“Looks like Daddy didn’t get the memo about no more naked playdates.”
“You are disgusting.” I swallow.
“That might be true, but I’m not the one banging my friend’s dad.” She laughs and walks away.
Cash makes his way over to me before I have time to analyze her words. “What are you doing here?”
“I…I…hate the way we left things.” He runs a hand down his face. His beard has grown in some, less shadow more shag. I hate that I find it sexy. I hate that I find him sexy. Why couldn’t Arden’s dad be bald or overweight? Who am I kidding? I might have gotten into bed with Cash’s looks, but I kept going back for his heart. A heart that I knew didn’t belong to me. A heart that wasn’t mine to take.
“I don’t know what you want me to say? She knows. She’s not okay with it, and that means that no matter how badly I want this, we can’t.”
He spins me around on the stool, threading his fingers in my hair. “Madly, remember?”
“Cash, please, don’t make this harder.” The tears that Emma, Marco, and a slew of shitty tables had successfully hidden are back and threaten to overwhelm me. I shake my head. If I stay in his arms, I’ll give in. I can’t. He deserves more. Arden deserves a shot at getting to know her dad. I can’t be selfish anymore. Even if it kills me.
I back away slowly. Leaving my heart behind. I love Cash, more than I’ve ever loved anyone, but love hurts. It tortures and maims until you’re nothing but a bloody carcass. It’s too late for me, but maybe I can save him.
“Cherry Girl.” His voice breaks, and it almost destroys me.
“Please don’t contact me again,” I say, then retreat to Marco’s office.
The next few days fly by in a blur of tears, waiting tables, and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Work is a welcome distraction but being at the apartment without Arden is like purgatory. It’s as if I’m waiting to be judged. Time slips away from me, and I’m left replaying the last few months on loop in my brain.
I’ve cleaned every square inch of the place. I’ve gone grocery shopping and made dinner every night in hopes that it would be the night she finally comes home and we can finally move past all this shit.
I turn the burner off and move the pan of ground beef off the eye, carrying it to the strainer sitting in the sink.
The door creeks open and I hear the slap of footsteps padding across the hardwood. I jump, nearly dropping the pan. I set it down with shaky hands and race into the living room. “You’re home,” I say, gnawing on my bottom lip.
“Not for long.” Arden’s clean face is set in stern lines. She’s wearing her sorority colors and her hair is pulled back into a knot at the base of her neck. It’s strange being so disconnected from her. Strange standing in our home feeling like I have no right to be there. “I just came to get a few things. I’m staying with Beth and Cass until school starts back up and I can move into the Gamma house.”
The news hits me like a swift kick to the shin. I knew she was pissed, but I guess I’d never really let myself explore the possibility that she’d move out, or that we’d stop being friends. I fucked up, sure, but we could move past it, couldn’t we? “Please don’t,” I beg. “I know what I did was wrong on so many levels, but I swear I will make it right. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. I’m making tacos,” I add with a hopeful edge to my voice. “Have dinner with me. Talk to me.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. Her lips turn up in a sardonic smile. “Tacos? You think making tacos is going to erase the memory of walking in on you fucking my dad?”
I take a step closer. “Of course not, but we can’t move forward if you’re never here. There are a million things to say.” I take another step, my lip quivers with each word. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m sorry I let it go on for so long. I’m sorry I hurt you.” She remains silent, refusing to meet my gaze. “So, what? That’s it then? Our friendship isn’t worth fighting for?”
“You fucked my dad. And then you kept fucking him and lying to me about it. What kind of friendship is that? There isn’t anything to save.”
“Oh, now he’s your dad?” I snap. I don’t mean to, but it’s been a week of her icing me out. A week of me begging, and her ignoring every phone call and text message. “The other day he was Cash, and before that, your sperm donor. But once you find out he’s with me, and we are actually happy, he’s your dad?”
Arden laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. “You’re such a selfish bitch.”
