Single Mom's Protector - Complete Series

by Nella Tyler

  It took us maybe thirty minutes to get downtown from Luke’s house, and Ty kept the stereo on, pumping great music through the system, for the whole ride. I had started to sober up a little bit by the time he parked the car in the garage across the street from the club, but I figured that was fine; it would improve our chances of getting into the place if I didn’t have breath that reeked of alcohol.

  The outside of the club was painted white, with black and gray portraits splattered all over: I spotted one of Kurt Cobain from Nirvana and one of Morrissey, but I couldn’t recognize the others as we crossed the street and approached the entrance. The teal neon over the door proclaimed that the club’s name was Ibiza, and the guy at the door had chin-length dishwater blond hair and tired-looking blue eyes. He was tall and skinny rather than big and burly, and I thought that this might actually be the kind of place I would like.

  “Can I see IDs folks?” He had a bundle of wristbands in one hand and a black permanent marker threaded between the fingers of the other hand.

  Ty took his wallet out of his pocket and tugged his ID free of one of the slots, and Ashley and I rummaged in our purses for our own drivers’ licenses. The man at the door looked at Ty’s ID and then at him, nodded, and tore one of the wristbands free of the wad in his hand. He wrapped it around Ty’s wrist and then turned to take my ID for me.

  He looked at the picture and then looked and me and shrugged. “No band for you,” he said with a slightly apologetic shrug. “Can I see your hand please?” I held it out for him and he somehow managed to maneuver the marker into a position to actually use it. He drew a quick black X on the top of my hand, marking me as under 21, and then after checking Ashley’s ID did the same for her. “Have a good time, folks,” the doorman said, smiling.

  I followed Ty through the door and the darkness of the club swallowed the three of us up. Past the glare of lights at the entrance it was at first almost pitch black before my eyes; but as I started to adjust, I realized that it was just very dark. Music poured through the speakers: we came in on a The Black Keys song. I smelled cigarette smoke and looked around to see a few people clustered against the walls, on the couches and benches attached to the edges of the room, smoking and chatting, tapping their ashes into ashtrays.

  More people were out on the dance floor, obviously having a good time; a few were even up on the empty stage near the entrance to the club, laughing and moving around with abandon. At the other end of the club I could see the bar, an island of neon and fiberglass with bartenders moving behind it in the darkness, a few people hanging out there to get drinks.

  Ashley, Ty and I hit the dance floor as The Black Keys changed to a Vampire Weekend song and any doubts I had about the club immediately vanished. Everyone there with us seemed to be decent people—fun, dressed as Goths or as punks or hipsters, drinking beers or water or cocktails, and no one seemed to care whether I was twenty-one or eighteen.

  It was a great place and as Ty danced up close to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing my body up against his, I leaned up onto the balls of my feet to press my lips against his ear so he could hear me over the noise of the sound system.

  “I love this place already!”

  “I thought you would!” I kissed a spot along Ty’s neck and we continued dancing for a while longer, almost oblivious to the world around us for a few more minutes. When he pulled back, I looked around and spotted Ashley, just as happy as a clam, a few feet away from us. “I’m going to grab a drink real quick—do you want to split it with me?” I considered that. I was mostly sober after the drive to the club, and surely as long as I wasn’t trying to buy drinks for myself it wouldn’t be a big deal, right? I nodded.

  “Get me a water, too,” I told him. “And one for Ashley?” Ty grinned and gave me a quick salute, turning and walking over to the bar. Ashley and I continued dancing, looking around and taking in the sights of the various people in the club. It really seemed like a great place—no one group of people stood out as the “typical group” for the club, and everyone seemed to be having a good time, just hanging out.

  The music was good and the atmosphere was great, and all in all I was sure I was going to make a point of visiting Ibiza again; and I thought that whatever else happened in my life I was going to try and make it to the club for my twenty-first birthday in a few more years.

  Ty brought our drinks and I decided I needed a break from dancing; I was sweaty from head to toe and my feet were starting to ache in my shoes. We sat down on one of the couches attached to the wall, and I took sips of Ty’s whiskey-coke in between sips of water. “I love your hair,” a woman said, stopping and admiring it. “Where did you get it done?”

