by Leighton, M.
Poor pussy-whipped bastard.
Looking at all the jewelry and thinking of the girlfriend I might have had, the one I might’ve been able to buy things like that for, just put me in a bad mood. And then when Marissa didn’t respond to my texts . . . Well, I was pretty pissed off by the time I got to her condo.
But to find her there in a fit of her own . . . Damn! That was kinda hot. I wish she’d been a little more agreeable to working off some of that steam.
I can’t help but frown as I think about the way she was acting, like I’d done something wrong. I have done something wrong, something terribly wrong, but I don’t think she knows what it is. If she did, she’d have probably thrown me out on my ass and sworn never to talk to me again. But she didn’t. So I doubt she knows about that. But what else is there? I all but told her I’m a lowlife. She knows I’m not the kind of guy she needs to be involved with. For God’s sake, I told her I’m a killer and she gave me a blowjob.
Maybe she’s had a crisis of conscience since then. Maybe. But it doesn’t seem likely.
Women!
This is exactly why I avoid getting too close to them. Most of them are batshit crazy and more trouble than they’re worth.
I should just walk away from this one. Only . . .
I thump my fist on the steering wheel in frustration. I don’t know what comes after the only.
I take the turns as Cash directed. I don’t know if he intended to invite me to Olivia’s birthday party, but after talking to Marissa, I invited myself. I figure that’s where she’ll be. Cash was just nice enough to give me directions.
I see the bar up ahead and make the left into the parking lot. In a shitty podunk town like Salt Springs seems to be, my guess is that this is the only spot for miles to get a drink. That or Olivia has an ass-ton of friends. Either way, the lot is packed with cars and pickup trucks.
I’m no stranger to walking into a bar like this one. I know just what to expect, and I’m never disappointed. People give me a wide berth. The men eye me like I’m competition; the women eye me like I’m dessert. I don’t really give a shit what they think. I usually have one thing in mind. Either getting laid or getting drunk.
That’s the only way this night and this bar differ from all the others. Tonight, I’m not here to get laid or get drunk, although if both happen I won’t complain. Actually, I’m not really sure why I am here, but I know it has something to do with Marissa. I’ve given her the impression that I’ll look out for her, that I’ll protect her. I can’t very well manage that when I’m hours away. It also has a little something to do with whatever bug found its way up her ass. I’m curious about that. And I wouldn’t mind exploring that little temper of hers. Other than that, I have no interest in what her deal is. I’ve got nothing to apologize for. At least not that she knows of.
My gaze is drawn to her right away. It’s not that she’s necessarily easy to spot in the crowd. This place is so full of blondes I might get high from the fumes. But Marissa’s hair is a natural blond, pretty easy to pick out of the yellowed bottle-blondes all around her. Plus, there’s just something about her that draws my eye, no matter how crowded the room.
Besides that, she’s sitting by herself. She’s probably never been to a bar like this one. Dual is probably the closest thing, which isn’t really very similar at all, since it’s more of a club.
She looks like an elegant fish out of water, even though she tried to dress the part. Her denim short-shorts are a little too new-looking and her T-shirt is probably designer. My guess is that it cost more than some of these people make in a month. And her smile is stiff, like she’s uncomfortable. I gotta give her some credit for trying, though. She came because she’s trying to do right by her cousin, because she’s trying to prove herself. Even if it means doing so in the enemy camp.
The girl’s got some balls.
When her eyes light on me, I see them freeze into icy blue points in the perfect oval of her face. She looks away, out toward the dance floor and the crowd moving clumsily there.
I don’t approach her. Instead, I go to the bar and order a beer. When the bartender slides me the green-tinted glass bottle, I immediately regret my choice. My dick twitches in response.
You meant to torture her and Cash, but the only person eating a shit sandwich is you! I think to myself as I try to put that night out of my mind.
I force my thoughts to something else before my body gets out of hand. New Orleans is one of those things that’s better off dead. If only I were as fortunate as Marissa and didn’t remember it at all . . .
