by Rhonda James
“You’ve got a lot of nerve calling me an asshole when you’re the one being a grade-A douche right now. You think any of this is easy for me? Huh? I just spent the weekend with her. I apologized and came clean about all that past shit. We’ve worked it out. We were having a good time until you showed up. You think it doesn’t hurt to see the two of you together? The way you held her. Seeing the way her eyes lit up when she saw you tonight. Or the way she looked just before you kissed her.” I push off the wall and pace the small section of tile between us. “It fucking killed me, okay? Is that want you wanted to hear?”
“Honestly, I think you needed to say it more than I needed to hear it.” The look he gives me dares me to try and deny it. “So, seeing all of that hurt? Tell me something, Scott. How you think she’s felt these past four years when she saw all of those posts on social media?”
“The fuck you talking about? What posts?” I shake my head.
“Let’s see.” He taps a finger over his pursed lips. “For starters, what about the post a month ago of you with a giant purple hickey on your chest. And, my personal favorite, the one where your face is buried between a woman’s thighs. Very classy, by the way.”
“Fuck!” I drag a hand over my face and release a loud groan. “For the record, I didn’t post those. I have my ex to thank for that.” He just gives me a look that says And? “She saw all of that, huh? She never mentioned them.”
“Those and many more. You haven’t exactly been discreet when it comes to your sex life.”
“Why the fuck are you telling me all of this? What’s in it for you?” I ask skeptically.
He tucks his hands in his pockets and cocks his head. “The mere satisfaction of seeing your face when you learned that Skylar Dennison isn’t the same naïve girl you remember from four years ago. She knows exactly who you are. She may still be hung up on you, but she hasn’t forgotten what you’re capable of. You proved that again tonight with that woman at the bar.”
“Wait a minute. Nothing happened with that woman. I was upset and was merely being polite. You’re telling me that Skylar still cares for me? Why would you be telling me this? I thought the two of you were together?” I ask, clearly confused by this strange turn of events. Here I thought this guy wanted to throttle me when it turns out he’s actually trying to help me. What the fuck?
A look of sadness passes over his face before he blows out a deep sigh. “No, man. Skylar and I are not an item. But if we were, I’d consider myself the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet. And I sure as fuck wouldn’t walk away and let someone else have her. The way you did. I love Skylar, a whole hell of a lot, but I’m not in love with her. She’s my best friend.” He walks toward me and claps a hand over my shoulder. “A friendly piece of advice for you. If you truly care about her, then it’s time you swallow your pride and tell her how you feel. She deserves that much. But if you’re only looking for a piece of ass, then you better fucking look elsewhere, because I swear to God, if you hurt her again, I’ll hop on a plane and kick your sorry ass all over that ice. Are we clear?” He extends his hand for me to shake. I stare at it for a moment before bringing my gaze to his.
“Crystal.” His handshake is firm, if not threatening, but I’m not scared. If anything, I’m grateful she has someone like Asher looking out for her. I watch closely as he descends the stairs and have a sneaking suspicion that granting me permission to pursue Skylar hurt him more than he’d be willing to admit.
CHAPTER 14
SKYLAR
I sip my second cup of coffee and check the time on my phone. I’m supposed to meet Scott and Brantley at the arena this morning to capture some shots of them in their practice uniforms on the ice. Over the weekend, I had a chance to ask Brantley a few of the questions I’d thrown together on the drive to Traverse City. I’ll admit I find myself questioning where the interest will lie in an article such as this one. No matter how many times I re-word the questions, it still comes off as a bit of a fluff piece. Not the kind of articles I’m used to writing for PLAY or even Mitch, for that matter.
I’ve given a lot of thought to what Ash had to say the other night. After receiving his message that he landed safely in London, I turn off my phone and spend the entire morning by myself. I walk the pier and snap photos of boats on the water. Kids playing in the park. Dogs chasing Frisbees. I sit back and take it all in. I do my best to not dwell on what happened over the weekend. It is what it is. If I leave Detroit with nothing more than the memory of one last kiss, one more cuddle, I’m okay with that. Do I think we still have unfinished business? That remains to be seen.
I walk back to the apartment building and greet the doorman on my way in. My phone rings as I’m entering the elevator. I press the button for the third floor before looking down and seeing a number I recognize.
“Hey, Gramps. You calling to check up on me?” I tease, because ever since I was little, he’s always watched out for me.
“Hey, Peanut,” he answers, and right away I sense something is wrong.
“You sound funny. Is everything okay? Do you need me to come home?” My mind is racing, because no matter what the circumstances, I would drop everything and run to their aid. They did the same for me when I had nowhere else to turn. It’s only right I return them the same level of devotion.
The sound of him clearing his throat tells me this isn’t a call to check up on me, or to tell me a funny story. “Honey, Chicago P.D. just called. They found your momma this morning… It doesn’t look good, baby. You better get to Chicago. Gram and I are on the next flight out.”
