by Ella Fields
Annoyance trampled over my skin. That he could ask me that with a straight face and think I’d tell him anything only further proved what an asshole he was.
You fucking disgust me.
Enough. “You know what?” I said, tucking the files away and setting them on the seat next to me. “You’ve got some nerve.”
As if he’d been waiting, Dad’s eyes widened with interest while the rest of him remained the same. Broken, unmoving, and miserable. “You never talk about her.”
“Because you made it abundantly clear, many years ago, that the two of us had ruined our family.”
The clock in the room framed with mirrors and gym mats ticked in the silence.
Dad’s eyes shifted from me to his hands, then back again, his jaw hard. “That’s what you think?”
“That’s what I know.” I tapped my temple. “Memories don’t lie.”
“Damn it, Jackson,” he snapped. “When are you going to learn?” Shaking his head, he said loud and rough, “I wasn’t mad at you. I was furious with me. With the decisions we made in anger that we couldn’t undo.” His voice gentled some. “I’m still furious with me. And some asshole rams his cruddy car into mine, and all I can think is, I can’t die like this. I refuse to die with all this, this…” Nostrils flaring, he smacked his chest, sputtering, “Self-hatred and regret inside me.”
My jaw came unhinged, every clenched muscle drooping.
With a stare more solid than I’d seen since I was a teenager, he continued, “My issue wasn’t you. For the longest time, it’s never been you. But even so, saying it, telling you I’ve behaved atrociously and that I love you, I can’t even do that,” he cried, his tone loaded with frustration.
My eyes closed over the emotion I felt gathering. When I opened them, I said, “You just did.”
He froze, save for his face, as anguish leeched from the tense lines, his lips going slack.
The door creaked open as the nurse finally returned. “Okay, let’s get you on that bar. Are we ready?”
Our eyes remained locked, but when I smiled, still hurt but already healing, my father nodded.
“Yeah,” he said with another nod. “We’re ready.”
Arriving home, I dumped my keys and computer on the dining table and wondered if maybe Ainsley was out.
A slight noise sounded from the bedroom, and I marched straight for it.
“We need to talk,” I said, untucking my shirt from my pants.
Ainsley huffed. “I’ll say. We haven’t had sex in months.”
“Because we’ve been over for months,” I blurted, impatient, but mainly with myself.
At Ainsley’s silence, I paused in unbuttoning my dress shirt and turned.
In the center of the bed, she sat in lingerie, white and translucent in the glow of the moon.
Fuck.
“What?” Her lips made the shape, but there was no voice to accompany it.
Exhaustion ate at my limbs, the stumbling beast in my chest. “I can’t do this. Not anymore.”
“What do you mean?” She scrambled off the bed, snatching her robe from the ottoman and pulling it on. “I moved back to this rotting town for you. I’ve watched you pine and lose yourself to your own sister all over again for months, and you tell me you can’t do this?”
“I’m sorry.” I was. She’d hurt me, sure, but it was nothing compared to the hurt I’d carried with me for years. It was almost embarrassingly easy to say those words. I said them again, frowning at the bureau. “I’m sorry.”
A slipper was tossed at my head. “Fuck you and your stupid apology.”
I nodded, staring at the cream satin slipper by my feet. “I’ll go—”
“You sicken me.” My eyes pulled up at those words, my fingers curling. “You took me back after I’d found someone who actually gave a shit about me. Why?” She was crying now, her breasts straining the flimsy material covering her chest. “Just so you can use me?” When our eyes met, her features went lax as apprehension spread. “You bastard.”
“I know.” For I did. I was well aware of my tendency to bite twice as hard as the person who’d bitten me. I was aware, and still, I continued to do it.
“Is she really worth all this?” When I didn’t answer, she prodded further. “Was she worth destroying your own family all those years ago?” I bit my tongue so hard, copper filled my mouth. “You know”—she laughed, bitter and low—“I never should’ve agreed to help you. I should’ve told you right then and there that I was the one who’d followed you two and took those photos because what you were doing was wrong. Instead, I stupidly believed that it was ending, that it would never last, and I was going to be your new beginning.”
My spine locked, my jaw and neck tensing.
Laughing again, she said, “Yeah, it was me, and you know what?” Stepping closer, she smiled. “I’m not sorry. I never have been.”
“I know.”
Her brows lowered. “You knew?”
I nodded, my tone blank and matter of fact. “I found out a month after we came back while I was looking for something in Dad’s email.”
Silence slithered into the room, cold and screaming.
Staring out the window to the water beyond, I heard her swallow, heard her draw an uneven breath, and then I heard her say, “Would you have gone back to her if you hadn’t known?”
Yes, I wanted to say. Instead, I grabbed my keys and headed back out. “Leave whenever you’re ready.”
Willa
“Ahoy,” Dennis crowed to the young boy who giggled with frosting smeared around his mouth. “That’s a mighty fine eye patch you’ve got there, matey.”
“I’m not a pirate,” he stated, licking more frosting. “I got an eye infection.”
“Pirate sounds way cooler, no?” Dennis asked.
