She wasn’t there.
He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “I was gonna call, but Snow wanted me to come over and make sure you weren’t freakin’ out, but I guess you already got to it …”
“She’s at your house?”
“Uh, are you gonna invite me in? I’m freezing my arse off out here.” Grumbling an apology, I stepped to the side, and closed the door behind him. “Thank you. Anyway, yeah, she’s at my place. She’s stayin’ there.”
“Feckin’ hell. For how long?”
Patrick shrugged wearily. “I don’t know. A couple days, I guess.”
“Wonderful,” I grumbled, shaking my head. “That’s just feckin’ fantastic.”
“Trust me, I’m not thrilled about it either, but Kinsey laid the guilt on, sayin’ how Snow doesn’t know anybody else around here, and—” He caught the look of disapproval on my face, the one that said for him to watch his tongue or I wasn’t afraid of ripping it out for him, and he shook his head, resting a hand on my shoulder. “Nothin’ against her, Ry. I’m just not thrilled about being woken up at eleven-thirty on a work night to your girlfriend cryin’ on my porch.”
“She was crying?”
“Yeah, apparently you really pissed her off. Can’t say I’m surprised there,” he said lightly, smiling.
Then he glanced at the table, noticing the two weeks’ worth of rotten and tattooed fruit. His smile faded, and his eyes widened. “Ehm … What the feck are you weirdos doin’ over here?”
“Snow’s teachin’ me to tattoo.”
Patrick’s mouth lifted into a grin, picking up one of the shriveled things. “That’s pretty feckin’ awesome.”
I sniffed a laugh with a sad nod. “She was gonna let me do her tomorrow.”
“I don’t wanna know.” He shook his head.
“She was gonna let me tattoo her,” I clarified with a narrowing of my eyes.
“Ah, I gotcha.” He nodded, putting the orange back on the table and wiping his hand on his pajama pants. “Jesus, she’d let you ruin her body forever? Chick’s got it bad.”
“Yeah, don’t remind me.”
“Okay, well,” he sighed, “I have to get back home. I’m feckin’ exhausted. But listen, Ryan: don’t call her. She wants some space, okay? She said she’d talk to you when she’s ready but leave it alone for now.”
My mouth twisted in protest, shoving a hand through my hair, and Patrick shook his head.
“Don’t do anything stupid, dude. She just wants some time, not a breakup, okay?”
I sighed, admitting defeat, and I nodded.
Patrick left, leaving me to sit in the apartment that was suddenly too cold, and too quiet. I closed the window and crawled into bed, terrified I would freeze right to death without that chilly woman laying with me, and I wondered if words really were worth that type of torment.
CHAPTER TWELVE |
FIXING & FIGHTING
My parents had never met Jennifer the Cheater or Tara the Thief. They had known Jessica, for a short sprint of time, until she mauled me. But Cheryl …
Cheryl, they had known. Even with the awkward conversation and her snooty attitude, they loved her, because they thought she was good for me.
We had met at a tattoo place upstate, during a period of time when I was bouncing around from couch to couch, refusing to crawl home with my tail between my legs. She was there on a spur of the moment dare, trembling about getting a little rose on her ankle. I had watched the gorgeous blonde, completely out of my league, laughing with a friend, biting her perfectly manicured nails, all while I was having another piece added to my ribs …
“Hey, look at that guy right there, and you’re afraid of a little thing on your ankle?” the friend chided, pointing at me.
“Does it hurt?” the blonde asked, hesitantly walking over to me with her hands wringing together.
“This? Feck yeah, it hurts,” I laughed, and the gruff artist laughed with me, shaking his head. I knew the singular thought floating through his mind at the sight of the pretty little blonde: poser.
“Oh, God, I can’t do this!” she squealed anxiously, turning to her friend. Bouncing on her toes, shaking her hands.
I wondered what else she couldn’t do; what I could convince her to do.
I smirked. “How ‘bout this?” I said, grabbing her attention again. “You don’t have to get inked, if you’ll go out with me.”