“Me?” I scream. “I broke up with him! I’m trying to do the right thing by you, and you won’t even talk to me. I get that I fucked up, but me hooking up with Cash isn’t the same as if I was hooking up with your stepdad and you know it.”
“My relationship with Cash is complicated. And maybe I don’t express my feelings about it in the most articulate ways, but he is my father and you aren’t the only one who’s allowed to have shitty coping mechanisms, okay?”
My shoulders deflate, and I feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. Of course, she has complicated feelings about him. Who wouldn’t? If my mother came back into my life right now, would I accept her with open arms? No. But that doesn’t mean that my curiosity about her disappears and I move on without a backwards glance. Of course not. “I didn’t mean…”
“He chose you,” she says. “When I walked in on the two of you, I could see it in his eyes. He was protective over you. He loves you.”
I shake my head. “Arden, he quit his job and moved across the country for you. We aren’t in competition. He’s your dad and my…”
She blinks back the tears. “Your what? Boyfriend? Are you going to marry him? Have children? Am I supposed to call you Mom?”
“No, I will never see him again if that’s what you want.”
“Rot in hell. That’s what I want.” She brushes past me and takes the steps two at a time, slamming her bedroom door behind her.
I go back into the kitchen and finish the tacos. My hands shake as I plate our dinner. I carry both plates to the breakfast bar and sit and wait. Sometime later, she comes stomping back down the stairs with two large duffle bags on her arms.
“Eat with me,” I beg.
Her eyes harden as she takes in my pathetic last plea. “Our lease is up at the end of summer. I’ll keep up with my half of the rent until then. After that, you’re on your own.”
Cherry
DAYS FADE INTO WEEKS, AND before I know it, the summer is half gone. My life has turned into a sad love song. There is no happy ending or great realization that I’m better off. Just a cycle of pain and loneliness and longing. I fell for him violently, like a wave crashing into the shore. I was powerless to stop it. It was just the natural progression of things. Mother Nature enforcing her will on us like two unsuspecting sailors in the night.
Sometimes things don’t go according to plan. Sometimes life is messy and love manifests in unlikely places. It’s just too bad Arden can’t see it that way.
It’s been a month since she moved out. A month of crying and drinking and pretending. I’d come here for a new life. The problem was I’d brought the same old Cherry. I was the same insecure girl who wears her heart on her sleeve, and copes with her issues with drugs and sex and an unhealthy relationship with food.
I peel myself off my bed. The remains of a hangover dance around at the edges of my brain. I pop two Tylenol in my mouth and swallow them dry before making my way to the shower.
Steam fills the bathroom and I wash away last night’s party. Eddy’s was crammed wall to wall with surfers, apparently in town for some competition, the name of which I didn’t bother learning. All I know is that they were hot, buying drinks, and down to fuck.
Unfortunately, Logan tracked Emma’s ass down and dragged us back to the apartment before Tripp, or Rip, or whoever the guy I was talking to, made good on all the promises he whispered into my ear.
I turn off the water and throw on a pair of yoga pants and a black
t-shirt with Debbie Harry’s face printed on the front. Logan’s in the kitchen making coffee when I get downstairs. He eyes me warily, handing me a mug. I didn’t realize when I’d asked Emma if she wanted to take over Arden’s old room that it would include infrequent appearances from Satan, but otherwise I really love having her around. “You’re alive,” he comments.
“Thanks to you,” I grunt, taking a seat on the stool. The coffee is hot and strong and just what I need.
“You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t ask to be rescued.”
Logan tips his mug to his lips. “I didn’t do it for you. Hell, I did it for everyone but you,” he says in that asshole tone he’s gotten down to a science.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Emma likes you, and Chelsea likes her—”
“Bullshit, you like her too or you wouldn’t be making coffee in my kitchen,” I say, cutting him off. “I saw the way you looked at that guy she was dancing with. Like you wanted to rip his head off.”
“I like her cunt,” he agrees. “And I don’t like to share.” I roll my eyes and take another sip of coffee. I don’t understand their relationship, but I fucked my friend’s dad, so who am I to judge? “Anyway, Cash would have gone apeshit if he found out I let you get plowed by that long-haired ball sac with the tribal ink.”