A nice, soft breast rubs up against my arm. I look to my left to see a busty blonde lean in next to me. The chair on the other side is empty, so she’s got plenty of room. She just doesn’t want to take it. She’d rather have my attention instead.
She orders a margarita, then turns her heavily made-up eyes to me. “Don’t think I’ve seen you ’round here before.”
“That’s because you haven’t,” I respond.
“Didn’t think so. I’d remember a man like you.”
I smile at her overt tactics. “Yes, you certainly would.” I bring the cool beer bottle to my lips and take a sip. Instantly, I think of Marissa. The beer and the thought leave me thirsty, but not for anything in front of me.
I frown as I swallow my mouthful of brew. Normally, ass is ass. As long as it looks clean and willing and smells nice, I’ll tap it. That’s what condoms are for.
But not tonight. For the first time in . . . well, years, my appetite is very specific. There’s one thing I want, one person. And it’s not the blonde at my side. It’s the one sitting coolly by herself on the other side of the room.
Following my thoughts, my eyes flicker to where Marissa is seated and collide with hers. Before she glances guiltily away, I see fury. Jealous fury.
Normally, I don’t put up with that kind of thing, but in this case, I find it intriguing. It seems out of character for her, like a hidden flaw that’s coming to light. Makes me want to explore it. Just like her anger from earlier.
Whatever the cause, anger is something I can relate to, identify with. But it makes me feel drawn to her, connected to her in a way that I don’t want to feel. I’m a loner. I don’t need roots or ties or involvements. Marissa’s the exact opposite. She’s the type that needs all that.
I’m the leaving kind. And she needs the staying kind.
Maybe we both need reminding of that.
With that in mind, I grab the hand of the blonde who’s busting out of her top and take her with me to the dance floor.
TWENTY-TWO
Marissa
My heart splinters right inside my chest as Nash leads the girl through the crowd. I should stop watching him. But I can’t. I can’t stop watching him any more than I could stay away from him when I could’ve avoided all this.
I knew what kind of guy he was, what kind of guy he is. One look at him will tell any girl with half a brain what kind of guy he is. He’s the kind that will break your heart. Without a thought or a backward glance, right before he walks out of your life.
It’s not like he didn’t warn you.
That only makes me feel worse. It makes me feel stupid on top of everything else.
As I watch him dance with the slutty blonde—which he does amazingly well, I might add—I can’t help but feel a devastating sense of letdown. It sounds crazy, no doubt, but I think some part of the new me hoped that I’d find love in an unexpected place, in an unexpected way. Nash is both.
Having him fall for me, being the one who could heal him and make him love again, would’ve been a wonderful way to start my new life. But maybe it’s not meant to be. Maybe I’m supposed to cut all ties and find my way on my own. Completely on my own. I’ve never been on my own like that before. Maybe it’s time I am.
In my head, that sounds all Antigone-esque, but in my
heart it just feels lonely. And empty.
Suddenly the room and all its happy celebration feels suffocating. I slide from my bar stool to flee the weight that’s pressing in on my chest, but a firm grip on my shoulder stops me. I turn to see Ginger. She shakes her head, as if telling me not to leave, gives me a wink, and then turns to speak into the crowd.
“Who’d like to see the birthday girl open her presents?” Even with the loud music, Ginger’s voice can be heard easily. No doubt that’s a pretty handy talent for a bartender to have. As if on cue, someone lowers the music and the sea of faces turn toward Ginger.
I sit back down. I’m stuck. There’s no way to exit now without appearing rude and inconsiderate. Plastering a smile on my face, I look around to find Olivia, purposely avoiding looking at Nash and that . . . that . . . woman.
I see Cash first. His head is visible above practically every other one in the room. He’s smiling, his chin resting atop a shiny, black head. I lean a little to my left and see Olivia wrapped in his arms, hugged against his chest, facing her crowd of friends. She’s smiling like the happiest girl alive.