Now, the thing about girls like that—the perfect bottle-blondes with their perky tits and shapely arses—is that they just love the bad boy. The cigarette-smoking, muscle-bound, inked-from-head-to-toe, motorcycle-driving bad boy that could make them feel dangerous and daring in their safe little worlds.
But the problem is, they can’t love the bad boy forever. So, while they’re fantasizing about the kinky sex, ropes, and whips, they’re also thinking about everything they can do to fix that guy. A grown-up project to get another A+ on. Something to bring home to Mommy and Daddy, to pin on the refrigerator.
That’s what Cheryl saw in me. But as for what I saw in her?
I saw hope. A chance at something better. A better life, something to be proud of, and Christ, I tried. I really tried, with a steady job at a vet’s upstate and button-down shirts. But what happens when I try at something my heart’s not in? I fail. I get distracted. I get fired. And so, Cheryl eventually got bored of the project that wasn’t going anywhere, and she dumped me.
And this was the shite I thought about, sitting at my desk at the River Canyon Animal Clinic, while I missed Snow so much it hurt.
God, it had been four days since she started staying at Patrick’s place. Four whole days. I had thought she’d be gone overnight, maybe two nights at most, but four? Kinsey had stopped by twice to grab some clothes, and both times, I asked her what the feck was going on, and when I could see her.
“Ryan, she’s just thinking, okay?”
“How long does it take to think?”
I scrubbed a hand over my face and sighed, pulling a sketchbook from my desk drawer, fixing to throw my crazed thoughts down on the paper. Black and curled. Smeared and uncontrolled.
The door opened, the bell jingled, and I looked up to see Patrick in his uniform.
“Hey.” I dropped my eyes back to the sketchbook.
“Hey,” he replied, nodding and surveying the empty room. “Slow day?”
“Obviously,” I grunted, the pen working.
“Right,” he nodded, pushing a hand through his hair as he stepped toward the desk. “You’re in a good mood, huh.”
“Wow, nothin’ gets past you.” I rolled my eyes up from the sketchpad again to glare at him.
“What are ya workin’—”
I lowered my brows, scowling. “What do you want Paddy?”
He sighed. “Okay, look, Ryan. You have to get your girlfriend out of my house.”
I chuckled. “Like I could actually get that woman to do anything.”
“Can I give you a little bit of advice?” I gestured for him to get on with it. “I let Kinsey get away from me for ten feckin’ years, Ry. I spent an entire decade of my life with a woman I couldn’t stand, because I was too much of a little bitch to go after the woman I really wanted. Don’t be an idiot and make the same mistake, okay?”
I dropped my sketchpad to the desk. “She walked out. She said she wanted space.”
“Right. She did. But maybe now she’s waiting for you to man up and go after her.”
I thought about that for a moment, pursing my lips and shoving a hand through my hair. Manning up and chasing after her. Disregarding her explicit instructions. Fighting for her in a way I had never fought for a woman before.
I knew she’d be at work, and I stood up from the desk and walked to the door with sudden determination pushing me along.
“Where are you goin’?”
“I’m doin’ what you told me to do,” I said, my hands on the door.
“You’re just gonna leave?” Patrick asked, spreading his
arms wide. “What the feck am I supposed to do?”
“You’re a feckin’ cop. Watch the place for two minutes.”
I hurried my way next door, immediately hit by the therapeutic hum of the tattoo machine doing its thing.
“Yo Ryan,” the burly guy behind the desk said, offering a fist to bump.
To not seem too eager, I accepted. “Hey Tre. Snow around?” I asked as a courtesy, but I knew the answer. Two artists worked the place during the day. If the buzz wasn’t coming from his machine, it was coming from hers.
“With a client, bro. She should be done in a little while, if you wanna come back later.”
I worked my jaw from side-to-side, weighing out the options in front of me. I could storm back there like a tyrant, and demand that she talk to me right then and there. But that could get her fired, could get me in trouble with my own job for leaving the place unattended.
Christ, when did I get so responsible?
