“Nat, you always do great work. I love your creations.”
“I know, girl, but you’re biased. This is an outsider liking my work. Way different.”
So does he want you to do an entire line or just those pieces?” I’d already scanned the menu and knew what I wanted, so I passed it across to Natalie. I’m predictable. I always ordered the same thing, but at least I knew what I liked.
“Gustafson said he'd like to see the whole line, even though a few of my items aren't even finished yet. You know what I’ll be doing every waking moment for the rest of the freakin’ week, don’t you?” Natalie looked over at me with a desperate look on her face “Are you sure you can't run a sewing machine, Molls?” She checked off her sushi selection with the pencil and passed the order sheet to the server, who’d just delivered our sake.
I laughed at the idea of me sewing anything as complicated as a dress. I’d failed to get my 4-H sewing badge because I couldn't master a few basic stitches. “Nat, you know I love you, right? Did you know I love you so much, I won't destroy your fabric? Your dream? You do want this job, right?”
Natalie sipped on her sake and rolled her eyes. “Sewing is easy. It’s the designing that’s a pain in the ass. Anyway, you can make it up to me this weekend.” She waggled her eyebrows at me and I knew something was up.
“Uh-oh. What’s this weekend about?” I popped some edamame in my mouth and gave my friend a skeptical look.
“Now, now. Don't be negative. Greg's roommate wants to meet you. He saw our picture on Facebook. You know the one we took at the music festival? He said you were a hottie and he'd love to get to know you. His name is Brantley. He's kind of a musician.”
“Kind of a musician? I'm not even sure what that means.”
“Brantley graduated from Van Wyss Art College and he’s into experimental musical platforms. At least, that’s what he told me. Do I know what that means? Hell, no.” Natalie gave a wicked little laugh. “But I swear on our friendship that he's gorgeous. He could probably do a spread in GQ, if he hasn’t already.
I scrunched up my face. “He’s a model? Nat, I don’t want to get all caught up in model talk and shit. I’m a nurse, remember?”
“No, silly, but he could be. He has dark hair, kinda long, maybe shoulder-length. Muscles to fucking die for and if I remember right, he has dark eyes. No, maybe not. Hell, I don’t remember. I was too busy checking out his pecs! I kind of wish I’d met him first. I wouldn't have given Greg a second look.”
“Natalie! I thought you were really into Greg?” Some of our sushi arrived and my mouth watered in pleasure, just looking at it.
“God, girl, I'm just teasing,” she answered, then picked up a sushi roll with her chopsticks and stuffed it into her mouth. “Listen, I know I’m asking a lot, but I’m not ready to be alone with Greg quite yet. This time, I want to go slow and take my time. I know if we go out together alone, I’ll rush things, and you know my track record. I suck at dating. But, I want to make a new start, do things differently. Come on, it’s just one date. Besides, you don’t have anything to do this weekend, do you?” Natalie looked at me kind of ironically. That was the one thing I didn’t care for about my friend, Nat. Sometimes, she got real cold-hearted. And I don’t even think she knew it.
“For your information, I am interested in someone.” I popped some sushi into my mouth and watched her surprised look.
“No way! Who? Do I know him? Does he work at the hospital? Oh, my God—it’s a doctor, right?” She was fully worked up now.
“His name is Jack. Jack Fitzgerald.”
“Jack Fitzgerald? THE Jack Fitzgerald?” Natalie put down her chopsticks and said in a loud whisper, “Have you lost your marbles, girl? I know who Jack Fitzgerald is and he is definitely bad news. If you take my advice, you will run. Run the other way as fast as you can. There’s no way your dad would approve of that guy.”
“He came to the clinic the other day, the one at the Village.” I paused, and avoided looking at her. “He’s a really nice guy and you should see how he is with kids. I don’t know what he’s done in the past that makes you think he’s so awful. From what I’ve seen, he’s really nice, even though he doesn’t like people to see it.” I told her about Ricky and Elaina, and about how Jack had brought the child in and paid the medical bill himself. She didn’t seem swayed in her opinion of him.
