“I don’t doubt it,” he says. His expression is raw and real. He is serious. “But I’m just telling you the truth. I was a mean little brat back in the day, but I saw you, Winnie. I saw your kindness and your intelligence. I still see it. Difference is back then it made me feel worse about myself. Now I can just admire it.”
He steps back, giving me all the space I need to escape. “Thank you for the pizza peace offering. Have a good night, Winona.”
He waits for me to leave. I wait for me to leave, but my feet aren’t moving. I don’t want to go. What I want to do is touch him. I reach out and caress his cheek with my palm. His beard is rough, but his skin is warm. I pull him to me and I kiss him.
It’s the most surreal moment of my life. A week ago, I had forgotten he existed. Two days ago, just seeing his face again filled me with anger and now my lips are on his and it feels…right. He’s kissing me back, and it’s raw and rough and taking my breath away. His hands grab my hips and his tongue slips into my mouth. He lifts me up onto the table and I immediately wrap my legs around his waist and start falling backward because there’s nothing but table behind me. I pull him down with me and he goes willingly. I want him with a primal urgency I’ve never known before. This is more than a kiss; it’s a surrender. I want to give him everything.
There’s a loud, jarring knock on the trailer door, and I freeze and Holden jumps back, leaving me sprawled across the tabletop. He takes a ragged breath, runs a hand through his hair and his whole demeanor switches. He looks suddenly surly. “What?”
“Dude, open up! I got your phone!”
Holden’s hands fly around his body, checking all his pockets frantically and then he sighs. “Fuck,” he whispers and then walks the short distance to the door and opens it just a crack. But Kidd’s not having it and smacks the palm of his hand against it and pushes it wide open and steps inside.
He holds up Holden’s phone as I scramble off the table to my feet. “Hey! You forgot this at the bar when you were hustling that dude at pool. How much did you make off him anyway? Like, fifty?”
“Thanks,” Holden grumbles.
He lied to me. He said he was alone, but he was with Kidd hustling someone out of their money. Just like old Holden. Kidd’s beady eyes skitter over to me and widen before narrowing in a way that can only be described as unsettling. He licks his lips. “Didn’t realize you were leaving us for Larry.”
Asshole. His stare is making me self-conscious and I suddenly do not want to be here—especially not in my dad’s old sweater and worn out cutoffs. I realize with the length of the sweater it might look, to his drunken eye, like I don’t have any bottoms on at all. I need to be anywhere but here. I limp past him toward the door.
“You two got a little rough or what?” he asks no one in particular as he points to my knee.
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap.
“You’re a little darker than you used to be, Larry. I like it,” Kidd remarks. I ignore him and fling open the door.
“Call her Larry again and I will deck you, Kidd,” Holden says and reaches for my arm as I start down the steps totally awkwardly thanks to my throbbing, swollen knee.
I look up at him and yank my arm free, which makes me stumble and almost fall. He jumps down and grabs for me again. Damn it. “We made a mistake.”
“I didn’t.”
“I did,” I say and pull away from him. “You lied to me and you’re still hanging out with him. We both know he’s bad news.”
“No, I wasn’t,” he says with conviction.
“That would be believable if he didn’t have your phone,” I reply and pull my arm free. “Later, Holden.”
I march up the stairs and onto the porch, grabbing the wine bottle I left there before heading into the house and locking the door behind me. He hasn’t changed…at least not much. Not enough.
9
Holden
Two days go by and we walk around pretending we don’t know each other, which is bullshit and awkward as hell because we are the only two people in this house. But I let it happen because I feel like a bit of an asshole. I lied to her. I was drunk, but I knew I was doing it. I just didn’t want her to know the truth and I figured she’d never find out. She wouldn’t have hung out with me if she knew where I’d been. We wouldn’t have had that intense connection or that fucking hot-as-hell kiss. Everything about hanging out with Winnie that night was like nothing I’ve ever experienced, if I’m being honest with myself. The alcohol made us honest and that made the kiss heated and vulnerable all at the same time.
