had a… unique way of saying whatever came into his mind at the time, and she had a way of finding it charming, even when he hadn't thought about it.
But a book of photos of Yo-Yo Ma? What were the odds of finding that by luck? And then picking it out? Not high. She frowned. It wasn't supposed to be a statement, she knew. Not after all that time. If he thought she should…
She frowned, uncertain that she'd ever even told him she played. It was too much of a coincidence. But it was impossible, at the same time. Well, either way. She pushed herself up off the box and dug into the pile. There was work to be done.
Years of missed practice to make up for, and she'd have to start damn near from the beginning again. She just hoped that she still had her music stuffed into the case as well.
She shifted… something she couldn't even identify. Was it some kind of sculpture? A strange metallic triangle with recesses for lights wasn't something she could identify, but it didn't much matter as long as it wasn't in her way.
Behind it, the size of the pile barely diminished. A stack of cardboard boxes two high, but they were blocked in by a plastic tub of what she thought might be Christmas decorations. She pushed them past with her knee, but the box barely budged more than a foot. Then she crouched down and took a stronger crack at it with her hands, and got them clear.
The boxes, she shifted just far enough to see behind them, and that was far enough. She felt a smile come to her face before she even had time to catch her breath from moving the heavy boxes.
It leaned against the rafters, as far back as it could have gotten without being stuffed quite literally into a corner, but she'd found it. Smaller than she remembered, or she was bigger. But it was there, and it was hers. She took a step through the mess and nearly toppled over. But at least she was moving again.
Epilogue
Brett
Present Day
Brett’s tuxedo cost an arm and a leg, but at least it fit better than it had when he was in high school. Then again, most things fit better, once he’d lost thirty pounds. His thighs not being bigger than his skull was probably part of it, and the tailoring made up the rest of the difference.
It was less of a hassle, too. He had fewer doubts about the future than he’d had when he was in high school. After all, whatever you wanted to say about it, even Jerry had worked out, in a sense.
Going away to keep your daughter company on the other side of the country wasn’t exactly the same thing as abandoning your family. Nobody whose opinion mattered thought that. And with Jerry back in town again, nobody who might have thought it was willing to say it. Not in front of Jerry, and not in front of his son-in-law. At least… given another hour, his son -in-law.
He swallowed hard, suddenly understanding in sharp detail how this must have felt for the man. He was quiet, and he liked to be by himself. To be standing in the center of attention like this was hard even for Brett, the long wait before Amy would be escorted out.
Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes felt like days. But Brett was used to waiting. He’d waited ten years to see her again, once. No matter how hard it felt, he could wait another few minutes. As long as it meant he was going to see her again.
The music changed, and with it, the mood in the chapel. Brett shifted nervously from one foot to the other, eyeing the bouquets of sunflowers that dotted the chapel walls, fixing the smile on his face as best he could.
Then, a second later, his wait was finally over, Amy hanging gently on her father’s arm. The two of them walked in practiced step together up the aisle, and Amy walked into the future that they’d both been dreaming of for so long that it had been abandoned.
Now that they’d found each other again, Brett swore silently to himself, he wasn’t going to ever let that happen again.
I want you to be really rough. The anticipation is killing me.
Nothing gets me hotter than thinking about you.
I loved him deeply... but then I left, without a proper goodbye. When I came back, I almost hoped he would have moved, too.
But no. There he was. With those delicious abs and that gorgeous smile.
He was my highschool sweetheart, the one that got away. Somewhere along the line, though, he became a monster.
Blood and trouble followed him... but I still loved him. How was I supposed to raise a baby with a man like that?!
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I can’t control myself when I’m near him...
My b*tch of a best friend stole my boyfriend and ruined my life. I definitely needed a distraction. A nice, big distraction right between my legs.
And oh, God, was this man a distraction. Handsome and older and just the right kind of dominant. He could have had any girl he wanted.
But he had me.
It wasn't my usual gig, one night stands. But if those big muscles and that bigger package could take my mind off of my messy life, then I'd take it.
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I'm naked, touching myself, and thinking about you...
He moves between her hips, her legs propped up around his waist...
I have a dangerous job. One that means I can't get distracted by any woman that comes near me.
But she was the perfect damsel in distress, and she was irresistible. The way she licked me. The way she touched me. The way she felt when I was inside of her.
The closer I got to her, the more dangerous her life became
. But I was addicted, and there was no way out.
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I just wanted to love her... but was she trying to kill me?
He was gone for a long time. Long enough to forget some manners. He was a soldier, one with a bad past but a soft soul.
I fell in love with him so fast, though I made him take things slow.
But something was stealing him from me. Something sinister, evil.
I'm meant to marry John Paul Foster. How can I do that when he thinks I'm poisoning him?!
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