Wicked Dix (Hard Love Romance #2)

by Monica James

  Hunter once again very ungracefully spits out his beer, while I can’t help but smile, as I know he’s only trying to make me feel better. But just when I thought things were finally on the mend, Madison decides to rub my face in her happiness.

  Hunter shakes his head unsympathetically. “This is your fault. If you’d just kept a lid on your pussyness and didn’t tell her to go find herself a good man, none of this would have happened. You are the good man, Dix. But you have to go and put stupid ideas in her head and now she’s marrying some asshole who isn’t you.”

  I wearily raise my head, about ready to defend myself, but stop because I have no idea what to say. Yes, I did tell her that, and I did mean every word. But now that it’s actually happening, I regret every word.

  The thought of anyone other than me touching her, kissing her, and fucking…but I stop, as that last thought is too much. The thought of her loving another man, wanting to marry another man, makes me feel sick. I reach for my shot of tequila.

  “Why don’t you open it?” Finch suggests.

  “What would be the point? I know what’s inside. I don’t need to open it because I’m not going. Actually…” I snatch the envelope from Hunter’s hand and place it in my pocket. “Let’s talk about something else. How’s Heidi?”

  The mere mention of Heidi’s name has Finch breaking out into a sickening, ecstatic smile. I drown my pessimism by stealing his beer.

  “She’s doing really well. Actually, there’s something I wanted to tell you guys.”

  Both Hunter and I stop mid-sip, and turn to look at him. His ecstatic smile has just transformed into a euphoric smile.

  “I don’t get it,” Hunter reveals, shrugging.

  But I do. “Holy shit, man. Congratulations!” I slap Finch on the back, while he gushes. Hunter, however, is still lost in translation. I decide to put him out of his misery. “Heidi is pregnant, you moron.”

  “She’s actually pregnant with twins,” Finch reveals, while my mouth falls open in surprise and happiness.

  Hunter finally nods in understanding and elbows Finch in the ribs. “You sly dog. Your little swimmers are on fucking steroids.”

  A laugh rumbles from my chest as Finch shakes his head in disgust. I alert the bartender. “This calls for a celebration.”

  Finch attempts to refuse, but both Hunter and I wrap our arms around him. “This isn’t up for negotiation. Drink up, buddy, before we lose you to Heidi’s enormous baby feeders. She was no Beshine the first time around, but seeing as she’s stocking up for two…” Hunter whistles in excitement.

  Finch looks confused by Hunter’s observation. “Who is Beshine?”

  Hunter is utterly horrified as he reaches into his pocket. “You should be ashamed,” he scolds, scrolling through his phone.

  I order us a double round, while Finch screeches in shock when he sees just who Beshine is.

  I love these two morons.

  * * *

  After Hunter scarred Finch for life, he caught a cab back home to Brooklyn to no doubt wash his eyes out with acid.

  I didn’t feel like going home, and neither did Hunter. That’s the reason we’re riding the Staten Island ferry at 1:30 a.m. We have no intention of getting off, but it’s nice to cruise along in reflective silence and look out into the city which can be kind to most, but cruel to some.

  That cruelness sits inside my suit jacket, a heavy weight against my heart. How could she think I would be okay going to her wedding? She may have been able to move on, but I haven’t.

  As selfish, and as much of a bastard as this makes me, I’m not happy for her. How can I be? Nice people would wish them all the best, but I’m not nice. I want her relationship with “Alex” to fail. And I want her to realize I’m the one she wants to marry.

  But that’s not going to happen. Ever.

  “Are you all right, Dix?”

  Hunter’s concern has me sighing loudly. “No, Hunt, I’m not.” I see no point in denying it because after Madison, I promised myself to tell nothing but the truth. “How can she think I’d even be remotely interested in attending her wedding?”

  I look at Hunter, who is leaning against the railing next to me. “I don’t know, man. I’ve given up on understanding chicks.”

  Hunter tried his hand at “dating” a few months ago. He got bored within a week, and is now single and over women just like me.

