His voice depends. “Careful with that tongue, little bird, or I’ll put it to good use.”
My lips part at the suggestive nature of his words. I clear my throat and turn away from him to look back over the bay. “So, this book you read?” I press, pretending that his words didn’t just send shivers down my spine in the most delicious way.
“Basically, it said that when people pretend a problem or something from their pasts don’t exist, and they shove it down deep inside, it’s like packing ammo into a heated storage room. Eventually, it’s all going to explode. Trust me, I’ve been there, and now, I have nightmares because of it. With your anxiety, it might be worse for you. Maybe not now, but a week or a year down the line, and I don’t want you to have to go through that.”
My heart warms. He read a book on anxiety because of me. For me. My mom was the only one who ever attempted to understand me and the way I function because of anxiety. I’m...shocked. Confused. But also surprised, in a way that makes me eager to find out more about why exactly we are here right now.
“What do you recommend, Doctor Nine?” I purse my lips.
“I’ll show you. Hang on.” Nine jogs over to a plastic storage box nailed to the concrete seawall and opens it, retrieving a golf bag with a full set of golf clubs still inside.
“We’re golfing?” I ask, until I recognize the cheesy golf club cover things on the edge. Green with white pom-poms on top. “Wait, how do you have Jared’s golf clubs?”
“I broke back into the house to see if the movers left any of your clothes since you didn’t take much. They didn’t. But I stumbled upon these in the corner of the garage, and since all the pictures in his office are of him golfing I figured they were important to him, and therefore will work perfectly for our little exercise today.”
“Apparently they weren’t important enough to him to take with him,” I mutter bitterly. Too bitterly.
Nine gives me an I-told-you-so look. “Which brings me to today’s lesson, little bird.”
I wave my hands for him to continue.
“Closure,” Nine plucks a club from the bag. “You need closure.”
I cross my arms defensively over my chest. “I don’t need closure. I never even loved him. Am I pissed he left without warning and stole from me? Yes. Do I need closure on a relationship I never should have been in to begin with?” I shake my head. “Eh, not so much.”
He flips the club around in his hand and catches it with ease. “I never loved my mother, and she abandoned me at birth. I didn’t think I needed closure until the bitch died, and I got it by tossing her ashes into the Logan’s Beach Dump.”
“How did it feel?” I ask, curiously.
He grins and holds out the club for me to take. “Better than Preppy’s super smoothies.”
I’m still skeptical, and he sees it written all over my face.
“I need you to trust me on this one,” he presses, unfolding my arms and pushing the club into my hands.
I relent and close my fingers around it. “Okay, fine, but what exactly am I supposed to do with this?”
“You’re supposed to yell all of the things you would say to him if he was standing here right now and then toss his shit into the water.”
“Can’t we just go for ice cream?” I ask, sticking out my lower lip. Even thinking about dredging up the past makes me feel heavy and weighted to the ground.
“We can.” He points to the golf club in my hand. “After.”
I take a deep breath and face the water. “Jared, you were an asshole of epic proportions,” I say flatly, and drop the club into the water. I look to Nine. “We good?”
He hands me another club. “Not even close. Close your eyes. Remember how he made you feel.”
I take it from his hands and close my eyes. I remember a day, not so long ago, I was having a panic attack, and he looked at me wrapped up in blankets like I was an alien. “You never understood me,” I say, my tone a little louder. I toss the club underhand into the water. Nine’s right, it feels...better?
“Good,” he says, handing me another one. “Try again. Take a deep breath. Louder this time.”
“You called me crazy instead of trying to understand me.” I toss it into the water, further this time. Another club is already in my hands. “You made me trust you, then you took everything away from me.”
“Louder!” Another club magically appears.
My voice is so loud I can hear my own echo over the trees, yelling back at me. “You drove the stupidest fucking car that was ever made!” I’m throwing overhand now, launching the clubs like javelins into the water. One after the other. “I mean orange? Really!? That’s a fucking pumpkin, not a fucking car.”
