He’s right. I have been. I know it. I just don’t give a fuck.
The woman I’m madly in love with doesn’t want to be with me. And she lives under my goddamn roof.
Kalum doesn’t know about Scarlett and me. No one does. I only know this because if Tori knew, then every one of our friends and most of the Chicago metro area would know as well.
It’s been a month since I found out firsthand what Scarlett tasted like. What she felt like. When I got a glimpse of what being with her would be like. In those short minutes, I thought everything was falling into place.
Now she’s still living with me, but we aren’t speaking. I’ve been an absolute asshole to everyone I’ve come into contact with. I snapped at Grant last week—not meaning to, of course—when he asked for the iPad. I felt so horrible that I decided to order a bounce house for his fourth birthday party.
One night, when Scarlett and I were still speaking, before my world got thrown upside down, we decided to throw Grant a party. She told me he really never had one, which she felt awful about, but didn’t see the point when it was just her, and maybe Tori and Annabelle.
I immediately offered up my home and even admitted to her that I did, in fact, have the Pinterest app. We spent the entire night planning his Cars-themed birthday party. Thinking back, that was one of the nights I fell for her a little more. Especially the way she lit up when talking about what she wanted to do for Grant—asking me for ideas. We’d planned this like we were a team. Like we were a family.
But we aren’t, as she now reminds me every day with her silence. The fact that she won’t even look at me, or ask me to help with Grant, or acknowledge my presence, is a constant dagger to my heart.
I now hate being in my own house even more than after Jenna ended it. Then, it was about the “what ifs” of what it would have been like to start our lives together in our—her—dream house. Now I see Scarlett and Grant every day, even when I try not to. I can see so clearly what our lives could be, but I have to live with the fact that she won’t let it happen. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
People are starting to filter in: friends of Grant’s from daycare, Annabelle and Jaxson, Amanda, Ben, and a few guys from my garage who have kids around Grant’s age. The kids make a beeline for the bounce house while the parents hang back and grab a beverage.
Not wanting to be anywhere near people—most specifically, Scarlett—I take my station at the grill, hoping that the task of flipping hot dogs and hamburgers will keep people away from me.
“Gee, Jaxson, Maverick is sulking over here all by himself. Wonder why that is?”
“I don’t know, Kalum. Think he’ll actually tell us, or will he make us work for it?”
It seems that my brother and best friend didn’t get the stay-away-from-me memo. Also, this tag-teaming shit they like to do is getting really fucking old.
“I don’t know what you guys are talking about. I’m making food for the 50 people at my house. Don’t you have women you should not be letting out of your sight?”
“We can see them from here, and don’t change the subject,” Jaxson says. “What’s up with you? For the past month or so, you’ve been acting like a giant asshole. Even more than usual. What gives?”
“And don’t say ‘nothing,’” Kalum adds. “I’ve talked to some of the guys at the shop, and they said you’ve been such a dick that two employees quit and the others won’t speak to you because they’re scared they’ll get fired.”
Shit. I didn’t realize it was that bad.
“I just have some things going on that have been on my mind. Don’t worry about me. Everything is fine,” I say, hoping that appeases them.
“What kinds of things? Because I know I acted like a giant ass when I had to go undercover last year and couldn’t tell you. Does Amanda have you working for her?”
“What? No. It’s just—”
“Hey, Maverick. How long until the food is ready? Some of the parents are asking.”
I don’t know what I was about to say before Scarlett’s question, but it’s not lost on me that those are the first words she’s said to me in weeks. Our only communication has been via text, and it was all about the party.
“It . . . they . . . about 10 minutes and they’ll be ready.”
She just nods her head and walks away.
“Holy shit! You and Scarlett hooked up?” Kalum says a little too loudly for my liking.
“What? What do you mean?”
Kalum laughs, throwing his head back. “You and Scarlett totally hooked up and now you two have that whole ‘what do we do next?’ vibe going on.”
I can’t even come up with a lie to tell Kalum, even though he’s not completely right.
I know what I want to do next. So does she. We just have very different ideas of what that looks like.
“It’s not like that,” I say defensively.
“Did you and Scarlett have sex?” Jaxson asks.
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing, little brother. How long ago? Let me guess: right around the time you started acting like Captain Asshole?”
“Yes, but there’s a reason . . .”
“Oh, I’m sure there is,” Jaxson continues. “Did she try to cuddle afterward and that freaked you out? Did she try to slowly move her things upstairs? Wait, I’ve got it. She did your laundry, didn’t she?”
“No, you asshole, and shut the fuck up!” I don’t know how loud I just yelled, but luckily, no one is looking. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, so shut your fucking face.”
“Oh fuck, Jaxson . . . he’s in love with her.”
I can’t even respond, because out of the corner of my eye, I see Scarlett’s face go white as Amanda says something to her. She quickly excuses herself before heading into the house with Amanda not far behind.
“Watch the burgers,” I say to Kalum, hurrying after her. I don’t care if she’s not talking to me. Something is wrong and I need to know what.
