Take Me Home

by Inez Kelley

  Molly stroked her hair, letting her get lost in the memories.

  “He was so concerned about people thinking badly of me since he was older. We rarely were alone, usually were with my parents, occasionally with his superiors, but when we were alone, we were in bed. He treated me like a princess and I felt cherished, loved, even though he never said it.”

  “Oh boy. He sounds too perfect.”

  “Exactly.” Kayla palmed her temple and swallowed humiliation. “My father had an opening on his staff, a coveted one. Dozens of men were vying for that one spot. When Josh didn’t get it, he got drunk and bitched to his buddies, one of whom just happened to play golf with my father. Seems Josh had a fiancée back home but thought boinking the major’s daughter was an easy way to get noticed, get special consideration. He poured on the charm like nobody’s business to advance his career and I fell for it.”

  “What a douche.” Molly hugged her, propping her chin on Kayla’s shoulder. “Tell me he got stationed somewhere nasty, like Afghanistan or Iraq or New Jersey.”

  Kayla snorted. “Colonel Aaron Edwards did not like being played, and he really hated his daughter being made a fool of. Let’s just say that First Lieutenant Joshua Scarlotti, native of sunny Miami, got transferred to North Dakota...in January.”

  “Man, I love your daddy.” Molly pulled away, a serious intensity on her face. “You never told Matt about this?”

  “No man wants to hear about his girlfriend’s ex-lovers.”

  Molly waved her hand. “That’s because they’re afraid the ex has a bigger dick.”

  “He has nothing to worry about. Josh was...” Spite welled up and Kayla held her fingers a few inches apart, a very few inches.

  Molly bit her lip, but the snicker leaked out. “I swear on my granny’s grave, I’ll never tell a soul you just did that. Why do the biggest dicks have the smallest wangs? Anyway, I think you should tell Matt about teeny-weeny dude.”

  “Why? He had the routine down pat.” Her chin quivered. “He played me. And it almost worked.”

  “I’m sorry he hurt you.” One side of Molly’s mouth inched upward.

  The inside of Kayla’s nose burned. “Me, too. But I’m glad I found out. It’s better this way. I can’t make a life with someone I can’t trust.”

  Four’s tummy was distended. Bits of creamy cake clung to her whiskers. She rolled on her side, attempted to clean her face then decided it was too much trouble. Her eyes closed in a picture of contented feline bliss.

  “Now that’s the life.” Molly laughed. “Never shave your legs, eat until your belly pops out then flop down and take a nap. Cats are so lucky...if you discount that whole pooping-in-a-box thing.”

  “You’re a nut.” Kayla shook her head. “But you’re a good friend, Molly. Thanks for not bailing on me.”

  “No problem. It’s what friends do.”

  They settled back and watched the movie. Kayla tried but she couldn’t concentrate on anything but Matt’s betrayal. Her phone rang again. Molly looked to her expectantly but she made no move to answer it.

  “He said he loved me.”

  “You say it back?”

  “No.” Kayla fought tears that stole the taste of sugar from her tongue. On screen, Ridley was kicking alien ass. Kayla just felt beaten. “But I do.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Kayla pulled the afghan over her shoulders. “Cry. Bitch. Throw a few things. Then move on.”

  * * *

  Webb had only a few guests, mostly Hawkins top staff. They celebrated while Matt nursed a pain that cut to his core. Smoke wafted from the grill, heavy with the fragrance of steak marinade. He tried but couldn’t choke down a single bite of the thick porterhouse. His meal was mostly liquid and illegal, a jug of Webb’s prized secret stash.

  He remembered getting drunk as being a lot more fun than this. Now the alcohol just seemed to intensify the hole in his gut.

  Upbeat country music piped through the hidden speakers, filling the night with a festive mood. But one corner of Webb’s monster deck was dark, a single torch illuminating just enough to prevent anyone from falling in the pool. The underwater lights shimmered but didn’t reach this far into the shadows. The dark suited him, suited the empty ache he carried.

  He sipped again, letting the burn of moonshine fill his gut with fire. He chased it with beer simply for distraction.

