Never Let You Go (Never #2)

by Monica Murphy

  I’m waiting for Will to come over now and I peer out my own front window, anxious for his car to appear. It’s dark outside, fog rolling in earlier, low and eerie, making the streetlights cast weird cone-shaped beams of orangey light. I let the blinds fall back into place and settle on the couch, pleased when Molly curls up close to my feet.

  Will is bringing dinner with him, but he wouldn’t say where he’s picking up the food. I’m starving, so I hope to God he shows up soon. This living-an-hour-apart business in different towns is getting old, I swear.

  He insists on knocking on my front door every time he comes over, which I think is silly, but whatever. Soon enough he’ll just barge in like he owns the place, pretty much like Molly does. She’ll nose through my partially closed doors like she’s the queen of my house and I’ve finally given in to the fact that yes, she is the queen. She’s comfortable here. Happy. Will always complains about how Molly is too big for his backyard, which is about the size of a postage stamp. The tiny house he lives in is a rental and his lease is coming up soon, right after the first of the year—he told me that a few nights ago.

  I’m considering asking him to move in with me as a sort of Christmas present. Is that cheesy? I don’t know. I do know I balked only a few weeks ago, but things have changed. We’ve become closer. I’m not so unsure anymore, though I was still unsure just enough not to mention it to Sheila during our last appointment. I’m almost afraid to hear her response. I don’t want her to tell me that she thinks it’s a bad idea for us to live together.

  That’s the last thing I need.

  I’m so distracted by my own thoughts I didn’t hear the car pull up in front of my house, so I nearly jump out of my skin when there’s a loud knock on my door. Molly goes crazy as usual, barking like the ferocious dog she’s not, running toward the door, her claws clicking a rapid beat against the bare wood floor. I go to the door and peek through the peephole to see Will standing there, a bag of food in his hands and his computer bag slung over his broad shoulder.

  Great. Another work night.

  Unlocking the door, I throw it open and he smiles, waving the bag of food at me like I’m Molly and easily mesmerized by a doggy treat. Which I sort of am, considering that I’m beyond hungry—but never for doggy treats, ew.

  “Thai food,” he says as he walks in, bringing with him the most delicious smell in all the land.

  “Pad Thai?” I ask hopefully as I close and lock the door.

  “You know it,” he says as he heads into the kitchen. Molly trots after him, looking hopeful that he brought her a treat, too, and I head for the kitchen myself, going for the cupboard and pulling down the shallow bowls I normally use for salads, while Will empties the to-go bag of its contents. He cracks open one container, revealing my favorite Thai dish. I grab two giant spoons and a couple of forks from the drawer and proceed to scoop up the biggest amount of food I can manage.

  Will chuckles, shaking his head. “Hungry?”

  “Starving. I was wasting away while I waited for you to get here.” I go to the fridge and open the door. “What do you want to drink?”

  “A beer if you have any.” He pauses. “Do you mind if we watch the football game? It’s Monday and the Niners are playing.”

  “Sure.” I grab myself a bottle of water and a beer for Will, then shut the door with my hip.

  We settle in on the couch with our plates of food perched in our laps and turn on the game, the low roar from the crowd and the continuous commentary from the announcers almost soothing as I devour my dinner. Football reminds me of simpler times. When I was young and didn’t have a care in the world and I would watch the games with my dad. I only pretended that I cared at the time, but really I absorbed everything he told me. To the point that I can follow a football game pretty well, though I don’t know who the best players are.

  After everything that happened and my father distanced himself from me, I avoided him, and slowly but surely lost my love for football.

  Maybe I can gain it all back with Will. Even though my dad is gone, watching football again can make me feel somewhat closer to him, and I need that. Over the years I’ve been filled with so much resentment and hurt at the way he rejected me after the kidnapping, and I really haven’t been able to get over it. No wonder I’m bitter toward the male species. At one time or another, all the men in my life have disappointed me.

  Even Will.