If Kidd hadn’t shown up, I had every intention of turning that kiss into much more. But he did and the expression on her face went from beautifully vulnerable to horrifically exposed. I don’t want to be the guy she knew who hung out with Kidd and so I don’t hold it against her for not wanting to kiss that guy.
I shouldn’t have gone out and gotten shit-faced after I fought with her. I was just so fucking frustrated and I felt like I couldn’t do a goddamn thing right. I needed to let off all the steam boiling inside of me. So after I picked up my truck at Bradie’s, I went to the Brunswick. I totally forgot that Kidd said he hangs out there all the time. And of course he was there with all the other guys I knew when I was young and stupid and making poor choices like it was my job. I ignored the gut feeling to turn around and leave. I bought them a round of tequila shots instead. And then they bought me a round and then Kidd somehow convinced me to play some pool and then these local punks thought they could beat me so of course I had them bet on it. It was my old self, not the totally bad self, but the one who walks a slippery slope and didn’t mind slipping off it. And I got drunk, which never has never led to great decisions. So when Kidd and the guys started talking about the old times and how cool we were and how we should hang out more often, I realize I was full-on wasted because it started to sound like a good idea. So I told them I needed to take a piss and slipped out the back door. I was in such a stupor and such a rush I didn’t realize I didn’t have my phone. At least I was smart enough to leave the truck in the parking lot and not drive.
When I got home and saw her standing there, and realized she not only turned on the lights so I didn’t kill myself on lawn furniture, but she also ordered me a pizza—my favorite childhood pizza—I felt like the universe was rewarding me for making a good decision. Finally. She looked fucking glorious in those little shorts and an oversized sweater that I realize now must belong to her dad. That kiss, it felt like a reward. Like I was finally worthy of a good girl.
But it turns out, like with everything in my life, the universe wasn’t rewarding me. It was setting me up for more punishment. Because Kidd had to fucking bring me my phone—and then ogle her like a piece of meat in a butcher shop window. I told him off and threatened to punch the attitude out of him, but she’d already disappeared into the house. And I doubt Winnie is the type of girl who’s impressed by violence.
Now it’s two days later at eight in the morning and I’m standing in the driveway, sipping my coffee and trying to figure out how I can get us back to that moment where we connected—mentally and physically. I don’t like being at odds with her. It’s easy to fight with her, it’s comfortable, which is something I haven’t felt since being back in this town. But bonding with her felt good. I liked it because I like her and easy or not I don’t want to go back to being enemies. I want to feel her touch me again. I want to kiss her again. I think that’s an impossible task and I just need to settle for getting us back to acknowledging each other’s existence. I finish my coffee, place the mug on the small patio table by the trailer door, grab my tool belt off the lawn chair and head up to the porch.
I knock, knowing that she won’t answer because she never does, and then stick my key in the door. On the porch, there are two wine bottles on the table by the rocking chairs. One is empty the other only half full. There’s still wine in a glass next to it. Same scene as yesterday and the day before. I step into the house and walk back to t
he kitchen. I ripped out all the counters and cabinets yesterday. Some of my coworkers from my last job have agreed to freelance for me and are coming over today to help me get rid of the appliances and take down the wall that separates the kitchen from the dining room.
I pause and listen. If she’s here, she’s still asleep. I walk over to the fridge and open it. Exact same contents as yesterday when I snuck a peek, which means she didn’t eat last night. I heard her crying again. I feel for her but I know, now that I realize she’s mourning her father, that she has to have her tears. For now.
“Winnie?” I call out and I’m not surprised when she doesn’t respond.
I walk through the house to the staircase and call out again. “Winnie! I have some crew coming over to help me with demo.”
Nothing.
I sigh in frustration and walk to the front of the house again. I don’t want to go up there and walk in on her, so I have to hope she’s gone. I pass the first-floor bedroom and something catches my eye through the half open door—a long, toned, bare calf. I step closer. She isn’t moving and judging by the position of her leg, she’s facedown on the bed. I knock on the door, which causes it to swing open more but doesn’t make Winnie stir at all. She’s out cold.
