by Lindsey Hart
“Tell me something about you. Something I don’t know.”
“My dad hates me, and Britt’s parents don’t like me either. It’s exhausting. I can’t please either of them. I’m never going to be good enough for my dad—classic—and for Britt’s parents, I’m doing too well.”
“But it’s…it’s been…it’s been two years!”
“I know. It doesn’t matter. I’m always going to do too well, and it makes me feel guilty. No matter what I do with the company or the money, it’s never enough for Dad. I’ll never be successful enough because I didn’t choose to follow in his footsteps and be a mechanic.”
“Your dad’s a mechanic?”
“Yeah. He can fix anything while I can’t. And he hates that. I was always hopeless when it came to fixing anything. I was shit at maths and science in school, but I liked History and writing shit. Somehow, I still took Business in college because it’s what Dad wanted. He wasn’t going to pay for it otherwise. And somehow, I still passed, but it was a struggle, and every elective I could, I took other shit—shit I actually liked. I can paint, you know that? Well, Britt knew, and she loved that about me. She fucking loved that I was artistic, could write, and liked to read. We used to share books and read to each other at night from the same book. When she didn’t want to do that, she’d read first, and then I’d read the book, and we’d discuss it—our own personal book club. She didn’t give a shit that I couldn’t fix the car when it started making noises or that I didn’t even know what the noise was. She didn’t care that I wasn’t good at economics. She didn’t care when I started my own company and did not work for someone else like everyone does. She was the one who encouraged me to keep going, to be better, and to come up with my own ideas, which I did. And it paid off. Without her support, I would never have done it. We struggled together, and she was with me all the way. She loved me for who I was, and it gave me courage.”
“I…shit…I don’t know what to say. That’s really, really honest. And painful. You’re making me want to cry.”
“Yeah? Me too.” And fuck, it’s true.
I don’t give a shit if it’s not manly. Maybe if men were allowed and encouraged to let their emotions out in a healthy way, the world wouldn’t be such a fucked up place. Not that I’ve done a very good job of dealing with them in such a way. I haven’t. I’ve never talked about this with anyone because I never had a reason. People who knew Britt knew us, and they already knew all of it. Everyone else doesn’t want to talk about her because it gets real awkward fast.
I grind my fingers into the carpet. Why the fuck can’t I just get up and get out the door? Why am I still lying here talking? It’s like now that I started, I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to get up. I just want to lie here, and if moisture starts leaking out of my eyes, nose, and freaking mouth, then at least Feeney can’t see it, and at least it’s out. The carpet will absorb it. It was a good place to land.
“What do you do now? For a living, I mean.”
“Publishing.”
Feeney inhales sharply. “Oh. That’s…that’s what my dad does too. Then you’ve probably heard of him before you even met me.”
“Yes, of course. Who hasn’t? He’s a massive player in the industry. Everyone knows the Hardington name.”
“That’s…wow. I feel like I know even less about you now, and you think you know everything about me. You think I’m spoiled and had everything handed to me my whole life. You also probably think I didn’t have to live in the real world and only have champagne problems, whatever that means, and that I went to fancy schools and then an Ivy League college. That I drove fancy cars and lived in a mansion in the best part of the city. “
“Yes. It’s all true.”
“Yeah, I know.” Feeney sighs. “It is all true, all of that. But it still doesn’t mean you know me. Can’t I grow up with that and turn out okay? Can’t I have turned out a nice person and not a snob?”
“Maybe, but you sure can’t cook worth shit though.”
“Hey! I’m getting better!”
“We didn’t burn anything yesterday, so it’s a good start.”
“There you go then. Proof. Anyway, I might have lived a cushy life, but that’s all over. I do have real-world skills, and the ones I don’t have, I’m freaking going to get. I don’t have a choice now.”
“Is what Sam said true? Did your parents really ask you to marry someone you don’t even know? That’s why you left? That’s why you were looking for work and a place to stay?”
“Yup.”
“Who was he?”
My fingers curl even tighter into the loose fibers of the carpet now. It’s new. When I bought the house, I had all the carpets changed out because the old ones were disgusting, but I shouldn’t say new. It’s only a few years old. I wait, holding my breath because that was way too bold a question. What am I even doing asking her this shit? What am I playing at this? It’s not right, and it’s going to blow up on me because starting to actually like Feeney was never part of the plan. I thought I could just get what I wanted and convince her she wanted it too. I wasn’t allowing any room for actual human emotion to get in the way.
“I don’t know,” she whispers. She does a good job of hiding her emotion because her voice is totally flat. “I didn’t even look him up. I didn’t want to know. Someone my dad wanted to do business with—if you can even believe that. They wanted to parcel me up as part of a business deal. It was crazy. They were just talking and talking and talking, and I zoned out after the first few sentences. I didn’t even hear what they were saying. I just knew I had to get out of there. It was so shocking because I never thought they’d do…well, anyway…I thought they loved me. And I do know they love me and care about me, which is why it was so unlike them to even think of something like that.”
“Maybe they just wanted you both to meet? They probably wouldn’t have forced you into it if they love you.”
