Even if maybe it was out of obligation.
Weak and pathetic, I decided as I climbed out of my car, slamming the door with more force than necessary, having to drag it back open to haul out my purse, then slamming and whacking it with my hand for good measure.
I was late, and I didn't even bother to tiptoe my way in the front door before starting up the stairs.
"You're late," Michael's voice accused from below me, making me stop on a stair, turning back to him, my annoyance with myself and my life in general on open display. "Where have you been?"
And that was it.
That was all I decided I could take.
This night.
This life.
"Oh, me? I was out fucking a dozen men on the beach!" I declared, waving an arm out dramatically, my purse shooting off my shoulder and hanging off my wrist. "And it's none of your fucking business," I added, dropping my voice, low, lethal, before turning on my heel, and storming up the rest of the stairs, slamming and locking my door with gusto before throwing myself into the shower.
It wasn't until I was naked under the spray that a strange, hysterical laugh burst out of me, half joy, half terror.
I did it.
I stood up for myself.
Sure, it was only because I was feeling dejected and a bit insecure about Charlie's weird behavior on the way back from the beach, but it still counted, I still did it.
Maybe I'd pay.
Maybe I would regret it.
But that wasn't the point.
The point was I did it.
I didn't shrink.
I didn't cower.
I didn't bite my tongue to save my neck.
I hardened.
Maybe just a little.
Maybe just for a moment.
But I had done it.
And if I had done it once, I could do it again.
And again.
And again.
Until it became a part of me.
Until no one would call me soft again.
Until no one would ever again doubt my strength.
Not even Charlie fucking Mallick.
--
"You are not serious," I said, leaning over the back of the booth I was supposed to be cleaning into Connor's, bemused smile pulling at my lips.
"As a heart attack," he told me, giving me a warm smile he wasn't often known for. "Stark ass naked right there at his desk," he told me, talking about one of his father's co-workers who was apparently having an affair with the nighttime cleaning staff, and had fallen asleep after their, ah, excursions.
"What did they do?"
"What any group of professional, respectful men would do. Drew shit all over him then put his hand in warm water."
The laugh that came out of me was the first real one that day, taking with it some of the darkness that I had been shouldering since I woke up in the morning, terror gripping my throat as I dragged out getting dressed for my day, not willing to admit it to myself, but afraid to go downstairs and see my family.
I eventually did it, a lump in my throat the size of Texas, slipping down the hall to the kitchen to hide with Helga like I was a child all over again.
"Oh, that is a dark cloud, herzchen," she had greeted me.
"When your family gets in the way of your love life... potential," I rushed to correct. "Potential love life, it has a way of putting you in a funk."
"You met a man," she said, eyebrows wiggling with a pure feminine appreciation, and maybe a smidgen, or smidgen and a half, of a motherly teasing. "Who is this man finally good enough to turn your very particular head?"
I chanced a look around, moving close, and whispering in her ear. "Charlie."
I didn't need to explain any further than that. She knew all my father's men.
"Oh, herzchen," she said, sighing out her breath, patting me on the cheek. "You are determined to make your life difficult," she told me, clucking her tongue.
"No worries, Helga," I said, rinsing my coffee cup before placing it into the drainboard. "Nothing is going to come of it."
"Oh, famous last words!" she declared as I backed out the door, blowing her a kiss.
"You alright tonight?" Connor asked, head tipped to the side as he studied me, seeing perhaps too much. "Did something happen with Mallick last night? Do you need me to have a word with him?"
Oh, he was a good man.
It was reassuring to be reminded they did, indeed, exist.
I couldn't help but wonder, though, if I deserved to be the recipient of the attention of one.
"It was just a concert." And a kiss. And a life-altering conversation.
Connor's head ducked for a long moment, studying his half-empty, and likely stone cold coffee for a long moment, considering his words, weighing if he should speak them or not. In the end, his head raised.
"Can't say I am disappointed to hear that, Helen," he said, shrugging a shoulder. "You deserve better."
"That's sweet. I am not so sure-"
"I am," he cut me off before I could continue. "I am sure. And if he has made you doubt that for a second, then he's an even bigger asshole than I thought."
"It's not that," I said, shaking my head. "It's..." I trailed off, sighing.
"It's what?" he demanded, shaking his head. "You need to talk. I'm here. Talk. Believe me, Helen, there's nothing you can tell me that I don't... know about already," he said carefully, reminding me yet again of who he was, who his father was, what he planned to become. A man who might want to take my father down some day.
I bit into my cheek. "Have you ever been bullied, Connor?" I asked, not looking over at him, watching out the large plate glass window instead, not pausing to wait for his answer either. "I mean a lot. Every day. Until their voice is louder than your own in your head? Until you aren't even sure that there is enough of you inside to be anything other than their punching bag, their whipping boy?"
