"Oh wow," I said, letting that sink in. "That's awful."
"And what's worse," he said, "it wasn't all to the bank."
"Who else did she owe?" I asked.
"This local guy, specialized in high-risk loans."
"You mean a loan shark?" I said.
"More or less. Though he didn't like to be called that. Don't ask me how I know."
"So who owns the house now?" I said.
"The bank, probably. When Grandma died, she still owed a lot of money."
"To the loan shark?"
"No. Him, I paid off."
"How'd you do that?"
"One day, he saw me mixing it up with a couple of guys in the neighborhood. Said he liked what he saw, offered me the chance to work off some of the loan."
"By fighting?"
Lawton nodded. "It was the one thing I was actually good at. And for whatever reason, people liked to watch."
This was totally unsurprising. All I had to do was look at him. His body was a work of art, and he had a face to match. I liked to watch him no matter what he was doing.
"I can see why," I said.
He turned to look at me, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," I said, hearing the breathiness of my own voice. "Totally."
How Lawton had survived unscathed, I had no idea. Well, actually, I did. I had never heard of him losing a fight. And the way he moved, it was deadly poetry. No matter what he did, he made it look easy. But the way it sounded, easiness was a foreign concept in his world.
"So anyway," he continued, "one fight led to another. Every time, the money got a little better. And then there was that fight video that made the rounds." He shook his head. "I still don't know that got out. The organizers weren't too happy about that."
"Because the fights were illegal."
"That and taxes," he said.
"Taxes?"
"Yeah. They didn't like to pay them."
"Oh."
Outside the car, I saw the first sign of life. A couple blocks in front of us, a lean, scruffy man with bushy hair weaved his way from one side of the street to the other. As he walked, he stopped every once in a while, peering into the few beat-up cars that dotted the oddly quiet street.
"You know him?" I asked.
"Not from before. And not from now either. I never come back here."
"So why today?" I said. "And why with me?"
"Because," he said, "there's something I need to say."
Chapter 34
He turned sideways in the car to face me. "It's about what happened. What I did to you."
I stared deep into his eyes and heard myself ask, "What about it?"
He looked down and shook his head. "It wasn't right. I'm not stupid. I know that. Shit, I knew it at the time. And why I couldn’t stop myself—" He looked up again, meeting my gaze with an intensity so sharp that it hurt to watch. "I am so fucking ashamed of myself, I can't even tell you."
My breath was coming short and fast. This car, this place, him – it was all so surreal. And his voice was hypnotic. I wanted to fall into his arms and never let go.
He reached out for my hand. "You're my dream girl, Chloe. You've got to believe that." His voice got this far-off quality. "I wished for you, and here you are, everything I ever imagined. Yeah, I won't lie. I've been with a lot of girls. But there's been nobody like you."
"Really?"
He nodded, never breaking eye contact. "I mean it. I love you. I should've told you sooner. And I should've done a better of showing it. But if you just give me one more chance, I swear to you, you won't regret it."
I caught my breath, and my heart flip-flopped. I wanted to believe it. But it was all so unbelievable. Girls had literally fought over him. Lots of girls. Did they all think they were something special too?
"I want to tell you something else," he said. "And I'm dead serious. The things I've told you today, I've never told anyone."
"Ever?" I said.
"Ever."
The admission was staggering. And still, the question lingered. Why me?
He was Lawton Rastor, and I was a waitress without a home of my own. And he'd been linked to so many girls, women actually. How could someone like me stand out in a sea of endless choices?
But I couldn't help it. Listening to him, my heart melted, and my eyes grew misty. When he squeezed my hand, I squeezed it back, too blown away to say much of anything.
"So when I thought you were just playing me," he continued, "pretending to be something you weren't, well, I guess I went a little nuts. But I swear to God, it will never, ever happen again."
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to process what he just said. If I were completely honest, I was pretending, although not in the way he feared.