Yeah, I knew the right decision was to leave, and just wait. Walk away, talk to her when she was available, when I was available, but I had gotten this far, and I was done waiting.
“Yeah, ya know Tre, I don’t wanna be a pain in the arse or anything, but can you just tell her I’m here? It’s kinda important.”
Tre heaved a sigh, rolling his lips around between his teeth. He weighed his own options, to disturb her or not, and I gave him a gentle nudge.
“C’mon, dude. I’ll be fast. Just gotta tell her something.”
He slowly nodded and moved from behind the desk. “Okay, but it’s your ass if she gets pissed off,” he grumbled, and I watched him head down the short and narrow hallway before he disappeared behind a curtain.
There were murmurs, his voice and a smaller one—Snow. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but the high-pitched edge to her tone suggested she wasn’t thrilled with my surprise visit.
“Snow, just see what he wants, okay?” he said with a sigh, emerging from the curtain. He shot me a begrudging look as he sat down again. “She’ll be out here in a minute.”
“Thanks man,” I said with a nod, and leaned against the wall.
I pictured Patrick, sitting behind the desk, manning the place while he was on duty, and yeah, I felt like a bit of an arse for abandoning him. But this was important, more important than some shitty job that I liked but didn’t love.
Not like the way I loved her.
“Take a breather. I’ll be right back.”
Her voice floated down the hall, a whistle on a winter wind, and I closed my eyes, taking in the sound. God, I had missed her voice. Four days, and it had been a silent torture.
She walked down the hall and made her appearance in the waiting room. She peeled black latex gloves from her hands, snapping them away from each of her fingers. My eyes roamed her tank top, noted she wasn’t wearing a bra, and my hands tensed into fists. She wore her tight black jeans, her combat boots that kicked my arse on a regular basis, and her hair was lifted off her neck into some kind of messy thing at the top of her head.
“Ryan.” Her greeting was curt and cold.
“Snow,” I said, mimicking her tone while wanting nothing more than to wrap her in my warmth and thaw her out.
“What’s up?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest, pushing her tits up.
I narrowed my eyes. Fixated on the outline of her nipple piercings. “Could ya maybe wear a bra to work?”
Snow shot a look behind her at Tre, sitting at the desk, and she turned back to me with mouth open and eyes wide. “What the fuck, Ryan?” she hissed. “You came here to tell me what I’m allowed to wear?”
I shrugged with a smirk. “It’s just what I was thinkin’. Thought you’d like to know.”
She huffed an annoyed sigh and grabbed her coat from a hook on the wall. “Outside. Now.”
I saluted Tre before heading outside. The wind whistled against my back, whipped my hair onto my forehead, and I squinted my eyes in defense of its brutal assault.
Christ, don’t let that be a premonition.
“You have no right to storm into my place of business and tell me what to wear,” she spewed immediately, fists hanging at her sides.
I maintained an indifference to my composure as I said, “Well, forgive me if I don’t want people starin’ at my girlfriend’s tits.”
“Okay, okay. Just stop.” Her lids squeezed shut. “What do you want, Ryan?”
“I wanna talk.”
She shook her head and groaned. “Did Patrick make you do this?”
“Yes.” And then, I pinched my eyes shut, because goddamn her and the whole honesty thing. She had trained me so well. Maybe even too well. “I mean, I wanted to talk to you all along, but I also wanted to give you space. To cool off.”
“Except you’re forgetting that I know you don’t talk, Ryan.”
“All I’ve done is talk to you,” I spat at her. “You’re the one with the problem in that department.”
“You know what I mean, Ryan. You don’t talk when things are broken. You let girls leave, and then you buy a cat.”
My eyes squinted at her. “So, Paddy was right. You were testing me, to see if I’d come to you.” I shook my head, looking up to the sky. It was cool and gray. Snow was on the way, and I sighed with a sorrowful longing. For the weather, and for her. “I never asked to be left or kicked out, Snow. They left me without a feckin’ choice. And I promised you would never be a cat, so you’re not allowed to leave.”