“I…I don’t know. I tuned out and refused to listen to the rest. It was too crazy to even contemplate, no matter what their intentions were.”
“If it was out of character, maybe they just wanted you to consider the idea, or they thought you’d agree if you liked the guy. Or maybe it’s easier to get married if you don’t love someone.”
“Why? So, they can’t hurt you? I guess. I…I did…fuck!”
I lift my head a fraction but don’t look at her. We seem to be doing better with talking without making eye contact. “What?”
“I had a bad break up last year. The guy I was dating was a dick. He probably was from the start, but he kept it conveniently hidden for quite a while. He was basically just after me for my money. He was using me, and when I found out, it hurt so much. I told my parents it would be easier for me if they just found me an arranged marriage. That way, I wouldn’t have to go through it all again. I also had uh…a few bad relationships before that—a few bad experiences. I never loved any of them, but it still hurt to be treated badly, let down, used, and even cheated on once. It just…it sucked. But I didn’t mean it. Oh my god, do you think they thought I meant it?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“I was acting crazy at the time! I mean, I was really upset. Like, really upset. You don’t think…”
“I really don’t know.”
“Oh my god!” I hear a whoosh and a thump, and I gather Feeney grabbed her pillow off the other side of the bed and fell back with it over her face. She smothers the next sounds that come out of her mouth, so I assume they’re not worth hearing. She hates swearing, but it’s probably all filthy words.
“Maybe you should talk to them?” I suggest when she’s silent. “Maybe the guy isn’t so bad. Maybe he’s…maybe he’s actually quite normal and decent, and you could grow to like each other.”
“No. I’m not ready. I’m not going to call them.”
I let out a long exhale. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath in for the past—I don’t know—the whole time I’ve been i
n here? Why does it feel like I can breathe now? Because we talked? Because for now, Feeney is staying here with us? With Shade and me? Because she’s thinking about the stuff going on in her life now, and it makes me feel better?
Maybe she has so much shit going on in her own life that me lying here prone on the carpet, pouring out the darkest essence of my soul to her, at midnight, in her room, after creeping at her door, doesn’t seem so weird to her.
This is seriously fucked up.
I can’t do this. And not just tonight. I don’t know if I can do it at all.
“I uh…thanks.” I shove to my feet so fast that I give myself a head rush. “I should probably go…”
Feeney lowers the pillow from her face. She looks very pale, her eyes are huge, and her cheeks are ashen. God, she’s beautiful. She looks sad, lost, alone, and slightly scared. I wish I could offer her some kind of comfort, but I probably look like a wreck too. Strangely enough, I wish we could just wrap ourselves up in each other’s arms and hold each other and not be lonely anymore. Like we did last night. But no. She said she didn’t want that. She might have kissed me back, but she said she didn’t want it, and holding each other can’t just be platonic. I know it can’t because what happened last night was explosive and potent. It was jarring, shocking, and dangerous.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “Have a good sleep.”
“Are you going to be able to sleep now?”
She starts chewing on her bottom lip, more uncertain than ever. “I don’t know.”
“Neither do I.”
“Well, have fun tossing and turning and churning over all the bullshit that is piling up. I’m going to do the same.”
That makes me smile and want to laugh. I think my lips are turning up because Feeney’s do too. Maybe smiles are like yawns—slightly contagious.
“Goodnight, then.”
“Okay. Goodnight.”
She lets me walk out and close her door without any lectures about the creeping, being weird on her floor, or any of it.
She’s too nice. But Feeney’s right. Despite everything I thought about her, despite how she was raised, despite being super-rich, she turned out fine and normal like everyone else. Wait, no, not normal, and also not like everyone else. She’s way too nice to be like everyone else. She has a huge heart that she’s not afraid to let show, which is why she was hurt and used in the past. Because all assholes, like me, are attracted to that. We want the best parts of her to fix the worst parts of us.
I’m no better than any of those assholes out there who hurt her before because I’m lying to her and using her too. At least, I was, but then again, I’m still lying though I’m not using her. I don’t want to use her. That part is over. It was never really part of the bargain.
Fuck me. I just wanted someone there for Shade—someone permanent who would love him as his mother would have. I didn’t want anything for myself. I thought I could somehow make it work, but I should have known better. I should have known I’d want just a fraction of something good for me too. Not just for Shade.
All this just proves I am the world’s biggest idiot.
CHAPTER 15
Feeney
I’m confused. But I shouldn’t be confused because all of this should be quite straightforward.
Luke is my boss, and he’s Shade’s dad. He might be pretty, but he’s just to look at and not touch.
So, no, it’s not straightforward.
It’s after New Year’s now. January third. I didn’t go out to celebrate with any of my friends like I might have done in the past. I didn’t go to Sam’s house party, and she didn’t beg me to. My parents still don’t have my number, so I haven’t called them. But they know I’m okay, which is all that needs to matter right now. I do miss them, but I’m not ready to talk yet. It hasn’t been enough time.
