Cross Drop

by Elizabeth Hartey

  This is ridiculous. He’s pressed between my legs, his hard cock throbbing and he wants to have a conversation about the horrific way he treated me.

  “Just because you sent Darth Vader to do the horrible deed, doesn’t mean I’m going to forgive you.” I pummel my fists on his chest. “Get off!”

  This time he grabs both of my wrists with one hand and holds my arms over my head. “What. The. Hell. Are. You. Talking. About. Nik?”

  “Your father? Remember him?”

  “My father? What the fuck? You never even met my father.”

  “No? How about the time you were in Boston for an away game and I stayed here to prepare for our camping trip when you got back? Remember the romantic little trip to the island we had planned?”

  “How could I forget? It’s all I thought about the whole time I was away. I almost blew the game thinking about it. I couldn’t wait to get back and have you all to myself for the whole weekend. But when I got here you were gone and you wouldn’t answer my phone calls. What the hell does that have to do with my father?” All signs of longing are gone from his eyes, replaced by darkened storm-filled fury.

  “Are you actually getting angry with me?” He’s good. Somehow, he’s going to twist this to make it my fault he’s the offspring of Satan. “Did you think you could send Sat…your father to buy me out of your life and I would just take the fifty thousand dollars and think fondly of you? I’m not a whore, Dalt. If you were engaged to someone else, you should’ve been honest with me.”

  I can’t bring myself to tell him his repulsive father threw in an inappropriate stroke of my face with no added compensation other than offering to take me to dinner. Discussing this much of the sordid interaction while lying naked under him is outrageous and sickening enough.

  “You didn’t need to pretend you wanted to be with me and then pay me to leave you alone. It was—ugh. Just get off me…please.” I drop my head to one side because even though he still has me pinned under him, I refuse to let him see the stupid tears welling in my eyes.

  He loosens his grasp on my wrists and sits back onto his legs. Correction. Since I’m still underneath him, he’s sitting on my legs. I glance sideways to note Gigantor appears somewhat defeated.

  Dalt places a finger under my chin and turns my head to him. “Nik, are you telling me my father came here while I was away and…and offered you money to…to stay away from me?” His voice trembles when he speaks.

  “He told me you sent him because you didn’t have the courage to do it yourself. He made it sound like you’d done the same thing lots of times before to other girls.”

  God. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I can’t listen to any more of his lies. I should’ve gone home yesterday.

  Dalt doesn’t say anything for a moment. He drops his chin to his chest. “And you took the money and left,” he whispers.

  “What!” I pull my legs out from under him, use my foot to shove him away from me, and sit up leaning on the headboard. “I didn’t want your fucking money! I didn’t need your financing. I wanted you. I needed you. I was in love with you. But that was before I found out you were engaged to someone else and just using me as a seminal receptacle until you could get back to her.” I pull my knees to my chest and drop my face onto them. I just want to curl up in a ball and disappear, make him disappear, make the last two years disappear. Everything except Chloe.

  “You…you were in love with me and yet you believed I would do that to you? That I could ever do that to you? Is that the kind of man you think I am?” His words are so hushed now they’re almost inaudible. I feel the rustle of the bedcover and glance up to see Dalt pulling it across his lap.

  This is the first time in our relationship Dalt has been uncomfortable being naked in front of me.

  The disconnected thought crosses my mind.

  When I raise my head Dalt is staring at me. His demeanor is…what? Devastated? Disappointed?

  “Your father…he…he said—”

  “I’ve never been engaged to anyone, Nik. My father has a business partner with a daughter. They’ve been trying to push us together for years, but neither of us is interested. We grew up together. We’re friends, just friends. My father probably found out about you and decided he needed to put a stop to our relationship.”

  “He found out about me? Was I a secret you were keeping from him?”

  “No, you weren’t a secret. I just wanted to wait to tell him until after our weekend together. But Garrett called before I left for the game and I was so excited I couldn’t wait. I told him.” He swipes the back of his hand under his eyes.