  We finish our food and Will never breaks out his laptop once, which makes me secretly happy. He’s glued to the television, though, yelling with triumph when the 49ers score and roaring with anger when they make a fumble or the other team scores—or worse, when the ball is intercepted. I stare in mute fascination as he sits on the edge of the couch as tense as he can be, his gaze wide while staring at the TV that hangs on the wall. This is a side of Will I’ve never seen before. My rabid sports fanatic boyfriend is kind of hot.

  “Sorry. I tend to get carried away,” he tells me once halftime begins and he seems to relax somewhat. Considering the Niners are losing, I don’t think he’s completely relaxed. “I used to play football in high school.”

  “You did?” If he’s mentioned that to me before, I forgot.

  He nods, absently petting Molly’s head, which is resting in his lap. She somehow worked her way onto the couch while we were concentrating on the game, and I didn’t protest. She’s sitting in between us now, sleeping contentedly. “Played baseball, too. We were state champions my senior year.”

  “Wow. You must’ve been good.” I’m impressed.

  “I was okay.” He shrugs, brushing off his accomplishments as usual. “Never good enough to earn scholarships, though that was my secret dream. It was hard, though. My grades were just okay and I had to work a lot to earn extra cash, so I couldn’t practice as much as I wanted.”

  How sad. He missed out on so many opportunities because of life circumstances. Then again, so did I. We’re both pitiful. “I’m surprised. You’ve never wanted to watch football before.”

  “Yeah, that’s because I’m usually DVR’ing it and watching it at home later.” He smiles sheepishly, looking like he just got busted. “I wanted to catch tonight’s game live. Thanks for being so agreeable.”

  “I don’t mind football.” I consider telling him why.

  “Really? So you’re like my dream woman?” He raises his brows, his smile reminding me of a little boy’s.

  “We already knew that.” I reach over and slug him on the arm, my knuckles making contact with his hard biceps. Yikes, he’s built. I decide to tell him what I’m really feeling, how football is affecting me. “I used to always watch football with my dad when I was little.”

  “Oh yeah?” Will’s voice goes soft. “I’ve noticed you never really talk about him.”

  “There’s not much to say. We were close, and then one day, we weren’t anymore.” It’s painful, talking about my dad’s rejection. I like to pretend it never happened, but that’s so hard. Memories always come up. Old resentments and new, past good times that meld into voids of nothingness.

  “After you were kidnapped?”

  I nod, telling myself not to cry. I refuse to cry. That would be pointless. I’m tired of tears.

  So tired of them.

  “He missed out, then, getting to know you as you grew up,” Will continues as he reaches out and rests his hand on my knee, giving it a squeeze.

  I drop my head and close my eyes, exhaling slowly, trying to calm my racing heart. “He was too ashamed of me.” Saying the words hurt my chest and I press my hand against it, willing the pain away. I should be over this, over my father’s rejection. But I’m not. There are a lot of things that are good in my life right now that I should focus on, but I can’t help this. I’m not perfect.

  I’m damaged. I probably always will be. But I can at least pick up the pieces the best that I can and carry on. It’s the only thing to do. Life is what you make it.

  If you make it shit, it’s shit. But if you make it w
onderful, well . . .

  “He wasn’t ashamed of you, Katie. More like he was ashamed of himself. Angry that he let something so horrible happen to his little girl.”

  “He didn’t let it hap—” I start, but Will cuts me off.

  “He felt like he did. And that’s as good as actually letting it happen. It was guilt, baby. Pure and simple.” He squeezes my knee again and then nudges at Molly’s side. “Get out of here, dog.”

  She rises slowly and hops off the couch, settling on the floor. The second she’s gone, Will pulls me to him so I’m cuddled in his lap, my head nestled against his shoulder, my lips pressed against his neck and my legs draped over him. “I never blamed him for what happened,” I admit softly. “Never. It was the wrong place at the wrong time. Luck and timing worked against me that afternoon. I know that now. No one’s to blame.” Not even myself.