My throat tightens at the mention of his name. “If you’re going to be around, can you refrain from using that name?”
“Interesting. Cunt doesn’t bother you, but Cash does?” he asks rubbing his chin.
“Cash and I are broken up. He shouldn’t care about what I do.”
“I agree,” Logan says straightening his tie. “But he does. It’s a fucking downer. He mopes around the office all day, and his shitty mood makes me look like a saint. Do you know how long I’ve spent training my employees to think I’m a cold-hearted asshole?” He looks at me expectantly. When I don’t respond, he grunts. “Five years. Now the disloyal bastards are calling him Satan 2.0.”
“Your poor ego.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but Emma bounces into the room. His eyes track her every movement. I snort into my mug. He only likes her cunt, my ass. He’s as obsessed with her as I am with Cash.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Like I got hit by the hangover bus. I took some aspirin, and hopefully the caffeine will kick in before my shift.”
My phone rings. I look down at the display. Sunnie’s name pops up and I roll my eyes.
“What?” Emma looks at me from over her shoulder.
“It’s my sister.” I hit ignore, but before I can even set the phone back down, it starts ringing again.
“Do you need to get that?” Emma asks, settling into Logan’s arms. His mouth latches on to her neck. It’s weird seeing the two of them so…domesticated. I’m one part jealous, and one part disgusted. Emma is so sweet, and he’s so…him.
“No, we aren’t like normal sisters who talk or whatever.” I ignore the second call, then gesture between them. “So, this is a thing that’s happening?”
“Yes,” Logan says at the same time as Emma says, “No.” A heated silence fills the air, the tension only broken by my phone ringing once more.
“Maybe it’s important.”
“It isn’t,” I assure her.
“Answer the fucking phone,” Logan barks. He tags Emma around the waist and backs her into the counter. “What do you mean no?”
I snatch the phone off the counter, desperate to ignore the sexual tension in the air. “What?”
“Cherry.” Her broken voice sets alarm bells off in my brain.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“It’s Dad. You need to come home. Now. He’s in the hospital.”
I hit end and jump to my feet so fast, the bar stool falls over behind me.
“Is everything okay?” Emma asks, dislodging herself from Logan’s grip.
“My dad. He’s in the hospital.” I run to my room and throw random things in a bag, not even bothering to see if they match. I text Marco that I need to go out of town, then run back downstairs.
“Is there anything I can do?” Emma asks. She tugs at her ear and shuffles from side to side.
“Actually, can I borrow your car? Mine is really only good for local stuff.”
“Of course.” Emma unhooks her key from the ring and hands it over. “Anything else?”
“No. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Be safe,” she calls as I run out the door.
I hate waiting.
Waiting for doctors. Waiting for test results. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The ICU waiting room is hell on earth.
Quiet…too quiet. The buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead makes my skin crawl. The click of feet on the linoleum in the distance forces me to my feet, and I pace the room like a caged animal. And my heart, the ticking in my chest reaches a fever pitch. Buzz. Click. Tick. Buzz. Click. Tick. Buzz. Click. Tick. A morbid soundtrack to match the mood.
“Can you sit down?” Sunnie sighs, pausing her Instagram scroll to glare at me. She’s perched cross-legged on one of the chairs on the other side of the room. We’ve been trapped together in here for an hour and somehow managed not to kill each other.
“Can you not speak to me…like ever?” I growl and take another lap around the room. I wish I had a drink or something to numb my brain. My fingers itch to pull up WebMD, but I know that will only make things worse. Heart Failure. It’s so vague. What does it mean? The obsessive-compulsive part of me wants to know everything. Every possible treatment option and outcome. Heart failure. I am fixated on those two words. I wrack my brain for everything I know on the subject, which admittedly, isn’t much.
“I’m just saying, your panicking isn’t going to get him better any faster. And all worrying will cause is wrinkles.”
