At this rate they wouldn’t have livers by the time they turned sixty. But knowing them, they’d be alive until a hundred drinking vodka and Diet Pepsi every night just to prove everyone wrong. I pinched the area between my eyebrows.
It’d been over four years since I left the Wraiths and even longer since I was with Jethro. But that was when I’d sometimes go over and drink with them. I knew they loved it when they didn’t drink alone.
“I’m not seeing anybody right now,” I said.
Though for some reason a wild image popped into my head. Bringing Sanders around and brandishing him like a trophy. See, Mom, he likes me. I mentally shook away the unwanted thought.
“Oh, honey, but you’re so pretty. Don’t you worry, you’ll find a man.”
I used to say I don’t need a man, now I didn’t bother. She wouldn’t remember this conversation anyway.
“Thanks, Mama.”
“Why don’t you pick up some vodka and come over. Just like the good ol’ days. We miss you,” she said.
I sucked my teeth. “Can’t tonight.”
“My beautiful, beautiful girl.” She sniffed softly. Wow, she was all the way to maudlin. They must have started at noon. “You’ve grown up so fast. Your brother too. He never talks. Always too busy. We did our best, you know. We loved you as best we could. Our parents were never around. Grandpa used to leave the bar and—”
“It’s okay, I know. And Rick is busy but he loves you,” I lied through my teeth. I never talked to my brother, Rick. The last time we spoke, he said he couldn’t care less what happened to our parents. Last I heard he ran with a different MC. It was hard not to think about his choices and feel like I wasn’t meant for much more.
“He does? Did he say that?” Mama asked.
“Yeah, he did.” I closed my eyes.
I knew they wouldn’t remember anything from our conversation. I don’t know why I tried or cared … and yet.
“I’m getting another promotion. At work.” The words slipped out. My heart hammered in anticipation.
“A promotion! Good for you, honey,” my mom said louder, probably leaning toward my father so he could hear.
Despite myself I sat up straighter.
“A promotion?” I heard my dad’s deep, Southern drawl ask through the line. “What, now she’s a dancer too? Not just a bartender?”
His laugh crackled through, wet and too long. He kept laughing even though there was no joke. His words shut down the small sliver of excitement I’d been feeling about sharing my news.
I slumped. “I don’t work at the Dragon Bar anymore,” I mumbled knowing she couldn’t hear me over his raucous laugh. It wasn’t even a strip club. It didn’t matter. None of this mattered. I was doing fine on my own. I was going to be more than this.
“You shush. Be happy for your baby,” my mom whispered but still loud enough to hear.
He belched.
I dug my nails into the palms of my hand. I could have been the president and they wouldn’t remember. I told myself it didn’t matter. I had people who cared. Though, currently I wasn’t talking to some of them. My good mood officially evaporated.
“I gotta go,” I said. “Have a good night.”
“Oh already? Okay, sugar, you have a good night. We love you. Tell your man we said hi. Love you, baby girl.”
“Love you.” I could hardly get the words out for the tightness in my throat.
I hung up the phone and stared into space past my desk. No matter how I told myself it didn’t matter, these conversations always hurt.
I felt so alone. I could call Gretchen. I missed her. She’d give me the reminder I needed. Friends are family you chose. But I couldn’t bring myself to call. I felt too much … shame? Maybe kissing Sanders meant she was right all along. But that didn’t excuse how she went about it.
I still needed more time. With a shake of my head, I grabbed my purse and phone and locked up my office. I stood outside the Lodge, doubting myself for the longest time. Debating what to do and where to go.
Then a man strode past me. So determined on his mission that he didn’t even see me standing there. He was walking toward the forest.
Sometimes, people did need each other. Sometimes a person comes into your life for a reason. And then I knew what I had to do. Maybe I wanted to be done just existing. Maybe I wanted more. Even if it was temporary.
Chapter 21
Sanders
I was just heading into the forest when my phone rang. If it wasn’t for my residual guilt from earlier, I would have ignored it. When I saw who it was, I answered immediately.
“Roxy?”
“Hey.” Her voice sounded shaky. “Remember when you said I could call if I ever needed to talk?”
“Where are you?” I stopped and turned on a heel to head back to the Lodge.
“Right here.”
As she spoke, I heard her voice outside and on the phone. A shape stepped out of the shadow. We both hung up and walked toward each other, meeting halfway. I fought to reach out and scoop her into my arms.
“It’s going to rain,” she said with a frown. The heavy storm clouds blocked the setting sun, giving the impression it was much later. The wind kicked up and she rubbed her arms up and down. I shrugged out of my coat and gave it to her. “Thanks.” It was too big for her but the sight of her in my coat warmed me up.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She squinted into the horizon. “I don’t think so. Are you?”
Fuck it. I stepped closer and pulled her into me for a hug. I wrapped my arms tight around her as she rested her head on my chest. Fuck the rules. If Skip was crying, I’d hug him too. When you see someone in pain, you help them. The soothing went both ways. The second she was in my arms, some of the pain in my chest released.
“No,” I whispered.
