“Guess no one’s home,” Chandler said, his expression blank as he scanned around us. “Sorry for the bother.”
I walked back to him and gave him a hug, which he immediately returned, fiercely. “Let’s wait a bit?” I suggested. “Maybe he’s…getting groceries?”
He gave a short bark of laughter and let me go but kept his arm around me. I burrowed in deeper. “I doubt it…but we can wait a little bit,” he said, sitting down on the broken concrete steps. I sat next to him, his arm wrapping me up, and as I looked at the cold, barren land, in nowhere Illinois, I was glad to be here with Chandler.
After an hour though, I was getting a little bored. Chandler was in a quiet mood and not very talkative and his body heat made me sleepy. When I heard something, a soft bang, I gave a start.
“What is it?” he asked, peering down at me.
When I heard nothing, I yawned. “I thought I heard something.”
He pointed to the horizon. “A tractor.”
“At this time of the season?” I asked, puzzled.
“Could be hauling grain, or making sure the tractors ride okay,” he said, and I suppose being a country boy, he’d know. “Things rust out here like crazy if you’re not careful.”
“Oh…” I sat up straight when I heard it again, a muffled ‘clank’, somewhere from behind us, and the house. “What the hell?”
“What?” Chandler called after me, when I got up and sprinted towards where I thought I’d heard the sound. “Dammit, Amy! Don’t run off like that!”
I looked behind me just as Chandler caught up to me. I pointed. And wouldn’t I know it. A half a mile behind the house was a small wood barn, also dilapidated. I could make out the tire tracks coming from it that merged into the main driveway.
When we both heard the ‘clank’ sound, we looked at each other, and raced toward the barn or garage or whatever the building was. Chandler beat me with his damn long legs, and had me stay a few yards back, just to make sure it wasn’t a wild animal or anything. When we clearly heard a man’s voice swearing, and then the sound of metal loudly banging against metal, I knew it wasn’t the usual kind of animal Chandler might have entertained.
One side of the door hung off its hinges, the bolt rusted and busted. The other side of the door was partly ajar, and Chandler forced it open, using his strength to push it aside.
The older man inside gave a yelp of surprise, holding up a metal tool in his right hand, ready to fight.
I looked at him and knew it was him in an instant. Jack Whitehead. At some point, the man that Chandler’s mom had fallen for had been good looking but years of abuse and not taking care of himself had done its toll, and God only knew what other vices had hastened his run-down appearance. He was in a thick coat, the hood of the car propped open and he eyed us suspiciously. I walked up, cautiously.
He was in his mid-fifties with long, blondish brown hair, a mustache, and lots of stubble. Blood-shot eyes with an overall tired, haggard look about him. He looked ill, like he might keel over any second. His once robust, tall body was now too thin, almost wasted away.
“Who the fuck are you?” he growled.
Chandler just stared, his mouth moving but not a sound coming out. I stepped forward. “My name is Amy,” I introduced, then looked at Chandler. “And this is…”
“Chandler,” Chandler finally said, blinking. “Chandler Spiros.”
Nothing. Jack scowled at us, still holding up his tool like he might use it on us. “You’re on private property!”
“Are you…Jack Whitehead?” Chandler asked, his voice raspy and low.
He gave Chandler a sour expression. “Who wants to know?” he asked, furtive and defensive.
“I’m your son,” Chandler said, just barely audible. I went over and stood next to him. “I mean, one of them…”
Jack just glared dolefully at both of us but seemed to realize we weren’t going to do anything to him. He moved to the side of the car and set the tool on top of the roof, next to a six-pack of beer. He swiped a can, and drank from it like it was water. It was barely noon.
“Whadda want?” he snapped. “I’m busy.”
“You always this pleasant or do you work at it?” I quipped.
His gaze narrowed at me, then turned…appraising. My skin crawled at that point and Chandler stiffened. He brought me into his body then slightly behind. I wasn’t going to resist and stayed put.