  “How can it be two of Manhattan’s biggest man-sluts are now single, desperate, and alone?” he asks, appearing genuinely baffled.

  “The answer is within your sentence.”

  “I’m not following.”

  Looking back into the night sky, I explain. “The fact we were man-sluts, man-whores, or just plain bastards is the reason why. Being a player doesn’t live up to the hype, Hunt. It just leaves you old, alone, and thinking back to the heydays of when we thought we had it all. There is always someone better-looking, or younger, or more charismatic ready to take your place. And honestly, I’d rather have bagged one chick than the hundred plus I have because I know that one chick would have stuck around. All the others have now moved on, probably found the love of their lives, while here we are, riding the Staten Island Ferry at one thirty a.m. on a Wednesday night, pondering on the what ifs and where we went wrong.”

  It’s a sad reality, but it’s the truth. We thought we had it all. We thought we were living the high life by getting blown and fucked by half the population of Manhattan and its visitors. But in fact, we were sealing our fate.

  The damned envelope sitting in my pocket is a constant reminder of what could have been my life. It’s a reminder that Madison and I will never, ever reconcile. And just like that, the small flicker of hope I’ve held onto dives to the bottom of the Hudson. And I mean that literally.

  Before I second-guess myself, I reach into my pocket and pitch the envelope out into the open water with all my might. It stops for a millisecond, before it catches on the cool breeze and sails away from me, taking my faith and dreams with it. I watch its descent as it spirals and twirls in the night sky before finally coming to rest in its watery grave.

  I instantly feel better.

  “You weren’t curious to see what was inside?” Hunter says minutes later.

  Staring at the waterway, I shake my head. “It wouldn’t matter either way. It doesn’t change the fact that Madison and I are really over.”

  The rest of our passage is traveled in silence, and as I clutch at the medal hanging underneath my shirt I realize this “journey” fucking sucks.

  34

  It’s Never Too Late for Love

  DIXON

  It’s Friday night and I’m sitting with my dad watching the Yankees play the Rays. After two weeks of stewing in regret, this is the only thing that makes me feel remotely better. I’ve decided the only way I can get through this is to drown my sorrows in beer, pizza, and baseball.

  As a kid, watching baseball with my dad was one of my favorite things to do. Now that I’m an adult, not much has changed.

  “Ah, c’mon! That was a strike!” I yell at the TV, standing up in protest. “What the fuck is the matter with this umpire?” My dad grunts in agreement from his wheelchair.

  While it cuts to a break, I decide to stock up on beer, as I need the booze to help deal with the stupidity of these blind officials. On the way to the kitchen, however, my cell chimes, vibrating loudly on the desk in my home office. I quickly make a detour to answer it.

  “Hello?” I say without looking at the screen to see who the caller is.

  “Good evening, Dixon. I haven’t caught you at a bad time, have I?”

  Pulling the phone away from my ear, I see that it is indeed Dr. Wellington on the other end. I wonder why he’s calling. “No, not at all,” I reply a second later. “I was just watching the Yankees get their asses whipped.”

  Max laughs. “In that case, I’ll keep this brief. I was just wondering if you had received Madison’s invitation.”

  Okay, that was so n
ot what I was expecting. I’d have guessed he was calling to inform me he was an alien before I’d guess he was calling to see if I had received Madison’s wedding invite. Why on earth would it matter to him if I had received it or not? Surely he knows how uncomfortable this is for me?

  The drawn-out silence is becoming rather unbearable so I clear my throat. “Yes, I did.”

  “Splendid. Are you attending?”

  Am I attending? Is he fucking serious right now? “No, I wasn’t planning on it.”

  “Oh?” He appears surprised. “I’d hoped you could have put your differences aside for the day. This means a lot to Madison, Dixon. I know she’d love for you to be there.”

  My mouth falls open as I cannot believe my ears.

  He goes on, “Marriage is a very important thing. It signifies unity and commitment. I really hope you’ll reconsider.”