I take a step into the room. Just as I guessed, she’s splayed out across the queen bed, face mashed in a pillow. She’s wearing tiny pajama shorts and a T-shirt with what appears to be concert dates on the back but it’s hard to tell because it’s all crumpled up, leaving most of her lower back exposed. Her skin looks so supple and perfect and the bright pink dots on her pajama shorts are forcing me to look her ass and admire the full round shape of it.
She lets out the softest little groan and her left leg, which was bent, straightens slowly. I clear my throat. “Winnie. There’s a bunch of guys coming to do more demo. You probably wanna go upstairs or get out of here. It’s gonna be loud.”
“You’re loud right now,” she says, but it’s muffled by the pillow.
I smile. I’m actually talking in a softer voice than normal. I clear my throat and raise my voice a little. “Hungover just a little, huh?”
“Why are you yelling?” she groans and starts to roll over but somehow fails and falls back into the pillow.
I look around the room. This is clearly her parents’ bedroom and I don’t think she slept here so much as passed out here. She’s still wearing one slipper and there’s an empty chip bag on the floor and some paper. I grab the crap off the floor. “Winnie, you have to get up. I’ll go make some coffee for you. And you’ll probably want to grab a shower before everyone gets here. I’m going to have to turn off the water.”
She starts to roll over again. Her stomach is exposed stomach and I find myself running my tongue slowly across my lips. I feel my jeans start to get tighter and I know if I stay in the small room with her, which is taken up mostly by a bed, things will only get worse. So, I turn and leave the room, carrying her garbage to the kitchen. I’m flipping open the lid on the trash can when I hear her yell out my name in a voice choked with panic.
“Holden!”
It sounds like there is a herd of elephants coming at me and suddenly she’s banging into me and grabbing the crap in my hands. The look on her face is pure hysteria. The chip bag and Kleenex flutters to the floor and she’s standing there clutching the paper in her hands. “You almost threw it out!”
“Threw what out?” I ask because I can’t tell what she’s holding.
“Don’t touch anything, okay?” she says her voice shaky but also furious. And I glance down at the paper in her hands, which are shaking. I can only make out four words in neatly printed penmanship—My sweet Winona Skye. It’s a letter from someone. I’m guessing her dad or her ex.
“Not a thing,” she says hotly. “If you want to throw anything out, ask me first. I can’t believe you almost threw it out!”
She turns and storms from the room. I follow behind, confused as fuck. “Threw what out? Jesus, Winnie, talk to me.”
“Why?” she snaps back. “We’ve been doing just fine ignoring each other. Besides, I said everything you need to know. Do not throw anything out without asking me.”
She’s stomping up the stairs now and I can do nothing but stand at the bottom, rigid with frustration. This woman is making no sense and I don’t have the time or energy for this ridiculousness. “You can make your own damn coffee!”
“I don’t want coffee,” she calls back and then she’s stomping down the stairs, wrapped in a robe, holding a towel. She barges past me. “Now can you go wait somewhere else until I am done?”
“I’ll be on the porch,” I bark back.
Fifteen minutes later, my crew is pulling to the curb in their trucks and as I lead them into the house, I can hear her thumping around upstairs. Good, she’s out of the way.
We go about demoing for a good three hours and I don’t even try to be quiet. I fully expect her to leave the house to get away from the noise and dust so I’m not surprised, as we take a quick break and the guys head outside for a smoke, when I see her come downstairs. I can’t help but notice she’s not limping anymore, which is good.
I’m standing next to where the wall used to be between the kitchen and dining room. She stops and surveys the pile of drywall on the ground. Her eyes move from the pile to me. “Is there some bylaw that handymen don’t wear shirts in this state?”
I glance down at my bare chest. “Have you ever busted down drywall? You work up a sweat.”