My steps falter and I turn, open-mouthed, and gape at my sister. “Wrinkles? That’s your top priority?”
Sunnie adjusts in her chair. Her phone is still in one hand, but the other flies up to her head and smooths back her ponytail. A nervous twitch she’s had since we were children. “Just because I don’t pace the room like a crazy person doesn’t mean I don’t care. I was there,” she says in that superior way older sisters use to talk to younger ones.
“Yeah,” I snort, “until you can find another rich asshole to support your lifestyle, then you’ll be gone again just like her…”
“Don’t do that.” Sunnie’s eyes flare with the first bit of emotion I’ve seen since I got here. She doesn’t have enough depth to be stoic, nor the emotional maturity to have processed our father being unconscious, but she is self-involved enough to allow her phone to lull her into a false sense of self-worth. As if virtual likes could erase real-life pain. “I’ve been there, on chemo days, on good days, and bad days. You don’t even call him.”
“He has you,” I sneer, hoping to infuse enough venom in my tone to hide the sting of her words. I have been so absorbed with my life, my drama, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve turned into the person I hate the most. I don’t call him enough. That’s my cross to bear, and what’s worse is that I don’t even have a good fucking reason not to. Maybe jealousy? Maybe selfishness? Maybe a mixture of both. All I know, is that when this is all said and done, I’m going to be a better daughter, a better person.
“You can’t possibly still hate me that much.” She rolls her eyes as if her making my junior year of high school a living hell is something I should just get over.
“You slept with my boyfriend,” I growl.
My mind goes back to that day. I came home from school early. Trav was absent. I texted him, and he said he was sick. I ducked out after second period, went to the store to buy soup, then raced home to steal the slutty nurse costume Sunnie wore the previous Halloween. I’d built it up in my head like a movie. Trav would be napping on the couch surrounded by tissues, and I’d use the spare key his mom kept taped under t
he mailbox to surprise him.
Only, I’d gotten there, with my tits hanging out, to find him and my sister making out. I blacked out. The next parts only come to me in flashes. I walked home that day with his blood on my hands and his cum between my legs.
“I’m sorry!” Her voice echoes in the quiet room. “Look, Trav was a douchebag, and not that great of a lay. I did you a favor.”
“You ruined my life.” I’d always been a little obsessive. When I was younger, it was my grades and computers, then once I got a little older, it was my body and boys. Seeing them together broke something in my brain. Finding out later that it wasn’t the first time, took those shattered pieces and burned them to ash. I went full-on psycho mode. I had to do community service for the damage I caused to his car and see a therapist about my “anger issues.”
“Ruin? Hardly. You’re in Brighton, for fuck’s sake. You’ve got a job and friends, and you’re going to school. Do you want to know why I moved back home?” she asks, and her voice hardens. “I party way too much. One night, I got so drunk and so high, I blacked out. I woke up the next day in a room with two strange men. I don’t know who they were or where I’d met them.” Her voice quivers and she wraps her arms around her middle. “Sometimes, when I’m sleeping, I see flashes of them, on top of me, using me. I told Mom about it one Tuesday at lunch. I’d thought she’d somehow become more maternal over time, but do you know what she said to me? She said that I’d need thicker skin if I wanted to make it in LA.”
I close my eyes and inhale her pain. Tears cloud my eyes. I will not feel sorry for her. I will not feel sorry for her. I won’t, I chant over and over again.
“I’m sorry I slept with Travis.” Her voice brings me back to the here and now. I peel my eyes open and she’s standing two feet away. “I was so jealous of you. I know that’s not a good reason, but it is the reason.”
“You were the popular one, Sunnie. The pretty one. You had everything. What did I have that you could possibly be jealous over?”
“Everything. I spend hours on this.” She points a slender finger towards her face. “And I kill myself in the gym, and Google current events just to make myself seem smarter. But you’re actually smart. And you’re gorgeous. People like you because you are unapologetically you.”
Cherry Bomb (Brighton #1) Page 17