“Good, louder!”
I take the club. “You didn’t listen when I said I didn’t want that stupid fucking house!” Toss.
“You never came to the cemetery on the anniversary of my parents’ deaths.” I’m launching them now, throwing with everything I have, ignoring the pain in my shoulder as I throw each one harder and harder.
“You told me you’d take care of me, but you never fucking meant it.” I send it sailing into the water. I’m hyper focused and surrounded by all of the feelings Anxiety has been filing away where Jared’s sudden departure is concerned.
“You never took the time to get to know me. I was a pet to you. Something you had to clean up after. Something you paraded around in public, then put in a cage at night. I’m no one’s fucking pet!” Launch.
“You never loved me, and I never loved you, but you never gave me a reason to love you!” Launch.
“You have a really tiny fucking penis!” Launch.
When no more clubs appear in my hand, a deep primal rage tears from my throat, releasing everything within. I don’t stop screaming until I feel the last of the resentment leave my body.
When I open my eyes Nine is standing in front of me, watching. Waiting. “How do you feel?”
“I feel…out of breath and relieved and like there’s this energy coursing through me, like I could run laps around the house or swim across this bay and back,” I say with a small laugh. “How did you know I needed that? How do you always seem to know what I need?”
He tips my chin up, rubbing his thumb over my jaw. “Because, I know firsthand that sometimes you gotta burn shit to the ground to appreciate the beauty in the ashes.”
He’s right, and I find myself caring about him even more for it.
I care about him?
Filing that tidbit under CAN’T DEAL and moving on.
I clear my throat. “Uh, ready for that ice cream?” I ask, trying to distract from the heaviness of the moment.
Nine’s gaze darkens. He sucks in his lip ring then releases it, his eyes on my lips. “Not yet, but I’m ready for you.”
He pulls me toward him, and my heart races as he lowers his head and his lips...buzz?
But it isn’t his lips buzzing, it’s his phone. He pulls it from his pocket and checks the screen.
“Shit, I almost forgot I got to be somewhere.” He grabs my hand and tugs me toward his truck which is parked behind the garage.
And just like that, the moment is broken.
“So, you’re really going to trust me to be here all by myself?” I ask as we pull back up to the RV. We get out of the truck. “I mean, because that makes you a terrible kidnapper, just so you know. Did you skip that day of abduction school?”
Dre, Preppy’s wife, emerges from inside the RV and waves to us.
Nine chuckles and waves back.
I slap his hard bicep and point an accusing finger at the smug-looking bastard. “You got me a babysitter?”
He places his hand on the small of my back and I pretend it doesn’t send shivers to other jealous parts of my body that long to feel his touch again. He guides me toward the door. “No. Dre’s not your babysitter.” He points to where Pike is sitting on a lawn chair at the front of the RV with his legs crossed and resting on top of a red cooler. “
He’s your babysitter.”
As much as I didn’t like the idea of Nine arranging a playdate for me, Dre and I get along fantastically. Having only spoken to her for a few minutes when we met last time, distracted by her adorable children vying for her attention, we didn’t exactly have a chance to get to know each other at her house, but after talking with her today for only a few moments on our own, I feel like I know her enough to conclude that I like Dre. I like her very much.
Plus, we have a lot in common.
Dre works on renovating old houses, restoring them to their original condition before selling them for a hefty profit, which gives us a lot to talk about with my past in real estate. Not to mention that I’m in love with the whole red-lipped, fifties pin-up girl vibe she’s got going on that totally works for her. Dre might just be the coolest chick I’ve ever met besides Yuli, and since Yuli is a billion miles away, it feels really good to have a girl around to talk to again.
“I think I might have a girl crush on you,” I tell Dre.
She smiles brightly. “Ditto, Lenny. You’re a breath of fresh air, but honestly, even if you turned out to be a terrible human, I’m just happy that Preppy’s got the kids today and to be out of the house on my own for a few minutes.”
Speaking of out of the house…
“You don’t, by chance, know where Nine went running off to today?” I ask.