Natalie scrunched up her face. “He’s good-looking in a scruffy sort of way, I’ll give him that, but he’s no saint. Jack Fitzgerald races cars—illegally, I might add—and he’s a familiar face at the county jail. Remember Howard Newlin? The guy I dated last spring? He was big into that racing scene and was always bragging on Fitzgerald. Howard wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but even he knew that Fitz boy was trouble.” She pursed her red lips thoughtfully. “Oh my God! No wonder that jerk ran when the sirens approached. It was Jack Fitzgerald I’m surprised I didn’t recognize him sooner. I would’ve fucking turned him in right then. Damn.”
“You’re not going to tell on him, are you?” Now I regretted saying anything to her at all. I tried to hide my disappointment in her assessment of Jack, but I’m glad she didn’t hide anything from me. “Do you know what kind of trouble he was in? Like street racing?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but I think so—among other things. His mother’s a bit of a troubled soul as well. She’s been arrested more times than he has. I can’t remember her name, but let’s just say Momma Fitzgerald would never win a ‘Mother of the Year’ award.”
I sighed. Poor guy. “That explains a lot. Dysfunctional parents raise dysfunctional children. Do you know anything about his dad?”
Natalie looked at me with concern over her dish of wasabi and soy. “No. I don’t think he has one, and Molls, I know you have a big heart, but you can’t fix a guy like Jack Fitzgerald. Please don’t take him on as a pet project—he’s damaged. Like really damaged. Guys like that just fuck ‘em and leave ‘em.”
I blushed at the idea of having sex with Jack. “No, I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. I guess I just…well, I just meant he was cool.” I tried to laugh it off, but now she had me wondering what ‘guys like that’ were really like.
“Well, I’m glad you’re thinking of falling in love again—all the more reason to go out with Brantley. So you’ll do it?”
I pushed my sushi around in the sauce then popped another delicious piece it in my mouth. I nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’ll be your wingman for the weekend. I don’t have anything else to do, and getting out would probably do me some good.”
I thought about Jack and what she’d told me about him, but steered clear of any further mention of him. Like the good friend I am, I listened to Natalie talk about her meeting with Gustafson and her upcoming debut line with him. Once we’d finished eating, she hurried off to go work on her designs, but Jack Fitzgerald stayed on my mind.
As I drove home, I thought about everything she’d said about him and his mother. I couldn’t help but think she was wrong. Natalie had been my best friend since elementary school, but sometimes she could be a bit of a snob and too judgmental.
I rolled into the driveway behind Dad’s Audi and walked up the steps to our home. Truthfully, it was really too much house for just the two of us, but Dad loved it. I walked in and tossed my keys on the marble-topped table in the hallway, picked up my mail and flipped through the letters.
“Mollie? Is that you?” Dad’s voice called out from his study down the hall. “Could you come in here a minute, please?”
What is it now? I’m too tired to argue tonight.
“Yeah, Dad, it’s me. Be there in a sec!” I tossed the mail back on the table and walked down the hall. I paused when I got to the doorway and leaned against the thick, wooden frame. Everything in his office was either wood or leather—it was definitely the office of an attorney. “What’s up?”
“Come here, honey. I need to ask you a few questions about the other night.”
“Aww, Daddy, do we have
to?” I whined. I used to have him wrapped around my pinky finger, but I guess raising me over the last few years by himself had gotten to him.
“Yes, we have to. Are you sure you can’t remember who nearly ran you off the road?” I suddenly felt nervous—surely, Nat hadn’t told, had she?
I let out a long sigh. “Daddy, I’ve already told you everything I know, and I’m fine. Can we just drop it?” That wasn’t exactly a lie, right?
“Mollie, honey, I’m concerned about you. The police think they know who ran that red light. They caught the vehicle on the traffic cam, but having a witness statement is much better for any court proceedings. What if the detective were to show you some pictures? Could you pick him out of a lineup?”
“Oh, my God, Dad, really? All this trouble for a stupid traffic incident where no one even got hurt and nothing got damaged? Seems a bit over the top, doesn’t it? And I already told you, I don’t know who it was.” Yeah, that one was a flat-out lie.
