“Because, I should be doing this alone!” Greyson shouts. Pushing himself off the ledge of the wall, he storms over the glass, stepping directly in the darkened spot of nastiness, and slams his fist into the side of his truck. His hand instantly recoils, shaking it vigorously in hopes to alleviate the obvious pain he just inflected.
“Bet that hurt,” I mumble. My body is still in the fight stance, bracing for whatever verbal lashing he chooses to unleash next.
“Fuck,” he growls, slinking back into the side of the truck and dropping his head to the floor. I know the man is hurting and there isn’t anything I can say that can possibly help the situation.
Grabbing my phone out of my pocket, I hit the call button for my uncle. “Hey, Uncle Mark. I know you are really busy and all, but is there any way you can help me with something?” I turn around and face the broken building, letting my already broken heart crack a little more with every glance inward. “I’m with Greyson, and we need to board up the windows of the shop for security reasons. Can you swing by the hardware store and pick up some supplies? I just want to get this done so he can get away from here for a little bit.”
My uncle pauses for a brief few seconds before agreeing. I knew he couldn’t say no, even being slammed at the bar. He is the male version of my mom, and when someone is hurting or needs help, he is the first person to step up for the challenge at making it better.
“Thanks, Uncle Mark. I appreciate it tons. Yeah, we are at the store right now. I guess he hired a professional company to come clean it up, but we still have to do the windows. