by Paige North
“Hey,” Sparrow says unexcitedly. Their eyes drift to the bowl of spaghetti and meatballs.
“I made dinner,” I say brightly. Looking at them, then back at the table, I wonder if I made enough food.
I bite my lip as Dax moves close to me, and my heart thrums as he kisses me, cupping my backside and massaging it while the boys can’t see. God, I love it when his hands mold my ass. I could probably get off having him do that all day. His eyes drift wolfishly to my camisole, and now I know the true meaning of undressing a person with one’s eyes. “I’m only hungry for one thing, Darlin’,” he whispers.
I swat him away as Vincent quietly appears in the doorway like a black ghost. He rolls his eyes at me. Great. He’s caught us again.
Dax pulls out a chair for me and says, “Where’s dad?”
I shrug, surprised he has no idea. “I haven’t seen him. I thought he was with you at the shop?”
Dax and his brother share worried glances. Dax pulls out his phone and starts to jab in a number, then brings the phone to his ear and disappears into the living room. The boys waste no time digging into their food. No conversation, no thank you, the only sound the scrape of utensils on the plate. They pile it down, mouthful after mouthful. By the time Dax gets back only a minute later, their plates are nearly clean.
Dax sits down, tosses his phone on the table, and rubs his face tiredly.
“Well?” one of the twins asks. “Where is he?”
“Where do you think, Spar?” Dax mutters. “Guess he’s been there all day.”
I don’t have to be a Harding to know the answer to that. Murphy’s is the Friesville’s shithole bar. It’s the place where people go to drink away their paycheck after a long week at work. The only reason I know anything about it is because Dax’s dad practically has a VIP barstool reserved for his ass, he’s there so much. Mr. Harding hasn’t worked in the shop for years, so instead of blowing his own paycheck, he’s pissing away everything his sons make at the garage.
“Fuck,” the twins says in unison. Wobble pulls his ear buds out of his ears and groans, “What do we do?”
Dax stands and pockets his phone. “Guess I’m gonna go get him. Can’t have him total his car like last time.”
“I’ll go with you,” I say, rocketing to my feet, though I haven’t eaten a bite of my meal. Truthfully, I don’t have the appetite to sit around and take in a meal with three boys who can’t even stand to look at me.
Dax agrees and we hop into his tow truck. We ride out of the country, toward the downtown, an area with not much else than a rundown liquor store, Murphy’s, and a seedy hotel. As he drives, one arm hooked over the steering wheel, his other hand downshifts, lands on my thigh, then works its way up between my legs. “I’ve missed this all day, baby,” he says. “Dinner was great.”
I spread my legs, giving him better access. Since I’m not wearing underwear, his finger finds its way up to my folds. I’m already soaking wet as he parts them, finding my clit. “You didn’t even eat dinner,” I point out, letting out a sharp gasp as he starts to stroke there, sending ripples of electricity straight to my heart.
He nods.
“You have to be starving. You can have some when we get back,” I offer.
“Shit, girl, you’ve obviously never lived in a house with five boys before,” he says with a laugh. “I guarantee all of it’s gone now. They’re probably licking the bowl as we speak.”
“Really?” I’m trying to act surprised but at this point I don’t even know what we’re talking about. He just said licking. And so now all I can think of is him, slowly nibbling his way down my body, pressing his mouth hard against me as I clutch handfuls of his hair . . .
“It’s okay, I’ve got my dinner right here,” he says, as I let out a low moan. Holy fuck. He’s going to make me come before we even pull into the parking lot. I spread my legs even wider, letting him slide a finger up into my core. I’m so wet, so turned on. “I’m gonna make you come again and again tonight. That’s a promise.”
Suddenly, I think of Vincent. I press my legs closed. “You know, your brother told me he heard everything. Of, us…you know . . .”
Dax moves his hand back to the stick, then looks over at me, slightly amused, but not ashamed. “That perverted little prick.”
Why the hell am I the only one who feels uncomfortable about this? “So, you’re okay with that?”