  Matt laid his head back, staring at the sky. Twenty-four hours ago, he’d been in bed with Kayla, letting her velvety skin glide against his, listening to her gasp his name and feeling her shudder beneath him. How did he end up so far away?

  She wouldn’t answer her phone. He’d royally fucked up. He knew it now, maybe had known it all along. He should’ve turned the truck around the second he realized what Kayla owned. He pressed the beer bottle to his forehead. He’d never had a chance, really. If he’d told her, she’d never gone out with him. But not telling her sealed his fate.

  When only he, Jonah and Bob were left, Webb lowered into the deck chair beside him with a tired sigh. He looked at the bottle on the table then held out his hand.

  “You’re staying here tonight. Guest room’s on the second floor.”

  Matt pried his keys from his pocket, handing them over without protest. “Thanks.”

  Bob was doing laps in the heated pool. Her body sliced through the lit water like an arrow. Jonah strode out of the pool house carrying a huge towel, holding it for her as she climbed from the ladder. Moonlight and torch glow cascaded over her skin. Her bikini was neon yellow, framing her breasts and barely covering her ass. She knotted a flimsy little skirt low on her hip. It teased along her legs in the cool evening breeze and her nipples beaded to hard points, but Matt couldn’t find a flicker of interest. He swallowed more beer as she went into the house.

  Three fresh longneck bottles in hand, Jonah joined them around the wrought-iron table, spinning his chair until he straddled it. Webb took a beer and shifted until he could see them both with his good eye. “So.”

  Matt braced for condolences and commiseration, shit he did not want. He wanted to wallow in alcohol and memories until he couldn’t think anymore.

  “How long do you think the Black Cherry cruise’ll take?”

  Matt blinked. He was half-shitfaced and Webb wanted to talk lumber? “Depends on how aggressive you want to be.”

  “What’s your take on it?”

  Alcohol slowed his synapses but he forced them into functioning. “The standing timber’s prime. I’d hit it hard and fast with the cruise just to get an idea of where we are, but I’d think controlled cutting, on a steady schedule, working in a grid pattern would be the best approach. By the time we make the first pass through the whole canyon, the secondary cut should be mature and ready for harvest.”

  Jonah snickered. “You’re completely fucking tanked and can still lay out a logical harvest schedule.”

  “Seemed like a better answer than scratching my ass.”

  Jonah saluted with his bottle. “Now, wiseass, the question is, if you can do that, why can’t you fix this shit with Kayla?”

  Just her name sent a spike of hurt into his gut. He shook his head, unable to speak through the ache. But the hurt didn’t prevent him from sipping more moonshine. Oblivion couldn’t be that many more ounces away.

  Command deepened Webb’s voice. “Call her.”

  “She threatened me with the cops. I really don’t think she’s going to want a little late night chitchat. Besides, I have. She’s not answering her phone.”

  Webb scratched his forehead. “She said she’d call the police? What the fuck’d you do, man?”

  There was no way to answer that. He’d lied was the short answer but it went deeper. He’d reached for something so far out of his grasp it defied explanation. Long-time shame hung around
his neck like a chain and he was so fucking tired of carrying it around.

  He’d never told anyone he worked with about his past. Jonah was so polished, so smooth. He oozed sex and women lapped it up. Men wanted that magic to rub off on them. Jonah knew it, used it and bathed in the attention. But he treated everyone the same, from the lowliest busboy to politicians who wanted his favor. It made him one hell of a public relations director. It was hard to hate the son of a bitch but with enough booze in his blood, Matt thought he could muster it.

  Webb had been marked as the heir apparent to Hawkins Hardwoods at his birth, but no one looking at him would guess. He wore his steel toes and Levi’s as well as he did his business suits. He was known to finish a six-figure deal with Japanese clients then an hour later be out on the yard grading hickory. Even though he had some rough edges, in this business it was a bonus. He epitomized a man’s man.

  Neither of them had ever wondered where their next meal was coming from, never had their heritage stripped from them or faced the morning wondering if they’d ever have something to call their own.

