by S. J. Pierce
He nods his agreement, his eyes falling to the floor between us. “I know. I messed up. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to have a shot with—”
“So, with all that said, could you kindly see yourself the fuck out of this room and never speak to me again?” I’m shaking now, fury roiling inside me like a storm. “I have nothing else to say to you.”
He stands there a moment, his blue eyes dragging up to mine. What he finds there disappoints him. His lips part to say something, but he thinks better of it.
Smart man. What? Did he think he’d come in here with some bullshit apology and I’d give him another chance? Come back over on Sunday and let him screw my brains out again like we planned?
That sex ship has sailed.
He turns for the door, and right before he pulls it closed, he turns his head and says, “I’m sorry, Rhee. I am. About everything.”
24
Jagged Little Pieces
Once Jaxson’s gone, his footsteps fading down the stairs, I change into my sweatpants and tank top, then lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling, thoughts blank but emotions swirling around like a tornado. Its crooked funnel is twisting my insides into knots, the sharpest edges cutting and scraping as it goes.
I roll to my side and see my wooden finch on the bedside table. Grab it and press it against my heart.
I just want to stay here awhile until the storm settles.
* * *
My eyes pry open against a darkened room. I fell asleep.
The alarm clock on my dresser says seven o’clock.
I reel.
Four hours.
I must have needed it.
Of course, I needed it. From the emotions. From everything. From a night of drinking and sexual Olympics.
When I sit erect, the pressure from the movement, the sensation of fabric against skin, makes my sex ache. Somehow, it’s sorer after the nap.
“Yes, I know,” I whisper to no one, gingerly sliding off the bed to stand. “His magical dick did a number on me.”
Before, the rawness was a welcomed thing. Now, it’s nothing short of an annoyance.
Just like his fake apology.
Before I head downstairs, I pause to listen. Minus Carson playing in the hall bath, the house has settled into quiet.
The guys must be gone.
Thank God.
I find my sister in the kitchen, which has been stripped bare with nothing but a card table to eat on. She’s by the sink, head down, clutching the edges like she might pass out.
“Maddie?” I say.
She jumps and swipes her eyes. “Hey,” she manages, but she can’t turn to face me, just sniffles and returns to the dishes.
My heart shatters into jagged little pieces. She was in here crying. Alone. When she thought I was asleep and Carson was occupied.
I come up behind her and fold my arms around her waist. Rest my cheek against her back. Does she not feel like she can do this in front of me?
My embrace makes her cry again, and she braces against the counter, her back heaving into me as she empties herself into the moment.
Tears form, and I don’t sniffle them back, though it’s not lost on me how we’re crying for very different things—she’s crying for the dad she knew. I’m crying for her. For the dad I knew when I was young. And for the dad I apparently didn’t know the past couple of years.
But most importantly, I want her to know she’s not alone in this. No matter how I feel about him, no matter our haunted past, she can fall apart with me if she needs to. I’ve always been her safe place, and she mine.
Had we not been through the years, we would have crumbled by now.
* * *
After she puts Carson to bed, we order Chinese and break out a box of wine she had in the trunk of her car. I lie to myself at first and say I don’t want any, but now I’m on glass number three to help wash down the Kung Pao chicken. We’re sitting on the only piece of furniture left in the living room, dad’s worn, plaid couch, and eating straight from boxes. The TV on the mantle is playing a DVD of Sweet Home Alabama since Maddie had his cable disconnected today.
“It doesn’t even look like the same house anymore,” I say with a mouthful of fried rice.
She shifts on the couch to fold her legs under her, the movement splashing some of her wine onto the armrest. She doesn’t notice. “We got a lot done today. They’ll be coming back for the rest of the boxes tomorrow afternoon. And your bedroom furniture.”
“I’ll finish packing in the morning, then.”
She nods her approval. “They’ll leave your mattress, though.”
Silence settles around us.
“Visitation is tomorrow night,” she reminds me. Her eyes are distant but aimed in the direction of the TV as Jake and Melanie kiss in the graveyard.
“Anything I can help with?” I place my half-eaten takeout container on the floor and trade it for the red Solo cup of wine.
“No, actually. The funeral home has been great. We basically just have to show up. I sent them some pics to use and picked out his casket.”
Guilt plows into me. “I’m sorry you’ve had to do all of this alone.” I’ve been so concerned about spending as little time as possible in Dark Moon Falls, I forgot about her. About all the details needing to be taken care of. Burying someone is more than a three-day thing. “I’ve left you alone in this.”
The sadness in my voice calls her attention away from the movie, and she rests a hand on my knee. “It’s fine. Really. There’s not much to do.”
“Liar,” I say into the cup.
She chuckles. She knows she’s a liar. She’s been shielding me from it as much as I’ve been avoiding it.
Ever the momma hen.
She thinks of something, her eyes falling to the plaid fabric between us, and her lips pull into a scowl. She wants to say something but hesitates.
“What?” I say.