  Is he…crying?

  I can’t hold back the bitchy words from pouring out of my mouth. “Told him what? You had some poor stupid farm girl wrapped around your little finger?” I can’t stop myself, even though one tiny part of my already fragmented heart is breaking again when I see the anguish in his eyes. I don’t understand why he’s anguished. He’s the one who demolished us.

  Dalt shakes his head. A crease forms between his brows like he’s trying to figure out what language I’m speaking.

  “No, Nik. I told him you were wrapped around my heart. I told him I was in love with you and I was going to tell you when we went camping. He must’ve told my father. They work together. They’re close. Closer than I’ve ever been with my dad.” He scrubs his hands over his face.

  “You…you were in love with me?” I whisper because I’m sure this is another one of the million dreams I’ve had of Dalt, my Prince Charming, pleading with me to come back to him, telling me how he loves me and needs me more than Malibu Cinderella and I don’t want to wake myself up from this one until I hear him say it.

  His shoulders begin to shudder and for one horrible second, I think he’s crying but then a throaty chuckle pushes through the fingers still covering his face. He’s laughing? I don’t know what’s worse, his crying or laughing after what I just told him.

  “That’s it?” he sniggers.

  “It?”

  He drops his hands from his face but he’s not smiling now. “You stayed away from me and hated me all this time because you believed him?”

  “I…”

  “Fuck! Nik!” Dalt runs both hands through his hair and tugs at the strands wrapped around his fingers. “Why didn’t you just ask me? How could you believe him?”

  What is he saying? I can’t…

  “Did I ever give you the slightest indication I wanted you out of my life? Think about it.” His hands are resting on his thighs now “And if I did want us to break up, I would’ve said so and walked away. Why the hell would I need to pay you? Why didn’t you trust me enough to ask me?” Well, his words and his eyes are pleading with me but they’re not the words Prince Charming is supposed to say.

  Oh God. What have I done?

  The ramifications of what he’s saying are slowly creeping through the caverns of my brain. Torrents of emotions surge through me, one rolling over the other: confusion, guilt, shame, shock, hurt, anger.

  Why didn’t I trust him?

  Why didn’t I know he was a much better man than the one in his father’s cruel scenario?

  Even though the current anger I’m feeling is for my own accountability in destroying our relationship, I hang onto a thread of self-protection. I direct the anger at Dalt and roll with it, like any self-respecting woman who has just been informed she’s royally fucked up her own life would do.

  “Trust you? Why would I? How could I know what your father said wasn’t true? You talked about working with Garrett at your father’s company all the time. I thought you were close to your father. As far as I knew you were willing to give up hockey, the one thing I knew for sure you did love, to go work with him. I thought if you were willing to give up the thing you loved most in the world to work with him, throwing me away would be insignificant. I assumed you would be more than willing…”

  “Nikki.” He reaches out for me. “I never wanted to throw you away. You…you
were my world.”

  I…what? There he is. Charming is finally delivering his lines.

  For the first time I notice another tattoo on the underside of his forearm; one that wasn’t there the last time we slept together. It’s an infinity sign. Around the curve of one side is printed the word love and around the curve of the other is printed…

  Oh my God! It says Nikki.

  He had my name branded on his arm, giving me ownership to all his Grade A perfection.

  “When…when did you get this?” I whisper, tracing the symbol with my fingertips.

  “The day after the keg party, the last time we hooked up.” Dalt watches my fingers tracing the tattoo. “I thought we were going to be okay, that you had finally come back to me. When I woke up the next morning and you were gone, I just figured you had something to do and I went out and got this.” He places his hand atop mine to stop my fingers from stroking his arm. “I planned on showing you that night, but when I tried calling and texting you…well, you know what happened. Fuck. What a gi-fucking-gantic fucked up mess. I know I never said the words ‘I love you,’ but Christ, Nik, how could you believe the things my father said?”