“I haven’t,” she says, walking past me and into the bathroom. She leaves the door ajar and I watch her open the medicine cabinet and pull out a bottle of Advil. “But you know Jude sweats a lot during hockey and he wears a special shirt. Dri-Fit or dry weave or something. You should look into that.”
She palms two Advils.
I point to the drywall debris and try to ignore the fact that she has an aversion to seeing me shirtless and that it makes me a little disappointed. “You should really try breaking up some drywall. It’s great for anger management and you seem like you could use some.”
“I’m not angry.” She argues and downs the pills without water and then puts the bottle back in the medicine cabinet.
“That’s coming down later today too,” I say, nodding toward the medicine cabinet and I’m greeted with a slightly softer look of panic that I got earlier.
“Do not throw this out,” she says, pointing to the medicine cabinet. “My dad made it himself. He gave it to my mom when they first got married.”
“Okay,” I say. “I will make sure we keep it safe and sound. Now you want to tell me what was on that paper that I was going to throw out?”
“No.” She steps out of the bathroom as the guys come back in from their smoke break.
I pick up a chunk of drywall and hold it out as if to show her. “I’m going to toss this in the construction bin Mike hauled here this morning. Is that okay?”
She scrunches up her eyebrows and looks at me like I’m nuts. “Yeah.”
Mike bends to grab another piece but as he tries to walk toward the door, I stop him. My eyes find her again. “Is it okay if he throws that piece out?”
“Yes,” she snaps. Her hazel eyes are dancing with irritation, and she puts her hands on her hips. “What are you doing?”
“You said I had to check with you before removing anything,” I remind her.
She looks incredibly annoyed, which is great because that’s exactly what I was going for. I glance over at Mike and Dave, who seem to have caught on to my game and are both trying to hide smiles. Winnie glares at me. “I give you permission to remove all the drywall you spent the morning tearing down. Happy now?”
“Delighted,” I reply and give her a wink, which makes her hands ball up into fists at her side. I motion toward the heap of drywall again. “You sure you don’t want to take a swing at that? Break up a few of the bigger pieces. I know you said you aren’t angry but that look on your face—”
She’s stomping
back upstairs before I can finish my sentence. She’s more than a little bit gorgeous when she’s furious, which doesn’t make me want to stop annoying her. Mike chuckles as he walks by me with an armload of debris. “She’s a firecracker,” he says. “You keep playing with that you’re going to get burned.”
“Yeah or have your dick blown off,” Dave adds and grins. “Get it? Firecracker.”
“Don’t quit your day job, Dave,” Mike mutters and I nod as I follow him out the front door to the bin he brought over here this morning.
As we’re outside hauling our second load of debris, Winnie emerges from the screened porch and grabs her bike from the side of the house. I give her a look, like a judgmental father. She looks sheepish for a fraction of a second before she goes back to glaring at me. “I hope you’re done by the time I get back.”
“I’ve gotta be outta here by four, if that helps,” Mike says.
“Only helps if you take him with you,” Winnie replies, hops on the bike and pedals off. I try not to worry about her having another wipeout. It’s not my business, but yet…it’s in the back of my mind.
After she’s disappeared around the corner, I turn to Mike. “Dude, I was hoping we’d work longer today.”
“I have to go to practice,” he explains, wiping his brow with his meaty forearm. “I’m an assistant coach for the Portland Pirates now.”
I blink. The Portland Pirates is the hockey team my nephew Duke is on. “Since when?”
“Since the guy they had was caught drinking at the preseason tournament last week,” Mike explains. “He was totally drunk during one of the games. You know my kid plays for them and they’re already short on coaches. They should have two assistants and they only had this douche.”
“Wow. I didn’t know.” I scratch my beard and try to ignore the ache in my chest. If Bradie trusted me or even just liked me, she would have told me about that kind of thing. “What do you have to do to coach?”
“Take a test and have experience,” Mike explains and then he looks a little uncomfortable as he adds, “And have no criminal record.”
Now or Never Page 9