My chest aches and my eyes burn. I envy her. Not that I begrudge Olivia happiness. I don’t. I just wish I were more like her. In every way.
My chin trembles and I force back tears. I was never this girl before—emotional, wistful, possessive, particularly caring, out of control—but I guess being a better person, being considerate and sympathetic, can’t come without some pain. I just didn’t realize it would be so much.
I look at Olivia and see the payoff, though. She’s in a room full of genuine friends who love her for who she is, not what kind of stock she came from or how she can help them rise to a higher place in the world. She’s met the love of her life and wound him around her little finger. And she can lay her head down every night knowing she’s truly loved and that she was a bright spot in a dark world that day. She doesn’t need riches or material possessions. She doesn’t need a powerful father or a great family name. She didn’t need a fancy (and useless) degree. She’s just decent. Soul-deep decent.
“Mine first, mine first!” Cash says, waving his hand toward someone in the crowd. I look back through the faces until I see Nash step forward to hand Cash a long, narrow box wrapped in simple yet luxurious red velvet. I know instantly where the package came from. And my heart hits the floor. I have a sinking suspicion I misjudged Nash.
I watch Cash take the box he probably hid from Olivia with Nash and hand it to her. Her smile still in place, she loosens the matching velvet bow and pulls the material away from the rectangle. Cash reaches around her to lift the lid away and Olivia’s eyes get round.
“Oh, Cash! It’s beautiful!”
She pulls out a bracelet. Even from my distance and vantage point, I can see that it’s got three rows of jewels—an emerald one with diamond rows on either side. It’s stunning and will go perfectly with the emerald earrings I bought her.
“It is, but it doesn’t hold a candle to you,” he says, smiling down into her face when she turns in his arms. She hands him the bracelet, then her wrist. He fastens the glistening band around it, then raises her fingers to his lips. His words aren’t loud. They’re meant only for Olivia, but everyone is so quiet, so respectful and reverent of what’s going on between them, it’s easy to hear him. “I love you, birthday girl.” Olivia throws her arms around his neck and whispers something in his ear. He chuckles and then kisses her when she leans back. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“It’d be a shame if you didn’t,” she says, making all her onlookers snicker.
One by one, her friends and loved ones step up to hand her their gift. Some are nice gifts, some are comical, some are purely meaningful, but all are very thoughtful and meant to show Olivia that she’s loved. That’s the one overarching, undeniable theme—she’s adored. Deeply. For nothing more than the person she is. And that’s the way it should be. It just took me a lifetime to realize it.
When there’s no one else stepping up to give her something, I reach inside my purse and pull out a small square box, also wrapped in red velvet. I feel guilty just looking at it. Not for what’s inside, but for assuming the worst about Nash, assuming that he lied to me about where he was. I was judging him as though he were one of the people I’m most accustomed to in life—people who lie and betray and mislead without a second thought. I’m not used to people like these, people who are honest and caring.
And Nash is one of them.
I don’t know if he cares about me, but he cared very deeply for his mother and, evidently, still cares for his father and brother, whether he’d admit it or not. And I’d say he’s pretty honest, too. Nash is the kind of guy who would just tell you the truth, regardless of how much it hurts. In fact, he’s already shown that he will. He warned me off getting involved with him, only I wouldn’t listen. He was honest from the beginning. And he was honest about where he was today. He was with Cash. At the jewelry store. But I didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt. And that’s on me.
I slip off the bar stool to walk my gift to Olivia. She’s smiling when I reach for her hand. I take it in mine, placing the box in the center of her palm. I wait for her gaze to meet mine before I speak. I want her to know I’m sincere. I want her to see it on my face, in my eyes.
“If I could choose to be like anyone in life, I’d choose you.” I bend slightly to press my lips to her cheek. “Happy birthday. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”
Her eyes are brimming with tears when I lean back. She hooks one arm around my neck and pulls me in close for a hug.
