Used (Unlovable, #1) (Unlovable Series)

by Halat, Lynetta

  Amused, I look at my wrist like there’s a watch there. “All right, Greer Tanner, your clock’s ticking. You better get this show on the road. And fair warning, I’m not easily impressed.”

  “I think our roles are reversed. I suddenly feel like my truck is gonna turn into a pumpkin if I don’t impress you fast enough.”

  “Better get moving, cowboy.”

  Greer takes us to a local diner that is known for its steak. He acts like he doesn’t know anything about how I take my food or what I like to drink, and as he’s “getting to know me,” asks me all sorts of questions—like my favorite color (red), my favorite food (avocado), my favorite sport (duh, rodeo), my favorite animal (again, duh, horses). Of course, I ask him all these things in return like I don’t know. He surprises me when he says his favorite sport is NASCAR, though. I know he loves it, just not more than rodeo.

  “So, how is that a girl like you doesn’t have a boyfriend back home? I can’t believe no one has snatched you up yet.”

  I twirl the straw in my drink for a second before sitting back in the seat and leveling him with my gaze. “I had an amazing person who tried to snatch me up, but I’m not good enough for him.”

  Greer narrows his eyes at me. He loathes my self-abhorrence. “I find that hard to believe. You are the whole package—talented, determined, smart … beautiful.”

  “He’s all that and more. He’s loyal, kind, compassionate … freakin’ gorgeous,” I add with a slanted grin.

  “Gorgeous, huh?” He shakes his head. “Hmm, he does sound amazing. But I think you’re his equal in all ways.” He narrows an eye at me. “Maybe even better than him since you see your own ‘faults’ so clearly. I think someone who can criticize themselves and try to better themselves is far wiser than those of us who can’t.”

  It never fails to piss me off that he only sees the positive in me. He ignores the open, festering wound that is my nature. “So you think I can bounce back from being a slut?”

  His wince and indrawn breath don’t surprise me, but his closed fist pounding on the table startles me a whole lot. When the dishes clink and clatter, I’m hurled from the little imaginary world he lulled me into. “I hate it when you call yourself that. You’re no slut,” he snaps.

  “You don’t know me, remember? And you sure as hell never see me for me. You have Denver-colored glasses on where I’m concerned.” I reach over and grasp his fist. “But I’ve always loved that about you. You make me better even if it’s only temporary, and only in your eyes.”

  I rub his hand for a few quiet moments while he calms himself.

  “That’s pretty impressive for a guy you’ve just met,” he finally jokes. “If you’re determined to believe the worst about yourself. Tell me … what is it about you that makes you a slut exactly?”

  I try to pull my hand back, but Greer flips his over and laces his fingers through mine, holding tight and running his thumb over my wrist. I study them as I confess, “I used my best friend for years to escape my shitty reality. When he was nothing but good to me, I shut down and lost myself in our moments together, effectively blocking him out from ever experiencing something real with me.”

  “You sure he wasn’t a willing accomplice? Maybe escaping his own reality? ‘Cause I can’t imagine anyone having an issue with being used by the likes of you,” he says with naughty grin and a twinkle in his eyes.

  “He was willing, but that’s still not fair. He felt things I didn’t, and that hurts when someone doesn’t return your feelings, even if he protests and promises that it doesn’t. That took the edge off my guilt for a while, but the truth of the matter remained—he continually put himself second to me, but he was the only person on this earth who truly loved me. He allowed me to trust, to hope, to dream. And I hurt him—repeatedly. I was so addicted to him and what he offered me I couldn’t see straight.”

  A frown mars his features. “You’re not addicted to him anymore?”

  “No, I conquered my addiction. I need to get through this world on my own without hurting or using others.”

  “So this guy? This guy loved you, and you didn’t love him back? Not even a little?”

  I pinch my lips together because, of course, I loved him. Just not the way he loved me. My love came with conditions and ultimatums and trappings. His love was pure and unconditional and free. Mine was twisted and dirty.

  “I want to love him,” I whisper, “but I don’t know how to love him the way he deserves.”

