Up to Me

by M. Leighton

  I remove the ledgers and shut the door then replace the peg board over it, concealing its presence perfectly. I retrieve my jacket from the back seat of the BMW and then head back to the apartment. Nash is putting on his sunglasses as I walk in.

  “Seriously? At night?”

  “All these years of the sun reflecting off the water has made my eyes sensitive to light. The glare of traffic lights at night bothers me. Plus, I look pretty bad ass.”

  His lopsided grin reminds me of the happy-go-lucky kid from our childhood.

  “All you need is some leather pants and an Austrian accent and you could scare the shit out of some kids, Terminator style.”

  “In that case, I’m borrowing your bike for Halloween.”

  I smile, but say nothing. That sounds an awful lot like he’s planning to stick around and I’m just not sure how I feel about that.

  “One fright night at a time, man,” I say lightly. “Let’s get this one out of the way first. Can you be back here by eight or so?”

  “Yep.”

  “And would you mind stopping by an office supply store on your way back and picking up some of these?”

  I hold up the ledgers for him to see. He frowns and reaches out and grabs one. Flipping through the pages, he says quietly, “So this is what caused so much trouble?”

  “No. Dad’s choices are what caused so much trouble,” I say flatly.

  Nash looks up at me. His gaze is hard, unyielding, but he says nothing, just hands me the ledger.

  “I’ll bring ‘em.”

  “See you in a few then.”

  And with that, he turns and walks out of the apartment.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN- Olivia

  With only about twenty minutes left before we get to her house, I brainstorm some sort of believable reason I’d be showing up on my mother’s doorstep in the middle of the night. With a strange guy in tow.

  It’s been so long since I’ve called her, it takes me three tries to get the number right. It’s programmed into my phone, but my phone is at Cash’s apartment. I’m using one of the little cheapies that Cash wants me to toss in the trash every day or two.

  My stepfather Lyle’s sleepy voice sounds on the other end of the line. I breathe a sigh of relief. I didn’t know any other number combinations to try, so I’d have been up the creek if this one hadn’t been right.

  “Lyle, it’s Olivia. I’m sorry to call so late. Can I speak to Mom?”

  I hear an exasperated sigh and some muffled sounds as he covers the mouthpiece with his hand. A few seconds later, my mother’s voice comes on the line.

  “Olivia, do you know what time it is, young lady?”

  Leave it to my mother to be more concerned with propriety than the fact that her daughter is calling out of the blue at an ungodly hour.

  “Mom, there was a gas leak at my place in town. Can I come stay the night with you?”

  I hear a variety of noises before she speaks, none of which sound pleased. “Why aren’t you staying with your father? Don’t you have a key?”

  “Dad broke his leg. It’s hard for him to get around. Calling him in the middle of the night might cause him to hurt himself. So would just showing up.”

  Everything I’m telling her is true except the gas leak. “And I’m bringing someone with me. He’s…well, he’s a friend. I hope that’s okay.”

  It’s funny that I couldn’t even force the lie that Gavin means something more to me. It seems that even my tongue is tied to Cash, which is freakin’ ridiculous. But, knowing my mother, she’ll make something else of it anyway. She’ll see and hear and perceive what she wants to and make all her judgments based on what’s in her head. That’s the way it’s always been with her.

  “If you think you’re sleeping in the same room with this ‘friend,’ you can think again, Olivia.”

  I can almost see her lips thinning into a self-righteous pucker.

  “I wasn’t even going to ask, Mom. We just need a safe place. For tonight.” Gavin pokes me, looking meaningfully at me. “A couple days at the most.”

  “A couple of days?” Oh yeah, she’s outraged now. Inconveniencing my mother is a huge no-no.

  “We won’t interfere with any plans you’ve got. You won’t even know we’re there.”

  “I doubt that,” she mumbles. “All right. When will you be here?”

  “We’re about fifteen minutes out now.”

  “All right.”