She doesn’t meet my eyes. “Can I just say one more thing about dad?”
I nod. Maybe it will help her feel better.
“You don’t even have to respond or talk about it until you’re ready. I won’t even bring it up again until then, but I think it’s important you know.”
I fight the urge to shift uncomfortably on the couch.
“He realized a lot of his ways pushed you away. He faulted himself for that. Spent the rest of his life trying to make up for it and be a better version of himself for me and Carson.” She hesitates but decides to go ahead and say it. “He did love you.”
I don’t leave her hanging, even though I have her blessing not to talk. “Yeah, well…” I down the rest of my wine. “I didn’t help the situation.” I avoid the topic of him changing himself. About him loving me. I know he did…in his own way. I loved him in mine. But I couldn’t find the words to talk about it all right now. “I’m not ready to sort through it all yet.”
“I know,” she says, squeezing my knee.
“I just want to get through tomorrow and Sunday.”
“Same. But promise me you’ll get counseling?”
“I’ve actually already thought about it.”
That makes her perk.
I hand her my cup for another refill. “I was trying to act like it didn’t bother me so you wouldn’t push me to talk.”
“Oh, I know.” She offers a smile as she fills mine halfway. She tops hers off, as well. “I know you.”
She does. Better than anyone.
“I want you to be okay.”
“I will.”
She goes to hand the glass to me, and as I reach out to grab it, she pulls it back with an arched brow. “Promise me, though,” she warns.
I don’t fight her on it. “I will.”
25
Stalemate
As we sip our fourth glasses of wine, my head starting to buzz, numbness blossoming on my lips, a mischievous smile spreads across Maddie’s face.
I roll my eyes, having a good inclination what she’s after. “Yeah?�
�
“Can we at least talk about Jaxson, though? I’m dying here!” A fake pout. “And you promised we could over wine.” A wave of her hand. “And here we are.”
I stall. “I don’t remember an actual promise…”
A jab to my shoulder. My wine sloshes out. “Hey…!”
She laughs.
I laugh.
And as I watch her eyes brighten, the way a distracting topic seems to lift some of the grief, I cave. “Okay, fine. What do you want to know?”
She holds up a finger as she drinks. “First of all…” A wince from the burn of wine. “What magic voodoo does your vajayjay have that’s making Jaxson fall all over himself for you?”
I nearly choke. “Sorry?”
“You need to share the secret, bitch.” Her words are starting to slur together, the bitch coming out more as a batchhh.
I try to keep a straight face but crack. She’s funny when she’s drunk. And I’m sure she’s needed this. We both did. “What do you mean falling all over himself?”
“If he walked by your door ten times today, he walked by it a hundred.”
“He was helping move furniture.”
“No…this was different. He knew you were in there. He’d pause outside of it but kept walking.”
“Then I guess you heard the one time he managed to work up the nerve.”
She shrugs. “Thin walls.”
“So, then you know why I want nothing to do with him.”
“I do. What he did was crappy.”
I sip my wine. Sigh. Crappy? Just crappy? “Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming?”
“No ‘but’. It was crappy. I get why you’re mad.”
“Thank you.”
Silence.
“But I do think he’s a good guy.”
I point my finger at her. See? There was a but. “Explain to me how you think he’s a good guy if he lied to get me into bed.”
“I’m not saying that was good, I’m saying what I know of him is good.”
“Please explain.”
“Well…he does a lot of charity work.”
I snort. That makes him far from a saint.
“That’s how he and dad met. Five years ago, at the soup kitchen when Jaxson moved back to town. They also helped build houses for the homeless.”
“Okay, so he does charity work. He’s still a liar.”
“And as long as I’ve known him, he hasn’t settled for just anyone. He dates. Actually dates. But he’s never with someone long.”
Maybe ‘cause he lies.
“Dad used to say, good thing he’s a wolf and will live a long time. It’ll take him two human lifetimes to finally find someone to mate with.”
“I’m failing to see how any of this makes him good.” She, of all people, should know that snakes can parade around in sheep’s clothing.
She deadpans. “He does charity work. Isn’t sleeping with everything that walks. He’s actually looking for a mate.”
“And?”
“And. He apparently really liked something about you. That’s why he took you home. He doesn’t normally do that.”
I take a long sip. Too bad. I then want to question how she knows so much about him—his sexual habits. How he moved back to town five years ago after living somewhere else. It would explain how I’ve never heard of him, at least—but I stop myself. It’s a small town, and I know how fast things can travel here. And he and my dad were apparently somewhat close. “You aren’t suggesting I give him another shot, are you?”
She sinks into the couch. Smiles.
I take away her Solo cup and place it on the floor. “I think you’ve had enough.”
Her smile doesn’t waver. “Why not? Why not give him another shot?”
I scoff. Has she lost it? “Whose side are you on here?”
Her eyes drag to the TV screen, her smile fading. “Yours. Always yours. But love’s too, I guess.”