  He nods and starts to speak, but our server brings our steaks over, and we eat in companionable silence for a while.

  “Why do you think you don’t know how to love?” he asks, breaking the silence.

  I think for a moment before answering. This is something I’ve been trying to figure out for … forever. I didn’t know if I could put it into words, but for him, I’ll try. “Because real love is a learned behavior, and I’ve never had anyone teach me. My mother’s version of love is that it’s a tool wielded to get you what you want, and once that’s acquired, you set your sights on the next objective, and repeat. If that’s not enough, my dad taught me that when you let love in, it destroys you and spoils everything good about you.”

  “Sounds like this guy was teaching you, though,” the always-optimistic golden boy murmurs.

  “He was, and then I went and blew it. I took that ugly version of love and corrupted what he offered me.”

  Greer sits forward and steeples his hands against his chin. “OK … I know I don’t know you well,” he starts, making me laugh lightly as I recall the game he’s playing. “But here’s my diagnosis. Quit trying to determine that you know what is best for this amazing man who’s lucky enough to have whatever you’re able to give him. Quit pushing him away. Just quit all that. Now.” He clears his throat, and I like this take-charge version of Greer so much that I find myself leaning in and struggling to grasp at whatever ridiculous straws he might suggest to get us back. He reaches over and runs his fingers through my ponytail. “Instead, allow what he freely gives you to mold your screwed-up concept of love.” He pauses for a second and runs his hands over mine, holding them again. “You came here looking for a fresh start, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. Close your eyes.”

  That’s not what I expected. “What?”

  “Close those wide, sunny-colored eyes of yours, Denver.”

  “OK,” I mumble, as I close them lightly. His hands tighten on mine.

  “Everything you’ve ever known about love has just been washed away from your mind like heavy dust after a long, rainless summer. You look around, and it’s gone, but then you wonder … what was I looking for again? But you don’t know because, whatever it was has just … disappeared. When you open your eyes, you’ll be looking at the man who’s forgiven you for whatever wrongs you think you’ve done him. The man who’s going to show you what love is and show you how to return that love. Now, open your eyes.”

  When I do, all is I see is the breathtaking man sitting across from me. Gone is the paranoid, needy boy who had begun to let my ugliness taint him. All that remains is my chance, my shot at figuring out how to love with the only person who has ever seen that worth in me.

  Nothing about our date is romantic. It’s a date of cold, hard truths but also of bright, shiny promise. Greer really does know what he is doing because it is perfect and just what we need.

  When I finally lie down for the night, I decide to, once and for all, purge all those polluted memories of who I was and how I became that way. Maybe when I see Greer again, the memories wouldn’t cloud the vision of what we were trying to become. I’ve let my bad thoughts run amuck in my head long enough. I know that I can never forget them, but I think browsing through them and filing them away is the only way this can work.

  Chapter Nine

  Then

  ONE WEEK. MY mother was able to last one week until Blake was allowed to come back home.

  Vodka. Orange juice. Cup. Check,
check and check.

  I dash out of the house and into the barn, snatching a couple of horse blankets from their holders and climbing up into the loft. Spreading them out on the hay, I lower myself to my knees and make myself a strong drink.

  Vodka, flood my brain and drown all those pitiful excuses my mother spouted at me.

  Perhaps, you made it out like you were willing.

  He’s learned his lesson.

  He cut back on his drinking.

  I love him, Denver, and he’ll be around long after you’re gone.

  He’s promised to steer clear of you.

  Just don’t do anything to encourage him.

  I whimper loudly and shove my fist in my mouth and scream around it. Why am I surprised? That woman had done nothing to protect me for all these years. I am responsible for my own protection. The only reason she kicked out the other husband who tried something on me was because she was finished with him. She used him for everything he was worth, and she was ready to move on. I was kidding myself to think it was about protecting her daughter.