"Helen, you listen to me," he started, voice fierce, so fierce that my head whipped over to him, so used to his softness that his hard caught me off-guard. "You are not a fucking punching bag. And you are more than what those assholes make you think you are. Don't start doubting yourself because of what they say. Their lives are pure ugly. They don't know beautiful when it is right in front of them. Or if they do, they want to destroy it because it is only a reminder of how hideous they are."
I felt a stinging in my eyes, making me blink back the onslaught of tears before I could utterly embarrass myself right in the middle of my shift.
"I have to go," I told him, the weight in the words letting him know I meant leave, this town, this life, not just go to check on my other tables.
His head moved to the side, ear almost touching his shoulder. "Maybe you..."
"Am I too late?" Charlie's voice broke in from behind me, making both me and Connor stiffen suddenly.
It was late.
I had figured he had decided just to stand me up, to avoid having to sit across a table from me.
"Late for what?" Connor asked, tone decidedly less friendly.
"Figured Helen and I could enjoy some food while she's on break," Charlie said easily, moving in beside me, making me catch his reflection in the window to my side.
Along with my own.
Making me have to hold back a groan at my uniform much like I had the night before as well.
Though, objectively, this one wasn't quite so hideous, it certainly didn't do much for me either.
My white t-shirt had a double-notch collar, starched mercilessly so that it crunched when I pressed it down flat, thanks to the rules of the owner, and Helga's steadfast determination to abide by them when she ironed it for me. It tucked into a hideous mustard yellow yolk-waist skirt that flirted with my kneecaps, but was mostly covered by a red waist apron where my check presenter was situated along with half a dozen pens, a pack of gum, and lip balm.
My hair was pulled harshly up as it had been the night before as well, but at least my makeup was still intact. Small
miracles.
"I see," Connor said, sliding out of his booth as he reached in his back pocket for his wallet, throwing ten on the table when his bill maybe came to five. Generous even as his disappointment and jealousy were flooding the air around him.
"You don't have to go," I rushed to say even as he passed me by.
"I'll see you around, Helen," he said before shooting Charlie a hard look. "Mallick."
"Did I interrupt something?" Charlie asked as Connor threw open the door, the cheery chime in perfect contrast to his mood.
"Connor is a... good friend," I decided, even though that was maybe a stretch.
"Seems to me he wants more than that," Charlie observed.
To which I said nothing. Because, quite frankly, that was none of his business even if it were true.
"I have to check on my tables, then ask Vicky to keep an eye for me," I told him, moving off to do so before he could say anything else.
I got back five minutes later, finding him situated in a booth, flicking through the eight-page menu.
"How does someone pick something?" he asked as I slid across from him.
"You can't go wrong with the classics," I declared, pointing to the sandwiches. "The BLT is really good."
He gave me his order, and I jumped up to put it in since Vicky already had her hands full since we didn't normally have official breaks, always jumping up to help if we needed to, but I had agreed to take her Sunday morning shift, so she could go see her grandmother for her birthday, so we were both doing something we didn't want to do. Sunday mornings after church let out were the worst. You were running from the beginning of your shift right up until the end, sweaty, miserable, getting scolded and stiffed on tips because you couldn't give everyone the individualized attention they wanted during a rush.
Vicky shot me an eyebrow wiggle when I turned away from the window after having stuck up the order on the carousel.
I shook my head at her, but felt a slight flush warming my cheeks as I made my way back to the booth, finding Charlie's eyes on me, making me wonder if maybe he had just been in a sour mood the night before, that he hadn't just been agreeing to see me again out of obligation.
"Do you like working here?" he asked. It was the smallest of small talk, but he genuinely seemed interested in my answer.
"Um, I don't know. I think I like the bar a bit more. Different crowd. Usually in a better mood."
"And usually so wasted that they leave a giant tip?"
"Yeah, that too," I agreed, smiling, and maybe a bit annoyed at myself for being so easily charmed.
"You seem in a better mood tonight," I said a bit pointedly as I stirred some of the fizzies out of my soda, avoiding eye-contact during the long silence following my declaration.
"Helen, baby," he said, his voice doing that sexy soothing thing I was starting to think I had imagined, making a surge of liquid need course through me. My head lifted to find him watching me, waiting for my attention. "Last night took a turn that I didn't plan on. Ruined what should have been a nice date."
"Date?" I repeated, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.
"Yeah."
"I thought it was a bet."
"If you thought that was a bet, babe, I got to work on my moves," he said, lips quirking up at one side.
"I think your, ah, moves were just fine," I admitted, ignoring the way my face felt warm at that declaration as the memory of the kiss washed over my mind and body. "I mean, you're a good dancer," I rushed to cover when his eyes went knowing.
"It was my dance moves you were thinking about right now, huh?" he asked, leaning forward over the table slightly. "That made your eyes get all sleepy, your cheeks get all pink..."
Luckily, it was right that moment that Ed - the chef who couldn't have cared less about awkward timing came charging out of the kitchen, dropping our plates down with a clatter that knocked some of the French fries off the white plates with mustard yellow rims and onto the bright red enamel tabletop.