Here he'd just bared his soul to me, told me his deepest, darkest secrets. If I couldn't do the same in return, I didn't deserve to be happy. And I sure as hell didn't deserve someone like him, who would bare his soul just to say he was sorry.
I squared my shoulders. "You need to know something too," I said. "That house in your neighborhood? It's not mine. I'm just staying there, that's all." I looked down. "I don't really belong there."
"Baby," he said. "I know it's not your house, remember?"
I felt myself nod.
"And you wanna know where you belong?"
"Where?" I said.
"With me."
I felt myself smile. In my whole life, I'd never been wanted like this, not even from my parents.
"Now c'mon," he said. "No more serious talk. Whatever's going on, we'll work it out, alright?"
I nodded.
He leaned closer. "First, I just have a question."
"What?"
"Do you love me?"
My voice was just a whisper, but when I spoke, it seemed to fill the entire car. "Yes."
His leaned closer still. "Say it."
I looked deep into those breathtaking eyes, and said what he wanted to hear, the truth. "I love you."
Something in his expression eased, and he gave me a heart-stopping grin. "Baby, I love you too. More than life itself. I mean it."
When our lips met, it felt like coming home. Or rather, it felt like coming home to the home I never had. His lips were urgent and soft and everything I remembered. A half-sigh, half-moan escaped my lips, and I wanted to melt into him right then and there.
Too soon, with a visible effort, he pulled away and looked around, taking in our surroundings. "We'd better go," he said.
I looked around, too. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing yet. But it'll be dark soon." He settled back into his seat and started the car. "And trust me, the farther away we get, the better."
As he pulled away from the curb, I said, "So, this car? Is it really bullet-proof?"
"Pretty much."
"But why?"
"Why not? Haven't you ever wanted a bullet-proof car?"
"No." I laughed. "Not particularly."
"Eh, you're not a guy. Besides, I'm glad I have it." His voice softened. "Otherwise, I'd have never brought you down here."
"Yeah?"
He nodded. "I might take a lot of chances in life, but with your safety? No way I'm risking that. Not ever."
I felt myself smile. "You couldn't have bullet-proofed one of your nicer cars?" I teased.
"Nope."
"Why not?" I said.
"Let's say we drove the Lexus. We'd be taken for an easy mark." He shrugged. "Or a drug dealer. But in this thing, we're practically invisible." He looked around. "It's perfect for stuff like this."
"Stuff like what?" I said.
"Seeing things without being seen, watching without being watched. A car like this in Rochester Hills, yeah, it sticks out like a sore thumb. But a place like this, it's just part of the landscape."
"But why the bullet-proofing?" I said. I took one last look around. "It's practically a ghost town."
His tone grew serious. "Just because you don't see people, it doesn't m
ean no one's around. Besides," he said, "I use it for a few other things."
"Like what?" I said.
He turned to give me a heart-stopping grin. "It's a secret."
"What?" I sputtered.
He laughed. "No more serious talk. Remember? You hungry?"
I nodded. It suddenly occurred to me that it was dinner time, and I hadn't even had lunch. We turned off his street, away from his childhood home.
I hadn't had an easy childhood, but compared to Lawton's, mine was a cakewalk. What would it feel like to actually live in a place like this?
I never wanted to find out.
As we left his old neighborhood behind, I watched the urban landscape change from worse to better with every mile.
He took me to a little Tai place in the business district. I had to work in just a couple of hours, so we didn't have a lot of time, but the time we did spend together made me remember why I'd fallen for him so hard in the first place.
We held hands over dinner and laughed over dessert. I talked about Josh and Grandma and the time I'd let Erika bully me into piercing my naval.
His eyes smoldered into mine. "Is it still pierced?" he asked.
I laughed. "You know the answer to that. No."
"You sure?" he said. "I could check."
"You could," I said, "but we'd probably get kicked out of here."
He grinned.
I found myself grinning back. "What are you so happy about?" I said.
