by Jean Haus
He smiles at her and she smiles back. For once, I’m truly jealous of their relationship.
“See you later,” Riley says over her shoulder as they leave.
Once they’re gone, I slam the broken stem against the mattress in frustration. I’m about to slam it again when a guitar riff comes out of my phone.
At the sight of the name on the screen, the stem falls from my hand.
After picking up my phone, I cautiously say, “Mom?”
“Hello, Justin,” she says in a formal tone. I swear the older she gets, the more uppity she sounds. “I’m calling you back.”
“I called you almost a month ago.”
“We returned this week.”
Not today. Or even yesterday. They got back days ago. “I’m pretty sure they have phones in Barbados.”
“We were getting away.”
“From your son?”
“Please quit the dramatics. What was the reason for your call?”
To talk to my mother, but the need is fading with each passing second. “Can’t remember.”
“Well, if your memory comes back, we’re home now, but please don’t call past ten.”
“What if it’s an emergency?”
“Then call the local authorities, that’s what taxes are for. Besides, what am I going to do across the state?”
“Give a shit?”
“How lovely. Drama paired with vulgarity. Good night, Justin.”
She hangs up, cutting off my response.
After tossing the phone on my bed, I forget about smashing my guitar stem against the bed and start beating it against the garbage can, trying to forget my mother’s icy, nasal voice. Even more than that, I want to forget the reason why my temper exploded in the first place.
Chapter 18
Allie
I slowly climb the stairs to the apartment above the tattoo shop, pulling up my hood to ward off the cold rain. I’ve been putting off talking to Shay, but Trevor keeps bugging me to increase her rent. Usually, I’d agree. I tend to make decisions with a business head when it comes to the shop, but with Shay, it’s a different story.
After noticing her wandering the streets one too many times—in the cold, in the rain, late at night—I started talking to her when I’d see her in the parking lot or passing on the sidewalk. Then I started inviting her into the shop. At first, it was just a few minutes at a time. I’d give her sodas or cookies or candy—Todd has a wicked sweet tooth—and say good-bye. But eventually she started showing up at the door more and more often. Within a month she was a regular at our pizza and takeout nights. And gradually her story started coming out.
Shay’s mother not only parties constantly, but she goes through men like some women go through shoes. As Shay got older, the boyfriends started hitting on her. One even tried to get into her bedroom late at night. After that experience, Shay made a point of leaving the house whenever her mom brought a new boyfriend home. Sometimes she’d hang out at a friend’s house; other times she’d roam the streets until four or five in the morning. Neighbors told her they’d reported seeing her out late, hoping that notifying child services might change her mom’s behavior, but nothing happened.
Working at the shop was Shay’s idea after hearing that I was advertising for another receptionist. When she asked about the job, she also asked about the FOR RENT sign in the window of the studio upstairs. I thought about it for maybe a total of fifteen minutes. Between her work hours and renting to a minor, the whole thing was illegal any way you looked at it, but then, Shay hanging out on the streets was dangerous. Even though we don’t live in a high crime city, I knew something would eventually happen to her.
Illegal or not, I decided to hire her. The local authorities obviously didn’t want to fix the problem. Between my parents and some friends, we rounded up enough used stuff for the studio apartment and Shay settled in. I didn’t have the heart to charge her much rent, so we agreed on a few hundred bucks a month. She’s been working for me for over a year. I’ve watched her change from a timid, sad girl to a happy, independent almost adult. She used to miss school regularly. Now she goes in the morning and co-ops at the shop. She loves working at Dragonfly Ink. Looks to Todd and me as older siblings, but she hates that we won’t ink her until fall, when she’ll turn eighteen.
I don’t mind breaking a few laws but I do have my limits.
I knock once on the door and she yells, “Come in!”
“What’s up, Al?” Shay turns to me from where she’s standing at the tiny sink, washing dishes, and smiles. Her mother is on the couch smoking a cigarette.
“I need to talk with you about something,” I say, closing the door behind me.
“Sure,” says Shay.
I glare at Shay’s mother. “I’ve told you this is a nonsmoking apartment.” I’ve also told her if she ever brings one of her boyfriends over, I’ll tear out every last strand of her bleached hair. I’ve never been violent in my life, but I’ll go nuts on Shay’s mom if she ever makes what has become Shay’s safe place feel the opposite.
“Oh yeah,” she says, stubbing out the cigarette onto a plate of half-eaten macaroni and cheese. “Right.” The look in her heavily black-lined eyes is not friendly. She nods to Shay. “Thanks for lunch. Gotta get ready for work.”
She works nights at some dive bar. Her shift won’t start for hours. She’s making a lame excuse to get away from me. I’ll take it. To say I can’t stand this woman would be an understatement. I loathe her. But she’s Shay’s mom.
Shay sets a dish in the strainer next to the sink. “You coming for lunch next week?”
“Sure thing, kid,” her mom says, escaping out the door.
Funny, Shay’s offering to cook for her mom. Funny in a sick twisted way.
I go lean against the counter and decide to get right to the point. “Trevor saw how much I was charging you for rent. He wasn’t too happy.”