  “What happened doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

  The clear gallon jug scraped against the glass tabletop as Jonah hefted it, one finger through the circular handle. He sipped straight from the lip then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as he passed it to Webb. The pitying look they exchanged pissed Matt off.

  Didn’t they get it? This was not a fight over leaving the toilet seat up. This was the end. There was nothing he could do. If they’d met any other way, if he had a time machine and could go back and change the past, if he could wave a wand and erase the entire afternoon, then maybe he could fix this. If he could just get the fucking words out of his throat, maybe he could fix this.

  He might as well try to grow wings and fly.

  “I’m done. Any more and I’ll end up snoring on Bob’s lawn,” Jonah said as he pushed away from the table. “She’d probably turn the sprinklers on just to be evil.”

  “I’m calling it a night, as well. You go sleep off the ‘shine.” Webb added, taking the jug with him.

  Both men clapped him on the shoulders, the strength of their hands sending a throb through his bruised back, then started dousing torches and gathering stray glassware. The low music disappeared. The outside lights clicked off. The only illumination came from the underwater lights rippling a blue glow across the back of the house.

  Down low in his belly, far beneath his aching heart, pain churned like a fireball. He fought the urge to call her again just to hear her voicemail. He hadn’t left a message either time he’d called. What could he say? Hey, Kayla, sorry I didn’t tell you I come from a line of losers but I wanted... I wanted...

  He wanted a miracle, some magical remedy to remove the contempt in her eyes, to make her look at him like she had only yesterday, as if he was worth something. He wanted to smell her hair in the middle of the night, hear her talking to Four first thing in the morning. He wanted to see her haloed in gold as she sat by the window. He wanted to feel her breath on his skin as she whispered his name.

  “I want to go home.”

  Home had become such a convoluted word for him. He loved it and he hated it. Longing for the past was pointless so he’d set out to reclaim that feeling, that sense of belonging. No matter how many boards he nailed, how many yards of carpet he laid, or how many tiles he grouted into place, the feeling always lay just beyond him.

  Back in high school, he’d had to read some story called “A Man Without a Country.” As a teenager, he’d missed a lot of the story’s nuances but the message stuck. Condemned to live forever at sea, the main character heard nothing of his home and had come to regret his impetuous actions. Nevertheless, he’d died never having set foot in his homeland again.

  Matt could nearly feel the ocean’s swell beneath his feet.

  The light in Webb’s kitchen flicked on. Jonah’s car engine revved then sped out of the drive. Bob’s yellow wrap stood out in the dark as she crossed the private road, headed for her own house. Matt stared at the glowing water, feeling like a man condemned.

  He’d fought for every single thing he owned. He’d never owned a new car, preferring to bank the difference and buy decent used. He liked to buy high quality things but took his time, making do with less until he could afford exactly what he wanted. He didn’t throw things away when they broke. He fixed them, made them last.

  But this? He couldn’t fix this. He’d been broken for far too long.

  Chapter Nine

  Tapping does no permanent damage, but maple trees cannot be tapped until they are at least thirty years old. Only 10 percent of the sap is collected each year and many trees have been tapped for 150 or more years.

  The hearty smell of sausage gravy and frying eggs greeted Matt through the open door of McCreedy’s. He knocked the snow from his boots before stepping inside, the heat hitting his stinging cheeks. The low melody of a classic Christmas song underscored the conversations from booths and tables surrounded by men in work boots, stained jeans and a layer of sawdust. A tinseled Christmas tree added the scent of Douglas fir to the room.

  The snow hadn’t let up all morning and he was pretty much frozen to the core. He stood for one second, letting the heat from the corner woodstove soak in. Spying a dark head cradled in a pair of arms brought a smirk to his mouth. It was lunchtime and Jonah was still hungover. Matt slid into the booth and flicked snow onto Jonah’s head.

  “Wake up, sunshine.” A long, lean finger of the middle digit variety was his answer. Matt ignored it, removing his gloves and duck canvas jacket. “Bad night?”