“Love you, cuz,” she whispers. And the thing is, I really think she means it.
“Love you, too.”
When I turn around to find my way back to my seat, it’s to see another tall head making its way through the crowd. This time Nash is heading for the exit. And in front of him, tugging on his hand, is the blonde from earlier. I watch until he’s out of sight and the door is closed. Not once did he look back.
Not.
Once.
I can hardly wait for Olivia to open my present and things to get back to the party portion of the night. Then I can escape unnoticed. And I need that. Desperately. I feel like I can’t breathe, like someone stole the air from the room. From my lungs. From my soul.
When the music is blaring once more and the celebration is in full swing, I cling to the outskirts of the room and make my way to the door.
The cool, quiet night slaps me in the face the instant I step outside. I welcome the shock. It makes me feel alive when so much of me feels dead and hopeless. I’m preoccupied with thoughts of getting to the car and letting loose the ocean of tears that are threatening, so I jump when I hear a voice right behind me.
“Care to give an old man a ride?”
I turn, one hand still clamped over my racing heart, to see my uncle Darrin, Olivia’s father, smiling at me from his wheelchair, his casted leg sticking straight out. Ginger brought him to the bar; I assumed he’d be leaving when she did.
“Sorry. You scared me.”
“Didn’t mean to. I saw you creeping out and I followed. I was just waiting for Liv to finish with her presents so I could ask Ginger to run me home. I’m old and it’s way past my bedtime,” Uncle Darrin says charmingly.
“Of course. I’m parked right over there,” I say, pointing to my car.
I walk more slowly so Darrin can keep up. Thankfully the lot is paved or he’d have trouble navigating it in his wheelchair.
“I would open your door, but this thing gets in the way.” He glances down at the offending limb. I think it’s sweet that he’d even think about it. I’d forgotten what a nice, genuine country guy he is. I’d be willing to bet there’s not an ounce of guile in him. I don’t know too many people like that. I’m related to even fewer.
“How ’bout I open it for you, just this once?”
He sighs loudly. “If you insist,” he says playfully. I hit the button on my fob, listening for the click of the locks before I open the passenger-side door and hold it for Uncle Darrin. I watch as he comes to a stand on his good leg, then expertly pivots, moving from the wheelchair to the car seat.
“Like a pro, right?” he says as he folds up his wheelchair. “Doc won’t clear me for crutches yet.” I nod, having wondered about that. “Think you can slide this into the backseat? Or the trunk? It’s not heavy.”
“Of course.”
Once I get the chair into the backseat, I get in on the driver’s side and start the car.
He’s quiet for the first half of the short drive to his house. When he finally speaks, it’s not the small talk I would’ve expected.
“There’s something different about you. You’re not the spoiled little rich girl you used to be.”
I could probably take offense at that, but I don’t. I take it as a compliment.
“I’m not. And I don’t ever want to be again.”
I glance over at Darrin and he’s nodding, taking it in.
“I didn’t think you’d stand a chance against that damn brother of mine. I’m glad to see you’re stronger than he is, stronger than his influence.”
I look at him again. He’s watching me, like he’s seeing me for the first time. And like he approves of what he’s seeing.
I say what I truly feel. “Thank you.”
“It hasn’t always been easy for Olivia, either, what with her mother giving her such a hard time about who she is and the kinds of choices she makes. I’ll tell you what I’ve always told her. Blaze your own trail in life. Make your own choices and make your own mistakes. It’s the only way you’ll find your own happiness, not someone else’s.”
I say nothing to him, only nod. His words are so profound, they resonate so deeply, that I don’t know what I could possibly say in response. I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for someone to tell me those things, to tell me that it’s okay to make mistakes, that it’s okay to be me, to be my own person. But in my whole life, no one has ever allowed it. And they never will. If I’m to be the Marissa I want to be, it will be away from my family, my friends, from the life I’ve always known. Blazing my own trail means burning bridges with the flame.
