She’s wiping up the last of the water when I step out of the bathroom. Falling back to sit on her heels, she looks so lost staring up at me. Uncertainty swirling in her expression that I hate. She doesn’t deserve to suffer because of my issues.
She scrambles up quickly when I offer my hand. Easing some of the tension between us. Until she keeps going. Cuddling into my chest with a hug that almost knocks me on my arse. I can’t remember the last time I held someone in my arms and sure as hell never expected there to ever be a next time. Especially not with her.
“I’m so sorry Andy.”
“I know love. Me too.”
Guilt floods through me. She wanted a lazy afternoon of drinking, and I expose her to my nightmare, my insanity instead. Stepping back, I release her except for her trembling hand and lead her back to her seat. “Your bartender has returned. Would you like a refill ma’am?”
“Yes, please.”
Somber and subdued, she doesn’t respond to my attempt at light-heartedness as I hoped. Not that I can blame her. My soul is crushed right now too. Once she sits down, I turn and rummage through my lower cabinets. Searching for my drink of choice since I think she’s going to need her bottle all for herself.
“Did he kill her?”
I grasp the edge of the countertop but stay on my haunches. Can’t blame her for asking when my back is turned. She probably steels herself for another explosion. “No, she killed herself.”
I hear the long breath she blows out and understand exactly how she feels. Steals my damn oxygen too thinking about her suicide. I’m too agitated and can’t let this conversation play out. Impossible to wait for the slow slew of questions that I know will come. So I just go ahead and tell her the story. At least some of it. The parts I can handle right now. “After the attack, she went to counseling. We both did. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing I said or did was enough. After a while she seemed to be getting better. She seemed happier. Or so I thought. I think it was because she just made the decision and…” I can’t admit the truth. That she was happy to be letting go, to be leaving me permanently. “…I came home and found them.”
“Them?”
“She smothered our son Aiden before she hung herself.”
A stuttered sob hitches behind me but I can’t turn around. Unable to console her because I don’t know how to console myself. When all I can do is remember walking into the kitchen and seeing his tiny body so small and perfect while he slept in his pumpkin seat. Except he wasn’t sleeping or breathing or living.
Screaming her name as I tore through the house searching desperately for her. Only to find her dangling from one of the beams spanning across our bedroom ceiling. That she thought gave the room character and made her want to buy the house. And made me never want to step foot inside the cottage again once the coroner took them away.
“How did you go on?”
“I don’t know.”
Honestly, I don’t. I worked until it wasn’t enough to suppress the grief. I drank until it wasn’t enough to kill the memories. I hid until it wasn’t enough to keep me from almost destroying myself.
Now she’s here, and I have to think of something, someone else, besides my own pain. Even though I’m causing her plenty right now. I pour myself more than my usual shot of scotch. Promising myself only one glass so I don’t freak her out any more than I already have. She doesn’t need to take care of my drunk arse too.
“I can’t imagine losing my family or being so broken I’d kill someone I love.”
Sometimes I still can’t imagine it. Or accept it. Or deal with it. “Yeah, that’s the thing. People are really good at hiding things. Hiding the truth from themselves and everyone else until it’s too late.”
I force myself to rise and face her. Regretting the tears I caused that she swipes from her splotched cheeks.
“Like you?”
I down my drink. Welcoming the smooth heat slowly igniting the flames from my tongue to my gut.
“You act like you’re okay, but I don’t think you are.”
A bitter chuckle bubbles in my mouth from her allegation. “Never said I was.”
Rather than argue, she sips her wine. Both of us needing a break from the relentless emotion engulfing us. From the accuracy of her statement in more ways than she can understand.
So I do what she accuses me of—what I’ve been doing for the past twenty-three years—and act like I’m okay. I nod toward the bowl of avocadoes in the corner. “How about I make us something to eat?”
“You cook?”
Pretending to be offended by her squeak of surprise, I cross my arms and chastise her. “That’s awfully sexist of you to assume I don’t.”
Realizing her faux pas, she giggles softly and throws up her hands in apology. “Sorry! Sorry!”
At least she sounds more relaxed than before. Maybe from the wine. Maybe from my avoidance strategy I’ve perfected over time. Either way, I’m glad she isn’t as obviously upset. We can pretend together. “Apology accepted, so I’ll make you my chunky guacamole.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“It is.”
I gather cilantro, tomatoes, and onions and slide them onto the cutting board while she tops off her drink. My bartender responsibility slacking from my chef duties although she doesn’t seem to mind. “Are you excited about tomorrow?”
“A little. First day is always awkward.”
“It can be. But preparing is the key. Let me hear your elevator pitch.”
“My what?”
I love her adorable frown. “You know, if you were riding in an elevator with the CEO and only had thirty seconds to tell him about yourself, what would you say. You want him to be impressed long after your conversation is over.”
Her fingernail picks at the edge of the sticker on one of the limes while she shakes her head. Tsking in feigned disappointment. “Why do you assume the CEO is a man? Now who’s being sexist?”