“No. But I’m also not going to stop being with you in the privacy of my own room. What do you want me to do, tell him to get out of the house?” he asks. He sighs heavily and bangs a first against the steering wheel. “It’s not like I can get my own place. Not with my dad as bad as he is.”
I know that. I share a wall with my parents’ bedroom, so now I’m wondering if my mom heard me the night we were there. I’d had that pillow clamped over my face, but still, it felt so damn good I couldn’t be quiet. “And your brothers don’t really like me much,” I say. “I feel like an intruder whenever I’m at your house.”
He waves it off. “They’re like me. Not good with change. They’ll get used to it. Give it time.”
As we pull into the parking lot of Murphy’s, I tell myself to shut up and stop complaining. After all, he’s doing the best he can.
“Stay here,” he says, climbing out of the truck.
I’m relieved, to tell the truth, because the place is so scary. Having Dax with me would give me courage, but even so, the place is frightening.
I watch as he walks toward the box-shaped, windowless building and disappears inside the door with the neon Coors sign on it. A few unsavory characters are hanging out in the lot, smoking and talking really loud. Moments later, Dax comes out, supporting Mr. Harding on his shoulder. The man is a lot thinner and grayer than the last time I saw him. He’s probably my father’s age, but he has deep lines on his face that make him look a lot older. He has his son’s emerald eyes, but his are glassy and unfocused.
I scramble out of the truck and into the cramped back seat to allow Mr. Harding to climb into the passenger’s seat. I hear him slurring words of anger at Dax: “You din’ hafa come an’ get me. I was fine! Can’t a guy haf a good time?”
Dax doesn’t say anything. He helps his father into the car, slams the door, and jogs over to the driver’s side.
The stench of booze and cigarettes makes my eyes water the moment the door is closed. In front of me, Mr. Harding lolls his head to the side, clearly having trouble keeping upright. He drops his head to his shoulder and his bleary eyes slowly focus on me. “Hi, there, darlin’,” he says in a charming drawl. Now I know where Dax gets it from.
My stomach starts to churn. I’ve “met” his dad a couple of times, but he likely doesn’t remember that, not because of all the years that have passed, but because he wasn’t exactly conscious. Most often, when I’d come to the garage, he’d be locked in the office, “doing the bookkeeping” with a six-pack. After we’d talk, the last thing Dax ever did, each night, was wake his dad and help him into his truck. I always thought it was sweet, the way this rowdy, tough bad boy would take care of his father like that. After Dax and I broke up, though, I heard through the grapevine that Mr. Harding had gotten sick and Dax had taken over all the books.
Dax says, very simply, “You remember Katie, right, Pop?” He looks at me through the rear view mirror as he prepares to pull out. “Katie, this is my dad.”
His dad throws a hand over the seat, I guess for me to shake. I shake only the tips of his fingers. They’re ice cold. Then he says, “Donahue?” There’s a long pause. “Henry and Gloria’s girl?”
I swallow. “Yep.”
He laughs, long and hard, which dissolves into a hacking, wheezing cough. By the time I’m thoroughly confused, he says, “Went to high school with your dad. He was always so high and mighty, talking about how he was going to move away and make his mark on the world. And what did he do? Moved right back here.”
I freeze. It’s weird to think my parents were ever right wher
e I am now, ready to start their careers and conquer the world.
To me, they’ve always been teachers.
But I’ve pieced together my father’s story. He got away to Penn State, got his Masters in education and was thinking of law school himself, but he met my mom, and family duty called him back to Friesville. “My dad’s mother was sick and they didn’t want to leave her, because she didn’t have anyone else. And by the time she died, they had good careers here, teaching at the high school.”
“Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s the problem with this place. This place gets its hooks in you, and you’re stuck.”
My father had said something like that. It was one of the reasons he let me go to Boston, instead of keeping me close by. As much as he loved to helicopter over me, he also wanted me to do what he’d never had a chance to do.
