And the encounter with Denny was surprisingly detailed.
He’d got her separated from her girl pack with some lame excuse that she dropped something. He’d then engaged her in conversation. And finally, he’d manhandled her until he got her away from the crowd and to the back of the high school. All of this during a football game. She’d kept her peace because he’d threatened her viciously. And he’d got his hand up her shirt, her bra down and his hand between her legs over her jeans. She’d managed to bite him at the same time kicking his shin, got free, ran and succeeded in getting away. At that time, Lowe had to be years older than her seeing as he was older than Mike.
It had to have been terrifying.
Then again, the evidence was in his hands that it clearly was.
The description of the event was all there was. She didn’t write anything else about it. Not her feelings, not if she was coping, not if she told anyone about it. Nothing. Just the event then a lot of angst in black ink.
The last entry of the second book was a bleak, Fuck this shit. Doesn’t help. Nothing helps. Nothing ever will.
Done, Mike closed the book, bowed his head and closed his eyes.
Audrey was broken, he spent fifteen years trying to fix her and failed.
Vi, whose husband had been murdered, was also broken and he volunteered for the job but she picked another man to help her find happiness.
Denny Lowe had got Dusty against the back of high school with his hand between her legs.
His head came up, his eyes opening to stare unseeing at the blank TV.
He was not a moron. He was not a loser. He was not a psycho. He could be a dick but this occasion was rare. And he did not need a woman who was drawn to that finding out he was not that and getting quit of him when she felt the need to find that again so she could live out the bullshit Denny Lowe planted in her head that that was all she was good for.
He wanted his kids happy and well-educated. He wanted a woman in his bed who wanted to be there, who made him want to be there and who, more than occasionally, made him laugh.
He did not want more children.
He did not want to deal with a long distance relationship, missed calls, voicemails, emails and night after night of phone sex that was good but nowhere near as good as the real thing. Lives lived apart and days, weeks, months never really connecting. And at the end of all that shit, decisions could be made where he gave something time that was precious and he eventually ended up alone in his bed.
He did not want to be sitting at a Thanksgiving table next to the woman he was currently fucking and opposite a woman whose virginity he’d taken and deal with the discord that was already creating. He also didn’t want to expose his children to that shit.
He did not want a woman who had to be fixed.
Because he’d tried that twice and he’d failed once, miserably, and lost out the second time around.
Clearly this was one of those occasions where he could be a dick. But he was forty-three. He knew himself. He knew what he wanted. And he knew he did not need this shit in his life.
His decision made, his gut heavy, a sharp pain piercing through his chest, he stood.
Then suddenly and uncharacteristically his arm sliced back then cut forward and Dusty’s teenage girl journal tore through the air then thumped hard against the wall before falling to the floor.
Layla jumped up from where she was lying by his feet and barked.
Mike ignored his dog and stared at that fucking book lying on his carpet.
He was glad Denny Lowe was dead not just because he was a complete whackjob who murdered people. Because he took the Dusty everyone knew away from her family and he took Dusty away from Mike.
Twice.
“Fuck,” he whispered, lifting a hand and tearing it through his hair. “Fuck,” he repeated, continuing to stare at the book on the floor. “Fuck,” he clipped then bent, tagged the book on the couch, walked to the book across the room with Layla following and then sauntered to the stairs with Layla still following, jogged up them and hid them in one of his drawers.
Then he went back downstairs with Layla following and grabbed his gym bag.
Because one thing he did need was to go to the fucking gym.
* * * * *
Sunday evening…
“Hey,” Mike greeted in my ear after two rings went by when I called him.
“Hey,” I replied. “Everything cool? You didn’t call yesterday. I left a couple voicemails. Did you get them?”
“No, everything isn’t cool.”
His voice was weird in a way I didn’t like.
“What is it? Clarisse?” I asked.
“No, it’s not Reesee,” Mike answered.
I waited for him to share.
He didn’t speak.
“Mike, honey,” I started softly. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer for a few seconds then he asked, “You comin’ back soon?”
That made me feel better and I smiled.
“Yeah, that’s my good news for today. Got my tickets. I’m coming next weekend.”
“Right, we’ll talk then,” he said tersely and I blinked.
Then, cautiously and slowly, I asked, “Just…then?”
“Pardon?”
“I mean, between now and then we’re not talking? We’re just talking then?”
“That’s probably a good way to do it.”
I felt my chest get heavy. I knew where this was going. I’d lived this before too many times.
Even so, I whispered, “Mike, what’s wrong?”
“Face-to-face, Dusty. Text me. We’ll sort a time. The kids are gone next weekend. You can come to my house. We’ll have privacy.”
“Are you going to break up with me?” I asked and felt like an idiot. We hadn’t even been on a date. We’d had sex, conversation and some phone calls that, incidentally, included more sex but of the phone variety.
Still, there was something to break.
Or at least I thought so.
“Just…” he started then finished, “We’ll talk next weekend. Face-to-face.”
