by W Winters
I tell myself it’s only out of instinct that I take a picture of her license plate as she drives off.
Well I try to, but I’m a poor liar.
When she’s gone from view, I step back out onto the concrete sidewalk, staring down the desolate street and letting the brisk night air cool my hot skin.
Addison is back.
The only question on my mind is what I’m going to do with her.
Chapter 3
Addison
* * *
I’ve hated Daniel for a lot of things. I’ve never really tallied them up before.
The silent drive back to this tiny apartment provided plenty of time to recount each and every moment that bastard has made me feel inadequate, embarrassed … undeserving.
I take in a deep, calming breath then toss the keys onto the small kitchenette table and head right for the wine.
This day was going so well.
The thought settles me as I open the fridge and quickly grab a half-full bottle of red blend. I use my teeth to pull out the cork and pour the wine into a bright yellow coffee mug with sunflowers engraved on it. It’s the closest thing to me and all my glasses are still packed in boxes.
It’ll do fine to hold the wine, I think as I take a small sip. And then a large one.
I don’t have a buzz yet, but in fifteen minutes I’m sure I will.
As I lick the sweet wine off my lips, I stare aimlessly at the glass bottle. I have to be careful not to fall into old patterns. It’s been a long time since I’ve needed wine to sleep. But I can see myself relying on that bad habit tonight. That’s what some memories will do to you.
I take a good, hard look at the bottle. It’s more than halfway empty as it is. I’ll be fine.
Leaning against the counter, I let the past flicker in front of me and trace the outline of the flowers on the mug.
Each memory is accompanied by another gulp of wine, each one tasting more and more bitter.
So many times Daniel’s left me feeling less than. And it’s my fault.
Even the first time was my fault.
The sudden memory of Tyler both warms my heart and makes my vision blur as my eyes gloss over with tears. I can’t think of him for long without feeling a deep pain in my chest.
He was my first. My first everything.
Just like his brother Daniel and just like the rest of the men in their family, Tyler Cross was stubborn. And he didn’t let up until I finally caved and said yes to being his girlfriend.
I told myself he was nice and that it felt good to be wanted. And my God, it did. When you’re an orphan, you learn rather quickly people don’t want you.
It’s a hard thing to unlearn.
And at sixteen years old and in my fourth foster home, I didn’t believe Tyler wanted anything more than a kiss, or to cop a feel. To get into my pants. Just like the previous foster dad wanted from me. He was a rotten bastard.
I run the tip of my finger along the edge of the mug, remembering how Tyler didn’t give up on making me feel wanted. I only stayed with the Brauns, my fourth foster home in three years, because of how Tyler made me feel.
I didn’t want to move to another school district.
I finally wanted to stay somewhere.
The Brauns would get their check and I would be a good kid, I’d be quiet. I’d put up with whatever it was I had to do in order for them not to send me back.
All because Tyler genuinely made me feel wanted. Even if it was obvious the Brauns, like the other foster parents, only wanted to get paid. Having to watch over a teenager with hormones and homework wasn’t on their wish list.
Looking back on it now though, I don’t much mind Jenny and Mitch Braun. They were okay people. Maybe if I hadn’t run away when everything happened, I’d have a relationship with them. Or a semblance of one.
They didn’t like Tyler though. They were probably the only people on the face of the earth who didn’t like that boy. I can’t blame them, since he did in fact want to get into my pants when they eventually met him.
I cover my mouth with my hand as I let out a small laugh at the memory.
He had to meet my guardians before I’d go anywhere near his house.
I have to give Tyler credit, he put up a good showing.
And then I had to face his family.
There was one big difference though. One massive separation between what he had to do and what I had to do in our little agreement.
Tyler had a real family.
That was so obvious to me. Actual relatives. Like I had once. It’s an odd feeling standing in a room with people who belong together. Especially when you don’t, but you want to. You desperately want to.
It was wrong of me. Every reason I had for staying with Tyler was selfish.
I was young back then. Young and stupid and incredibly selfish.
I know that now and it only makes the shame that much worse.
I remember how I could hardly look at anyone as Tyler wrapped his arm around my shoulders. Like he was proud of me and I belonged to him.
His mother had died years before, something Tyler and I had in common. His father was in the leather recliner in the living room, seated in front of the television although I’m certain he was sleeping.
Tyler told me his father worked late nights, but I could read between the lines. I knew the type of family the Crosses were. I knew by the way people spoke in hushed voices around them with traces of both fear and intrigue. And I heard the whispers.
There were little clues too. Tyler and his brother Jase were always being handed money under the cafeteria table and making quick exchanges. Certain people avoided them, certain red-eyed and scrawny potheads, to be exact.
It didn’t matter to me.
In fact, I liked that their family was doing some type of business that meant his father would be asleep when I was forced to meet them all. Five boys in the family and Tyler was the youngest.