Luke’s been burying himself in work. When he comes home now at the end of the day, he hangs out with Shade after dinner, the same as before, but I can tell he’s different. He doesn’t look at me like he hates having me in the house or like he’s waiting for me to trip up so he can find enjoyment from it. He’s much more civil now. Honestly, he looks tired each day, like he’s purposefully trying to exhaust himself at work. He also doesn’t look at me with any desire, which I appreciate.
Except that not all of me appreciates it. My brain appreciates it as it appreciates being treated like a person and not as an object. It appreciates Luke listening to what I told him and things not being awkward after that kiss in the kitchen.
So why is my body so pissed off?
I don’t think it’s stopped burning since Christmas night.
And that night when Luke literally stumbled into my room and talked to me from the floor, which should have been weird but was actually strangely intimate and meaningful, I wanted to pick him up off the floor. I wanted to tangle my arms around his neck and help him into my bed. I longed to kiss away his pain and frustration as I run my hands through his hair because I know it feels good. I wanted to wrap my arms around his huge body, even though they probably wouldn’t fit halfway around, and use the warmth of my own body to soothe the ice within him. I wanted to do all those things while telling him he’s fine the way he is. Just the way he is. That Shade appreciates everything, and I can see him trying, even if no one else can, and also, about how there isn’t any shame in not being a mechanic but being in publishing instead. That’s how my dad and grandpa both made good livings. I wanted to say and do the right thing. For the first time in my life, I think I caught a glimpse of the true meaning of intimacy. I wanted it all.
The nanny with benefits.
Not just because Luke is gorgeous and sexy, and it’s been a rather…erm…dry year over here for my lady parts. I didn’t just want the sex. Okay, I wanted to continue what we’d started in the kitchen the night before, but I knew if we did, it wouldn’t stop. I wanted it, but not because I needed to scratch an itch or because I liked the term benefits or arrangement. It’s because I just wanted to.
There were all these bits of me—not just the obvious bits—that wanted all of Luke’s bits—also not just his obvious bits.
“Feeney? Feeney? What did you draw?”
“Oh!” I start at the sound of Shade’s voice. The crayon in my hand goes skittering across the still blank piece of paper. “Sorry. I was…I don’t know. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I zoned out. Tired people do that.”
I haven’t slept well since that kiss in the kitchen, and not just because my body burns against my brain and better judgment. Okay, yeah, it’s mostly that, but it’s just…I don’t know. I can’t turn my brain off either. I’m not used to endless thoughts, but now that’s all there is. I churn over my problems, but I churn over Luke’s too. I think about him—a lot. I feel guilty about it sometimes, so I make sure I think about Shade a lot too. About what we can do the following day, the things we can see and learn, and how there’s something new to discover every single day. I also think about cooking and the opossum from the backyard.
“I drew our house!” We’re sitting side by side, so Shade spins his drawing around on the kitchen table for me to see. “This is the door, this is the garage, and this is the car.”
“That’s very nice.” It really is. Shade’s very creative. He’s wickedly smart, incredibly perceptive, and super artsy. He loves crafts and drawing. If he could just do crafts all day, I think he would. “Hey, I was thinking. Would you like to visit a wildlife sanctuary? They won’t have the opossum we saw in the backyard since they probably put that guy somewhere safe in the wild, but I thought it would be nice to see the way other animals receive help.”
“Receive help?”
“Yeah. Some of them have problems where they can’t be released back to the wild. Also, sometimes, they get hurt, which means they can’t go back to living where they usually would because it wouldn’t be safe for them.”
“We could see animals?”
“Yes. I think so. I could look one up.”<
br />
“Okay! Can we have a snack now?”
I make Shade his snack, and we go outside together and sit in the backyard on the grass to eat. I sliced some apples and got out the container of caramel sauce. I should probably cut out the sugar, but whatever. It’s delicious.
As Shade dips and double dips his apple slices, I look up a few sanctuaries. I find one that’s open to the public on weekends. There are a few others, but this one is closest, so I start looking through their pictures and their stories, and oh my god. I flip through owls, squirrels, skunks, turtles, foxes, a bobcat, a goat who I’m not sure fits the bill, raccoons, all sorts of birds, and so many more creatures that have injuries. They are rehabbed before being released back into the wild. There are some permanent residents at the sanctuary that we can go to see. Some of the injuries are natural, like storms and road accidents, but some are intentional—harm intentionally caused by people—animal cruelty.
There’s a particular story that grabs me. It’s one about an opossum who was harmed intentionally. It doesn’t say how, but there are constant updates on getting him better. His face was pretty bad, including his eyes, jaw, and poor nose and ears. Why? How could someone do that? It makes me feel so much more relieved that we called and got our little visitor out of here and relocated somewhere safe. I was worried about cars, but I never thought someone would intentionally hurt another living being.
Why? Why do people have to be so cruel? Why does there have to be so much bad shit in the world?
“Feeney? Feeney, are you crying?”
Argh! I throw my phone face down on the grass and brush at my eyes with the backs of my hands, but it doesn’t really help. The tears are flowing now, and maybe they’re making up for lost time because I have felt pretty lonely and abandoned and lost. I’ve missed my parents, I’ve been sad for Shade, and I’ve been both sad and frustrated for Luke.