I was beginning to get angry. “I’m not sure I want to come over just so you can tell me to my face you don’t want to hear from me again, Mike.”
This was met with silence.
Then, soft, sweet, “Angel, straight up, the conversation is not gonna be good. But trust me when I say I’m lookin’ out for you and you’ll wanna hear what I have to say face-to-face. Yeah?”
My voice was soft and not sweet when I replied, “Suffice it to say this is scaring me.”
“Dusty, face-to-face, honey,” he repeated.
“And nothing in between?” I asked.
“I need time,” he told me.
For what? I thought but didn’t ask.
Instead, I whispered, “Right.”
“Text me,” he ordered.
“Right,” I repeated.
More silence then from Mike, “One way or another, honey, you’ll be okay.”
One way or another, I’d be okay?
It was good he sounded sure.
I, however, was not.
“Right,” I said again.
“Take care, Dusty.”
The brush off, God. The brush off from Mike Haines. God!
“You too, Mike.”
“See you next weekend.”
“Right.”
“Later.”
I just disconnected.
Then I stared at my living room wall.
Times like these, I called my brother because he was my best friend but also because he was a man and he knew how men thought and was happy to provide insight.
But my brother wasn’t there to call.
“Welp, one way or another, I’ll be okay,” I muttered.
Then I burst out crying.
Chapter Five
Strike Three
Saturday, a week later, 2:00 p.m.
I walked up to Mike’s house a bundle of nerves.
>
I didn’t remember the last time I felt nervous. I didn’t get nervous. That just wasn’t me.
But I was nervous.
True to his word, Mike and I didn’t speak for the last week. We exchanged a few texts to decide a time and for him to give me his address. That was it.
So it was two o’clock on Saturday and I was there, seeing Mike for the first time since our weekend together even though I arrived back home again yesterday afternoon.
I’d left two weeks earlier never thinking if I was in town Mike would delay it an entire day before making some time to see me. Even if he had his kids.
But there it was.
I didn’t take the time Mike suggested we meet as a good sign. Two o’clock meant it was nowhere near lunch so he wouldn’t feel courtesy bound to suggest having a meal with me. Ditto for dinner. But, even though it was late January and the days were short, there was plenty of time for me to get home in the daylight after our chat. So if I was crying my eyes out while driving, I’d still have more visibility and thus less of a chance to die in a fiery ball of flame caused by a heartbroken car accident.
I didn’t have to drive seeing as Mike lived next door to the family farm. But I didn’t know which of the gates in the long fence that ran the length of the townhouses was his. So I drove.
But by the time I got up his walk and to his door, I lost my nerves and started to get pissed.
I didn’t know what all the drama was about. And I wasn’t a big fan of someone telling me they were going to lay bad news on me and making me wait for it until they were ready to tell me.
I didn’t think Mike would be like this. Ever. And it sucked he was.
So when I knocked, I knocked sharply.
He wanted to talk face-to-face, fine. I’d do that. I’d do that for the Mike who was a good friend to my brother for years. I’d do that for the Mike who gave me some unbelievably fantastic orgasms. And I’d do that for the Mike I once knew him to be who I adored.
But this shit was not going to be drawn out. Rhonda was even more skittish and freaked out than normal. Fin and Kirb were both handling her like a piece of fragile glass. Mom and Dad had clearly tried everything in their parenting arsenal to help out, as had Rhonda’s parents who still lived close and reportedly had been hovering daily, and no one knew what to do. So I had shit to see to.
Mike opened the door and I looked right him. First, I noted he hadn’t grown grotesque in the two weeks we’d been separated which was unfortunate. Second, I noticed that he had a gentle look on his face that wasn’t sweet, warm and openly gentle but cautious and distantly gentle.
This already wasn’t starting good.
He stepped back, opening the door wider saying, “Hey, Dusty.”
No “Angel”. Yep, not starting good.
“Hey,” I muttered, moving in as he clearly intended me to do and taking two steps in before stopping.
I didn’t look around. I was curious but damned if I was going to give into it. Mike was not in my future, this much I’d figured out. I didn’t need an in-my-face view of what I was going to be missing.
He closed the door and turned to me. I was already turned to him.
“You want a drink?” he asked.
“No, I want to get whatever this is done so I can get back to my family,” I answered.
He flinched and didn’t hide it.
Whatever. Mike obviously could be more than one kind of dick. Since he had awesome command of the real one on his body and he was gorgeous, this shouldn’t have been a surprise. It was my vast experience beautiful men who were good in bed tended to be total assholes. If he was decent enough to feel guilt about that, that was not my problem.
“Go straight down the hall, Dusty. We’ll talk in the living room,” Mike invited.
“How long’s this going to take?” I asked and his eyes leveled on mine.
“I’m asking you, please, go down the hall, Dusty,” he said firmly. I figured that was how he talked to his kids but he probably took the jerk out of it when he spoke to his kids that way.