“So Jack,” Chandler began. There was a nervousness, a vulnerability that I’d never heard in his voice before. “This is strange, I know, but I recently found out you’re my biological father. I don’t know if you remember Stefana Spiros?”
Jack shrugged and pursed his wrinkled lips. “Don’t know her, don’t care, and what the fuck you wanna know at this point?” He squinted at us while he chugged his beer. When the can was emptied, he squeezed it, threw it deep in the back of the garage, and took another from the six-pack. “Fuck if I remember all of the women I was with. That was a long time ago.”
I watched Chandler. As much as I wanted to be able to relate to him, right now, I had no idea what was going through his mind.
“So you don’t remember my mom,” Chandler inferred. He was fishing for Jack to disprove him.
The man scoffed. “Son, I barely remember what day it is, let alone all of the goddamn women I was with back in the day. When I was your age, I had any woman I wanted.” His smile was positively evil, his eyes lingering on me again. “You must take after me, too.”
Chandler’s jaw tensed. “I don’t need a commentary. Or how well you played the field.”
“Well then, what the hell did you come all this way for?” he bit out. “You came here for something. What?”
I glanced around the garage, and it was as filthy, ratty and disorganized as what I’d seen through the front window of his house. As the man before me, as well. I wondered how anyone lived so slovenly. I kept my mouth shut, instead letting Chandler do the talking.
“I don’t know what I wanted, exactly,” Chandler said, at a loss for words. Then he shrugged, then looked him in the eye, suddenly resolute. “But I do want to ask you a question. Why didn’t you just pick one woman and stick to her?”
“Son, according to my last count, I supposedly have seventeen kids. Seven-fucking-teen, but who the hell knows the real number. I sure wasn’t keeping track,” he said, derisively and proceeded in draining his second beer in only a few seconds. “If that ain’t a symbol of a man who did his duty on this earth to spread his seed, well, I don’t know what the fuck you want from me. Look, not everyone gets to have a father. That’s just the way life is. My dad was dead before I could have memories. The fucking farm raised me. Anything else you want to know?”
Seventeen kids. Where had I heard that figure before?
Chandler took a deep breath. Jack slammed his second beer on the top of his beat up, rusted, dilapidated car, and cracked up a third can. The man knew how to drink.
“Yeah I just have one more question,” Chandler said. “Are you happy?”
I swear I saw Jack Whitehead snap to attention at that one. I did too because I hadn’t expected that question at all. He swallowed. “Son, happiness ain’t got much to do with the world.”
Chandler seemed to take that in and I couldn’t tell by his expression what the answer meant to him. He looked at the suitcase and the car. “Going somewhere?”
The hard grit to Jack’s eyes returned. “Always.”
Chandler nodded. “Thanks for meeting me,” he went on. “I do appreciate it. We’ll be going now. We won’t bother you again.”
Chandler was already heading for the door and dragging me behind him by my hand. I looked back. Chandler didn’t. I wasn’t sure how that’d gone.
As we walked to the truck, a light snow began to fall.
“Want to go get some food?” Chandler asked once we were back in the car. “I’m starving. And I couldn’t stand to be by him for another minute.”
“Sure,” I answ
ered, eying him and going with the flow, for now. He seemed strangely calm.
“Great, can you Google something in the town?”
I found a four-star lunch place on Yelp called The Southern Grille and we headed there. We pulled up to a red light and Chandler slammed on the brakes so hard I jerked forward and almost hit my head on the dashboard.
“Hey, what’s gotten into you?!”
“Oh, I don’t know, I just found out my father has seventeen fucking kids running around. That he knows of. So that means I have seventeen half siblings running around out there. And I bet they’re all as fucked up as I am!”
Delayed reaction much? I put a hand on his knee, trying to get over my near-death experience to comfort my…boy…friend. I looked at him. “You’re not fucked up,” I told him, and let him see it on my face, hear it in my voice, that I wasn’t feeding him a line. I believed what I said.