Maybe I didn’t need to throw myself into another pointless risk tonight. What would that solve anyway? At least with Roxy in my arms, I could try to fix some of the hurt I’d put there. I could make a little difference. And in return I would be honest. I knew Roxy, better than I should at this point, and whatever it had taken for her to call me had not been small.
“I was feeling all alone,” she admitted.
“I was about to go rock climbing in the dark.”
She didn’t respond, just made this soft, sad little noise and wrapped her arms tighter around my middle and squeezed.
“I guess when I say it out loud, it sounds pretty silly,” I said.
“How about tonight we keep each other from doing something we know is stupid?”
“Deal,” I whispered.
I would try so hard to keep that promise. But talk about jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. I couldn’t be around her and not want to do something stupid. Being around Roxy defaulted my brain to factory settings. Protect. Love. Hold.
“I have an idea,” she said against my chest.
Ten minutes later, we pulled up to an elementary school.
“I’m pretty open-minded, but if I listed ten places I’d expected to go tonight, I wouldn’t have even come close,” I said.
“Trust me.”
We walked through a large parking lot where a couple of buses were parked. It had grown dark but a few surrounding streetlights shone on the playground where we headed.
“If you wanted a playground, all you have to do is visit Outside the Box … it’s basically this but adult sized.”
“Well, this is just a little closer, don’t you think? Also, it’s mostly cement, so the mosquitoes aren’t as bad.”
“Mozzies. Evil bastards.” I swatted at my neck just thinking about them.
“Swing or spin?” she asked.
“Let’s start with the swings.”
That way if she felt like sharing, we wouldn’t be facing each other. I found that Skip was more likely to open up that way.
“As teenagers we would come here, Gretchen and I, when things were shitty or we were bored. She’d stay wit
h me when my parents forgot to pick me up.” Her voice cracked. “I smoked my first cigarette over there when I was eleven.” She pointed to a tunnel on the jungle gym. “We hid in there and thought we were so cool.”
“When I was eleven, my dad was taking me on camping trips,” I said not sure why. “Do you miss Gretchen?” I asked hoping to keep her as the topic of conversation.
She looked sad and distant. “Yeah. I’m remembering some of the things she did to distract me when my parents forgot about me.”
“She’s a good friend?”
“She is.” Roxy slowed her swing and drifted back and forth. “I pushed her away when I should have just talked to her.”
“It’s a defense mechanism.”
“I’m a walking defense mechanism.”
“Can you call her?” I asked.
“I almost did. Still working through things.”
“Is that what’s got you down tonight?” I slowed my swing to move in tandem with her.
“No. I just talked to my parents and that always sets me off.”
“I understand,” I said honestly.
“I’m sorry. You just lost your dad. I shouldn’t complain.”
“You can be frustrated with your parents even though mine are dead. Want to talk about it?”
She glanced over at me. “There’s not much to say. They don’t know me. They never have. They liked me best when I brought booze from the bar and partied with them. Now, we’re mostly strangers.”
“It’s hard when we realize our parents are just people.”
She made a hum of agreement. “So why were you about to go hiking in the dark with another storm blowing in?”
As though hearing her question, the wind picked up and blew her fringe and hair all around her.
“Ah, no reason,” I said.
“Hey.” She kicked my foot. “I showed you mine,” she said with a teasing smile.
I grabbed her feet with mine and gripped her so we faced each other, rocking a little. I couldn’t meet her eyes though.
“Honestly, nothing happened. Not sure why I got so down. Skip was just telling me about this camping trip with Ford and then my dad’s home called. I need to go get his stuff from the care facility.”
“I’m sorry. That must be so hard.”
I rubbed my chest. Above us, heavy gray shapes covered the stars.
“I’m just happy he’s at peace now,” I said. It was my canned answer. She must have sensed that.
“How are you really feeling?”
“I’m fine.” I smiled and released her legs to face away. She didn’t let me. She looped her legs around my thighs, bringing us closer.
The heat, as always, was there in an instant.
“Roxy, I don’t want to talk about this. It’s too ...”
Hard? Depressing? Pointless?
“Who do you talk to about it?” she asked ignoring me.
I rubbed the heartburn from my esophagus.
“I don’t have anything to say. It won’t change anything.” My skin started to itch. Even feeling the weight of her legs on me wasn’t distracting enough.
“It might help you process.” Her legs tightened, not letting me move even an inch. I was being held captive and any other time I would have loved it but I didn’t want to talk about this.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I am fine. Why don’t you or Skip seem to understand that? I’m glad he’s not suffering anymore,” I said feeling my voice rise despite my attempt to be cool.
“You can be upset. Nobody would blame you. You can feel what you feel.”
The words were too close to the truth I clung to desperately. I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t feel her body on mine. I couldn’t talk about my dad for a second more. I couldn’t sit here feeling like my chest was being pried open and she was gripping my heart in her hands.
I broke out from her grip and stood up.
“Sanders!” she said affronted.
“Roxy, I don’t want to do this.”
“That’s bullshit!” she yelled and I stopped in my retreat and turned back to her.