Dre is unloading a wardrobe full of clothes and spreading them out on the bed. Dresses. Tops. Jeans and an assortment of sandals and sneakers.
“I do know, but I think it’s better if he tells you,” she says. “Besides, it’s not my place to tell other people’s secrets. Lord knows I’ve had a ton of my own I wouldn’t be happy if people went blabbing them when I wasn’t ready to tell them myself, but I also don’t want to lie to you. Can you understand that?”
I nod. I can understand that and I appreciate her honestly and her reasons. “I just hate secrets. I don’t even know why he’s kidnapped me or why he cares that there are men after me. It doesn’t make any sense!”
Dre offers me a small smile and places her hands on my shoulders. “For the record, I’ve been kidnapped, and this—” She twirls her index finger around in the air at the walls of the RV. “—ain’t it.”
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” I offer, plopping down on the bed. “I didn’t know.”
She holds up her hand. “No need for apologies. I’ve been through much worse things than a kidnapping, and most of those things, I did to myself.”
When I scrunch up my nose in confusion, she clarifies, “I was a heroin addict.”
“Ah, got ya.” I take the most ladylike sip I can from my solo cup of vodka. I look into the cup. “Does this bother you?”
She laughs. “No. I drink on occasion. And I honestly don’t even crave drugs at all anymore. I think it was more situational than anything, but I don’t indulge in anything to extremes just to be safe.” She smiles. “Except, of course, for my insatiable husband.” She plucks a short-sleeved, off-the-shoulder top from the bed. “Here, I think this will work for you.”
My eyes go wide. “Wait, these clothes are for me? I thought you brought them over so I could help you pick an outfit for something.”
She looks over the clothes again. “Nope, Nine told me that you only brought a small backpack with you and there wasn’t much in it. He called and wanted me to help you get some clothes. So, here I am, the magical wardrobe fairy at your very service.”
I look over at all of the options. I want to be appreciative but I can’t get to that emotion because there’s a question blocking my way. “See, this is what I mean. WHY is he doing this?”
She raises her eyebrows and picks a short denim skirt from the bed. “Did you ever think that maybe he wants to protect you and do nice things for you because you’re you? Isn’t that enough of a reason?”
No, it’s not, but I wish it could be.
I glance into the small mirror on the wall beside the bed and catch a glimpse of my reflection. The bags under my eyes. My colorless cheeks. My tousled, long brown hair that I never liked, but Jared insisted would look more professional than my short platinum asymmetrical bob I was sporting when I met him. “No, that thought never occurred to me. But have you seen me lately?” I gnash my teeth and pull in my chin.
Dre laughs and stands behind me, talking to my reflection. “We can fix you up in no time. My Nan loved a good makeover, and lucky for you, she passed me that gene on in spades.” She walks over to the big suitcase she brought and pulls out several pairs of shoes, lining them up against the wall. She leans back, resting her chin on her hand as she looks them over.
I look to my reflection once more and an idea forms. I spin around. “Hey, Dre?”
She looks up from the shoes, “Hmmm?”
I pull the hair tie from my hair and let it fall around my shoulders. I tousle it with my fingers, shaking it loose. “How good are you with hair?”
Chapter Twenty
NINE
Pike texts me that Dre wanted to take Lenny to one of the old homes she’s restoring to get her advice on the value.
I’m not happy they left, but at least, Pike is with them.
I’m drained after court today, but with no reason to head back to the RV just yet, I find myself at my brother’s house.
“I just need to give Tico proof that Lenny isn’t part of this,” I tell him.
“Okay, but what kind of proof? Her name is on all of the paperwork, right?”
I wrack my brain. “There’s got to be something.”
“Take a look at Jared’s computer again. Maybe, you missed something,” Preppy says, walking into the living room.
“Maybe,” I say, knowing that I didn’t. I’ve looked at the fucking thing ten times. There’s nothing pointing to the money and nothing exonerating Lenny. I can’t just sit around and wait for something to happen or not happen. I’m growing impatient with waiting. With not knowing.