The boy grinned and so did his mother, who took his hand and walked to the door.
We waved when his little hand, still clutching the cupcake, lifted as the door jangled closed.
Before I could blink, the door opened again, and I felt my heart squeeze as Jackson stalked inside as though he had every right to.
His eyes, smudged in shadows, fixed on mine. “We need to talk.”
Dennis made a noise, backing up to the kitchen.
“We don’t,” I said, tearing my eyes from his.
All that got me was pressed back into the wall as Jackson rounded the counter, quicker than a flash of life-changing lightning. “She’s leaving.”
I planted my hands behind me, inhaling that maddening scent. “Ainsley?” At his quick nod, I frowned. “And what, you came here to blame me again?” Straightening, I glared up into his face. “I won’t let you.”
His lips twitched, a speck of humor dancing in his gaze. “I ended things.”
“Oh,” I said, deflating, then remembered what a gigantic dick he was, and not the good kind. “That’s nice.” I slid down the wall, trying to move away.
Warm skin encircled my wrist. “Not so fast, Bug.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, irritated at the ease in which he’d said it, in the way it wrapped every bruised part of me in warmth.
“You know, not once have you said you were sorry,” he said, those eyes flashing.
Disbelief had me sputtering, “Neither have you.”
“I didn’t sleep with someone else.” His grip loosened, his feet shifting closer to mine, the taste of mint on his breath, searing. “That was you.”
It wasn’t that I couldn’t own up to the mistakes I’d made; it was that I was sick of having to relive and rehash them, only to wind up winded, even years later. “We’re not doing this.”
“We need to.”
Those words surprised. “Why?”
His teeth dragged over his bottom lip. “We’ll never not do this, and it’s time we stop running from it.”
“I never ran,” I reminded him. “That was you.”
His nostrils flared, and he looked away, assessing the shop. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I tore free when we’d rounded the counter. “No. You don’t call the shots anymore, Jackson.”
Smirking, he looked at his empty hand, then at me. “Don’t I?”
I feared I would’ve screamed if it weren’t for Flo. “Oh, hell to the no. Is that who I think it is?” Jackson didn’t remove his eyes from me as Flo stormed through the shop, dumping a takeout coffee on the counter and grabbing a caramel slice. “Excuse me.”
Jackson sighed, then finally, gave his attention to Flo.
“Thank you. I’m Flo, short for Florence, short for your worst enemy, if you don’t use the door behind you and to your left.”
Jackson looked as though he was struggling with the decision to argue or laugh.
Flo stood, unperturbed, with a hand on her hip, then huffed. “This”—she gestured up and down his tall frame—“doesn’t work on me. It no longer works on her, either, by the looks of things. So leave, buddy.”
“Buddy?” he repeated. “I thought I was your worst enemy.”
“Oh, you are now.”
Biting his lips, he gave me his eyes, then asked, “Do I no longer work for you, Bug?”
“No,” I lied. “The lies, the games, and the misery never worked for me.”
“Dear Lord, if you can hear me…” Dennis began to pray.
“That’s enough,” Flo said, shoving at Jackson’s chest.
He didn’t move; his gaze, assessing and tormented, remained glued to me. There was no sound, but I heard the silent word loud and clear. “Liar.”
My stomach twisted, my hands itching to reach out as he finally backed up to the door, then disappeared through it.
Flo launched the caramel slice after him, but missed as onlookers gawked. “Don’t come back, you great big idiot waste of perfectly good male!”
“That was the last one,” Dennis whined, rushing to the closing door. “I was saving it for morning tea.”
“Too bad.” Flo wiped her hands. “So worth it.”
“But you missed,” I pointed out.
Flo raised a brow, breezing by us into the kitchen. “But did I?”
Dennis and I both looked at each other, confused.
Jackson
“If the wind changes, will your face stay like that?”
I stopped the swing chair from moving so Lily could climb up. “Would that be bad?” I asked, turning to her.
She set Borris, her rainbow bear, next to me and shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose it depends.”
“On?”
She made a face, her tiny brows low and her eyes squinting, jaw all crooked.
I couldn’t stop the laughter that barreled free. “That’s what I look like?”
Relaxing her features, she nodded. “Yup, well, most of the time.”
“Right. Well, I don’t know if I want to look like that forever.”
Lily giggled. “You would scare all the pretty ladies away.”
“Not you?”
Her chin doubled as she sank back, grinning with pink cheeks. “Nah, I’m not afraid of no monster.”
We both laughed then, and Lars cursed as he came outside and tripped over Lily’s Barbie campervan. “Lil, what did I say about keeping this thing out here?”
“It’s just easier,” she said.
Lars handed me a beer, and I popped the top. “Easier?” I asked.
Lily jumped down, sighing. “Than having to bring it back out every time I want to play.”
“You don’t want to play with it inside?”
She gave me a look that suggested I was clueless. “Look around, Jackie.” She’d called me that since I’d arrived here three days ago. “It doesn’t look like this inside.”
Gazing around the estate—which had belonged to Daphne’s grandmother—they’d recently moved into, I found I had to agree. “Good point.” I took a long swig of beer.