He arched an eyebrow at me. “I’m not fucked up. Really?! C’mon, Amy, you know me better than anyone else. You know what I’m like. You know me to the fucking bone, and even you don’t trust me because you know my past. I’m just like my father. I’m fucking doomed. I’ve got the Casanova genes running through my blood, and the only girl who I’ve ever cared about enough to quell that behavior—the only girl I’ve ever loved—she’s left me fucking heartbroken.”
I didn’t breathe from the time he’d said the L-word to when the light turned green and we traveled a quarter mile. By then, I was gasping for air. I blindly watched the small town of Murphysboro go by. The snow was falling harder now, and Chandler turned on the windshield wipers. I replayed what Chandler had said in my head and my breath caught. “Did you just say you loved me?”
“Yes,” he said, in a matter of fact way. As if he’d considered all the options, the ones that included liking me, or liking me a lot, and the only logical emotion left was love. We found The Southern Grill and pulled into the parking lot, but neither of us budged. He took big breaths and looked me in the eye as he spoke. “I don’t give a shit if you don’t love me back. I’m done playing coy with you and trying to be your amigovio or some ambiguous thing. I need more. I want more. You.”
It’s everything I could ever hope to hear. But I’d learned that with us, it was never that simple. I still couldn’t bring myself to offer my heart to a man who lived an ocean away. Saying that word—which I’d said in the past but had not completely meant—put me out there in a way I still wasn’t ready for.
“I feel that way about you too. Probably since we met the first time in Spain,” I said, trying not to lose control over my emotions. “But Chandler, our lives are on opposite ends of the world. You don’t want the things I do, remember?”
He clenched his jaw, his eyes still not leaving mine. “I had a tryout yesterday for the NBA. Detroit offered me a spot on the team. It’s not Chicago, but it’s closer to you. I don’t care if you don’t reciprocate, or you think I’m too fucked up to love. I’m going to chase you until the day I die, Amy. I’m not going to end up like Jack fucking Whitehead, too busy sleeping around to love. I’ve reached the end of the road, and it’s you. Only, it doesn’t feel like the end of the road. It feels like the beginning. If you just give me one damn shot.”
My belly fluttered. “You’re moving back here?”
“Yes,” he replied firmly.
“For me?”
My heart pounded as I looked out the windshield. The snow had begun to pile up, and the outside world was disappearing. The heat was still running inside the truck, and I was getting hot as hell. I took off my jacket in between waiting for Chandler to respond. At the moment, he was staring out the window.
“For you and me,” he stated. “It’s time for me to move on from my past. I know it’s a big step, me moving back to the States, but I need to know if there’s even a chance for us to make it.”
Chandler had placed his hand on my jean-clad knee at some point. I hadn’t even noticed. He brought hand up to my waist and pulled me toward his side of the truck. The cup divider in the middle prevented us from totally touching. I faced him and ran a hand through his hair. It seemed like the right thing to do, comfort a man who had just tried to come to grips with a demon of his past that was still very present in his mind and life. I didn’t know if it was subconscious, but his hand squeezed my thigh. I couldn’t help melting inward at his touch. I still wanted him, dammit. And I was beginning to think maybe I was the one with trust issues.
“No one can hear us right now,” I said. “So you can tell me if you’re feeling weird about this whole day, this whole situation here with your—father.” I gulped as I said the word ‘father.’ Was Chandler okay with me calling him that? “Jack, I mean. And I feel like it’s all my fault.”
He reached up to my head with a hand, and, gripping me, pulled me into him for a kiss. “Will you shut up for one damn second?”
The kisses began slowly. He ran his hand gently along my hair, my back, and caressed my neck. He pulled back, and the distance was almost painful. “You haven’t really responded to what I just said,” Chandler went on. “I said I love you.”
“I, I don’t know what to say. I’ve thrown that word around before, and I don’t think I meant it.”
“Well, I’ve never said it, not once. And I mean it. And I don’t give a shit if you say it back or not. I only want to hear it if it’s the truth.”