  “I did it myself,” I called back to her. “Easy as pie!”

  “I don’t believe that,” the woman countered, shaking her head with a grin. She had short-short hair in a dark color that shone violet when one of the spotlights swept across it, a round face like a faerie, and she was dressed in a black t-shirt with white print that said Hang The Old Year along with a pair of tight-fitting, ripped jeans and converse sneakers.

  She sat down with us while I explained how I’d done my hair, and asked if we minded if she smoked. “I know it’s allowed in the club, but I try and check with whoever’s around me when I light up,” she explained. Her name was Marissa, and Ashley, Ty and I all said we were fine with her smoking.

  “Have you ever been in here before?” I shook my head. “Oh man, this place is great. I’ve been coming since my eighteenth birthday, and I’m twenty-three now. Best place to come for a really chill night out—no one gets super drunk and rowdy or tries to start fights, and if they do, the bouncers have it under control in a minute.” Marissa started telling stories about her best nights at Ibiza, and I pretended to listen, nodding along with Ty and Ashley—who seemed more interested than I felt.

  It wasn’t that Marissa’s stories were boring so much as it was that deep down, even though I had already started to feel better, I was still bothered by running into Dillon at Lucas’ party. I hadn’t even thought that Dillon could possibly have known anyone who went to the school I’d chosen; I hadn’t thought that I would ever have to worry about seeing him again.

  It wasn’t that he had been abusive so much as it was that he’d been petty and kind of terrible to me in the last months that we’d been dating. So much so that—just like Ty said—I had worried that he’d been right, and that I was just too lazy, too stupid, too much of everything bad to ever succeed at anything. Dillon had been the person to convince me that cosmetology school was a waste of time; his reasons had alternated between the argument that the schools were all just schemes—that they charged money for lessons and gave useless certifications that no one could actually use—and that a cosmetology certificate, even if I could get a job with it, was somehow not good enough.

  When I’d seen him at the party, practically groping the girl that he’d been dancing with, drunk and apparently happy, it had made something in my heart that I’d slowly started to heal open right back up. I felt all of the pains of what Dillon had drilled into my head about how the things I wanted in life were petty and stupid and shortsighted, and how I should be some kind of person I wasn’t. I had thought that I’d done well to get over him as quickly as I had, and that dating Ty was a sign that I was doing the right thing. But he looked so at ease at the party that I thought Dillon had probably moved on even faster than I had.

  It’s not fair, I thought to myself, remembering the breakup and how Dillon had told me I’d never find anyone as good as he was. He’s supposed to be miserable. He’s supposed to be wishing that he’d never driven me away by being an asshole. He’s not supposed to be dancing with girls and having a good time and not even caring that I’ve moved on.

  “You okay, Nicki?” I shook myself and realized that Ty had been watching me for a while; Marissa had left at some point, heading to the bar to refill her drink.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, smi
ling quickly. “Can we go back to dancing? I think I’m cooled off enough for now.”

  “Sure!” Ty took my hand and helped me onto my feet, and we finished off his drink together before he, Ashley and I all walked the few steps over to the dance floor again. The DJ put on a song—I recognized it after a moment as an old Arctic Monkeys tune—and we started dancing together, jumping around and laughing.

  I felt someone’s hands on my shoulders, and the next moment I staggered as someone shoved me away from Ty from behind. I managed to get my balance again and looked to see a woman—maybe twenty-two or twenty-three at the most—had her arms around my boyfriend. She had blonde hair with pink streaks in it, and her body was encased on a pleather corset and pants.

  “I knew I’d see you in here again!” The woman was almost shrieking—she was loud enough that I could hear her from a couple of feet away where she’d shoved me. “They’re playing our song, Ty.” I nearly stumbled over my own feet again at the sounds of the words. “Oh man, I’ve missed you, babe.”