As soon as I walk through the patio doors and see her face white as a ghost, I have a pretty good idea about what’s going on.
25
Scarlett
“What do you mean he’s in jail?”
All day, I’d been hoping that Ryan would somehow be a part of this celebration, for Grant’s sake. I’d wanted him to show up, excited to share Grant’s birthday with him for the first time in his life. Or maybe he would call, wish his son a happy birthday, and apologize that he couldn’t be here. Hell, I would have taken a card in the mail.
This wasn’t what I had in mind.
“I’m sorry to drop this on you, but I just got the call and thought you should know,” Amanda says, taking my hand and sitting with me at the island. “The Kings apparently can’t stay out of their own way these days. They tried to take down a few members of a rival gang. From what I’ve been told, Ryan was the getaway driver in the drive-by shooting. He’s being held with the three other members who were in the car with him, awaiting arraignment.”
None of her words are making sense. Getaway driver? Drive-by shooting? Gangs?
How is this man I once thought I loved—the one who used a cheesy pickup line to start talking to me, then made me fall for him with his sweet gestures?
Or did those even exist? Have I made those up as the years have gone by so I didn’t have to come to terms with the fact that the man who fathered my child is not a good man?
“Thank you, Amanda. I’m glad you told me.” I start to stand up, but she still has her hand on me, effectively stopping me.
“Are you okay? You know it’s fine for you to not be.”
I take a deep breath, weighing her words. “I’m not. But I don’t have time for that. Today is my son’s birthday. It’s the first time I’ve been able to give him a party, and I’m not going to miss it. I’m going to go back outside, plaster a smile on my face, and then tonight when everyone’s gone, I will figure out what to do with this information.”
S
he lets go of my hand, and as I turn to walk away, it’s only then that I realize Maverick is standing at the door.
“He’s in jail?”
Well, that tells me how much he heard.
“I’m not getting into this with you right now,” I say as I keep walking, in the hope that he’ll let me by. He doesn’t budge.
Figures.
“Are you okay?” he asks, concern creasing his forehead. This is the most we’ve spoken to each other since the night we spent together. It hits me how much I’ve missed his voice. His presence.
Him.
“I’m fine. I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I have a little boy who needs to blow out his candles and open his presents.”
“What do you mean deal with it later?” he asks, trying to hold back the anger in his voice. “He’s in jail. He’s dangerous and away from you. That should be the end of the story.”
I try to push past him, which doesn’t work because Maverick is a damn brick house. Seriously, how many times a week does this man go to the gym?
“I really love how—even though you haven’t spoken to me in weeks—now that I’m trying to deal with the fact that my child’s father is in jail and my blissfully unaware son just wants to eat cake, you decide that this is the moment to chat me up. Great timing, Maverick. Like always.”
I duck under him and think I’m away, but at the last second, he grabs my elbow. Not hard, but enough to stop me from going any further.
“You know you were the one avoiding me. That stops now, Scarlett. Tonight, we talk.”
The rest of the party goes by in a daze of cake, presents, and the information I was given today. Thank God Annabelle was on picture duty, otherwise I’d have no photographic evidence of Grant’s party.
Which he loved every minute of. He was a ball of energy all day—playing with the kids, excitedly opening his presents, and thanking each person for his new toys. I was so proud watching my little boy—who isn’t so little anymore—as he interacted with his new friends and his family—some blood, some not.
Which made me think of Ryan, who should be here with us, but is choosing to make decisions that not only affect him, but Grant and me. How could he be so selfish? Why is he doing this? Why is he choosing to be involved with people like that instead of being here with us?
I need answers. And I need to hear them from Ryan.
I don’t want to go upstairs, but Grant is finally asleep after the sugar coma kicked in, and I still need to clean the kitchen after the birthday whirlwind. I know Maverick is waiting for me, but like a coward, I’m trying to put off that conversation as long as possible.
Pulling up my big girl panties, I head up the stairs. I was right. Maverick is sitting at the kitchen island with a beer in his hand, staring at me with all the intensity in the world.
It feels like his gaze will paralyze me if I linger too long. His green eyes are piercing as he directs every bit of energy my way. I swear, even though we’re 10 feet apart, I can feel the heat radiating off his body. The body I so wish I could enjoy again.
I mentally brace myself and head toward him, knowing the longer I wait, the more anticipation will build.
“Grant seemed to have a good time today,” he says, and I silently thank him for starting the conversation with something easy.
“He did. Thank you so much for all of your help and for letting us use your house,” I say, trying to busy myself by putting utensils in the dishwasher.
“This is your house too, Scarlett. I hope you know that.” His voice sounds closer, but I don’t dare try to figure out where he is.
“Well, thanks again. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
We are silent for the next minute as I finish loading the dishwasher and start cleaning the counter. But as soon as I look up, Maverick’s eyes lock with mine and I know this conversation hasn’t even truly begun.
“We need to talk, Scarlett. We can’t keep living in silence.”