"Food," he declared, reaching up to scratch under his white hat, making the cigarette behind his ear wobble a bit ominously, threatening to fall down on top of our food.
"Thanks, Ed," I told him, to which he gave me what could only be called a snort before walking back into the kitchen where he couldn't come in contact with innocent customers.
"He's charming," Charlie declared as he snagged a fry, drawing my attention to his mouth where it decidedly did not need to be.
"What he lacks in manners, he makes up for in cooking skills," I informed him, setting to eating my food to avoid watching him eat his food like it was somehow erotic.
"Did you want me to show up tonight?" he asked after a long couple of minutes.
That was a loaded question.
But I didn't really even have to think about it.
"Yes."
"This is probably a terrible idea," he went on, catching my eyes. "I should stay away from you."
"Because of my father."
"Fuck your father," he surprised me by saying, making me jerk back at the quiet fierceness in his words. "Because I know you need to go, and I am worried I am selfish enough to ask you to stay a little longer."
I wanted to say Come with me then, but that was ridiculous. It was too soon. I would sound clingy and insane.
"It's not like I was planning to leave tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the next day," I said instead. "And while I'm here, why can't we... spend some time together?"
That was maybe offering something I wasn't sure I was truly open to - casualness, messing around, non-commitment.
That being said, I wanted to spend more time with him. I wanted to get to know him better. I wanted another kiss that might make the whole world melt away.
I wanted more of the butterflies and belly flips and shivers across my skin.
My life had so much bad.
Was it really so wrong to want a little good?
Even if it was bound to be temporary?
"That's true," he agreed, trying to keep his tone casual, but I swore I heard some hope in his voice. "So does that mean I can convince you to spend a couple minutes with me after your shift tonight?"
It was taking a risk.
Coming home late again.
When I knew that Michael was likely still stewing from my outburst the night before.
And would likely be waiting to confront me again.
Maybe with more than words this time.
Maybe he would even drag my father in on it.
But I couldn't keep adjusting my desires and choices based on their potential reactions.
So what if they yelled?
I'd been yelled at before.
So what if they struck me?
I'd certainly been hit before.
And my time here was short anyway.
Whatever they doled out, I could take.
And then at least I would leave this town, leave this life knowing that I hadn't' always been meek and passive, I hadn't always cowered and caved, that I took a stand, that I made some choices based on what made me happy for a change.
"It's going to be late," I warned him.
"It's a good thing you serve coffee here," he said with a smile.
We talked then, about little things. How long I had been working here. What he wanted to do with his life. Once we had gotten over the initial awkwardness of new conversation, we delved a little deeper. He told me about how his mother had died of a freak blood clot when he was five, leaving him to be raised by his father, and occasionally his grandfather. But both would be dead before he finished high school, leaving him on his own, needing to take care of himself with no job training. So he turned to a life of crime.
"I was always good at winning fights," he said with a slightly bashful smile. "It was a natural progression."
"What is your plan?" I asked, watching as his brows furrowed slightly. "For your future. You can't enforce forever."
"It'd be nice to get my own thing going. Be in charge. Maybe
try to go legit. Or partially legit at least. Get me a good woman. Have her give me a litter of kids. All boys," he added, smiling.
"You don't really get to decide that," I said with a smile. "You like kids?"
"Like what me and my old man had. Would like to have that myself."
"It must have been nice to be so close," I observed, not even bothering to keep the longing out of my voice.
"You'll get the chance to have it too, babe. Have yourself a half a dozen kids, have the kind of relationship with them that you never got to have. It's not the same, but it would be good for you to have those blood bonds, I think. To get to know some loyalty."
"And love," I added, voice a bit raw.
"If there's one thing I can pretty much guarantee you are going to have in life, babe, it's love. You're going to be loved. More than you even knew was possible."
He made it sound so possible.
Likely, even.
And I wanted so badly to believe it.
But I wasn't quite there yet.
"I mean, I've been loved," I rushed to say, guilt taking over me. "Helga has loved me like her own."
Though, maybe, it wasn't quite the same.
She didn't have the time to sit and play with me, to take me to the parks, to paint my nails, or shop with me for my prom dress. She was so often busy with my father's tasks that she could only be a bit more like an aunt, someone you knew loved you, but often from a bit of a distance.
"I meant a different kind of love," Charlie said, making that shiver move through my belly once again.
"I know," I agreed, piling his empty plate on top of mine to avoid eye-contact right that moment.
"You doubt it?" he asked, dipping his head lower so I had no choice but to meet this eyes.
"I haven't given it much thought."
Really, I hadn't given it any thought.
Not until he started looking my way anyway.
"That cop-to-be would love you in a heartbeat if you'd let him," he informed me, being perhaps a bit too observant for my taste. What else had he noticed with those keen eyes of his?
"That's just a crush," I brushed it off.
"That man looked like he wanted to yank my teeth out with rusty pliers when he saw me walk up. That's not a crush. And I can't say I blame him."
Mallicks: Back to the Beginning (Mallick Brothers Book 5) Page 6