One less male to have to endure was fine by me. Declan, the middle boy, gave the impression of being disinterested in life in general. Let alone his brother’s girlfriend. He was the first of Tyler’s brothers I met, and even he seemed to be kind, if nothing else.
And that continued as I met his other brothers. They all welcomed me. There was no hidden agenda, no sneers or snide comments about where I was from or what the Brauns did at the local tavern two weeks ago.
That’s one thing people liked to gossip about at school when I first got there. Foster parents aren’t supposed to be drunks. Funny how that type of talk died when Tyler staked his claim on me.
Yet another reason I stayed and gave more and more of myself to a boy who could never have all of me.
It was so obvious that he never would. Especially that first day he brought me home.
The moment I thought I could relax, I met the last brother.
Daniel.
Tyler knocked on the door to his room, tapping out song lyrics and telling him to open up.
I remember exactly the way my polish had chipped on my thumbnail. I’m a nervous picker and I was busy chipping away at it when the door opened.
“What?” The word came out hard and my body stilled. I could feel the anger coming off of him from being interrupted.
He gripped the doorframe, which made his shoulders and height seem that much more intimidating. It was his toned muscles and the dark stubble lining his upper throat and jaw that let me know he was older.
And the heat in his stare as he let his gaze wander to where I stood that let me know I wasn’t welcome.
That was the first time Daniel made me feel the same way I do now.
And the first time I knew I’d never love Tyler the way he deserved.
But I stayed with him. Deep inside I know it’s because a very large part of me wanted Daniel to want me back. I wanted Daniel to want me the way that I instantly wanted him.
Chapter 4
Daniel
* * *
The back door to Iron Hea
rt Brewery is propped open a couple inches with a brick. There’s a small stack of them next to the dumpster and I’ve seen a few of them used for a number of things.
The door creaks open slowly as I take a look to my left and right. It’s pitch black out now and deserted. It’s been four hours since I left. Enough time to pass for me to get my shit together and figure out what it is that I want and how I’m going to handle this.
The entire town is quiet now that everything on Lincoln Street is closed.
I sneak in the back, hearing the clinking of glass around the corner and past the stockroom. The fresh scent of hoppy beer in this place never gets old.
I’ve only been here a couple months and I thought I’d get bored fast. So far there’s not much action or competition. For a college town, it’s surprising. But feeling out this area and waiting on information about future deals for my brother hasn’t been the pain in the ass it usually is.
Other than Jake. He’s not good for a damn thing other than asking for a beer or who comes around here when I’m away. He knows this place is used for drops, but that’s as far as our relationship goes.
Jake’s got his earbuds in, he’s not paying attention in the least. My shoulder leans against the wall closest to the far end of the bar, and just enough so I can see the table where Addison sat earlier today.
I let the memory linger for a moment before speaking loud enough for Jake to hear over the music blaring in his ears.
“Marcus show up?” I call out and Jake startles, hitting his lower back against the counter and dropping a glass to the ground.
It breaks, cracking into a few large pieces rather than shattering.
Pushing off the wall, I take a few steps closer to him.
“Shit, dude,” he tells me as he slowly lowers himself to the floor, catching his breath, and starts picking up the shards. “You scared the shit out of me.” He starts to ask, “How did you get—” before stopping and looking past me to answer the question himself.
“Sorry,” I offer him and crouch down to pick up the single piece of broken glass that’s left. It’s a solid piece a couple inches long with a sharp tip. I slide my finger along the blunt, slick side of it, toying with it as I talk to him. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” It’s hard to keep the grin off my face, but it’s easier if Jake is somewhat relaxed. He needs to know to fear me, but only so much that he doesn’t do anything stupid. So long as he’s easygoing, so is everything else that goes down here. He can keep looking the other way and I can keep everything moving as it should.
“No worries, man,” he says as he stands up and deposits the chunks in his hand into a bin under the counter. He’s still shaking and instead of reaching out for the piece I’m holding, he takes out the rectangular basin and offers it to me.
I hold his gaze as I toss it in to join the rest of them.
“What’s going on?” he asks as he sets it back into place and pretends that he’s not scared. That he doesn’t look like he’s going to piss himself.
“How long was the girl here?” I ask him and take a look around the counter. This section of the bar is small and narrow. There’s a lone window on the other side and it’s cracked open, letting in a small breeze.
“Addison?” he asks, saying her name out loud and I don’t trust myself to speak as the anger swells inside of me, so I wait for him to look at me and give a short nod.
“Not long,” he answers and gets back to wiping down a few of the glasses still lined up on the far side of the sink. “She left right after you.”
“What was she here for?” I ask him and pray it wasn’t for a meet. They’re all done here. It’s the perfect place, in the perfect town. Any necessary conversations can happen right here. And any arguments can be settled in the back … with those bricks. But this city may be more useful and profitable. Time will tell.
“Just coming in for a drink.”