  With a click, the line goes dead. I sigh and hang up on my end. I look to Gavin and he grins.

  “Sounds like a gem.”

  “Oh, she is.”

  Perceptive guy.

  Just under twenty minutes later, Gavin is carrying my bag and following me up the long, curving, lighted walkway to my mother’s front door. I stop on the stoop and take a deep breath, glancing at Gavin to my left. He’s looking the house over, taking in the fancy brick exterior, the neverending supply of windows and the expensive brass knocker attached to the huge wooden door.

  “This ought to be interesting.”

  I smile. “Oh, you have no idea.”

  So I knock.

  Within seconds, the door swings open to reveal my mother, standing just inside, wrapped in a high-dollar silk robe. From her perfectly coiffed (yes, even in the middle of the night) sable hair to her sharp blue eyes to her thin arms crossed over her chest, she oozes disapproval. Essentially, she looks much like she did last time I saw her a couple of years ago. She’s pretty much always disapproving. And she’s pretty much always the same age. No doubt she spends thousands of dollars on preservatives. Eventually I’ll catch up to her and we’ll be the same age.

  I wonder if they make any night creams laced with formaldehyde, I think obtusely as I take in her smooth, taut skin.

  “Hi, Mom. Sorry to wake you.”

  She steps back and lets us into the foyer. “Not sorry enough, I see.”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes. My mother has always been the type that can’t let something go. She’ll get something stuck in her head or fixate on a particular oversight and she’ll beat it to a bloody pulp.

  “I suppose not,” I say agreeably. “We won’t keep you up. This is Gavin. I’ll show him to one of the guest rooms. I’ll take the other. You won’t even know we’re here.”

  She hmphs and closes the door behind us. “You know the rules,” she warns, looking pointedly at Gavin.

  “I know, but I told you he’s just a friend, Mom.”

  “I know that’s what you said.”

  This time I do roll my eyes. “Well, I’ll see you in the morning. ‘Night.”

  I reach for Gavin’s hand and tug him forward.

  ********

  To be as exhausted as I am, I’m having a terrible time getting to sleep. All I can think of are the things I didn’t say. The things I didn’t do or enjoy because of fear, because I don’t trust myself. It was never about Cash and not trusting him because he’s a bad boy. Yes, he is a bad boy. In some ways. But that’s not the problem. Being a bad boy doesn’t make him a bad person or a bad companion. But I couldn’t see that past my own bias. I didn’t trust my judgment. After having made so many wrong decisions and let my feelings blind me, I finally found someone worth loving and I froze.

  And it couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

  Now I’m stuck with all the unsaid things, all the regret for having been afraid. For not having acted. Or spoken. Or jumped.

  If, by some miracle of God, I get another chance before all this is said and done, I won’t be such a coward next time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY- Cash

  I’m too jacked up on adrenaline to sleep. The closer dawn gets, the more anxious I get about how all this will go down.

  I look at the clock. With no windows, I can’t see the sun coming up, but I know it is. And it makes me think of Olivia, hopefully sleeping peacefully at her mother’s house. Alone.

  The thought of Gavin possibly curled up next to her makes me ill as hell. With a g
rowl, I throw my arm over my eyes and try to clear my mind.

  But it doesn’t work. I can’t stop thinking about her.

  Maybe if I call and let it ring just once…

  She isn’t exactly a light sleeper. One ring shouldn’t wake her if she’s sleeping. But if she’s awake…

  I hit the key for the number of her disposable cell and the phone automatically dials hers.

  It rings once and I pause. Just before I hit the button to hang up, Olivia’s hushed voice comes on the line.

  “Hi,” she says simply. I smile. I can almost see the shy look on her face as she says it. And in that one word, I can hear the she’s pleased I called. Now, I want to drive to her mother’s house, sneak in the window and have slow, quiet sex with her against the wall.

  “You’re awake.”

  “Yeah. Can’t sleep. You either?”