I sighed, turned and walked down the hall.
Being even more pissed, I forgot to keep my blinders up and through the windowed backdoors I saw a gorgeous, clearly spunky golden retriever outside bouncing around on Mike’s deck.
Damn, I loved dogs and she was beautiful.
I pulled my eyes away from the dog and turned to Mike.
“So, what is it?” I asked.
“Sit down.”
“No, Mike. Just tell me.”
“Dusty, please sit down.”
“I think I answered that,” I snapped, his gaze held mine then he gave in, crossing his arms on his unfairly wide and attractive chest (yes, even in clothes and unfortunately I knew how good that chest looked out of them).
He took in a breath and started, “Honey, you’re a beautiful woman.”
Oh my God, was he serious?
I rolled my eyes.
“Dusty, eyes to me and listen to me,” he clipped, suddenly sounding angry and I looked at him. Boy, did I look at him and I did it hard.
Then I invited, “Say what you have to say to make you feel better for whatever it is you feel shit about, Mike, so I can get on with my day. But, do me a favor, cut out the meaningless, flowery compliments and do it quick-like. I’ve got shit to do.”
“I need you to understand why I’ve come to the decision I’ve made.”
I tipped my head to the side and asked, “Does it matter if I don’t want to understand?”
“It matters to me,” he said, his voice softer and quieter.
I threw out a hand magnanimously. “Well, by all means, Mike. Sock it to me.”
He held my eyes and kept talking in that soft, quiet but reserved voice, “This is hard enough, sweetheart.”
Well, poor you, I thought but kept my mouth shut. Me speaking was prolonging this farce.
He correctly ascertained I was not going to reply so he kept speaking.
“We didn’t have the time for me to explain what happened in my marriage. And we didn’t have the time for me to share about Violet. I did tell you that those experiences meant I knew what I wanted and what I didn’t.”
That hurt and I didn’t even know what he was talking about. That was exactly how much I liked him. That was exactly how much I wanted to believe that dream I had two weeks ago, the impossible dream happening at the impossible time after my brother fucking died was real. I liked him so much that he could say nothing and it still cut like a knife.
“There are other things too,” he carried on. “You mentioned you want children. I have two and I don’t want more. You live in Texas. I live here. You have a good life there, good friends and you do something you love. There is no way, if this was to work out, I could join you there. Then there’s Debbie –”
At my sister’s name, my back went straight and I interrupted, “Debbie?”
“Yeah, Debbie.”
“What does she have to do with this?”
“Honey, I took her virginity. We were teenagers but we were lovers for a year and a half and she’s your sister.”
“You didn’t mind that two weeks ago,” I reminded him.
“I’ve had time to think about it and other shit has come up.”
“Right, well get on with the other shit, Mike,” I encouraged cuttingly.
His eyes got softer, warmer but they were still remote, “Honey, this doesn’t have to be ugly.”
He was wrong about that. It already was.
I didn’t reply.
He held my gaze. Then he took in a visibly massive breath.
Then he started, “She did it for the right reasons. I can see you’re pissed but I’d like to ask that you don’t take that out on her.”
I felt my eyebrows draw together. “What are you talking about?”
I hoped like hell it wasn’t Debbie. If my bitchface sister got hold of Mike and filled his head with shit to take him away from me, I would not be responsible
for what I would do.
He again held my gaze and he was warring with something. I could see it plain as day on his face.
Then he moved and I watched as he rounded the couch. It didn’t hit me until he bent and picked up two books that were sitting on his coffee table. And it didn’t even really hit me as I stared at those books that were vaguely familiar as he walked back to the place he’d stood before, five feet away from me.
Then I remembered those books and every inch of my body froze.
“Rhonda found them,” he said gently and my eyes moved to his face to see there was pain in it. Not a little bit of it either. And even as angry as I was, I had to admit, it hurt to see. “She brought them to me asking me to help you. I know and she knows about Denny Lowe.”
I stared at him, speechless.
Mike wasn’t speechless.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, but Darrin found these and he knew too.”
I continued to stare at him silently.
Mike kept talking.
“I loved reading how you felt about me. It’s beautiful and straight up, Angel, I’ll treasure it. Swear to God, I will. But I hated reading what Denny did to you and I’m sorry, so sorry I can’t say, you went through that. And, if you’ve got issues about Denny, you can always get help. I know time has passed but even demons that have dug deep can be pulled out. And after we’re done talking, if you still want my help, I can give you names of people you can talk to that might help you deal.”
That was when I spoke.
“You read them?”
Mike nodded.
“You read my journals?” I asked again just to confirm.
“I did, Dusty. It killed me to read a lot of what I read but I read it. And now Rhonda is worried because, without sharing your secret, Darrin told her repeatedly he was worried that you weren’t making good decisions about men because of what happened with Lowe. And LeBrec could be a prime example of that. You need to think about that and what you’re going to do to make smarter choices before more of your life slides by.”
Games of the Heart Page 12