by Nicole Snow
I love you, daddy. I gripped his hand so fucking hard that night. It was just him and I. I'm glad he was pumped up on constant painkillers, or my death grip probably would've hurt. He'd gotten so much smaller, so frail, just a shell of the brawny soldier and mechanic he used to be.
Kara. He strained to say my name, opening his eyes one last time. Come closer. There's something I need to tell you...something about that night...something with him...
My heart swung down like a pendulum, and I was almost afraid to ask. But I had to.
Daddy, who?
His jaw clenched one more time, as if it took all his energy just to open his lips. Ryan...
Ryan was the last word he ever said. He closed his eyes, his body releasing, and died several hours later.
I still wonder if I heard him right, even though my ears imprinted that word into my head like a permanent echo.
I hear it to this day, a curse from another time, haunting and mysterious. I ponder, obsess over it, especially when life decides to twist my nipples in a vise.
Why in God's name was Ryan the last thing on his mind? Was it the drugs, the trauma, or something more?
And why did I have to hear it so clearly, leaving no doubt? Every possibility feeds a thousand more, each one pounding in my head so viciously it makes me sick.
The rest of the short ride home is a long, painful blur.
When I step inside, there's a flickering glow in the living room. Reg beat me there. He has a fire going under the mantle, a glass of red wine in one hand.
“There's another glass for you on the counter,” he says, giving me a slow look. “Sit down, babe. I want to talk. I'm sorry for what happened earlier.”
Sorry. There's a lot of words I despise these days, but it's near the top of the list.
I have no choice but to humor him. I put away my coat, pad over to the counter, and grab my glass. If I drink it down fast enough, maybe it'll take the edge off. Luckily, if it doesn't, there's plenty more in the bottle.
It takes me several seconds to bite my tongue hard enough to walk across the room, and sit down on the leather chair across from him. He tries to smile at me again, but I don't return it. I'm not in a giving mood. Not after what he did earlier tonight.
“I don't want it to be this way,” he says. Could that be more obvious? “Listen, if there's anything I can do to make this right, just let me –“
“Start by telling me why you got there so late.” Pinching the stem of my wine glass harder, I glare at him, conjuring my inner bitch.
She won't be easy to satisfy tonight. I don't care how many times Dr. Evans extols forgiveness. It feels like a burden more than something divine. I'm not interested in flowery mumbo-jumbo tonight, unless he's willing to come clean about everything, and apologize.
“I told you already. Too much drinking with dad's associates.” He sighs, briefly closing his eyes, trying to be patient. “I let it get away from me. I messed up. I told you, I'm sorry. I've apologized before, but I'll do it again, because I mean it, Kara-bell. I should have called.”
“Yeah, should. Just like you're about to tell me you should have kept your cool, instead of dragging me out of our own engagement party like a spoiled brat, right?”
“Kara...” He pauses, takes a big pull from his wine, and I inwardly smile, knowing that's exactly what he was about to say.
His glass goes down, clinking on the little table between us. He folds his fingers, staring into me with his cool grey eyes, until I look back.
“I'm not going to apologize for that. I know you're tired, sick of the excuses. Let me give you the truth instead. Truth is, I'm stressed out. I'm human. I'm having a hard time getting things back on track, managing my role in the family business, trying to deflect mom when she calls up every day with another hundred things to do before the wedding happens.”
Oh, okay. You're stressed? My first reaction I hold in, because the second is amazement that Mr. Perfect just fessed up to being fallible.
“Go on,” I say, slowly draining what's left in my glass.
“You deserve better than this, babe. You need me to do better, and I will. I'm going to make mistakes along the way, I'm going to piss you off, but for fuck's sake, I'm trying. I'm going to call Dr. Evans in the morning, and ask him for advice about how to handle this, because I don't know how I should. If you want to put it on hold until then, go straight to bed, I won't blame you. I'll sleep in the guest room tonight, if you need some space.”
His eyes are huge, almost watery. I've never seen tears clouding his eyes. Honestly, it scares me.
He lets out a long sigh. I can see he's about to walk away, if I don't first. “Wait. Don't sleep in the guest room, Reg.”
I reach for his hand, give it a squeeze, and manage a ghostly smile. “I appreciate you for trying. I'll agree this hasn't been easy on either of us. That has to change.”
“It will. I can't give up, Kara. I'm serious, more than I've ever been about anything in my entire life.”
The anger I had before melts into sad resignation.
I can't stop staring into his eyes, wondering why it's so hard to love, and just be. He stands up, moves around the table to me, and crouches on his knees. He throws an arm around me, runs his smooth hand across my face, slowing when he senses the fire in my cheek.
“Jesus. You were crying on the way home, weren't you?”
“Not just about tonight,” I say. There's no point denying it. “It isn't all you, or this wedding. You're stressed out, and so am I. There's a lot to get done. I'm overwhelmed. I'll need to see my accountant next week about the quarterly taxes again.”
“Kara-bell, use my guy. For the hundredth time, he'll do it right, do it fast, and save you a ton of money.”
I open my eyes. Reg stops there, and gives me a sheepish smile. At least he realizes the last thing we need tonight is another fight over why I'm adamant on doing things my way, instead of taking the easy route with his family's resources.