“What you gotta do is not wait. Don’ think you got all the time in the world cause one day you wake up an’ you’re an old man, like me. Get out while the getting’s good, and don’t let nothin’ turn your head.”
I start to nod, but then I look over and spy Dax’s face in the rearview mirror. His mouth is a straight line.
When we get back to the house, I see that Dax is right—the boys left not a single strand of spaghetti for us, but what they did leave was all the dirty dishes. I start to clean them off while Dax gets his father settled in his bedroom. When he comes downstairs again, I crank off the faucet and say, “Do you want me to order you a pizza?”
I turn to see him staring hard at the ceiling, his hands behind his head, deep in thought.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “Don’t know. The whole thing with you . . . being here. Making dinner. It’s not that we don’t appreciate it, it’s just that . . .” He lets out a deep sigh. “I think we’re getting carried away.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What?”
He leans against the kitchen counter, besides all the dishes I just cleaned for his family. “You’re leaving in a few days. Right?”
I nod, not sure where this is going. “Yes, but I’m only a few hours away, and--“
“You’re a world away, Katie. You knew this had a time limit. When I said I didn’t want to sneak around, I meant that as adults we shouldn’t have to anymore. But you know who I am. You knew it going in. Don’t shit me by telling me you thought this meant something more than what I can give you.”
I suck in a breath. I’m not sure, because I’ve never been through this before. And yet I have. His eyes are dark, cold and aloof, the way they were when I told him I was going to Boston. But this time, it sounds awfully like he’s trying to say goodbye. “What is this? Kick me to the curb before I can do it to you again?”
“You were going to, weren’t you?”
“No, I—“ I stop. “I can come back every weekend. We can make this work.”
He scoffs. “When? While you’re going to law school? You’re fucking going to come back every weekend to hang out with your dumb mechanic boyfriend while you’re getting your law degree?”
“Yes. I mean, no,” I plead. “You’re not dumb. I never thought that. I . . . what about . . .”
What about the past few days? I sound pathetic. I know what sex is to Dax Harding, and in his book, it sure doesn’t spell forever.
I fight back tears stinging the corners of my eyes, do my best to keep my voice from cracking. “So, are you breaking up with me?”
His face is stone, his words are steel. Those green eyes leak no emotion. “We were never together.”
I blink, trying to pinpoint where everything suddenly went to shit. The past few hours flash through my mind—making dinner, him being happy to see me, the ride in his truck where he couldn’t keep his hands off me and told me I’m going to make you come again and again tonight— It’s not an hour later, and he’s a different person. Rigid, posture tight. He’s not the Dax I was falling for again. He’s that one that I left, all those years ago.
“So this was only about sex?” I ask.
He nods. “I’ll drive you home.”
“No,” I manage, doing my best to keep my body from trembling. “Don’t bother.”
He stands there for a minute, considering it. Then he pushes open the screen door and stalks out into the dark backyard.
I calmly put down the dishtowel and gather my things. I pause on the front stoop, my finger hovering over my mother’s name in my cell phone. I’m an adult. I’m not supposed to want to call her for every little tragedy.
But damn, how I want to. Closing my eyes, I think of what I’d said to her. He treats me so good.
Pocketing my phone, I head down the driveway in a daze. I don’t stop when I reach the end of it. I just keep walking. I need to put as much distance between Dax and me as possible. Even Boston seems too close.
And miracle of all miracles, somehow I manage to make it all the way home before I burst into tears.
Chapter 11
I spend the next two days doing exactly what I should’ve done this week, if I’d known what was good for me: helping my parents get the house ready to go on the market and being the busy little worker bee for Mr. Fowler. Even though I’m not in the office, I’m a workhorse. I answer emails, volunteer to help the other interns, conduct an entire board meeting from three states away, and offer to bring breakfast for Monday when I return. I set up a rental car so that come hell or high water, I will be back in Boston by Monday, by the time my “vacation” ends. I drown myself in busywork so I don’t have to think about Dax.
Not that it helps very well. Or even at all.