She pulls out a towel and starts drying. “Guess I can see why.”
“He wants it doubled. I agreed to increase it by a hundred bucks a month, but I can give you a raise after he leaves to make up for it.”
Shay frowns. “How about more hours?”
Of course, Shay would just want to work more. “Not until you graduate.” The girl has raised her GPA to a three-point, which is impressive considering where it was a year ago.
“You already pay me too much. Two dollars more than Mandy. How is that fair?”
“Mandy stands behind the counter looking pretty and you actually work. You’re the only one who cleans, stocks, files, and does anything else I ask.”
Shay twists the towel in her hands. “I can probably cover fifty more each month. Can you loan me the difference until May?”
I knew this was going to be difficult. It wasn’t easy to get her to accept the last raise either. Between her independence and her pride, Shay can be sensitive. “Fine.”
“It’s only two months, right?” Shay says, trying to appease my apparent irritation. Without waiting for my answer, she lifts a pot off the two-burner stove. “Want some homemade macaroni and cheese?”
I shake my head. “Already ate, but how do you stay so damn slim?”
Scooping the gooey mess into a plastic container and capping with a lid, she tilts her head, lost in thought. “Isn’t damn considered cussing?”
I push off the counter. “I’d better go.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s on the cussing list.”
“What list? And they say it on TV.” I turn the doorknob.
She shoves the container of macaroni at me. “Would you let Ben watch those shows? You have a pretty strict TV list when I babysit.”
We stare at each other for a long moment while her lips twitch. I grab the container. “Fine,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’ll put five in the jar as soon as I get downstairs.”
Her
laugh follows me as I descend the stairway. I might want to pull her mother’s hair out, but I wouldn’t mind giving Shay’s curls a tug now and then either.
I get to the bottom of the stairs and stand there, frozen at the sight of Justin getting out of his Beemer. Raindrops hit my face as emotions run through me: guilt, anxiety, desire. Along with a strong urge to run back upstairs.
He’s over to me in an instant, “Hello, Allie.”
My stomach tenses. “Hey,” I say lightly, stepping onto the sidewalk. “What are you doing here?”
His gaze is flat. “Came to talk to you, obviously.”
I snap at the idea of his forcing me into communication, “One would think my lack of response to your phone bombardment would make it apparent I don’t want to talk.” My nails dig into my palms.
He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not one for being ignored.”
I glower at him. “I’m not one of your adoring fan girls.”
“I never treated you like you were.” He leans close. “So why are you treating me like a piece of shit?”
Between my awareness I have been rude and his stern, unrelenting expression, I cave. “Okay, let’s talk.” Not wanting Mandy or Mac to see us, I move to the side of the building even though we’re getting wet in the cold rain. He stands across from me. Too close.
This isn’t going to be easy. “Look, I’m sorry for ignoring you. It was rude, but I couldn’t find a way to explain there isn’t any point in us continuing to date.”
“Point? What the hell does that even mean? I just wanted to get to know you. I still do. But obviously you were playing me the whole time. Why else wouldn’t you say something about Ben?”
My face flushes in exasperation. “I wasn’t hiding that I have a son. Between text flirting and swapping spit under the stars, my son didn’t come up, but it’s possible…”—I pause and frown—“okay, probable, that I didn’t want to share that part of my life because—”
“You were never serious about me,” Justin fills in with a tight tone.
Cringing, I nod slowly. “I was trying to keep things light between us. Ben is the most important thing in my life. He’ll always come first,” I say stubbornly.
“He should. But what does him coming first have to do with me? With us?”
I groan. Explaining what’s going on in my head is just too messy. “You’re the lead singer of a band. From what I hear, you’re also the king of one-night stands. I know you get fan girls to do your homework.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Yeah, when I saw you at the library it was clear as day. We’re at different places in our life.” His jaw tightens but I can’t help adding, “I have to be responsible. You live carefree.”
He rests a hand next to the brick on the side of my head and leans close. I swallow tightly. His eyes roam over my face too long. “My past is my past. I can’t change it, but I can tell you this—haven’t slept with anyone since I met you. Not saying there weren’t opportunities or I didn’t consider it. But since we met, nobody compares to you. Those other girls don’t have your soulful eyes. Or your sexy voice. Or that lip ring. I want you. And I’ve only wanted you since the first night at your shop.”
The clearness of his gaze and the conviction in his voice make my breath catch. And his words about me? What girl wouldn’t be awestruck by this moment? As I look up into his face, the rain falls over both of us and his one-night-stand merry-go-round fades into oblivion. The sincerity in his expression and voice make every part of me want to believe him.
“And you’re right,” he says, stroking a wet strand of hair away from my cheek with a gentle finger. “I’m practically responsibility free, but I’d like the responsibility of making you happy.”
“Justin…,” I say as my knees threaten to buckle.
He leans until our noses almost touch. “I can make you happy, Allie. Don’t tell me you don’t feel the connection between us. Don’t give me excuses about responsibilities. You can be with me and still run your shop and be a good mother. Quit trying to extinguish the possibilities between us.”