  “Nah. My head won’t shut up.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  There’s a long silence, during which I’m sure she’s wondering what it is that I want. Before I can speak, though, she does.

  “I’m glad you called actually. There’s something I want to tell you. It’s something I should’ve said earlier, but I didn’t. I should’ve. And now I regret that I didn’t. When we were face to face. But I’m an idiot, so...”

  I smile into the dark. I’d be willing to bet a thousand bucks that she’s fidgeting with her hair. She does that when she gets nervous. And it’s very obvious now, by the speed of her rushed words, that she’s nervous.

  “What did you want to say?” I’m pretty sure I already know. I know how she feels about me. When she’s not fighting it and not getting lost in the piles and piles of past shit that clog up her thoughts sometimes. And I would hope that, after everything that’s happened, she knows how I feel. But she’s a damn woman. I think they like having things spelled out for them. Unlike men, they need the words, the definitiveness of them. Men don’t. But I wouldn’t mind hearing her say them anyway.

  I hear her deep breath and I imagine her squeezing her eyes shut like she’s jumping off a bridge or something. Taking the leap. And, to Olivia, it probably feels like pretty much the same thing.

  “I think I’m falling in love with you,” she blurts.

  “Please don’t say anything!” she hurries to say before I can speak. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to say anything in return. I just didn’t want to let you go into this without knowing how I feel, that I’m really trying to leave the past in the past and not let it get inside my head and screw things up between us.”

  “I don’t feel obligated to say anything.”

  “Oh,” she says, deadpan. “Well, good. Because I wouldn’t want you to do that.”

  “I won’t. If I tell you ‘I love you’ it’s because I mean it, not because it’s an expected response.”

  “Okay,” she says quietly then, “Oh crap! Mom’s up. I’ve gotta go. Please be careful today!”

  “I will.”

  “See you soon?”

  “As soon as I know you’re safe.”

  “Please let that be soon.”

  I laugh. “I’ll do my best to make them bend to my will.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. You’re pretty good at that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You’ve worked your charm on me more than once.”

  “Baby, I haven’t even begun to charm you yet. Just wait until you get back.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” she murmurs, the smile evident in her tone.

  “Damn straight. You’ll hold whatever I tell you to, right?”

  “Whatever you say, Colonel,” she teases, referring to our banter when she thought I was Nash.

  “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

  “Maybe I’ll even salute you when you come for me.”

  “I’ll have the salute all taken care of. I’m sure there will be parts of me at perfect attention when I come for you.”

  “You’re so bad.”

  “But only in the good way.”

  “Right,” she says softly. “Only in the good way.”

  “Try to get some rest. I’ll call when I get back.”

  “Okay. Talk to you then.”

  There’s a pause. Neither of us wants to say the words. So we don’t. She simply hangs up. And I follow suit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE- Olivia

  If ever there was a small hope I’d get some sleep, it’s gone now.

  Holy crap balls! I just told Cash I love him!

  Well, sorta. Was what I said a cop-out? Was that the chicken shit’s version? Probably. But at least he got the point before he goes off to make war with some mobsters. And that’s what I wanted most—for him to know. My execution just sucked ass.

  But that’s not even the most emotional firework-ish part. That would be what he said to me afterward.

  “If I tell you ‘I love you’ it’s because I mean it, not because it’s an expected response.”

  Did he tell me he loves me? Or did he tell me that if he loved me, he’d mean it? Or was he just giving me some background on his I love you M.O.?

  What the hell?

  The more I think about it, the more I go over each word, the more confusing it becomes.

  On autopilot, I dress quickly and run a brush through my hair before I hit the door and head down stairs. The house is quiet, so I’m careful not to make much noise. Mom is an early riser. A very early riser. She likes her morning time to be peaceful and my being here at all is one strike against me. I don’t need to do anything more to poke the bear.

  “Who dressed you? A six year old? Your shirt’s on inside out.”

  I look down and, sure enough, my t-shirt is on inside out.