  Yes, he’s right. It signifies unity and commitment to the wrong person. If I didn’t respect Max as much as I do, I would be telling him to shove it up his ass. But I swallow down my anger. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Excellent.” My answer seems to satisfy him. “You have all the details?”

  “No, I um, seem to have misplaced the invitation. Can you please give them to me?” I quickly hunt around my desk for a pen and piece of paper.

  “Of course. It’s tomorrow at one p.m., down at Mist de L’Océan.”

  “Tomorrow?” I yell, my pen veering off the page as he reveals his bombshell. “And that’s the venue in Westhampton Beach, is it not?”

  “Yes, that’s correct. There is nothing more romantic than a beach wedding, or so I’ve been told.”

  Indeed.

  “Okay, Max. I will try my best to attend. No promises.” My sharp tone conveys my anger.

  “I understand, Dixon.” He pauses. “Please excuse me for being so forward in calling you. Madison was in two minds whether she should invite you or not because she was afraid you wouldn’t come. But she decided to go with her gut. And I’m pleased that she did. Due to obvious reasons, I can understand why you might feel uncomfortable attending, but sometimes, you have to let go of the past otherwise you’ll never be able to move forward. Forgiveness doesn’t change the past, but it does change the future. I really hope you can be there.”

  Screw Max and his words of wisdom. “Goodnight, Max.” I hang up before he could lecture me further about why I should attend Madison’s wedding.

  I lean against the edge of my desk, trying to wrap my head around what just happened. What just happened is that Madison is getting married…tomorrow. And Max has turned rogue.

  It’ll be a cold day in hell before I attend this bullshit affair as I’m quite certain I would spear-tackle the groom, drown him in the ocean, and feed his body to the sharks. My mind is a million miles away and it’s not until I hear the wheels of my father’s chair squeak over the floorboards that I come back to the here and now.

  Looking up, I see that he’s watching me, eyes filled with concern. He looks down at the phone in my clenched fist and grunts.

  “Va bene, papà.” But he stubbornly shakes his head, calling bullshit. “Let’s finish watching the game, okay?”

  I push off the desk but slump back down onto it when he suddenly rushes forward and rams me in the ankles with his chair. “Ouch! What the hell? You’re losing the plot, old man!”

  My insult only spurs him on. He reverses a few paces before charging forward once again. I’m too slow and he catches my leg as I attempt to duck out of his warpath. “Would you please stop trying to run me over?” I yell, hobbling to hide behind my desk.

  He doesn’t allow the huge oak desk to deter his tirade, however, and powers his chair to drive even faster.

  “Stop!” I kick out my leg, using my foot as a wedge as I place my sole against his footrest. The motor whines in protest as he stubbornly maneuvers the joystick to keep advancing forward. “You’re fucking crazy. Aiuto!”

  My cry for help seems to stop his outburst and the motor chugs out a sickening whirr as he takes his hand off the controls. “What is the matter with you?” I ask when I think it’s safe to talk.

  He doesn’t reply and gestures with his head that he wants the piece of paper and pen. I don’t argue as I’m afraid he’ll run me over if I do. I rub my sore shins as he slowly writes something down.

  My father says the occasional word here and there, but most times, he communicates through facial expressions, words, or writing things down. The doctors don’t know why he chooses to correspond this way, but either way, I’m just happy he’s communicating at all.

  When he’s done, he throws the piece of paper at my head. Bending down, I pick it up and see that in a shaky print he’s written the words, “I didn’t raise a coward. Go.”

  Unable to mask my smile, I flip the page around. “No, you didn’t. You also didn’t raise an idiot.” He raises an eyebrow in contest. I ignore his quip. “She’s marrying another man. It’s too late. I know you liked Madison, but I blew it.”

  He tenaciously shakes his head. He opens his mouth a couple of times, speaking voiceless words. I know this frustrates him, so I lean closer, placing my ear close to his lips. With a strained effort, he breathes out, “It’s never…too…late…for love.”

  I pull back, stunned. My father doesn’t speak often, but when he does, he always blows me away.