I nod my head and remember how I’ve found a few guys I know sitting at the bar, completely oblivious to what was going on around them. Like Dean. He had no idea; he was too wrapped up in his own story to realize what was happening here.
“Who is she?” Jake asks, interrupting my recollection.
“A girl,” I answer and then go back to being the one asking the questions. “She come in with anyone?”
“Nope, she’s single. She didn’t say she knew anyone or that she was looking for anyone.” He replies with the information I was hoping for. It was just a coincidence that she was here. But the way he answers it doesn’t quite sit right with me.
He’s a funny kid and a good guy in some ways, but he’s the type who looks the other way and likes to pretend everything’s friendly and fine and nothing fucked up is going on.
I don’t have any problems with him. Yet.
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, she’s looking at going to the university. New to town. You know, that kind of thing.”
“Hey Jake,” I start and wait for him to look up at me. “How do you know her name?” My body’s tense and tight, even though I don’t think he has a clue how badly I’ll fuck him up if he hit on her. He’s a flirt, young and carefree. He gets plenty of action from girls coming in here to get a drink and drown out their problems with alcohol.
The fucker looks up at me like it’s a given and says, “From her credit card.”
I don’t like his tone, or the ease with which he talks about her. But my body’s relaxed, and the smile on my face grows as I tell him, “Of course. Sorry, she’s got me a little wound up.”
“I could tell.” My back stiffens at his confession. “I mean I get it, she’s hot,” he says, completely oblivious to how my hand reflexively forms a fist. He shrugs and dries off the last glass. “You want me to keep tabs on her?”
The correct answer is no. But it’s not the word that slips from my tongue. “Yes,” I reply and it comes out harder than it should, with a desperate need clinging to the single syllable.
Jake pauses and takes in my appearance.
“I have a soft spot for her,” I tell him and inwardly I hate myself. Both for the lie and for the hint at the truth. He nods his head and hangs up the dish towel in his hands.
“So she’s going to the university?” I ask him and he returns to his normal easy self.
“I didn’t get much information from her. She’d just gotten here and Mickey was at the bar.”
“Well, don’t worry about it. But if she comes in here again, text me.”
“No problem. You need anything else?” he asks and I remind him of my earlier question.
“Did Marcus come?” I already know the answer. He hasn’t shown up yet. Carter, my brother, messaged me to let me know not to waste my time in the bar tonight. But I know Marcus is a lot like me. He likes to know people’s habits and if I tell him I’ll meet him, I want him to know I’ll be there.
This isn’t my first run-in with him. Last time it took weeks before he finally showed.
There aren’t a lot of men I’d wait on, but Carter says this is important and Marcus and I have history.
“He didn’t. I don’t know why he- “
“Looks like you’re almost done,” I cut him off with a trace of a smile on my lips. “Sorry to keep you.”
“Not a problem,” he says to my back as I turn and leave the bar.
The bright light of the Iron Heart sign casts a shadow beneath my feet as I walk toward the barren parking lot with only one thing on my mind—how to find little miss Addison Fawn.
Chapter 5
Addison
* * *
Daniel’s a prick.
Why is it that the assholes stay in your head, rankling and festering their way into your thoughts while the nice guys are passed over?
I went shopping on the strip downtown to distract myself. I spent a pretty penny on décor for this apartment and on the softest comforter I’ve felt in my life.
One tweed rug, two woven baskets and a dozen rustic wood picture frames later an
d my living room is acceptable. Snapshot after snapshot I post the different angles on Instagram, where I have my largest following and where I sell most of my photos.
But it’s all done absentmindedly. And it’s not like these are for sale, just pictures that serve as an update to let my followers know I’ve found a new place.
I don’t have an ounce of interest flowing through me.
I came here to settle down. To finally give myself a reason to stay and possibly take formal classes to breathe new life into my business.
And instead I’ve been pushed back to when I was only seventeen.
No home.
No life.
No reason to do anything at all.
My throat tightens and my eyes prick, but I refuse to let a single tear fall.
It’s all because I’m still not worthy enough for Daniel fucking Cross.
My phone pings and I go into the messenger app on Facebook to see who it is.
Another person wanting me to photograph their wedding.
I don’t do functions.
I politely message back that I don’t do shoots. I only photograph the things around me and tell my own story. Not other people’s. In other words, I’m not for hire. Photography is my business, but also my therapy. I photograph what I want and nothing else. It’s the only way I’ve survived and I won’t compromise that.
That’s how I’ve made a living for the past few years. Little sales here and there. Enough to keep my head above water and to keep moving from place to place.
Searching for Something is what I eventually called my business.
Not that it started as a business. I was just taking pictures of every little thing that reminded me of Tyler.
All I had was my camera, the only present my last foster mother had ever given me. Tyler told her she should get it for me for Christmas. He said if she wouldn’t, he would. He would’ve given me anything.