Lars opened the door for Lily to wheel her campervan inside, Borris hitching a ride on top.
As soon as she was through, he pulled both doors shut and then sank down beside me, making the chair rock.
Expelling a huge breath, he raked a hand through his hair. “She kills me.”
“She gets her smarts from you.”
“And her sass from Daphne,” Lars added, meaning Lily’s stepmom.
Nodding, I drank some more.
“She left yet?” Lars asked.
“Sick of me already?”
“Nah, but I’m not down with my daughter’s googly eyes for you.” Shaking his head, he chuckled. “It’s fucking weird.”
“It wouldn’t have happened if you’d trained her to call me her uncle instead of Dash.”
“Dash,” Lars said, pointing his beer at me, “for all his many fucking faults, actually made an effort to see her while she was growing up.”
Shame blistered, hotter than the setting sun edging the distant fields. “I know.”
“Was it that bad?” he asked after a minute had dragged by, taking more of daylight with it.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice rough. “That bad.”
Lars sighed. “Say you’re sorry and I’ll work on the uncle thing.”
My eyes shot to his, blinking. “Yeah?”
He twisted his lips. “I said I’ll work on it.” Looking back at the setting sun, he muttered, “She’s probably too far gone.”
I chuckled, then sobered. “Yeah, Ainsley left.” She’d texted me that morning, saying the keys were in the front garden and not to call her again. “I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow.”
“There’s no rush,” Lars said. “But what are you going to do?”
I scratched at the heavy stubble on my jaw. I needed to shave. “With Willa?”
Lars belched in response.
“She’s being stubborn.” He made a sound that had my eyes narrowing on him. “Something amusing, Bradby?”
Grinning, he muttered around the mouth of his beer, “Just you.”
My nose twitched in agitation, and I knew if I didn’t ask, he wouldn’t divulge. After two minutes, I groaned. “Fuck, just say it.”
“I just find it funny that you call her stubborn. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re the biggest grudge holder of the century.”
“She fucked someone else.”
“When she’d thought you’d dumped her. Six years, and you still don’t want to remember that tidbit, do you?”
I grunted. “Still happened. And I’m trying, okay?” I admitted. “I’ve been trying. I went to see her today, but she and her spitfire work friend sent me away.”
“So go back,” Lars said. “And take it from someone who’s failed to do so, leave that ego at the door when you do.”
I lowered my beer. “What?”
“Ego. Your pride. Get rid of it. It has no place in trying to fix something broken.” Tipping his beer, he shrugged. “Unless you want to get to the point of no return, then sure, keep going as you are.”
Willa
Wiping dots of sweat from my brow, I stretched my back, then bent over.
“Giving everyone a nice view there, Bug.”
My hands slipped off the bag of flour, and I whispered a curse. “Get lost, Jackson.”
We had a new delivery driver this morning, and instead of taking them around the back, as they all tended to, he’d dumped them at the front of the shop. Now, I was hauling them inside, wishing Dennis wasn’t on his scheduled day off.
Hands tugged at my waist, and I was tempted to stomp my foot as Jackson hefted the bag over his shoulder and marched it inside and out to the kitchen.
I followed, hands on my hips. “I don’t need—”
“Here?” he said, opening the stockroom door.
I didn’t answer, but he saw the two bags inside and dumped it beside them.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, chasing him back out front.
He picked up the remaining bag, trudging past me in a cloud of delicious cologne, indifferent to my ire.
Giving in, I waited in the doorway to the kitchen, crossing my arms over my chest.
Jackson emerged, reaching behind him and pulling out a thick envelope he’d tucked in his jeans. “Here.”
Removing my eyes from his black Thorn Racing T-shirt, I stared at his offering, then at him, and slowly unfolded my arms. “Jackson, stop it.”
I didn’t know what it was, but I did know that he couldn’t just show up like this and look at me like that. The affection, the longing, it wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t fun. It was all for sport, and I was tired of playing.
“Just take it.” He shifted close. “Please.”
I grabbed the large envelope and opened it, peering inside.
“What are these?” I asked, eyes darting from a stack of what appeared to be email drafts to his.
“Everything I didn’t say.” With that, he slid his hands into his pockets and left.
With my lip between my teeth, I watched him go, then flipped the break sign on the door and locked it, retreating to the kitchen.
I hate you because I could never actually hate you, and that makes me hate you so much.
____
I’m drunk.
And you’re every unfinished song I couldn’t listen to.
____
Hey,
Still hate you.
____
Did you think of me at all? Was I all you thought about when you did it? I want to know. I want to know because knowing beats wondering. The wondering never seems to end. Knowing will end it.
Do I want it to end?
It never ends.
Each unsent email contained the date and time it was written. Most in the early hours of the morning or in the late hours of night.
I miss you.
I hate that I miss you.
____
Do you remember on my seventh birthday, you won this stupid stuffed goldfish at the fair, and I won nothing? It was orange, covered in sequins.
Yeah. Well, I stole it from you when you were sleeping.
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