I mumble a response and watch as the elevator doors open, and without thinking, I start moving on autopilot. Grabbing toiletries from the bathroom. A dress for the funeral. I make sure to throw a few extra outfits inside just in case. I switch off the lights, lock the door behind me, and take a deep breath as I get ready to head back to the hell I escaped only four years ago. Only this time, it looks as if the devil has finally succumbed to her addiction.
CHAPTER 15
SCOTT
Where the hell is she?
I check the clock over the door for the umpteenth time in the last fifteen minutes. She’s a half hour late, and I haven’t heard a word from her since Asher showed up on her doorstep.
After my enlightening chat with Asher, I’d gone straight to my apartment, turned on my iPod, and thought about everything he said, then I spent another two hours picking apart every detail of our time up north. From the heartfelt conversations and dancing at the bar to waking up and holding her in my arms. Every moment was nothing short of amazing. And if all that hadn’t been enough to convince me, the kisses we shared had left me feeling more than I’d been willing to acknowledge.
About that blowjob she demanded… Never happened. Tempting as the idea was to have her luscious lips wrapped around the head of my cock, I just couldn’t bring myself to go through with it. And let me tell you, she put up a fight trying to break the button of my jeans. She was far too drunk for me to take advantage of her. I’ve waited four years for this kind of chance with Skylar Dennison, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste something that meaningful on a drunken night. I want our first time to be special for her. I have a feeling when I slip inside her, it’s going to be a moment neither one of us forgets for a very long time. If ever.
“Hey,” Cage says, parking his ass in the chair across from mine. “Ever get ahold of her?”
“No.” I shake my head and type out another text. “She won’t take my calls. Won’t respond to my texts. And I knocked on her door no less that eight different times yesterday. Even that busybody who lives next door to me hadn’t seen her all day.
“Have you tried talking with Davis? Maybe his boss knows something.”
“I’ve called, but it goes straight to voicemail. I’m waiting to hear back.”
He messes with his phone for a few seconds before he says it. “Want me to try her?”
I narrow my eyes, wondering exactly where
he’s going with this. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I just find it ironic she up and disappears after everything that went down between you two this weekend,” he quips. I don’t miss the sarcasm behind his words.
“Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but nothing happened. We kissed.” I shrug, and he gives me the side eye. “Maybe we cuddled. But that’s it.”
His hands go out in front of him as if to say my bad. “So, should I try her?” he asks again, and this time I shut up and give him her number.
***
It’s after eleven, and once again I’m standing outside her apartment, knocking on her door. I’m not sure why I’m obsessing this much over her whereabouts. Maybe it’s because I feel like we’ve been given a second chance and I don’t want to throw that away. Not again.
Cage tried calling her and had the same result as me. As bad as it sounds, a part of me was glad she didn’t take his call, either. It gave me hope that maybe she isn’t avoiding me after all. It may be false hope, but at this point, I’ll take it.
I guess that’s why I’m here right now. Face pressed up against her door. Finger tracing the invisible letters of her name across the wooden door. Talking softly out of fear someone will hear me. Wishing for everything she could.
“Hey, Blondie. I waited for you this morning, but you never came. Is it weird that after all this time apart the thought of not seeing you makes me sick to my stomach? No? Good, because that’s what I’m feeling right now.
“Please guide me, baby. I need you to tell me what you need from me. If space is what you need, I can give you that. But if you’re hoping for something more, that’s okay, too, ‘cause I want to try. I need you to just come back home and tell me so I can fix things. I’m sorry if I pushed too hard or too fast. I thought I could handle being around you, but it’s so hard… I look at you, and it’s like I’m eighteen all over again and the only thing I want to do is come home from a bad day and know that you’ll be there.
“Today was a bad day. And I need you. Most of all, my heart tells me that right now, you need me, too. I’ll be there for you, Blondie. I just need you to guide me to where you are. Wherever it is, I’ll be there. I’ll always be there. I’ll be there, because I—”
Ring!
The sound of my phone interrupts my confession. I check the caller ID, praying to God it’s Skylar, but it’s not. It’s my sister.
“Scotty? Have you been crying?”
I ignore her question.
“Please tell me you’ve heard from her.” My voice is tight as I brace myself against the door, preparing myself for a letdown.
“Mom just called. Skylar’s in Chicago. Scott, her Mom died yesterday morning.” By this time, Cassie is crying. “How awful for her. I know they had a strained relationship.”
“Yeah. You could call it that,” I answer noncommittally. It’s not my place to air Skylar’s darkest secrets. Dead mother or not.
“The funeral is set for tomorrow. Mom said she’d send flowers from all of us. She was pretty surprised when I told her Skylar was in Detroit. You know how Mom always felt about you two together.”
“Yeah. I remember. She had the wedding planned and everything.” I laugh into the phone. “Listen. Do me a favor and let the guys know I’ll be out of town for a couple of days.”
“Okay. I will,” she answers softly. “I know this isn’t my place, but you’re my big brother and I love you very much. Your happiness is important to me.”
“Why am I sensing a ‘but’ somewhere in there?”