  I watched with horror as the woman started grinding up against Ty, laughing and trying to kiss him. I shook my head, trying to understand what I was seeing. Ty gave the woman a little shove, but it wasn’t enough to quite get her fully off of him. He looked over and saw me and I shrugged. “Nicki…”

  “I think Ashley and I are going to catch a ride home,” I said, glancing at my roommate. “You can—I’ll just leave you to this. We’ll get a Lyft or an Uber or something.” Before Ty could say anything about it, I’d grabbed Ashley’s hand and turned my back on him. I hurried out of the club as fast as I could, feeling nauseated, depressed, and confused.

  Chapter Eight

  “Kelsey—Nicole, wait!” I shoved at my ex-girlfriend and tried to go after Nicole and her roommate, so I could explain what was happening.

  “She’s already gone, baby—come and dance with me.” The drunken slur in Kelsey’s voice was definitely too familiar. I turned to look at her, glaring at her in the flashing lights and darkness.

  “Kelsey—Kelsey!” she tried to grab me, tried to grab at my shoulders, at my waist. I shoved her away, and looked around, even though I already knew that she was right. Ashley and Nicole were already out of the club. I grabbed at Kelsey’s groping hands and caught her at the wrist, dragging her away from the dance floor. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? I’m on a date—and we’ve been over for fucking ages.”

  “Oh, please, babe; like that little baby could ever hold a candle to me,” Kelsey said, shaking her head. Her makeup was smudged all over her face, half of it sweated off, and she reeked of tequila. “Come on—I think I can get Danimal to play our song again.”

  She leaned in closer to me and said in my ear, in what I think she thought was a stage-whisper, “I totally fucked his brains out after we broke up and now he thinks I’m just so fucking hot, he’ll do whatever I want.” My stomach gave a lurch inside of me and I cringed. Kelsey wasn’t just drunk; she was a wreck.

  “Who do you have driving you home?” Kelsey gave me a bleary-eyed, confused stare.

  “I don’t have anyone driving me home,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m driving me home, sweet-cakes. Come on—let’s dance.” I took a deep breath and scrubbed at my face. My date with Nicole was already just about ruined; I would have to make some kind of excuse as soon as possible, explain the situation if I could manage to work up the courage for it.

  “You are about ten minutes away from puking all over the floor,” I told Kelsey. “You need to get home. Come on; I’ll drive you.”

  “But I want to dance! Come on, Ty-baby, I spotted you when they played our song, it’s totally fate!”

  “It’s not fate,” I told Kelsey, gritting my teeth. “It’s the worst possible fucking luck. Now come on. I’m driving you home just so I don’t have to worry about hearing you’ve splattered your brains all over the highway driving home tonight.” I kept a grip on her wrist and started pulling her through the club.

  Kelsey screeched, predictably, trying to call for the club’s bouncers to help her; but as soon as they saw the condition she was in, they started looking at me a little more respectfully. “I’m trying to get her out of here before she hurls all over the dance floor,” I told the big, heavy-set Latino guy in the club’s t-shirt and black pants when he appeared. “She’s totally wasted, and she doesn’t have a ride home.”

  “Do you have a ride home, ma’am?” the bouncer looked at Kelsey doubtfully.

  “Of course I do!” Kelsey rummaged in her purse for a moment and came up with her keys to her car. “I’m my ride home!” The bouncer rolled his eyes and looked at me again.

  “You promise me you’re just interested in getting her home safely?”

  “He’s the one who got away,” Kelsey told the bouncer. “He doesn’t know it yet, but I am totally going to convince him to get back with me.”

  “She’s my ex,” I told the guy. “I don’t have any interest in getting back with her, I just don’t want to see her kill herself driving drunk.” The bouncer hesitated for just a moment longer and then raised a hand, his fingers moving in a quick signal to the other bouncers scattered around the club.

  “I’ll help you walk her out to your car,” the guy told me. “But I swear, dude—if she comes back crying rape, or I hear about something on the news…”

  “You won’t,” I said, though it was—remotely—possible that Kelsey would get vindictive enough that she’d falsely accuse me, especially if she tried to get her way with me when I dropped her off at her apartment. “I’m just going to take her to her place, watch her get into her apartment and then I’m going to leave.”