“Fuck, Chandler.”
“You want me, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I mouthed. I ran my hand from his chest down his abs but stopped before I arrived at his belt. Desire flowed through me as I recalled the countless hours we’d spend with our bodies wrapped around each other in Barcelona. Here he was wearing his heart on his sleeve, and my brain was struggling to even give him a chance.
My body, however, had already made up its mind about what I wanted to do with Chandler.
His large hand wrapped around my waist, he glanced around the interior of the truck and then tipped his chin to the back seat. I smiled.
“You want to fuck me in the back of the truck?”
“No, you want to fuck me in the back of the truck.”
My lips parted. “Is it that obvious?”
“It is when you know what to look for. And I do.” He smirked. That classic, cocky, Chandler smirk was back.
I giggled as he grabbed me by the waist and tossed me into the backseat.
Fuck, I loved it when he was bad.
He jumped in the back with me and I straddled him. I grinded my body against him, my jeans against his.
“I want you so bad right now, you have no idea,” he said.
“Well, judging by this”—I reached between his legs and squeezed his firm cock—“I have some idea.”
He groaned and looked at me, darting his eyes all around my body. I took my hand off him, sighed, and hugged him, resting my head on his shoulder.
“Something is bugging you,” he said. “Spit it out.”
I took a deep breath. “You’re right. Something is bugging me. I guess I just…can’t believe this is a thing. You and me. Me forgiving you. I think I’m crazy. With all the girls in your past…I trust you. I’m fucking crazy. I believe you don’t have a kid, now. I believe that Nina, and Norma, and what’s her face…I believe you when you tell me they meant nothing. Tell me I’m not fucking crazy.”
Chandler took a long pause and pulled my body closer to his. “I’ve never settled down in the past. You know that. I’ve never lied about anything to you. I’m not a relationship type of guy, that’s for sure. I’m just not built for them. Shit, it’s probably hardwired in my genetic code. Look my father.”
My body reacted strongly to that. A wave of emotion coursed through me. “So you’re not a relationship guy?”
“No, I’m not,” Chandler shook his head.
My heart sank and I tipped my chin down. My eyes were wet with tears. I was sitting here, straddling the man who said he loved me, but he still said he wasn’t a relationship guy. I crie
d hard.
Chandler matched my chin with his finger and brought it up again. He was smiling. “I’m not a relationship guy. But I am an Amy’s guy. ” He kissed me lightly on the mouth, then continued. “I don’t want to end up like Jack motherfucking Whitehead, drinking Keystone Light at noon on a Saturday by himself because he’s got no love in his life. Seeing…him…that was the last straw that made me realize that what I thought I didn’t want was just me running away.” He paused, letting that sink in. “I’m done running. I want fucking you, Amy. And yeah, I thought I didn’t want that whole family, marriage, kids, husband thing, and I don’t—unless it’s with you. Are you hearing me? I love you. And I’ve known it for a long time, too.”
My chest rose and fell. “Since when?”
“Since the first time I saw you at Doña Maria’s house. Amelita.”
“Oh God.” I let out a moan. Hearing Chandler say my Spanish name, I tried to keep a cool head—to put all of this in perspective.
I looked into his green-blue eyes. I caressed his olive-tan skin, and I saw honesty. I saw a man who was submitting himself to my will. I could take his love and toss it aside, assume he was as insincere as the four men who’d told me they loved me before.
But his eyes told the truth. Everything was better with him. He was a drug I wanted for life.
“I love you too,” I finally conceded.
“Goddamn it feels good to hear you say that.”
Chandler wrapped his arms around me in a squeeze so tight I thought he might break me. He pulled my arms back, and his eyes seared into me.
Suddenly, we dove into each other like wild animals in mating season. My jeans and shirt came off and so did his we were down to our underwear in under thirty seconds. He ripped my bra off and I gasped, but it was what I wanted. He dragged his tongue from my neck between my breasts and circled my pink nipples.
Mechanic with Benefits Page 46