"You didn't say I couldn't check, ever. You just said I couldn’t check now."
I thought of Erika's words. Just have fun, let it go.
I looked across the table at him. I loved this guy. And he made me laugh. True, he'd also made me cry, but that was part of life, right? And he did love me. I could see it in his eyes.
And I loved him too. So much it almost hurt.
Maybe I was a fool. But I'd rather be a fool in love than a fool with regrets. And I knew one thing for certain. If I walked away now, I'd regret it forever.
Before we left, he leaned in close, ignoring the dirty plates and empty glasses. "Tell me something," he said.
I was lost. Lost in his eyes. Lost in his presence. "What?" I said.
"Are you still my girl?"
There was no way I could stop myself. For better or worse, I felt myself nod.
He practically dove across the table, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close. I heard his voice, tender in my ear. "Baby, I promise you. You're not gonna regret this."
What I really regretted was that I had to work that night. So instead of spending the night in his arms, or even an hour in his bed, I'd be spending the night at the diner, delivering food, pushing drinks, and worst of all, training Brittney.
We were sitting in the Parkers' driveway when I told him that Brittney was my new co-worker.
"Want me to take care of it?" he asked.
"How?"
He shrugged. "However."
I thought about it. It was tempting, but ultimately, I couldn't say yes. I didn't want anyone to fight my battles for me, no matter how easy it sounded. So, with a certain amount of regret, I told him no.
There was barely enough time to walk Chucky and get ready. From the driver's seat, he turned to face me. "I don't wanna let you go," he said.
"You mean to work?"
"No," he said leaning toward me. "I mean anywhere." He wrapped me in his arms, and our lips met in one final urgent kiss.
I stifled a groan as our tongues danced and my core ignited. Desperately, I tried to justify calling in sick, or at least showing up late. Or maybe skipping Chucky's walk.
I wanted Lawton so bad that I felt like I'd melt away to nothing if I didn't have him this instant. I wanted to feel him inside me, to have his tattooed skin pressed against my own unmarked stomach and breasts, to feel his hands on my back, and his pelvis grinding into mine in that special way that drove me insane.
I heard myself sigh. I just couldn't.
I'd been on the other side of this equation too many times. I'd been the person let down or left hanging because someone was off doing something they wanted, and letting others pay for their fun.
I wasn't going to be that person. Not now, and not ever.
With another groan, I pulled away. I looked toward the house, and saw the curtains move. A moment later, Chucky's face appeared in the window.
Lawton laughed. "Our chaperone."
"Yeah." I blew out a breath. "I've gotta go."
"I was afraid of that."
Before I got out of the car, I leaned into him and asked, "When do you fly out?"
"Tomorrow morning. Six o'clock."
"So early?" I said.
He nodded. "Are you sure don't wanna come with me?" He leaned his forehead against mine. "Tell ya what, you don't even have to wake up. I'll carry you onto that plane myself."
I laughed in spite of myself. He would too. "I wish," I said. "But I've got Chucky. And work."
"When I get back," he said, "we'll have to talk about that."
He'd be gone a whole week. It seemed like a week too long. "And just so you know," I said, "I want to do a whole lot more than talk."
Chapter 35
Brittney smirked. "I've just got to be rude to people. How hard can it be?"
"Funny and rude aren't the same thing," I told her.
"Why not?" Brittney gave a toss of her golden hair. "I've seen you do it. And you get good tips, right?"
The uniforms aside, there was a reason my tips were good, and it had nothing to do with rudeness. The place was like a dinner show, with everyone playing a part. As for me, I played a big-haired, big-mouthed waitress with attitude.
"Attitude and rudeness aren't the same thing," I told her.
"Oh shut up," she said. "You're just trying to sabotage me."
"I'm serious," I said. "You can sass them, but you can't insult them."
She frowned. "Now you're just trying to confuse me."
"It's not that complicated," I said. "Sass them too little, and they feel cheated. But sass them too much, they'll get insulted."