“I guess what I’m trying to say is, don’t go after her if all you’re hoping for is to scratch some itch you never had the chance to satisfy. If you go there, you need to make this about Skylar. Right now, more than anything, she’s going to need a friend. So, go be that friend. Beyond that, if it’s meant to be, it will be.”
I sigh heavily as my grip on the phone tightens. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“No”—she laughs softly—“but you can make it up to me in French toast.”
“Oh, shit. I was supposed to take you to breakfast tomorrow,” I remind her.
“Don’t worry about it. She needs you more. Go be her Captain America.” Cassie giggles, and I can’t help shaking my head.
“I swear. What is it with you women and your need to label all of us as superheroes?” I chuckle.
“I happen to think every girl needs a hero at some point in her life. Some of us just aren’t afraid to admit it. So, big brother, what are you going to do?”
I close my eyes and see Skylar answering the door wearing those ridiculous rubber boots. The memory of that morning puts a smile on my face, and I know what I need to do.
“Looks like I’m going to Chicago to save the day.”
CHAPTER 16
SKYLAR
Returning to Chicago had been one of those things I’d never even considered. There are far too many bad memories tied to my childhood home, and I’m not just referring to my breakup with Scott. While I had reservations about coming home, I never questioned the need for my being here. I needed closure.
Despite leaving on bad terms, over the last two years, Mom and I had finally reached a point where we could have a civil conversation on the phone. We tried speaking once every six months, though neither of us seemed to care if we went longer than that. Most of the time, the conversations felt forced, with nothing personal being shared. She never once asked how I’d been getting along. Never asked if I’d gone to college or if I had met someone new. Likewise, I never asked her if she’d met someone new or how she’d been spending her days. We treated one another the exact same way but for the exact opposite reasons. I never asked those things, because I was afraid of the answers. I was afraid to learn of a new boyfriend, because then I’d worry he was abusing her, the way her previous boyfriends had done. And I didn’t want to hear she’d been spending her days at the bar, because I’d always worried she would end up drinking herself to death. Which is exactly what ended up happening. But for Mom, there was only one reason she never asked. She simply didn’t care.
“Thank you so much for coming. I know it was short notice.” I shake hands with one of her co-workers and turn to greet the next person in line.
One by one, they keep coming. Each giving their own shortened eulogy as they pat my hand.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Your mother was a fine woman.”
“I’ve known your mom since we were old enough to legally order our first beer.”
“Your mother was my best friend. It’s been so hard to watch her wasting away. Things just won’t be the same without her around. I hope you knew how proud she was of you.”
I roll my eyes inwardly and stifle a laugh. Proud? Yeah, I don’t think so.
The funeral director comes over and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Take all the time you need to say your final good-byes, then we’ll head over to the graveside service. Is there anything you need, Miss Dennison?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you so much. I appreciate how quickly you pulled all of this together. I only need a few minutes, and then I’ll be right out.” I watch him close the double doors, draw a deep breath, then take my first steps toward the open casket.
“Hey, Mom.” My fingers curl into the satin lining surrounding her as I lean forward and peer into the casket. She looks so small lying there. Small and old. Much older than her forty-five years. But I guess that’s what liver disease will do to you.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I start, voice trembling as I struggle to find the words. “If only you’d told me you were sick, I would have come home. At the very least, I would have been able to say good-bye.” My voice shakes with every word as emotions long since buried make their way to the surface. “I’m sorry I didn’t take your calls last week. I was busy and I—shit, that’s not entirely true—the truth is, I was in the middle of something and didn’t feel like talking to yo
u. I didn’t feel like having one more pointless conversation.” My gaze shifts left, and a large bouquet of blue flowers commands my attention, reminding me of times long ago. I turn back to her lifeless form and begin demanding answers to questions that have plagued me for so long. Even though I know she can’t answer, I have to ask.
“Why were you so cruel? What did I ever do to make you hate me so much?” By now I’m crying freely, but not because of what I’ve lost. After all, you can’t lose something you never truly had. Right? “I’ve spent most of my life thinking I wasn’t good enough. Worried I would end up just like you. Alone and bitter. For years, you made me feel as if I was the reason you were so unhappy. It took me leaving Chicago to realize I wasn’t the reason. I was merely the victim. And despite all you ever did to tear me down, if you’d told me you needed me, I would have been here for you.” I smack my hand against the casket. “Dammit, I would have been here.”
I straighten, drying my face with the pads of my fingers “If you were proud of me, you sure had a funny way of showing it.” I take one final look at her frail body, and my eyes come to rest on the small silver flask that one of her bar buddies must have placed between her folded hands. No doubt, it’s probably full of alcohol, you know, just in case the dead need one more drink. I can’t help shaking my head in disgust. “You know what, Mom? I hope it was worth it.”
I move to the end of the casket and pause to admire the beautiful arrangement. I don’t recall seeing them before the service started. Upon further inspection, I realize the card is addressed to me. I check the other arrangements and note they all have my mother’s name on them. When I reach for the card, the handwritten note I find inside rocks me to the core.