I nod and take a seat. “You’re right. And I’m sorry. But I didn’t know . . . I don’t know . . . things just got so messed up, Maverick. Which is exactly why I said that we shouldn’t be together. That what we did needed to be a one-time thing.”
This must have been the wrong thing to say, because his eyes go from light to dark and his jaw is working like it’s taking every ounce of energy for him to not blow up.
“If you’d given us a chance, then we would’ve been speaking.”
I know he’s right, but I have to be strong. Stay the course.
“Let’s not do this again, Maverick. I don’t want to fight with you. It’s been a long day, and I have to get up early tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday. Why do you have to get up early?”
“I’m . . . I’m going to see Ryan.”
If Maverick was pissed before, he’s absolutely livid now.
“No. You can’t. I forbid it.”
“Forbid it?” I gasp.
Who does this man think he is?
“I need to talk to him. I need answers. So I’m going and I’m sorry, Maverick, but you have no right to tell me what I can or can’t do.”
“Well, someone needs to try to reason with you, so it might as well be me,” he says, now pacing around the kitchen so hard that I’m afraid he’s going to leave a hole in the tile. “Why do you need to talk to him? What could he possibly say that you’d want to hear? Feed you more lies? Some excuses about why he’s in jail again?”
“I just need to talk to him!” I say, not able to rein in my frustration anymore. “I need him to look me in the eye and tell me why he’s choosing not to be with us.”
“Don’t tell me you still want him around Grant?” Maverick is now in front of me, holding on to my shoulders, almost pleading with me. “Scarlett, you can hate me. You can never want to speak to me again. But please, you can’t want him to be anywhere near Grant. It’s not safe.”
A tear breaks free as I look up at Maverick. He doesn’t understand. No one does.
“I just need to know why. I need to hear it from him if he doesn’t want to be with us.”
I shrug out of his hold and all but run downstairs and lock the door—something I’ve never done since I’ve lived here. I can’t have him coming downstairs. Not tonight.
I go into my son’s room and slide into bed with him, cuddling around him as he squeezes his new Lightning McQueen stuffed car to his chest.
“I’ll get us answers, buddy,” I whisper as I brush my son’s hair away from his face. “Tomorrow I’ll finally get the reason why we aren’t enough.”
26
Maverick
I didn’t sleep a wink last night.
At 5 a.m., I knew my attempts were pointless, so I got up and tried to go through some paperwork for the garage. The numbers started running together and I gave up. My mind was only on one thing—well, one person.
So there I was, sitting on the couch, staring at the basement door, when she came up the stairs with Grant in tow.
I quickly volunteered to watch him, which she thanked me for before she got on the road to visit Ryan in prison.
That was four hours, two Disney movies, and one game of trucks ago.
The sound of the garage door opening signals her return, and I’m not sure how I’m feeling right now. I know all about wanting answers, believe me. Growing up, I wished every day for the chance to ask my dad why he chose a life of drugs over us.
What I don’t want is for Ryan to get her hopes up again. I don’t want him to fill her with lies and bullshit so she remains in his orbit.
Would she actually go back to him? Wait for him to get out?
“Mama!” Grant says as he gets up from playing with his new Lego set, giving her a hug. God, that kid loves her so much.
I know the feeling.
“Hey buddy,” she says, though her words sound tired.
“How did it go?” Might as well get on with it. No sense in beating around the bush.
“He . . .
he was surprised to see me.”
“I bet he was.” I pat myself on the back, because that didn’t even come out as sarcastic or condescending. “Did you get the answers you were hoping for?”
“Is it going to sound bad if I say I’m not sure?”
She takes a seat next to me and it’s not lost on me that this is the first time in God knows how long that at least, for these moments, we aren’t fighting or arguing.
“Tell me about it.”
She takes a look at Grant, who is busying himself with his Legos, and she begins.
“After he got over the shock of seeing me, he immediately tried to explain himself. But I could tell it was all lies. He was scrambling. I called him out on it and then I think he at least tried to be honest with me.”
“And?”
“He told me that he knew a guy who was in The Kings. That he was told he could get some easy work and a few bucks—just to get him back on his feet. He was just a middleman, like Amanda said. He was doing grunt work. Nothing dangerous, or so he said.”
She takes a breath and I don’t dare say a word. I’m just glad she’s talking to me at all.
“He said that he did drive the car in the drive-by and that he’s going to plead guilty. He’s going to snitch on some of The Kings, so he will barely serve any time. He said he didn’t know what he was driving for that day.”
“Do you believe him?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. Some parts I do, some parts I don’t.”
“What don’t you believe?”
“That when he gets out, he’ll clean himself up. Get a real job. Be what Grant and I need. That we’ll finally be a family. He’s said it so many times now that he doesn’t even try to sound genuine anymore. But what if he’s being honest this time? What if this experience finally taught him a lesson and he will be all of those things?”
We sit in silence. I don’t know how to respond. I want to be angry. I am angry. But I know being angry will only drive a deeper wedge between us. I want to be supportive, because at the end of the day, she’s my friend. My best friend if I’m being honest.
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