“What?” I asked feeling sad and defeated.
“You pushed and pushed me. I opened up about things in my past I never wanted to share. I shared with you, Sanders. And you can’t do the same for me? You can’t let me help you?”
“There’s nothing to help. I’m fine,” I said, tossing out my arms. “I’ve had a charmed life. I’ve got nothing to complain about.”
“That’s bullshit. You can’t even look at me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. As far as I’m concerned, I’m glad my father is dead!”
Her face went blank. As soon as I said the words, a crushing wave of guilt crashed over me. I had felt that way for so long but to say it out loud made me feel like the lowest level of scum. I shook my head, furious at her. At myself. She pushed me too far. She couldn’t relent.
“Fuck!” I yelled. “Why couldn’t you just listen to me when I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”
The pain in my chest was so acute I had to stop talking and focus on my breathing. I stopped and bent forward and dropped my hands to my knees, half bent over.
She stepped closer until I could see her shoes in front of me. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I know how you meant it.”
It was too late though. I’d said it. I put it out there like an absolute piece of shit.
Roxy
Sanders was half crumpled in front of me. I had pushed him too far and I regretted hurting him.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
When I put my hand on his shoulder, he turned his head and shrugged me off. I withdrew my arm and balled my fist. I stepped back.
He mumbled something I couldn’t understand. I dropped to my knees to see his face. “What?” I asked.
His eyes were shining and red-rimmed. “I’m fucking awful,” he said.
“No. You are not,” I said emphatically.
“I am.” He dropped to his knees too and we faced each other, kneeling on the squishy plastic flooring of the playground. “I just said I was glad my father is dead.”
“Explain what you mean,” I said.
He bit his lip and looked up at the heavy clouds. “It was awful at the end. He was gone. All that was left was just this sad shape of a man that used to be my father.” He glared at his clenched fists. “There were many years where he was still mostly lucid. There’d only be flashes where he’d get confused and angry. Paranoid. He’d go missing and a neighbor would find him wandering down the street.”
He took a break to swallow. My own throat tightened in sadness.
“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you,” I said softly but his gaze was distant in memory.
“But at least there were times when he was still there. But at the end. That wasn’t him at all. I just wanted him to be at peace. I wanted him to go be with Mom and stop suffering.” His lip trembled and he took another breath. “He’s gone. The man who raised me will never … and I hate that I feel relieved.”
I held his hands in mine and he let me. “You’re not awful. I think most people would feel that way.”
He stood up and paced. “I don’t want to. Shouldn’t I be grateful for the time that we had? Even at the end. Even when it was hard. I should have been there every moment holding his hand.”
“You can love your father and be angry. You can feel sad and be thankful. You’re a living, breathing person. Nobody expects you to be happy all the time.”
“They don’t?” he snapped. “Because isn’t that who I’m supposed to be? Isn’t that what people want from me? The ‘good time’ guy. The guy that makes choices and moves forward.”
“I hardly think if you asked Skip what he liked most about you, it would have anything to do with you being happy all the time. People love you for you, not what you do for them. Isn’t that what you told me?�
�
That stilled him.
“I’m just tired of feeling like this.” He rubbed his chest one time with a fist. “This constant pain. I don’t fucking want this. He would have been okay. He would’ve taken it in stride and handled it like a man.”
“Your dad?” I asked.
“When my mom died, he kept it all together. He knew how to take care of me and be strong.”
“I’m sure he struggled,” I said desperate to soothe him. He was so hurt and fragile. This big, confident man so full of life was just as alone as the rest of us. My heart ached for him.
I stayed kneeling looking up at him as he walked in circles.
“You should be mad,” I said.
He stilled and looked at me. “No. Anger is for the weak. Anger is a young man’s emotion. For toddlers. That’s what he would say.”
“Emotions make you human,” I said.
“They make me a coward. They make me run.” He stopped and took me in. I saw myself in his eyes, kneeling in front of him, eyes wide, mouth open in wonder. “You have no idea how fucking weak I am. If you had any idea …” He tore his gaze away from me and paced.
“You can be angry.” I threw out my arms. “Just be mad. Feel it. Accept it. It doesn’t have to consume you. You can acknowledge it without letting it define you.”
He shook his head.
“Be mad, Sanders. Feel it.”
“At who?” he asked.
“The world. God. The universe. Me. Your dad. The situation. The air you breathe. It doesn’t matter. You can be angry. And then you can move on. Take it in like a breath and then let it go. It’s horrible and it is so not fair.”
“I am angry. I’m so fucking angry.” He kicked the swing but it must have not satisfied him enough.
He kicked the ground but the foam flooring just absorbed the impact. He punched the air. Finally, he went to the trees a few feet away and picked up a large branch. I wouldn’t even be able to lift it above my head and yet he swung it around, flourishing it like a sword. His arms flexed in strength. He smacked it against the swing set, the metal rang out in response. The muscles of his back and shoulders pushed and pulled with the effort. He swung it again and again like a blacksmith shaping a sword.
The One That I Want (Scorned Women Society Book 3) Page 19