He narrowed his blue eyes and focused them on me like two lasers. “Don’t try and pull the wool over my eyes. For one thing, I’m an attorney and I’m used to people lying to me. I can spot them a mile away, and I know you well enough to realize that you aren’t being totally honest with me. What is it, Mollie? Had you girls been drinking? Were you drunk? The police don’t care about that. They just want the guy off the streets. He’s dangerous. Apparently he’s some kind of small-town hoodlum and racing is not all he does illegally.”
I threw my hands up in desperation, and turned to look him straight in his eyes. “Dad, I told you before, I wasn’t drunk. Natalie had a few drinks, but she knew I was driving. Okay? No biggie. I’m okay and that’s that. Tell your detective friends that I don’t want or need to press charges.” My chin jutted out instinctively. I could be just as stubborn as Dad could when I wanted to be.
“Mollie Faye, I have a reputation to maintain in this town. I won’t have my daughter lying to the police—or to me. You need to think about that. We aren’t a family of criminals here and, for the record, it’s not up to you whether to press charges or not. This guy broke the law by blowing through a red traffic light, and it was caught on camera.”
“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! You are so worried about your reputation! Who freakin’ cares, Dad? I’m not a criminal and I don’t know anything! Please let it go!”
I stomped out of his office like a five-year-old throwing a fit. Well, what the hell? If he was going to treat me like a child, I sure was going to act like one. I stomped all the way upstairs, got undressed and sunk into a warm tub of bubbles before I slipped into bed. I was so ready for this day to be over.
Chapter Seven — Jack
“Get your ass out here, Fitzgerald. I’d hate to tear up this fucking dump. I can either beat your ass in there, or out here! You pick the spot, you fucking dick!” Dylan yelled at me through the torn screen door. I laughed in his face. I had no idea what this guy was doing here in my yard, or how he’d found me, but who was I to deny him a full-blown ass whipping? I put a shirt on, stepped on to the rickety porch and followed him into the yard. I kept my eye out in case he’d brought a friend or two who might want to jump me.
“Fuck, Dylan. All this because I kicked your ass last week?” Out the corner of my eye, I could see the neighborhood kids lose interest in their basketball game and come closer to watch the fight. He circled me, but I kept my eye on him. Sometimes cowards like him slipped razors into their boot tips or had knives stashed in a pocket. I didn’t see any blades, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.
“Jack, you fucking asshole! Don’t do that shit in my yard—you’ll have the cops here! Get the fuck outta here with that shit!” my mother screamed at me like a drunken banshee, cussing me in her classic, loving way.
“Mom, get back in the house. This ain’t nothing. I got this,” I yelled at her. I didn’t take my eyes off of Dylan for a minute.
Dylan laughed at her. “She’s got your number, doesn’t she, asshole? You are one fucked-up dude, Fitzgerald. And your momma’s a mean old bitch, too, ain’t she?” He tried to egg me on, but my mom wasn’t my weak spot. I laughed at him, again. I knew what she was—I didn’t have any delusions about that.
“Is that why you came down here? To talk about my mother? Come on, man, you’re just a sore loser.” Andre yelled something at me, but I ignored him. I was focused on Dylan’s face, then I saw what Andre must have been warning me about—Dylan did have a knife after all—a short blade that could probably kill me if he had the chance to get close enough.
“No, motherfucker. You should’ve kept your filthy hands off Suzanne, you prick. You fucking knew she was my girl, fuckwad!
“Dude. That’s all you’re worried about? I thought it was something important.” I replied. A sly grin spread across my face as I remembered her head bobbing up and down on my dick. She sure had a soft, warm mouth.
“Yeah, I heard all about it—her sucking you off after the race, like you’re some big man or something. You ain’t nothin’ but a fucked-up douche bag who thinks he can race. Apparently, she told her girlfriend how your dick was all pierced up.” Then he looked across at my mom and yelled, “Miss Fitzgerald, did you know your son has a fucking ring through his dick? How does that make you feel, Mom?”
I laughed hard in his face. “Seriously, dude? You telling my mom on me? She doesn’t give a shit. And why are you so worried about my dick? I know your lady sure liked it.”