“Do you want me to run you a bath?” he asks, something he hasn't done in months.
Nodding, I lay my fingers on his neck, just enough to feel his pulse. “That sounds really nice. I'll be in bed shortly. I just need a little time to myself to digest all this.”
“I love you, babe. Don't ever doubt it.”
Before he slips away, I dig my nails into his neck, and bring my lips to his. We kiss, soft and sweet, for just one second.
It isn't much, true. But after everything that's happened, it's enough to stave off disaster.
Later, after I've had a couple more glasses of wine and soaked my skin to pruning, I slip into our silky sheets. He's fast asleep, snoring gently on the far side of the bed.
Baby steps. There's no need to hold him tonight, much as part of me might want to, much less do anything that doesn't involve our clothes.
It's been months since we had sex. Probably twice as many since it was normal. That part of our relationship has never been perfect, but there was always enough good outside to make up for it.
Reg has...unusual tastes. When times were better, I did everything I could to indulge him, even though it didn't do much for me.
No, it wasn't a total waste.
I let him spend big on his habit. I still have weeks worth of pedicures to cash in, and rows of heels to show for it. They're useful outside the bedroom, at least.
Just worthless for making me wet. It's the same when he asks me to let him rub my feet, or run his tongue across my shiny new Louboutins.
If you can't imagine getting sick of foot rubs, try being with a fetishist. I wish I could trade them away most nights.
I need to be fucked in our bed, and hard.
Our sex life has barely come up in therapy, and I cringe when I think about it. Tonight, I'm too exhausted to dwell on it. We need to fix the emotional gap between us before we can talk about the physical one.
I'm content that our drag out fight has been diffused. Thankful for small victories, I drift off stari
ng at my fiance's face. It reminds me that I really do love him, and we're going to get through this.
I'd rather work through these issues now than revisit them when we're forty with three kids. As long as we're upfront, motivated, and honest with each other, we'll survive.
Jesus, we have to.
Losing another engagement when I'm leaving my early twenties isn't an option. I can't stand another heartbreak.
It's get through this, marry Reg, imperfections and all...or else I'll wind up asking myself why I'm doing this. Why I need him, or any man, to fill the craters blown open in my life.
There's no way I'm going into that dark place. It's taken five years, but I've learned my lesson, over and over and over again.
Cope. Never look back. Don't ask too many questions with painful answers.
There's nothing more dangerous than why.
6
Peephole (Ryan)
I'm at my new desk, so shiny it's almost blinding, staring at my laptop. It's all there, the video I shot with my military grade spy cam around seven o'clock last night. I'm watching the footage, fighting the urge not to put my fist through my nice new screen.
He comes out of the hotel with a woman hanging on his arm. She's decked out in a silky purple dress. He kisses her one more time before he climbs into his car, making damned sure to let his hand swoop down her low back, grazing the top of her ass. Both their smiles say they've just finished fucking like it's Valentine's Day.
I want to kill the cheating bastard.
I want to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until his eyes pop like marbles. I want him to die slowly, painfully, and without mercy because he's fucking her over – literally and figuratively.
He fucks her once with his dirty little secret, the secret life she knows nothing about, and again when he comes home and climbs into her bed.
Meanwhile, I'm being fucked by my own jealousy. It wraps around me like a snake, glues my eyes to the screen, and makes me look at the man I despise for one simple reason.
The lying, mild mannered little prick is having her, and I'm not.
My fist comes down hard. It echoes in the office like a gunshot, and there's someone at the door a second later.
I can't help it. I haven't been this upset, this pissed off, since I saw it go down with my camera last night, hunkered down in my Tesla with my coat pulled up over my mouth. And before last night, I haven't been that pissed since the night I lost her, sent her like a lamb into the arms of this skirt chasing wolf.
“Mr. Brooks? Is everything all right?” Becky jiggles the doorknob when I don't answer quickly enough.
“Yeah!” It takes me several seconds to have a long swig of coffee, and then compose myself. “Come in.”
She enters, all smiles. I ought to be grinning too, considering the way everyone's bonuses around here have bloated five times bigger this quarter. It takes every muscle in my face not to scowl.
“Are you okay?” she asks me again.
“Not exactly, Becky,” I say, standing up and straightening my tie. “We're better than okay. It's going to be an incredible day. Are they ready for us?”
The uncertainty on her face melts in another sun beam smile. “That's why I came up to get you.”
We make small talk on the way out. Leonard is already waiting in the limo, looking more sleepless than usual. His newborn is forcing him and his wife to burn extra hours on no sleep. He'll get a break soon enough, but it's been rough with the duty I've had him pulling, making certain our grand opening in my old hometown goes off without a hitch.
“Can you believe it, boss?” he asks, just when the big crowd in front of the factory comes into view.
“I can. We worked our asses off to get here, and we're not leaving until everybody's a whole lot richer. That means us, plus the good people of Split Harbor. You're not allowed to quit when your company crosses the billion mark.”
He smiles. “Only a year ago. Jesus. Some days, it gets to me, trying to believe this.” He spreads his hand across his chest, an exaggerated display that makes Becky laugh.