  Autopilot, you suck!

  I wave her off. “I didn’t turn on the light. I’ll fix it before anyone else gets up.”

  As if he’s happy to make a liar out of me, Gavin chooses that exact moment to enter the kitchen.

  “Morning, ladies,” he says in his charming accent, his smile wide and pleasant. No one says anything for a few seconds, which doesn’t seem to bother him one bit. “Olivia, I can see where you get your looks. You didn’t tell me your mother’s such a beautiful woman.”

  The urge to roll my eyes is strong. But then I start to feel sorry for Gavin. He is sooooo barking up the wrong tree!

  “Another charmer, I see,” my mother says caustically, eyeing Gavin with disdain. “Your wiles might work on my daughter, but you needn’t bother with me. I’m all too familiar with your kind.”

  “My kind?” Gavin clearly has no clue what she’s talking about. I probably should’ve forewarned him about Mom.

  “Gavin, why don’t you get your shower first? It won’t take me long to get ready.”

  “Are we in a hurry?”

  “Well, not really. My first class doesn’t start for a while, but—”

  “First class?”

  “Yeah.” At his blank expression, I continue. “Class. Classroom. College. You know, school where I go to learn.”

  Gavin frowns. “But you’re not going to class today.”

  “Um, yes I am.”

  “Um, no you’re not.”

  “Um, yes I am. Why wouldn’t I?”

  He looks pointedly at me and then tips his head slightly toward my mother. He doesn’t want to state his reasoning in front of her, but she totally misinterprets his action.

  “Oh, don’t mind me. She doesn’t care what I think. Abuse her all you want.”

  “Abuse her?”

  “You don’t think keeping her from bettering herself is abuse? You don’t think ruining her life with your mere presence is abuse?”

  “How am I—”

  “Mom, that’s not what he’s doing. Look, it’s a long story. We can talk about it later. Right now,” I say, looking pointedly right back at Gavin, “he’s going for a shower while we have coffee.”

  I don’t think Gavin particularly prefers the way I handle
d things, but he’s smart enough not to argue in front of my mother. I think he’s catching on to the bug up her ass pretty quickly.

  He nods slowly and starts to back out of the kitchen. “Yeah, I do need a shower. I have some phone calls to make, too.”

  After Gavin makes his uncomfortable exit, Mom and I are left with an equally uncomfortable silence. It’s not empty, though. No, it’s filled with all kinds of judgment and condemnation. She doesn’t have to say a word. It’s all right there on her face, plain as day, for all the world to see.

  I sigh. “Mom, I know what—”

  “Take my car,” she interrupts me to say.

  “What?”

  “Take my car. Go on to school. Don’t let that…person stand in your way. Be stronger than that, Olivia.”

  I won’t even address the fact that she thinks I’m weak. She’s never really tried to hide her opinion from me. Or anyone else who might be interested in listening.

  “Mom, you don’t know anything about Gavin. He’s a really good guy.”

  “So you’ve said about all the other losers you’ve wasted your life chasing.”

  “I haven’t chased them, Mom. And I haven’t wasted my life. I’ll be graduating soon.”

  “And then going back to help your father, wasting away on that farm.”

  “I don’t consider that wasting away.”

  “Well, that’s obviously a matter of opinion. But these boys you keep latching on to. Olivia…” She shakes her head in exasperated disappointment.

  “Mom, I may have made some poor choices in the past, but that doesn’t mean that every guy who might share some of the same…characteristics I like in a man is the exact same kind of guy. It’s possible to be a fun-loving person, but still be good and decent and kind.”

  “I’m sure it is. But you never seem to find that kind.”

  “I admit that I’ve not had great success in the past, but this guy is different, Mom. I can feel it.”

  “Are you saying you’ve never ‘felt it’ before? Because I specifically remember us having a similar conversation about at least two of your previous causes.”

  “They weren’t ‘causes,’ Mom.”