  I don’t know what to say. I’m drained in the same overwhelming way I was the day his father offered me the money to get out of Dalt’s life.

  “I…I don’t know Dalt. How could I not believe him?” I shrug.

  How am I going to explain something I don’t even understand myself? He’s staring at me like he’s waiting for the rainbows of oh-that-makes-sense words to pour from my mouth.

  “It was…awful. I was so in love with you. You were my…my everything…my hero…my…don’t laugh…knight in shining armor.” He doesn’t even grin. “Someone I didn’t think even existed outside of novels, and even if he did, I would never be the one to have him. I didn’t need a hero, anyway. At least, that’s what I told myself. But then, there you were. You did exist. You were real. My feelings for you were real. And I needed you, after all. Then when your father…I don’t know…knocked you off your white horse and blackened your armor, I was blind with anger for letting myself become weak enough to believe in the fairytale. I couldn’t think straight.”

  “Life isn’t a fairytale, Nik,” he whispers.

  “But it was. You were my fairytale come to life. You filled my world with every fantasy I had ever been afraid to let myself dream possible when it came to love. All I wanted was you. I wanted to call you or drive to Boston and confront you and curl up in your arms when you told me it wasn’t true. But it was so…so painful. The things your father said crushed me. I didn’t know what to do. I went home to try to figure things out.” I sweep my thumb under his eye to sweep away the lone tear clinging to his cheek.

  He grabs my hand, squeezes it, and holds it still. “For two years, Nik? All that time, when you finally came back to school, you couldn’t just ask me?” He’s still squeezing my hand and shredding me with the devastation filling his eyes.

  “It was…complicated by the time I got back. Are…are you saying your father…he…he lied about—”

  “Everything.” He drops my hand and I shudder at the loss of his touch like a silly girl swooning in a silly fairytale.

  “Complicated? ‘Do. You. Love. Me?’ Four words. How complicated is that?” He doesn’t wait for me to come up with an answer to his challenge. I don’t have one to give him anyway.

  “My father’s a very powerful man. He’s used to getting his way, especially when he believes his way is what’s best for Garrett and me, or at least is the best way to control us. He wanted us to work for his production company when we got out of school. So that’s what Garrett did and what I’m supposed to do after I graduate. He wants us to marry wealthy girls from the types of families he perceives to be the right kind of people. I guess when Garrett told him I was in love with you it had him worried. I’ve never gotten serious about a girl before. He figured he could buy you off and get you out of my life. Fucking hell. It would be comical if it wasn’t as fucked up as a Shakespearean tragedy. He probably got a good laugh. He managed to split us up and it didn’t cost him a dime. He must have been pretty pleased with himself over that deal. He likes to win.” Dalt blows out what sounds like every bit of air in his lungs. He sits there, shoulders slumped. I don’t know what to do, what to say.

  Yeah. A comedy of errors. Did I say something about not being a stupid girl? Turns out I’m an incredibly stupid girl after all. I should have known, should have realized the guy I knew, the man I fell in love with, would never have been part of his father’s sleazy scheme.

  Tracey was right. In the short time she’s known Dalt, she understood him better than I ever did. Dalt’s not cruel. He’s never been cruel. He’s thoughtful, honest, and kind. All the reasons I put him up on a white horse and fell in love with him. In fact, the first time I ever saw him lose his temper was at the quad the other day when he went after Cliff. But that’s exactly what a hero protecting his woman would do. Right?

  I’ve wasted two years of our lives. Spent two years missing him, wanting him, hating him, loving him, without being able to tell him. I want to wrap my arms around him. Hold him, tell him everything is fine, we’re fine. But this is a fuck up of epic proportions on my part. Star Crossed Lovers, a Shakespearean fuck up. He loves me, I hate him. I love him, he hates me. How can he ever forgive the way I mistrusted him; the horrible things I believed about him? And God! Chloe! How do I tell him about Chloe?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Dalt

  “I’m sorry, Dalt. You’re right. I should’ve trusted you. But when your father made it clear to me the kind of life you have in California, the way you grew up, the future you had waiting for you, I believed him when he said we weren’t right for each other, and that it would never work out.”