  “He blamed himself and that’s probably worse.” He runs his hand over my hair, his mouth at my temple. “I know it’s hard to forgive him for his rejection, but I’d bet money that he struggled every damn day for the rest of his life. I also wouldn’t doubt that he felt completely responsible.”

  Why does he have to be so reasonable?

  I remain quiet, plucking at his soft T-shirt, secretly wishing he wasn’t wearing it. I like it best when we’re alone together, bare skin on skin. I wish he was over watching this football game. That he’d take me to bed instead. Or maybe he could take me right here on the couch. We haven’t tried that yet.

  Anything to forget the pain thinking of my father always brings me. But it’s no use. He’s there, front and center in my memories, never letting me forget. I remember a moment a long time ago, not long after I came home from the hospital, once I was mostly healed physically but still in tremendous, overwhelming pain mentally. I’d eavesdropped on my parents, when my dad practically broke down and cried while talking to my mom, asking how he could have let something so horrible happen to his little girl.

  Despite my not wanting them, the tears come anyway. Quiet, mournful tears for what I lost with my father. What he lost with me. Will’s fingers find my face and he gently wipes away my tears, but it’s no use. The tears keep coming. He tilts my face up and kisses the tears away, one after another, his lips covering every inch of my skin. Until his mouth is on mine. Finally, finally his kisses help me forget my turbulent relationship with my father, chasing away all the bad memories.

  But Will also helps me remember the good times. As strained as our relationship was till the very end, I still miss my father and what we used to have. Even when we shared nothing, at least he was still there. Still in my life.

  Somehow, despite it all, I can cherish the bad times, too.

  More than I ever have before.

  The call comes a week before Thanksgiving, bringing with it both good news and bad.

  “Give me the good news first,” Katie says to me over the phone. I’d called her the minute I finished the previous call, knowing I had to tell her what was going on. I was actually anxious to tell her since I felt the need to share it with someone—with my special someone.

  I’ve never had one of those before and it feels good.

  “I was offered a job that will pay really well.” When I lower my voice and offer up the price, Katie sucks in a startled breath. “It’s a big job. Remember my friend Jay? The singer in the band—the concert I took you to?”

  “I remember.” Her voice is soft. That was a night that had started out great and ended with me nearly beating the shit out of some asshole who scared her. Not one of my finer moments.

  “Well, he’s close friends with a lead singer from another band; they’ve both been on the circuit for years. And his friend’s band is about to hit the big time. They landed a record deal, they’re going to embark on a tour to support the album within two months of its release, and they need a new website yesterday.” I pause, letting my words sink in. “That’s where I come into the picture.”

  “Oh. So you’re going to design their new website? That’s wonderful! Think of all the exposure you’ll get.” Katie sounds enthused. This is a good thing, because she’s not going to be so enthused about the next thing.

  “I have to go out of town, though.” I wince, waiting for the verbal blow, but it doesn’t come. Not yet, at least. “Hopefully it’s just for a week, maybe shorter, but they want me there. They want me to see them perform, see them in action at the studio, meet the execs at their new record company. They’re big on submerging their team within the process—that’s a direct quote from Jay.” I chuckle, but Katie doesn’t respond in kind.

  Uh-oh.

  “It’ll go by fast.” Another pause on my part as an idea forms in my brain, and it’s too good not to mention. “You should come with me. We could check out L.A. See the sights. Whatever you want to do, Katie.”

  She sighs, the sound full of longing. “When do you leave?”

  “Right after Thanksgiving.” Yet that won’t work for her, I can feel it in my bones.

  “I wish I could go. But I’m still in school and finals are coming up. If it were the week of Thanksgiving that would be perfect, since there are no classes then,” she explains.

  “You sure you can’t take off? Take your tests or whatever from the hotel? They’ve gotta have decent Wi-Fi.”

  “I’m sure they do, but it’ll be too much of a distraction, my being there with you while struggling through the remaining homework, the studying, the final projects, and the studying.” I’m thinking the studying is extra important to her right now. “I could end up distracting you, too, you know.”