  “Do me a favor,” the bouncer said, taking Kelsey’s other arm and beginning to lead her to the door right along with me. “I’ll give you my number, you send me a picture of you in the car, watching her go up to her place, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said, shrugging it off. It was a weird request, but I could understand the spirit behind it; the bouncers at Ibiza were really protective of their regulars, and even of people who only came in once in a while. They wanted to make sure they weren’t sending anyone home with someone to be taken advantage of or killed. They wanted to keep their reputation as a safe and respectful place to party.

  The bouncer helped me get Kelsey across the street, and when she pitched over into a planter with some kind of dead shrub in it, he helped me hold her hair back while she vomited. I shook my head, taking a deep breath to suppress the sympathetic nausea I felt at the sounds of my ex-girlfriend throwing up. “Better out than in,” Kelsey said in a singsong voice. “Hey—I could probably do like three more shots now!”

  “No more shots,” I told her firmly. “No more anything. We’re getting you in the car and getting you home and that’s final.”

  The bouncer helped me get her over to the passenger seat and I cringed a little inside at the fact that she was probably going to make my car absolutely reek. Kelsey had somehow managed to get vomit down the front of her corset, and I hoped it would stay there.

  “Keep the windows rolled down all the way home,” the bouncer suggested. “That way if she needs to puke again…”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “And also it’ll keep me from needing to puke at the smell.” The bouncer grinned. He gave me his phone number and told me that if I didn’t text him a verification that I’d gotten Kelsey safely home, he was going to have me banned from the club. I agreed to the proposition because I didn’t really see any way around it.

  Besides, I had no real reason to do anything other than what I’d told the bouncer I was going to do—what did it hurt to take a picture and send it to him?

  I took a deep breath before I got into my car, thinking about Nicole and Ashley. I hoped they were getting home safely. The person that bouncer really needs a picture from is whoever they got into a car with—whether it was an Uber or a Lyft driver, I thought bleakly as I started up the car. I glanced over at Kelsey.

  She was s
agged over in the seat, her head pressed against the wall of the car. She was barely conscious, humming a song to herself. Let’s get this over with as quickly as possible, I told myself. I pulled out of my parking spot and got the car out of the garage, shaking my head and putting the music on the stereo. I couldn’t even really stand to look at Kelsey as I drove away from the club, even if I knew I should probably check in on her every so often to make sure she hadn’t given herself alcohol poisoning.

  I drove from the downtown area, thinking about Nicole and wondering if she was going to get home safely. I would text her as soon as I took care of the situation with Kelsey, and make sure at least that she wasn’t being kidnapped, or raped, or anything like that. I would deal with the situation that Kelsey had caused in the morning, but I had a responsibility.

  It wasn’t even that I particularly liked Kelsey; after the way things had ended in our relationship long before, I felt like I had done everything that I possibly could to help her, and that I was more than happy to never, ever see her again. I wasn’t sure why I had even considered going to Ibiza when I knew she went to that club fairly regularly. Maybe it was a sign that I had just about forgotten her completely. Maybe it was some kind of bizarre sign that I had doubts about my relationship with Nicole. I had no idea—but it was the worst luck in the world that put me in that club with my drunken ex while I was trying to salvage the night from a moment where my current girlfriend was trying to get over a sighting of her own drunken ex. At least we have that in common, I thought ruefully. Neither of us wants to have anything at all to do with our exes ever again.

  I drove to Kelsey’s house by memory; at some point, the alcohol in her system took over and she slumped against the passenger side door, beginning to snore. I ignored it. As long as she wasn’t puking or dead, I was pretty content to have her be quiet. I didn’t want to hear anymore slurred, drunken words, I didn’t want to hear her trying to justify ruining my date, or tell me how it was a sign we should get back together or at least hook up. I just wanted to get her home and then get my own self home, take a shower, and crawl into bed. I wanted to think about just how I was going to explain to Nicole what the situation had been. I had seen the look on her face: she was hurt and confused. Not an expression I wanted to be the cause of.