  “Oh, I get it. You’re like a reverse snob. You think people with money can’t relate to down home people like you and your family. We’re not regular enough folks for you.”

  I can’t stop myself from spitting out the angry words. I’m pissed off, and at the same time wounded by the way she mistrusted me, by how little she thought of my integrity. What the actual hell? How can she say she loved me and have thought so little of me?

  “No…I…” she sounds exhausted, searching for the words to explain why she thought I could be capable of being the same kind of heartless prick as my father. “I told you what it was like after my dad died. We literally had nothing but our farm animals. There were times if we wanted to eat, we had to eat what we grew ourselves. You probably wore Armani hockey pads when you were growing up. I wore dollar store two for one specials. Not hockey pads, but you know what I mean.” She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, waiting for me to say something. I don’t.

  She lets out a long breath and continues, “You drive a Maserati. I have a rusted 1982 Ford pick-up which sometimes doubles as a manure hauler.”

  She gives me a little smile, but I don’t say a word. I let her keep talking to explain how we got here to this screwed up place in our relationship. I mean, here I am sitting stark naked with the woman of my dreams, the woman I’ve been losing my mind over for two years, and we’re discussing how my fucking father managed to ruin yet another important part of my life.

  “You told me how your mom would take you and Garrett to the theater to see plays when you were younger.”

  Her words remind me of the other woman in my life my father fucked over. I try to focus on what Nikki’s saying, instead of thinking about all the other fucked up things the bastard has done.

  “We had one staticky channel on an old television set, sometimes two if the antenna on the roof was having a good day; my fancy form of entertainment. And then, if my mom hadn’t thrown his sorry ass out, you know what almost happened with Bert. I don’t want sympathy. I’m just trying to explain where I was coming from. My life wasn’t even in the same stratosphere as yours. But I didn’t spend time boo-hooing over the differences of my life and yours because s
omeone like you wasn’t even on my radar. I had never considered the possibility of a guy like you in my life. But then, somehow, you were.” She stops and takes a deep breath.

  Maybe I’m slow on the uptake but I still don’t get why she believed my father.

  “It didn’t take much to convince me my life was too screwed up to drag you into it, to convince me I wasn’t good enough for you. I didn’t think beyond any of the different life experiences nonsense much anyway because I was wrecked thinking about the other things your father told me. Thinking about you marrying someone else? It hurt. Really hurt. The pain was physical. I thought I was having a heart attack. I couldn’t even breathe, let alone think straight.”

  She places her hand on mine and it occurs to me how petite and fragile her hand is on mine.

  “After I got past the initial pain, I tried to convince myself the wealthy California girl was better for you, the kind of girl who fit into your lifestyle and could make you happy…until I saw you and the hurt floodgates reopened, followed by a volcano of anger.” She hesitates. “I thought about scratching her eyes out. But, well, I don’t like to fly.”

  One corner of her mouth quirks up and she shrugs. I know what she’s doing. She’s trying to make a joke out of this fucked up situation. It’s the same thing we always used to do: joke around about everything, keep everything light. But I don’t smile or return the sarcasm like I would have done in the past. I’m trying to process what she’s telling me. I can’t find a reason to smile about any of this.

  Nikki slides off the bed and walks over to the towel she had dropped on the floor. I can’t take my eyes off her as she bends to pick it up and then holds it in front of her body.

  She’s an artist’s dream of God’s flawless female form: perfect curves, perfect tits—which look as if they’re slightly larger than I remember—long blonde hair, creamy skin, full pouty lips, soul-penetrating eyes. Christ. Not just an artist’s dream, she’s every man’s wet dream come to life. But the first time I saw her she wasn’t beautiful. I mean, she was, I just couldn’t tell.