He’s seducing me with words and with his touch, and my entire body warms as his finger traces the line of my cheekbone. He’s disorienting me and getting past all my reservations except one.
I reach up and catch his hand, pulling it away from my face. “Like possible heartbreak?”
His fingers grip mine and he gently touches his forehead to mine. “You don’t think I’m confused too?” He draws in a deep breath. “You terrify me. I haven’t opened my heart in a long, long time. Shit, I was sure I didn’t have one. But somehow you cracked it open without even trying.”
My heart tightens at his words, at his openness. Feeling completely overwhelmed, I step away. Tugging at my hand, he tries to pull me closer. “I just need some space to breathe and think, Justin.”
He quits tugging but doesn’t let go of my hand while calm patience fills his moss-green eyes. Raindrops trickle along the strong lines of his face and drip from his hair. He’s so beautiful I can’t consider anything else with him in my sight.
I glance down at our hands, and his words wash over me like the rain that’s pelting down. I don’t have time to make myself happy, but my heart tells me it could be possible with him.
Inside, I feel like I’m falling but I want to keep things slow. I say, “Maybe we could start over.” I peer at him through rain-wet lashes. “Saturday night? Like a first blind date?”
His expression is placid as he nods gently, but his grip tightens on my hand.
“I have to go,” I say. He doesn’t let go. A smile escapes me as I tug. I gesture to my wet hair with the hand that’s still holding the macaroni container. “Really. I have an appointment to get ready for.”
He finally releases my hand. “I suppose we’re strangers right now.”
I laugh as we walk around the corner of the building. “Until Saturday.”
The purr of the Z4’s engine sounds as I enter the shop, then right inside the door, I stop short, startled. Trevor is standing in the window, watching Justin drive away. “You still seeing that douche bag?”
“It’s none of your business who I’m seeing.” I march past him to the counter.
He follows me. “But it is my business who sees Ben.”
I whip around. “We’ve been on a few dates. He hasn’t even met Ben. And I’m not planning on it anytime soon.”
He leans on the counter. “How about never?”
“When are you going back to California?” I glare at him.
He drums his fingers on the counter. “How about never?” His smile is not warm.
I’m getting tired of Trevor and the constant reminders of our past that tear through me each time I see him or hear his voice. Though I feel like ripping open the plastic container and smashing the macaroni in his smug face, I say, “Since you’re into the word never at the moment, let me be clear it applies to us.” With that I leave him standing at the counter, looking pissed.
Chapter 19
Justin
Saturday night takes forever to come, but when Allie opens the door to her apartment, the sight of her makes the wait worth it. The smile on her face is warm and welcoming, and her gray eyes are bright. She’s dressed simply in a tank and flowing skirt that doesn’t reach her knees, and she looks beautiful from the top of her head all the way to her sandal-clad feet. Those bare legs are going to drive me shit-crazy all night. The nerves I tried to conquer in the car detonate inside of me at how badly I want this second chance to be perfect.
“Hello.” She gestures for me to come inside. “You must be Justin.”
I grin at her way of starting over and roll with it. “And you must be Allie. Your picture on the website doesn’t do you justice. You’re far more beautiful in person.”
“Ah, thank you,” she says, laughing.
Stepping inside, I
hand her the flowers and bottle of wine in my hands. Sam is getting sick of me dragging him to the wine store, but by summer I’ll be legal.
Her smile grows. “You didn’t need to bring anything.” She lifts the bouquet of sunflowers, and whatever else the florist put in there. “But they’re lovely.”
“There’s need and there’s want. I wanted to.”
Still smiling, she shakes her head slightly. “Well, I suppose we did need the wine. I didn’t have time to get creative. Busy week at work. So we’re having dinner here.”
“Sounds perfect.”
She shuts the door and I glance around the apartment. If I keep looking at her, we won’t be eating dinner.
We’re in a big, carpeted room with a small dining table at one end and a leather couch across from a TV at the other. The tall tiled counter/bar behind the table opens to a narrow galley kitchen. Everything is plain and simple, from the wooden table to the cotton curtains. Except for the paintings on the walls. They’re bright and vibrant. I walk to one that hangs above the square dining table. Decrepit old buildings lining the edges of the painting frame the colorful swirling sky at its center.
“This yours?” I ask as she sets the wine on the counter/bar and reaches for an empty vase near the sink.
“Yes…you like?”
“It’s amazing.” I lean closer, studying the paint strokes. “There appears to be a contrast with the deteriorating buildings and the beauty of sunset.”
“Pretty much what I was going for,” she says, unwrapping the flowers and turning on the kitchen faucet.
I move toward the painting above the couch. “Your son?”
“Yes, Ben at two months.”
The wide-eyed baby lies in a bright blanket, with swirling colors leaping out of the painting. I let out a low whistle. “And I thought your tats were good.”
Setting the flower-filled vase on the table, Allie smiles with satisfaction. I’d love to see that look in bed. “Thank you. That’s quite a compliment coming from someone who has been to as many museums and galleries as you.”