Dylan took a swing at me with the blade, but I was ready. He missed, but followed that with a fist that landed on my chin. His knuckles crushed my lip and he knocked me to the ground. I sat there for a second and breathed in hard. Dylan moved closer and stood over me. I didn’t take my eyes off that blade while I rubbed the blood from my lip and laughed at him. It felt crazy knowing Dylan had a knife and it didn’t even scare me. He and everyone around us didn’t know I wasn’t afraid to die—if life was over for me, I was okay with that. I’d had nothing but a shitty life this far, anyway.
He probably could’ve stabbed me right then, and I wasn’t sure why he didn’t, but I got back on my feet quickly and we squared off again. “You really want to fight me over a piece of ass? That crazy-ass bitch wanted it. She was begging for it. What? You’re not taking care of business, man? They’ve got treatment for that now, you know?”
“Fuck you, Fitz! And stay away from my girl!”
“She was slurping and sucking like a good little slut. Swallowed as well. Have you kissed her since, man? You know she didn’t want to leave. Hell, I had to kick her sweet ass out of my fuckin’ car in the end!” I was so worked up I didn’t even notice the kids around me.
He ran at me but I sidestepped him, grabbed his hand and twisted the knife out of it. I threw it up on the porch and it just missed my mom, which threw her into more hysterics. With all the strength I could muster, I smashed my right fist into his face and his head tilted back with the force. Blood dripped down from his busted lip, but it didn’t stop him at all. He sent another blow my way and nailed me on the cheek, under my left eye. Mom screamed at the top of her lungs. She’d totally lost it but I tuned out her obscenities. She was never supportive of me and when she was drunk, she was even more hateful. Today was one of those days.
“Hit him, Fitz! Hit him again!” Andre cheered me on, and although it was great to get some encouragement, inside my heart sank. I didn’t want the kids to see me fighting but I wasn’t about to get my ass kicked. Not on my turf. My fist flew through the air again and connected with his nose. Dylan hit the ground, groaning and grabbed his face.
I pushed his leg with my foot. “Get up, Dylan. You started this—I’m going to fucking finish it.”
He raised his hand as if to say stop. The kids screamed at me to hit him again, but I noticed little Ricky was crying. I stopped and took a step back from Dylan. “You finished?” I asked him, without offering to help him up. He staggered to his feet, brushing himself off. He was covered from head to toe in blood and di
rt.
“This ain’t over, Fitzgerald. I mean it. You’d better fucking watch your back.” Dylan climbed into his car and drove off, spinning his wheels, slinging gravel and dirt everywhere.
My left eye was swollen and blood poured out from under it. Dylan must have clocked me good, and out of my good eye, I could see a crowd had gathered to watch me fight. Little Ricky was still crying and his mother, Elaina, was holding him to her and looked at me disapprovingly. I’d never wanted them to see me fighting in the fucking dirt like a loser, even though half of them already believed I was—at least, their parents did.
“Hey, Fitz! You need to go to the clinic and let them look at your eye. It’s gross man, but you kicked that fool’s ass!” Andre tried to give me a high five but I had to pass.
“Naw, man. I’ll go in the house and clean it up. I’ll be a’ight. You all go home now before the cops get here.”
“They’re already on their way. Your mom called ’em. Don’t go in the house. For real, man, go to the clinic and let ‘em fix you up.” Andre got behind the wheel of my car, “Come on, I’ll drive you.”
I laughed at him. “No way, man. Move your ass over.”
We drove to the clinic, which was only a few blocks away, and I suspected that if the cops wanted to find me, they wouldn’t have had too much difficulty. By the time I got to the clinic, blood poured down my cheek, covering my chest and the front part of my jeans. I couldn’t believe this much blood had come out of my face.
I hadn’t gotten into the door before Mollie came rushing to greet me. She looked like an angel of mercy in her pink scrubs, her long, blonde hair in a sleek ponytail. Every time I saw her, she seemed even more beautiful. She immediately led me to the triage room, the same room where she’d treated little Ricky.
“Okay, lie back on this bench and don’t worry about the blood. What the hell happened to you? Is it just your eye?” She pulled my shirt off and began a preliminary exam. Before I could speak, she continued with her questioning. “Damn. What happened? You look like you got hit by a truck. Where are all these bruises from?”
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