  Talking to my dad hadn’t been any better. I broke my own rule, called him, and practically begged him to let me come and stay with him and my grandparents for a while. It was something I had never done, and said I’d never do. He left me, damn it. He didn’t deserve me wanting to be with him, so no matter how tempted I had been over the years, I always resisted. I sucked up whatever fresh hell was being doled out around here by the supposed adults in my life and dealt with my own shit. But knowing that I’m forced to face Blake every single day makes me want to crawl out of my own skin and slither away in a new form never to be heard from again.

  How can I exist in that house with people who are supposed to love me and protect me and do everything but?

  So I broke down and begged and explained that to my dad without telling him exactly what had gone down with Blake. I can’t imagine ever telling anyone how close I came to being raped, and in my own damn barn, to boot. This is my sanctuary, where I am the strongest. I practically run this place. The thought that he could have ruined me here of all places is ludicrous.

  Work it out, my dad said. My mother was hard to deal with, he declared. Then he told me that I wasn’t exactly a walk in the park either, that she and I were two peas in a pod. And that it would pass, petty teenager rebellion and wanting to have what you don’t have. It’s hard to live with someone who is a carbon copy of you, he explained.

  A carbon copy of my mother.

  My biggest, most terrifying fear that causes me to wake up panting, confirmed in under two minutes by the man who knows better than anyone. The man who was so broken when his beloved wife used him for all he was worth, screwing his loaded brother, all while taking what she needed and wanted from both of them. The man who was supposed to love me unconditionally but couldn’t because, in his eyes, I am an exact replica of the woman who destroyed him. The woman he now hated.

  I am the woman he hates.

  I close my eyes on that thought. I’m not though, right? I’m not her. I’ve done everything in my power not to become her.

  I’m beginning to understand what a childish notion I entertained by thinking I could change that. God decides who has blonde hair, who has brown … and who has slut DNA. Now there’s nothing more to do but face the facts that are painfully visible in front of me. Because, despite all my hoping and all my praying, I’ve become her anyway. Someone not worthy of respect. Someone not worthy of loyalty. Someone not worthy of compassion. And ultimately, someone not worthy of love.

  Unlovable. And if you’re unlovable, you’re incapable of love too. How could I ever know how to love if my own parents don’t love me?

  My phone rings, and, pulling it from my pocket, I see that it’s Greer. I hit ignore. I can’t. I just can’t. He’s going to freak when he hears my plan. God, he deserves so much better than me. It rings again. Ignore. I toss it to the side and down my drink. Pouring another one, I situate myself against a bale of hay so that I can continue to drink in relative comfort. My phone chirps, signaling a text. I pull it up and sigh. He’ll be here in just a few minutes. Maybe he’ll look around, not find me, and leave. I gulp down my drink, wiping my chin of the dribble.

  Pour another drink.

  Chug.

  Burn.

  Fade.

  Repeat.

  After a while, I hear his utility vehicle pull up and cut off right outside the barn. His steps on the ladder have me laughing like a fool. Did I really think I could hide from him?

  “Denver?” he calls when he gets to the top step. I laugh louder. “What the hell are you laughing at?”

  “You,” I slur.

  He climbs up the rest of the way, stretches out beside me, and stares for a minute. “Shit. You’re drunk.”

  I shake what’s left of the vodka. “Join me, why don’t cha?”

  Giving me a disapproving look, he motions toward the open bottle of vodka. “I hope that wasn’t full when you started.”

  “Wasn’t. Only had two.” I don’t mention that they were mostly made up of alcohol. He reaches out, takes my cup from me, and downs the little that’s left in one gulp.

  Grabbing the orange juice, he pours us a cup of juice to share. “I saw Blake’s truck here,” he says after a few minutes of our back and forth with the drink.

  “Yep.”

  “Unfuckingbelievable.”

  “Is it really?” I ask, my voice laced with sarcasm.

  “No. Your mother really shouldn’t surprise me anymore. But damn. What about your dad?”

  My laugh is stilted. “He doesn’t give a shit about me either.”

  Greer just shakes his head in disbelief.

  “Did you know Blake wasn’t her first husband to come after me?”