  “But…” I try and argue, but he reaches for my hand clasping my cell and shakes it. “I’m not calling Madison.”

  He growls in frustration as he jabs at his chest. “You want to call Madison?” I offer as an explanation for his sudden madness.

  He rolls his eyes and snatches the phone from my hand. I’m stunned that he knows how to operate an iPhone as he swipes his shaky finger across my screen and scrolls through my contacts. He stops at Pat, the nurse who looked after him at Sunnyfields.

  “Why am I calling Pat?” I inquire as he turns the screen around so I can look at it.

  “Go,” is all he says.

  It takes me a few seconds, but when I realize what he’s asking, I run a hand over my beard, pensively. “You want me to call Pat so she can look after you?”

  He nods, appearing relieved that I’ve finally gotten a clue.

  Can I really do this?

  As I think about Madison and the way she makes me feel, about how much I miss her, and about her marrying someone other than me, I know that fuck yes, I can. I was stupid not to do this sooner, but I wasn’t ready then. Now, I am.

  Bending forward, I quickly kiss my father on the brow. “Grazie, papà.”

  I quickly dial Pat and within minutes, I’ve organized for her to stay over for the weekend. I offered her a ridiculous amount of money, and although she refused, I told her I wouldn’t hear otherwise.

  I don’t know why, but I suddenly get a second wind and zip around my bedroom, packing the essentials. My father is watching me from the doorway, and when I stop to look at him and see the enormous smile plastered on his face, I know I’m doing the right thing.

  As he wheels himself into my room, I jump to the side and use the bed as a barrier between us. He grins a lopsided smile. With my cell in hand, he extends it out to me. I have no idea what he’s up to now, but I accept, inquisitively.

  When I see Hunter’s name on my screen, I laugh. “You want Hunter to look after you instead?” He snorts, exposing his abhorrence at that suggestion.

  My father is an absolute inspiration. To convey what he has in less than ten words is all the motivation I need. Most of us rely on speech to get us through the day, but I’ve just learned the most valuable lesson from actions of the heart.

  I dial Hunter as I pull a black suit from my closet. He answers on the third ring. “I’m so bored. Please save me from my personal hell.” I can hear the Friends theme song playing in the background.

  “Pack a bag and suit,” I demand, zipping up my bag.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because your dreams are about to come true.�
�

  “You’re finally taking me to Disneyland?”

  I chuckle. “No, you idiot. We’re going to see if we can get to the Hamptons in less than an hour.”

  “An hour? That’s impossible.”

  “Not if you’re driving at a hundred and fifty miles the entire way.”

  “You’re right, that is my dream, but what’s the rush? What’s in the Hamptons?”

  Shouldering my bag and suit, I give my father a smile as I reply, “Something that’s mine.”

  35

  Ride to Freedom

  DIXON

  “Can you please hurry up?” I gripe, watching Hunter eat his breakfast slower than a damn snail.

  “Oh, calm down. You’ve waited nine months to see her, I’m sure you can wait a few more minutes. Let me finish my breakfast in peace.” My words seem to have the opposite effect because if possible, he chews even slower than he has been for the past twenty minutes.

  I pace the small dining room of the shitty hotel we checked into late last night—or was it early this morning? Either way, I just want to check out so I can stop Madison from making the biggest mistake of her life.

  No, I don’t know Alex, but I do know that he’ll never love her the way I do. She belongs with me and I’m going to do everything in my power to make her see that. She loved me once. I know she can love me again.

  Unable to wait a second longer, I leap forward and steal Hunter’s half-eaten waffle off his plate. “Hey!”

  Before he has time to protest further, I fold the rubbery, syrupy dough in half and stuff the entire thing into my mouth. I almost get lockjaw chewing furiously, and gag a couple of times, but it’s down my throat fifteen seconds later. I then gulp down his orange juice in one mouthful, thumping my chest to ensure it all goes down.

  After I’m done, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “There, now your breakfast is finished. Let’s move.”