I laugh this time. Genuine and entertained because she’s got me. “Touché. Okay, so what would you say if you want him or her to remember you?”
She ponders while I chop. Enjoying her company more than I expected since I’m rarely good company myself. Another positive impact she has on me.
“I’d tell her…” The damn eyebrow raises again to ensure I receive the message she conveys. Which I do, loud and clear. With her sweet grin softening the blow. “…that I’m working to gain experience in multiple areas so I can take over my family’s business because I’ve earned it not because I inherited it.”
Impressive. Shows her drive and her genuine personality. I nod with approval. “Not bad.”
“Really?”
“Yeah really.”
The pleased smile is even more glorious because I’m the one who put it on her gorgeous face. She cares about what I think, which she probably shouldn’t. Yet I like her wanting my opinion nonetheless.
“And, that fits with the internship since it’s a variety of companies, right?”
“That’s right. It’s a small business incubator so you have all these different people who we’re helping. Like this one guy is a videographer and wants to open his own design studio to make commercials but he doesn’t know anything about accounting or billing or stuff like that.”
Over our snack she tells me about the other clients. Entrepreneurs wanting to launch or grow their companies and seeking guidance in areas outside of their expertise. Giving me a rare optimism to hear about people working hard to chase their dreams and her involvement in their plans. While it might have been her father who gave her the opportunity, I think she’ll really work hard to prove she can succeed.
With the dip pretty much demolished between the two of us, I rinse the tortilla chip crumbs into the disposal and crumple the empty bag into the rubbish bin.
“I guess I should go.”
A harsh ting rings out from her sitting her glass and plate in the sink next to mine. Her movements a bit erratic from the alcohol she fin
ished off.
“Thanks for letting me hang out.”
I smile down at her. The tension from earlier finally gone from her expression. “You’re welcome.”
A different type of tension coils inside me when she inches closer and her arms slide around my waist. Tight and lingering. Cuddling into my chest because she’s tipsy. Because she’s sympathetic. Because she’s thoughtful.
I’m none of those things but I let her hold me anyway. Wrapping my arms just as strong around her because I’m a sick dirty bastard who feels something he shouldn’t. Who feels something for the first time in two decades. Who feels something since I thought I died too.
Fuck. I grasp her slender shoulders and push her away from me. Forcing a huge smile on my face to ensure she doesn’t think it’s her when it’s all me. “I’m glad you came over. You’re pretty tolerable for a drunk.”
God her marvelous laugh. “You’re pretty tolerable for not being drunk.”
“Maybe we can do it again sometime.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Hesitation flushing her already pink cheeks. “Maybe tomorrow?”
Why does she sound so hopeful? Why do I feel so fortunate? “Yeah, I’ll make you dinner and you can tell me about your first day.”
Joy explodes across her stunning face from my offer, and she snuggles into the crook of my arm as I walk her back to her place. The grin gracing her lips never wavers when she steps inside and turns around to give me a little wave. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Definitely. “Good night trouble.”
“Good night.”
I keep standing there long after she closes the door. Wishing it was already morning because for the first time in a long time I finally have something to look forward to.
Every night.
Every damn night.
Every damn wonderful night she comes over for dinner.
I don’t think I could love her company any more or hate myself any less.
Although I’ve been strictly platonic in my words and actions, my traitorous mind has been imagining her in ways I should be slowly and painfully tortured for thinking about.
We’ve settled into a brilliant routine over the past month. Exercising every morning before I walk her the three blocks from our place to her six-story building. Messaging Nick to confirm she’s safe within the protections I have installed at her office, and then waiting all day for her like a pitiful wanker with no life of my own until I can pick her up again.
I actually fucking cook too. Feeding her a meal I’ve made with my own fumbling hands. While she regales me with stories about people from her office that I don’t know and don’t really care about. I just love hearing her talk. Floating high myself on her energy. Her enthusiasm. Her excitement.
She created a new presentation for a client and got a thumbs up from her boss.
She negotiated a better price for the business cards she ordered, and the purchasing supervisor was impressed.
She proposed an idea for a website tagline, and they put it on the homepage.
Proving to herself and everyone else that she’s capable and doesn’t have to battle against her dad for her place in his world. Hopefully doesn’t want to anymore either.
We spend the evenings talking, sometimes swapping childhood stories, and she always expresses jealousy from the freedom I had, the adventures I experienced, the trouble I found myself in. While I remind her that she should be grateful for the security and lack of wanting she enjoyed as a kid.
Easy and effortless spending time with her. The only exertion required on my part to deflect questions about my old jobs and my lost family. To avoid revealing too much of the past I don’t want her exposed to. Which she seems to accept, even if she doesn’t quit trying to get me to let down my guard. To let her in.
Tonight, she’s quieter than normal. We eat in a silence that’s uncomfortable as well as unusual. Her focus on stabbing the tip of her fork over and over into her steak rather than her gaze meeting mine provokes a worry in my chest I’m not used to and don’t like. “Everything okay love?”