  He shakes his head at me, and I see pity in his eyes.

  “Don’t pity me, Greer. I can’t take it.” I’m two seconds away from crying, and I need to be tough now. Useless emotion is not my friend. He nods at me and looks away. “Yep, her lover when she was married to husband number three was just looking for a peep show. Pretty harmless stuff. I could never get my mom to catch him or believe me, but I knew.” I blow out a deep breath.

  “Husband number five came after me. He was such a coward, trying to keep me quiet, but I screamed bloody murder, and she actually responded. Caught him in my room, red-handed. But you know, if she hadn’t been done with him, she wouldn’t have sent him packing. I just got lucky. Then, there was husband number seven’s brother. Now he was younger, but dead drunk, so I overpowered his ass before he did more than cop a quick feel. I didn’t even bother telling anyone.”

  I finally look back to Greer and see him wiping his nose on the edge of his shirt. Shit. “Greer, don’t cry for me. Please.” A lump forms in my throat, and I know I’m about to lose it too.

  “Greer, look at me.” His head swivels around. “I need you do something for me.”

  “Anything, Denver,” he whispers brokenly.

  The solution to my problem had been but a blip on my horizon for quite some time. Only recently had it started to come more into focus, and although slight, it is my only solution. My certainty begs for me to spit it out, but I tamp down the impatience that bubbles up because I know I’m going to have to warm him up to the idea.

  I focus on his eyes the best I can so that he will see every word I’m about to utter is undeniable truth. “It’s the element that she attracts. The only good man she’s ever had was my father, and she destroyed him.” I hesitate, taking a deep breath. “All these men of my mother’s … it’s not gonna stop. And their sole purpose is to possess one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My innocence. It’s like a fucking beacon for pedophiles and perverts. And if I weren’t so innocent, they wouldn’t want shit to do with me. I know it.”

  “I’ll do anything. What can I do?”

  He’s going to hate what I need. I know it. He’s so good. I just pray he doesn’t hate me.
“I need you to take my virginity.”

  He sucks in a breath and his eyes go wide. “No,” he says, sounding final and definite.

  “Yes, and you wouldn’t be taking it anyway. I’m giving it to you.”

  “No, Denver, not like that. I love you. You know that. I want you. You know that too. But not like this. Not because you feel backed into a corner. That’s not right.”

  Crawling over him and kneeling between his knees, I take our drink and set it down beside us. I fit my hands around his face and pull his mouth to mine, kissing him deeply and tenderly. Our being together wouldn’t be wrong, right? I just have to show him that.

  I straighten up on my knees and he comes with me, our kiss exploding. I move my hands to his shirt and fist my hands in it, fitting him to me. His hands move down to my backside, grabbing and kneading. I groan. Reaching up to my shirt, I start unbuttoning it, and he freezes.

  I move my mouth down his neck, kissing and sucking. “Come on, Greer.”

  Suddenly, I’m on my rear, and he’s up and moving away. “I can’t, Denver. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

  Tears fill my eyes, and rage floods my veins. “If you won’t have it, I’ll find someone else who will!” I shout. He freezes at the top of the ladder. Would I really do that? I think I would. I’m that desperate to rid myself of this burden, this curse.

  “Please, don’t do that,” he begs, staring straight ahead like he can’t even look at me. “Don’t even think like that.”

  “I don’t have a choice, Greer. If these sleazebags think I’m yours in that sense, they’ll back off. They don’t bother with girls who aren’t innocent. I know. I’ve watched and observed. And if I’m with you, they won’t try to make me exactly like my mother. Are you going to help me or not?”

  His head drops to his heaving chest. I wait patiently for his answer. Does he understand I’ve spent years trying to figure out why I am targeted, and now that I know I’ll stop at nothing to remove the threat?

  Finally, he turns back to look at me, and I smile at the look he gives me. It says I love you and I’ll do anything for you. “Denver … I’m sorry,” he murmurs, as he propels himself down the ladder. I don’t start crying until I hear his vehicle crank up and him peel off down the driveway.