“Can you believe that Canada’s Prime Minister is named Justin?” Preppy shouts from the living room.
“Why the sudden interest in Canadian politics, brother?” I respond, emerging from the kitchen with two beers. I hand one to Preppy.
“I’m trying to move some shit in from the good ‘ole north. Figured I should know a little about the fucker trying to put the smackdown on my delivery.”
“Although I’m pretty sure the Prime Minister himself isn’t trying to involve himself in your business personally, I’ll bite. What kind of shit are we talking ‘bout here?” I ask, leaning my elbows across the back of the couch. “First I’ve heard of it.”
Preppy’s smile widens. His voice turns soft. He’s downright awestruck as he speaks. “The finest, purest, grade A maple syrup ever made.”
“Syrup? You’re smuggling in syrup?” I’m not stunned. Preppy’s always up to weird shit. I mean, the man has a framed restraining order from Dr. Dre hanging above the dining room table for some reason no one has yet to explain to me.
“My Preppy-cakes deserve the very best, little bro.” He stands, jumps over the back of the couch and wraps an arm around my shoulders. He holds his hand up to the ceiling like it’s a canvas and he's about to paint me a magical picture. “This syrup isn’t just any syrup. It’s made by Mounties riding ginormous moose bareback in the deep woods of British Columbia. It’s very similar to how the good ‘ole American moon-shiners did things back in the day. And when I get it, I’m going to pour it all over Doc and—”
“Got it,” I cut him off, pushing his arm off of me and slapping at his hand before he can finish making whatever gesture I’m sure I don’t want to see.
Preppy shrugs and turns his attention back to the TV. “I mean really? Justin? What kind of name is Justin? Sounds like a tween actor.” He’s now holding a bowl of Cookie Crisp cereal under his chin, speaking between bites.
I glance up at the screen. Justin Trudeau is waving to a crowd from the back of a car in some parade. “Nah,” I say. “He looks m
ore like a former boy-bander, you know, the one who dropped out of the group first, tried other things. A little real-estate, a little meth, a little house arrest. Eventually, he decides to clean up his act. After some extensive dental work, a shit-ton of Botox, and enough penicillin to cure a small plague, and BAM! He’s back, singing about sweaty, dirty love again while dancing like a cheerleader at a half-time show. Although, now he’s singing to a much older, much smaller crowd, of course. But there is still plenty of panty-throwing honeys to be had. He needs a little blue pill these days to get the job done, but he still manages to slay a fuck-lot of nostalgic choker-wearing bitches, their doc Martins all wrapped around his shoulders like it’s nineteen motherfuckin’ ninety-nine.”
I’m still thinking about other similarities to the Canadian Prime Minister and members of 90’s boy-bands, when I look up to Preppy, whose jaw is on the floor. Milk dribbles down the side of his chin. I think he’s going to say something about us being brothers and the way we both always manage to say the oddest of shit, but he doesn't. There’s a cry from the other room. Then another. He scrunches his nose.
“Wow, you’re a strange kid. You know that?” Preppy says, shaking his head. He gets up and heads down the hallway to tend to the twins.
“I’m a strange kid?” I shout after him.
I sigh, and my thoughts turn to what happened today with Lenny at the seawall. It felt like a breakthrough. And then I think about what almost happened until my phone alerted me with a reminder that I had to be in court.
Bo comes running into the house from the backyard and crashes into me. His watermelon of a head feels even bigger when it connects directly with my balls. “Bo, what’s up, buddy?” I grit out through the pain.
He looks up at me with his dark hair and pale face wearing the same bow-tie and suspenders set that Preppy has on. He smiles, and it’s downright Adams Family creepy. “I see dead people,” he whispers. For a kid that used to not talk he now makes a point of saying some very strange shit.
“You got to start going to sleep earlier and stop watching all those late-night movies you know you’re not supposed to be watching.”
Nine, the Tale of Kevin Clearwater Page 17