“What?” She finally looks up. Confusion pinching her brow until she realizes she’s been lost for several minutes. My voice bringing her back to the here and now. A quick shake of her head attempts to dismiss my concern which will never happen when it comes to her. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just this guy at work.”
Guy.
I will kill him.
My fingers instinctually curl around my knife while my muscles tighten against the wood of my chair. Shocked by my own rage as well as irrationality. That doesn’t make them any less real or intense. “What about him?”
My tone sounds normal. Hiding the anger I feel that someone has upset her. Concealing the fury burning through me from her being unhappy. Missing the wrath I intend to unleash on him from her anxiety.
“He’s having a bonfire at his lake house to celebrate the holiday and invited me—well everyone—to come over.”
Not a date. Thank fucking god he didn’t ask her out on a date.
“I know you don’t like to go out much. That you’d rather stay at home. But I thought…I mean only if you want to… that we might go.”
We.
There is no ‘we’ in any sense of the word except bodyguard and client. She wants to go so I have to as well. Except that I want her all to myself and not be forced to share her with anyone for the long weekend. Or ever actually.
Of course, she deserves more than boring dinners with a man old enough to be her father. Especially when she proves once again that she really is a good person. Willing to sacrifice her own desires. Putting my feelings before her own. Holding back for me and my issues. Which she is absolutely correct that I’d rather have her stab me in the eyes with that fork than make small talk with a bunch of strangers. But, that’s not fair to her. That’s why I’ll go. That’s why I’ll be nice. “Definitely. It sounds fun.”
All of her doubt evaporates from my lie. Replaced with the euphoria I’ve missed. The smile I crave.
“Really? You don’t mind? We can go?”
“Sure. It’ll be great.”
It’s not great.
“This is my friend, Andy. Andy, this is Patrick. He’s the marketing director at SBI.”
The man recovers pretty quick from his shock and plasters on a huge fake smile while he pumps my hand. An elegant gorgeous woman escorted by a punk with ink on both arms and each finger always sparks confusion.
“Pleasure Andy. Glad to have you both here. Make yourselves at home.” He gestures toward the expansive deck covering the entire back of the cabin and furnished with teal and navy furniture set in small conversational groupings. Lanterns swing in the breeze across the roof line providing enough light to see all the way to the water’s edge.
“Bar’s to the left and food’s to the right. We’ve got stuff for roasting hot dogs and everything you could possibly need to make s’mores.”
“Wow! Your home is beautiful. Thank you so much for having us.”
“You’re welcome. If you need anything just let me know.”
He gives her a pleased nod and me one more pat on the shoulder before he heads off to greet other guests and we make our way to the dessert bar. I chuckle from her biting into a chocolate square before piling a plate with graham crackers and marshmallows. I guess she couldn’t wait to dig in.
About fifty people mill around on the patio and beach. Mostly couples but a trio of blokes suck down beers next to the pontoon boat housed under a wooden canopy. We’re obviously the subject of their conversation with their repeated glances in our direction.
Never, and I mean never, have I been the jealous kind. Until now. Until them. Until her. The arse in the yellow polo finally squirms under my relentless stare back at him, and he nudges the man next to him, nodding toward the volleyball pit. Smart thinking when he trudges in that direction and his two mates follow him.
Go
od. I tuck her next to me and guide her to one of the benches by the fire. Her silky skin already warm under my hand from the backless dress she wears that I love on her and hate for others to see.
“What a perfect night. You can even see the stars.”
I relish the pleasure floating through her tone. So relaxed and serene. Somehow making me feel the same way. I stop and point toward the sky. Wanting to show her the constellations that she probably never gets to check out with the smog veiling the celestial beauty in her hometown. “See right there? That’s the big dipper.”
Concentrating with curiosity, she follows my finger, smiling when she catches sight of the pattern I trace. I dip down to be even with her eye level so I can outline more of the shapes for her. “This one is Sagittarius.”
“That’s so cool. Thank you for showing me.”
Her soft breath, sweet from the candy she nibbled earlier, blows on my cheek. Lips only centimeters from mine. Small breasts brushing my chest. I raise to my full height. Ignoring the disappointment darkening her face from ending my demonstration but I can’t do it anymore. I can’t have her so close and be able to control myself. “You’re welcome.”
More turmoil courses through me when we sit down. I want to position her between my legs, her back to my chest so I can show her Orion too. Feel her slight weight pressed against me, protected in my arms, peaceful in my embrace. I settle for her next to me. Balancing her plate on her lap and building the little sandwiches while I grab a metal skewer from the box underneath our seat and shove the marshmallows on the dual tips. I hold the rod into the blaze. Twisting slowly so the sugar doesn’t catch on fire.
Roasted perfectly if I do say so myself. She must agree with her wide eye approval from the crinkled brown char on the exterior. Her laughter permeates the air as she slides off the gooey mess and squeezes the confections between the graham crackers. I accept the one she makes for me even though I don’t have much of a sweet tooth. Giving me something to concentrate on while she licks the gooey remains off her sticky fingers.
Another Round Page 5