  Jonah’s voice husked thick with fatigue as he straightened. “Yvonne shook her ass all night then went virginal when I unhooked her bra. I’ve got a hangover and blue balls.”

  “We’ve all got problems.” Matt nodded to Molly at the counter when she held up a coffeepot. “Sober up. Hit the black coffee.”

  “Screw the coffee, just shoot me.”

  “Don’t tempt me. Didn’t you go into work this morning?”

  “Comp time. I have to go make nicey-nice with the governor’s office over New Year’s.” Even hungover, Jonah flashed a centerfold smile when Molly slid two steaming mugs on the table along with some painkillers. “God love you, Mol.”

  “I’m sure He does. Don’t get crap on my seats.”

  Jonah swallowed the pills with a slow sip then lifted his foot to show snow-free soles of his boots. “Clean as a whistle, unlike my soul.”

  Matt flipped open the menu absently though he could recite it by heart. He was trying to decide between a bacon cheeseburger or a Philly cheesesteak when he heard her. A storm kicked up in his belly and his pulse stuttered. Nine weeks. Nine weeks and he hadn’t forgotten the sound of that laugh.

  Jonah glanced over his shoulder. “Oh shit.” He shielded his face with one hand and slumped. “This is awkward.”

  Kayla wore a white pea coat with a baby pink scarf. A candy cane pin on her lapel was a splash of cheery color. Her hair was tucked under a pink knitted cap that made her cheeks look like roses. She shoved a box with Mountain Specialty Spices stenciled on the side onto the counter then tugged off tan leather gloves. She looked fresh and innocent, like candy in a holiday wrapper.

  Molly said something and made a gruesome face that sparked another laugh. Matt smiled despite his thundering heart. He loved her laugh, had missed it. When she pulled the cap off her head, honey-gold curls tumbled free. Her hair was longer than before, a little darker. It made her eyes shine like brandy. Her face glowed. His smile disappeared as a horrifying thought hit.

  What if another man had put that glow there?

  Matt picked up the menu again. The words swirled in his sight but it didn’t matter. He had no appetite. Even the coffee had lost its appeal. He was no longer cold, he was just numb. Only it was
n’t normal numbness. It was a throbbing, screaming, aching kind of numbness that settled after the pain reached a certain threshold. The pain wasn’t gone, it was just dulled.

  “Yo. Earth to Shaw.” Jonah waved his hand in front of Matt’s face. “You want to split the Paul Bunyan pizza?”

  “Cut it out.” Matt knocked his hand away. Jonah said something else but Matt wasn’t paying attention. He was trapped in a loop of Queen Anne’s lace, fall leaves and Kayla. Seeing her again was like picking the scab off a puncture wound. When did this get better? Wasn’t heartache supposed to fade over time? Why did he think about her constantly? Why couldn’t he let go and move on?

  “Fine, then I’m going to get the western omelet.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Matt closed the menu.

  Jonah tongued his cheek, his eyes pinched in scrutiny. “You need to get laid.”

  Matt snorted. “That is exactly what I don’t need.”

  The smug curl of Jonah’s mouth reeked of playboy. “Dude, haven’t met a problem yet that a blowjob won’t cure.”

  “You’re such a slut.”

  “I prefer to think of it as an overactive penile condition. I deserve sympathy, not ridicule.”

  “I’m not touching your penile condition with a ten-foot pole.” Matt stood, shrugging into his coat.

  Jonah snickered. “Slight exaggeration in size there.”

  “Later, man.” Matt clapped him on the shoulder and headed toward the cashier. Kayla turned. The smile melted from her face, her eyes rounding before going cold. Matt fought the urge to smooth his hair or check if he’d missed any spots shaving. Her bottom lip was chapped and he couldn’t help reliving a thousand kisses, but wasn’t able to recall the taste of a single one.

  He licked his lips, trying to find it. “Hey, pretty lady.”

  “Hi.” She jammed her hands in her pockets. “How are you?”

  “Good. You?”

  “I’m fine.” Her eyes darted left and right then settled on his chin. “How’re Abby and Garrett? I bet he’s excited.”