When I’m in bed, I don’t sleep. I writhe around in physical pain, tangling myself in the sheets. All I do is replay my last conversation with Dax over and over again in my mind. You know who I am, he’d said. But I didn’t know that side that he showed everyone. I only knew the person he was when he was with me.
But it doesn’t matter, does it? I’m the moron who let him fool me twice.
On Saturday after dinner, I finish packing up my room. Now it’s down to nothing but bare furniture, a mattress, and fuzzy pink carpeting. I guess I’m not feeling very sentimental about my life in Friesville because there’s only one small box of things I want to keep; the rest I throw in the trash. When my parents are gone, there will be nothing in this town left for me. I’m counting the moments until I can get in my rental car and blow town for good. I’ve lined up a car transport that will deliver my VW to Boston so I don’t have to come back to town. Expensive, but worth it.
My mother raps on the door as I’m finishing tossing things into a garbage bag. She has a little crinkle in her brow and is inspecting the ceiling as if she’s hearing distant thunder. “Oh, this is sad,” she says, wiping a tear from her eye.
I nod. I’m numb. Maybe I’ve cried myself out, but I can’t even bring myself to care that in another few days, my childhood home won’t be mine anymore. I want to leave. I can’t fucking wait.
She massages my shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’ll be all right. Dax coming to take you back tomorrow?”
I shake my head. How do I explain to her two seconds after I told her Dax and I were together, it all fell apart? I’ve become convinced that sweet, different side he showed me was nothing but a lie to get me to fall for him again. He wanted to nail the “one that got away”, and he did, game over. “I’m getting a rental.”
She cocks her head to the side in question. I wait for the “Why?” Instead she strides to the now curtain-less window and tilts the blinds. “Speaking of your car . . . “ she says, motioning through the window. “Looks like he got it running again.”
I scramble off my mattress, nearly falling on my face trying to haul myself across the room. It’s darkening outside, but it’s easy to make out my bug in the driveway. The door opens and Dax coolly steps out, and runs a hand through his unruly dark hair, still wearing his body-defining grease-stained t-shirt.
Then he looks right at my window and sees me gawking at
him. I cringe and back away, turning all shades of red. I peer down at the same boxers and tank I’ve been wearing since Thursday. They have a stain from last night’s Chinese food on the front. I haven’t even showered in two days. I am the picture of beauty.
FML.
I know that I’m never going to see him again. That’s the plan. Even so, this is not the last image I want Dax Harding to have of me.
“Mom! Tell him I’m not here. Tell him I went out,” I plead, wishing I hadn’t thrown away my old comforter because I’d really like to suffocate myself with it right now.
She gives me a tsk. “Don’t be silly. He already saw you through the window,” she says, pushing a strand of flyaway hair behind my ear. “Did you two have a fight or something?”
“No. I . . . I was wrong. I guess we’re not together. It’s complicated.”
“Oh, baby,” she says, smoothing my hair. “Well, it’s probably for the best. You two do live very different lives. Long distance relationships are hard.”
Maybe I could believe that was what Dax was worried about, if he had even called this a relationship. No, he said we were never together. Clearly, he doesn’t do relationships of any sort, long-distance or not.
Dammit. I told myself I wouldn’t think about it again, but of course suddenly I am, so deeply that when the doorbell finally rings I jump sky high.
“Fine, I’ll get it,” I say, daring myself to open the door without brushing my hair or my teeth. Let him see you looking like scum. That’ll show him you really don’t care.
Right. Not happening. I quickly stop in the bathroom, smoothing my hair up into a ponytail and squirting a bit of Crest into my mouth. I know he won’t apologize, so I’ll play it cool. I will take the keys, write him a check, and send him on his merry way.
I take a few deep breaths when I reach the door, to steel myself. I will be tough. I will be iron, I chant to myself.
“Hey,” he says when I answer. My resolve crumbles immediately. He has his baseball cap backwards and his hands dug deep in his pockets, like a little boy. I melt like a popsicle on the hottest day of summer.