“Yeah, it better. Appreciate it. We're big enough for other companies to start poaching talent. If I don't keep it rolling in, there's no way either of you are going to stay with me in this little town.”
“It's really very quaint,” Becky says, staring into her phone as she applies more lipstick. “Quieter, I mean. More peaceful than the little towns down the coast from Seattle.”
“Almost too quiet.” Leonard wrinkles his nose. “Can't stand the energy here in all honesty. Without the private jet home, we'd be screwed.”
“Tell me that again when you see how many good, hardworking people we snatch up in this town. The whole U.P. is teeming with people who just need a break. Besides, we don't need geniuses with PhDs and ten years experience to operate our machines. That's why we're a perfect fit.”
“Yeah, but why here, boss? I'll never understand how you found this place. Marquette is small enough. This place, down the highway...it's like we're in Timbuktu. There's only two shops serving coffee in the morning in town, for Christ's sake!”
Becky and I laugh. I'd better keep smiling, or else I risk revealing history no one needs to know about.
“Used to spend my summers in Michigan,” I lie. “It doesn't take too many drives up and down this shore to fall in love with the scenery, plus the little towns. You should try it sometime, Leonard. Better way to pep yourself up than tossing down three espressos a day.”
“Shit, only three? That was before the kid. Boss, I'm up to five with Billy keeping me up!”
I smile, laying a brotherly hand on his shoulder. “It's going to get easier. Trust me.”
I'm pretending I know, but I don't have a clue. Ignorance stings.
Yes, I'm happy for him. Doesn't mean it isn't a wicked irony.
I'm sure my advice sounds just as ridiculous to him. As far as anybody with an exec title knows, I'm still playing the field, plodding my way through the finest clubs in Seattle, leaving heartbreaks and hangovers in my wake.
I haven't fucked in almost a year. Not since our company got its biggest contract, and I saw the blueprints for this place with my own eyes.
Several valets rush up from the spot where the mayor is waiting, opening our doors. I step out with the firm smile I've cultivated over the last five years and wave to the people like I own the world. Today, in this town, I do.
I'm careful to check my cuffs one more time, just to make sure they're covering the ink expanding on my skin.
Deep down, I'm nervous.
It's got nothing to do with the first day jitters where hiccups in component production are bound to happen, or the fact that I'm about to address people who knew me under my old name.
I'm not worried about being recognized. I've spent enough time in town to know nobody places this face to the kid who disappeared. Even stopped wearing the contacts to change my eye color when I realized how dead and forgotten Ryan really is to this town.
It's like he never existed. Maybe they never wanted him to, after they think they found out who he really was.
My speech is brief. I'm here to pump them up, not give them a lecture. I give them the usual spiel about prosperity, jobs, creative energy, and a Seattle sized drive to kick ass in the Midwest.
By the end of it, the mayor wraps her arms around me. We both share the oversized gold scissors, more like garden shears, and cut the red ribbon near the doors.
Everybody cheers. Leonard, Becky, and so many more I've worked with for years lose their shit, lost in the moment, drunk on our triumph and dreaming about tomorrow.
For Punch Corp, it's a victory. Growing up here, this was the moment I fantasized about, the day I'd know beyond any doubt I'd made it.
Too bad it isn't her.
No factory can compare to Kara. Neither can the dozens of lucrative contracts, or the millions in personal investments I'm accumulating every week.
Richer on paper. Poorer in heart.
Once upon a time, I thought that 'money can't buy happiness' schtick was the biggest BS I'd ever heard. Now, I'm afraid it might be true.
The rest of the ceremony drags. I keep the same beaming grin plastered to my face, hobnobbing with my associates and a hundred people whose names I won't remember tomorrow.
The instant we're done, I'm back in the limo with Leonard and Becky, listening to them chatter about priorities impatiently when I just want to get back to the office.
“Len, I want you to sort out the kinks,” I tell him, drawing a surprised look from Becky. She can't believe I'm trampling on my inner perfectionist. “You two are smart, you're capable, and you've been with me the longest. It's time for me to stop micro-managing and focus on the big picture. I'm leaving early today. There's something I have to do, but I'll be in tomorrow for the full rundown on what's going right and wrong. Do your best.”
They don't say anything except “yes, sir.” I'm out of the limo before I can get any more weird looks, heading for my car.
It's a tense ride to the place where she lives with the cheating asshole. I refuse to call it her home when he's got her trapped in a lie.
The last time I gripped a steering wheel this tight, I was leaving town in a stolen yacht. It's strange to drive through it, taking the twists and turns through the forested boulevard on the edge of town, then down to the wealthy lodges and condos along the waterfront.
I'm bigger, richer, and more successful than anybody here. Doesn't seem to matter. Part of me still feels like that kid, helpless to forces bigger than I can understand.
When I pull up to the curb outside her condo, I don't get out right away. My eyes scan the walkway near the heated garage. The small slanted windows there are just big enough to let me peer inside.
I see her car. She's home.
It's been months since I seriously worried about being recognized here. When I walk into the entryway and look for the attendant to ring her, there's a cold sweat prickling my brow.
Will she recognize my voice?