“Okay, now I know you’ve lost it.” It’s more than the wine.
“Maybe I have. I dunno. I just…like him.”
“Then you date him.” As soon as I say it, an uneasy feeling settles into the pit of my stomach. They call that jealousy.
“I like the idea of you and him,” she corrects. “Is it so bad that he’s a wolf?”
“It’s not so much that he’s a wolf as it was that he lied about it.”
“But would you have given him a chance otherwise?” Knowing the answer, she hikes a brow.
No, I wouldn’t have.
Even without running into Trenton last night, I wouldn’t have. She has me there. “Probably not.”
“Racist,” she jibes, half serious.
“Species-ist,” I correct. But plenty of them have proved me right, not just Trenton. Maddie’s ex, for one. He knocked her up and left town, said he wasn’t ready to be a dad. They haven’t heard from him since.
So, the fact she’s still so open about them is nothing short of amazing. She’s always had more grace than me. More of an open mind.
“Just think about it,” she says sleepily, and she tilts her head back, closing her eyes. The exhaustion mingling with a full belly and wine is taking its toll.
“I have. He’s missed his chance.”
She shakes her head. Her lips press into a hard line.
I wait for what comes next.
“We’ve all had times where we needed second chances, right?”
It’s a rhetorical question. And one that makes me uneasy.
Yes, we did. I did. But this is different….
She shifts to get more comfortable. “Just think about it,” she repeats.
Okay, she’s half asleep now. And I’m over it.
Time for bed.
I push to get off the couch and gather our trash. “Night,” I say, and kiss her forehead as I leave.
When I get to the threshold of the foyer, she calls after me. “You do deserve it, you know.”
My feet stall, and against all my better judgement, I turn to indulge her. There’s something else she wants to get off her chest. “Deserve what?”
“Love. A good thing. You can’t punish yourself forever.”
I just stand there. Punish myself?
Her eyes open. “It’s why I made you promise me you’ll get counseling. You’ll punish yourself and every other guy that comes along until you do.”
“I don’t understand.” My voice is small. But the thing is…I kinda do understand. There hasn’t been a man in my life that’s lasted very long. I’ve always found a reason to push them away. To run. She knows it. I know it. And it’s why she’s lecturing me now, of all times. Because I’m here for her to lecture, and the incident with Jaxson has given her an opening.
“Until you heal from the heartache of what happened between dad and mom, and then you and dad, and until you forgive yourself for the things you’ve done, and for the things he’s done, you won’t ever give anyone a shot in hell, because you don’t know how.”
My stomach hollows. In other words, Jaxson is just another casualty of my messed-up heart and mind. Because I haven’t dealt with things. Because I need to heal.
“You’ll remain in a constant stall pattern.”
I blink at her, unsure of how to respond to any of this. I feel exposed and attacked, but most of all, I feel…kind of enlightened. Everything she said made sense, so why is it making me feel so awful?
Maybe because I’m not ready to hear it…though I need to. Leave it to sisters to say the hard stuff that makes you think.
“Am I saying Jaxson was in the right?” she continues. “No, but he’s not an asshole. And I think you might be surprised how much you’ll like him if you give him a chance.”
I say the only thing I can think of to counter her— “It is possible for an asshole to parade around as a nice guy.” But she knows that. She’s lived it, just like I have. And if Jaxson were truly the asshole I’ve accused him of being, I’m fairly confident she’d have spotted it by now. I think that’s
the thing that’s bothering me most. It’s not her calling me out about dealing with my emotional baggage, it’s that I was too quick to toss him away without hearing him out.
But it’s what I do—I protect myself from potential harm, from another man breaking my heart. It’s a self-preservation thing.
We stare at each other, neither of us knowing where to go from here. Because I’m a stubborn ass, I want to continue arguing my point, and she wants to continue arguing hers.
We’re at a stalemate.
So, I do what I do best—shut everything out and run.
I turn for the kitchen so I can throw away our trash and head for bed. “Love you, sis,” I say.
“Love you,” she whispers behind me.
26
Unhinged
I blow smoke out my bedroom window, watching as the wispy tendrils fade into the night, thoughts blank, belly full. Heart raw and tender.
Body humming with wine.
When I’m halfway done with the cigarette, I flick it into the rain but leave the window open to allow the smell to dissipate. It’ll be just another thing for Maddie to lecture me about. She’s always hated these things. Cancer sticks.
Squirreling the pack inside my bedside table, I head for the shower to wash the day away.
My bed and a book are calling.
* * *
I sleep hard that night. So hard, I don’t remember dreaming.
A vacuum downstairs wakes me.
Boots stomping around the kitchen.
They’re here for the rest of the furniture…that I’m lying on. And for the boxes I still need to pack.
Groaning, I roll out of bed, the beginning of a headache gnawing above my eyebrows. This is why I haven’t acquired a love for wine—I always pay for it the next morning. But it was all we had.
When I stand, something on the ceiling snags my attention. Something…red.