"Oh whatever," she said. "You're not the boss of me, so stop acting like it."
I wanted to strangle Keith. It was bad enough he'd hired Brittney in the first place. But to assign me as her trainer? It was sheer stupidity.
I should've shrugged it off. But this time, there was more to it. A lot more. He was goading me, plain and simple. It was just one more thing to drive me out. Just like his constant nitpicking.
Keith's game wasn't exactly subtle. I'd seen it before. That weasel wasn't going to fire me. He was going to make me quit, the same way he'd gotten rid of my favorite cook.
Now, I was stuck training Brittney. I wanted to blow it off, but I couldn’t afford to. If she gave bad service, it would hurt me a lot more than it hurt her, at least while she was under my guidance.
We were sitting at a tiny table in the back room. I'd been reviewing the job duties, along with the basic customer service procedures.
"Listen," I said. "I'm telling you, you can't be mean to people. That's not what this job is about."
"Sure it is," she said. "I've eaten here. Lots of times." She shrugged. "You come up, you say something funny, and then deliver the food. What's so hard about that?"
I gave her a look. "Have you ever even waitressed before?"
"Oh please." She raised her eyebrows. "Do I look like a waitress?"
I gave her appearance the once-over. Somehow, she'd missed the mark entirely. The look was supposed to be retro, with big hair, bright lipstick, and dark eye-shadow.
Somehow, Brittney had gotten it all wrong. Her long blonde hair was too sleek, her lips too pink, and her eye shadow far too subtle.
And then, there were her clothes. She'd opted for spiked high-heels instead of the low-slung saddle-shoes the rest of us girls wore. On her tight white blouse, she'd skipped the top two buttons, opting to show an amount of cleavage that was borderline obscene, even by the diner's du
bious standards.
"Well?" Brittney gave yet another toss of her hair. "Do I?"
I shook my head. "Definitely not."
She grinned. "Got that right."
"You look like some bit player in a porno."
Her eyes narrowed. "Bit player?"
"What? You wanna star in it?"
"Well, I sure as hell wouldn't be a bit player." Her lips curled. "I've got standards."
"Yeah?" I said. "Is that why you're doing Keith?"
A hint of color rose to her cheeks. But then she leaned forward and lowered her voice. "He's not the only one I did."
I felt my own cheeks grow warm. I knew exactly who she was referring to. Lawton. "Yeah, but you're ancient history," I said, looking down to sift through the training procedures.
For the next half hour, we reviewed every step in the waitressing guidebook, from greeting the customer to delivering their bill. Through the whole process, it was pretty obvious that Brittney was only half-listening.
She studied her nails, touched up her makeup, and at one point, even pulled out her cell phone to tap out a series of texts to who-knows-who.
At last, something got her attention, the tip-splitting arrangement while she was in training. Hearing the details, her eyes snapped to attention. "But that's not fair!" she said.
I shrugged. In truth, I'd felt the same way when I'd been in training. But now that I'd been working here a few years, I had a totally different perspective.
"Look," I explained, "it's just the way it works. You. You're in training. So you're getting a regular wage, just like the cooks. Me, I'm not in training, so I'm getting the waitressing rate, which as we all know, is a lot lower."
She pouted. "But Keith said I'd be getting tips too."
"Yeah," I said. "And you will. Once you're out on your own. But until then, your trainer, whoever that is, gets the tips. It's just the way it works."
She gave me a dirty look. "What a total crock."
Honestly, I could relate. When I'd been in training myself, it had hurt like hell to watch my trainer scoop up all that cash while I got nothing except the hourly wage.
But now, I totally got it. Even with tips, the trainer took a huge pay cut when working with a new girl. Saddled with someone who didn't know the ropes, the trainer couldn't get nearly as many tables, especially if she had to stop every five minutes to explain things along the way.
Rebelonging (Unbelonging, Book 2) Page 12