  “No way,” I scoff, but she has a point. I do need to concentrate on this project and not worry about Katie the entire time. Though I’ll end up worrying about Katie anyway because she won’t be with me.

  “It might be what I need anyway,” she continues, as if she’s trying to convince herself my being away is a good idea. “Your being gone means I’ll be able to study Will-free.”

  “You make that sound like a good thing,” I say, feeling a little bit hurt, which is stupid.

  “Oh, it is definitely a good thing. You’re too distracting, I hope you know.” There’s a smile in her voice and it lightens my heart, which had been feeling pretty heavy over leaving her alone.

  “Yeah?” I sit up straighter. “How distracting do you think I am exactly?”

  “Very distracting. Now stop. I’m not going to go on and on about how great you are just to feed your ego,” she mumbles, sounding irritated.

  I chuckle. “Why not? I planned on doing the same thing to you.”

  “Well, aren’t you sweet?” She finally laughs, too, but it dies quickly. “I’m going to miss you when you’re gone.”

  My chest goes tight. “Good. Because I’m going to miss you, too—more than you’ll ever know,” I reassure her. I could go on and on about how much I’ll miss her, but I don’t want to freak her out.

  “Sometimes I’m not sure if you’re being sincere or not,” she says feebly. “I’m always secretly afraid that you’re exaggerating.”

  I can’t believe she just said that. “Baby, my feelings for you are never exaggerated. I love you. And I mean it. You need to believe in me.” I pause. “You do believe in me, right?”

  “Sometimes it’s just . . . it’s hard.” She sighs. “These are my hang-ups messing with my head. It has nothing to do with you. Not really.”

  “I don’t want to leave you.” Shit, I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but here I go. “Maybe I should turn down that job.”

  “Oh, no way. You’re not going to give up on the opportunity of a lifetime because I’m feeling insecure about you leaving me. I won’t let you.”

  Okay, good. I would give it up if I had to. I’d do anything for her. But I’m glad to see she’s willing to sacrifice for me, too. “Thank you for saying that.” I lower my voice. “You know once I leave I’ll be counting the days until I can see you again.”

  She laughs again
, but she sounds sad. “I’ll be doing the same. Probably more than you, considering how busy you’ll be.”

  “You’ll be busy, too, finishing up school,” I remind her. My chest aches at the realization that we’ll be apart. I’ll be down in Southern California and she’ll be here, all by herself for at least five days, maybe more. She’ll have Molly and Mrs. Anderson, but will that really be enough?

  No.

  “So hey, I keep meaning to ask you this, but do you want to come over to my mom’s house for Thanksgiving dinner? I can’t promise there won’t be any drama, but I can guarantee a delicious turkey meal. And you already had Mom’s pumpkin pie.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” I’m being one hundred percent sincere. I was afraid she wasn’t going to ask. Or that her mom might hate me so much she wanted me nowhere near her prized turkey, let alone her daughter.

  But somehow, some way, I must have done something right. I must have impressed that woman to cause her to open up her home to me.

  “It’s nothing formal or anything like that. It’s always a simple affair,” she says. “Sometimes my uncle and his family are there, but I don’t know if that’s the case this year. I hope so. I think you’d like him.”

  “I’ve never been to a Thanksgiving dinner,” I blurt out. Damn, why did I say that? I sound pathetic.

  It’s quiet on the other end, as if Katie needs the time to absorb what I just said, which she might. “Are you serious?” she finally asks.

  I nod, then realize she can’t see me. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve had the crappy Thanksgiving lunches in a school cafeteria and they weren’t so bad. But nothing like a real home-cooked meal. Uh, we never really celebrated the holiday.” I swallow past the burning lump in my throat. That was hard to admit. We weren’t big on Christmas much, either.

  Our last one together, he threw me a carton of cigarettes and wished me a happy holiday before he bailed on me and went to a bar. I spent that Christmas alone.

  A common occurrence. I’ve never been a big fan of the holiday season.