Snow pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing. She was giving in, I could sense it, and I allowed myself to feel a little triumphant. Hopeful, even. “Fine. Look, I’ll talk to you tonight, okay? I have to get back to work. Come to your brother’s house.”
“No. You’re gonna come home. You can’t keep moochin’ off of my family.”
“I’ll decide if I come home, Ryan. You come to your brother’s house, and I’ll be the one to decide where I go from there.” Her lips twisted angrily, and I knew I was pressing my luck.
“Fine,” I agreed reluctantly, because it was something, and I hesitated before turning on my heel.
Her lips were full and pink, and Christ, I knew they were soft and I wanted them. I wanted all of her, from her lips to the breasts I wished she’d cover up better, and all the way down to her toenails that I knew were painted black. Four days without having her was agony on every part of me, and from the taunting glimmer in her eyes, something told me she knew she was killing me. Something told me she loved it. And something in that turned me on even more, desperate to press her against the front of the building and have her there for the whole feckin’ town to see.
But I didn’t touch her, I didn’t reach out and pull her into me. I kept my arms wrapped around myself and skulked back to the clinic, where Patrick sat at my desk, feet on its surface while he thumbed through the sketchbook.
“Have I ever told you what a talented arsehole you are?” he asked.
I quirked a brow. “Nope. Don’t think I’ve heard that one from you before.”
“Yeah, well, you are.”
“Thanks,” I said, almost moved by the unexpected compliment.
“So, you comin’ by tonight?” He thumbed through a few more pages, grimacing as he went.
I nodded. “Yeah,” I grumbled.
“Good,” he said, standing up and dropping the sketchbook back onto the desk. “Because let me tell you … Ten years goes by fast, man, and you’ll never stop kickin’ yourself for all that wasted time. I know I never will.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN |
MAKING UP & MAKING LOVE
The plan I had worked out in my head, involved a quick chat on my brother’s porch, and then I’d throw her over my shoulder and drag her back to the apartment, where I could properly show her just how torturous four days without her really was. Maybe I’d say hello to my sister-in-law, a kiss on the cheek for my baby niece, but that would’ve been the extent of my visit at Patrick’s humble abode.
Unfortunately, I
hadn’t calculated Meghan into the plan.
“Uncle Ryan!” she exclaimed the moment she let me into the house.
“Hey Meg,” I said, breathless after she slammed herself against me in a hug. “I didn’t know you were gonna be here. Where’s your dad?”
Patrick appeared at her side. “Christine has an appointment tonight,” he said with a hard glare.
“Huh?”
He sighed and leaned in closer. “She has a date,” he whispered into my ear.
My eyes widened with surprise, and I nodded. “Well, okay then. Who’s the lucky—”
Patrick shushed me, and Meghan rolled her big blue eyes. “Daddy, I know Mommy has a date,” she said with an impatient sigh.
“Well, I didn’t know if she wanted you to know,” he replied. “You might’ve exploded with girly hormonal rage or somethin’.”
“Ugh, Daddy …” Meghan groaned, throwing her head back. “You act like you didn’t get married again, and I didn’t freak out about that.”
I laughed. “She’s too smart for ya, man.”
“Tell me about it,” he grumbled before walking through to the kitchen.
Alone with my niece, I asked, “Ehm, Meg, where’s Snow?”
She fiddled with the braid in her hair and said, “In the kitchen, making dinner with Kinsey. Are you staying?”
“I don’t know, Meg. I have—” I began, but she wrapped her arms around my waist and looked up to me, her eyes pleading behind batting lashes. I couldn’t say no to her, and so with a sigh and a grumble, I decided to stay.
“Yay!” She released me and clapped her hands before running toward the kitchen, and I followed with my hands stuffed in my pockets. I sauntered in, overselling my nonchalance, despite the booming of my heart smacking against my battered ribs. Snow was pulling the potatoes from the oven, bent over and assuming a position I could envision so vividly that I had to look away to keep myself from needing a quick trip to the bathroom.
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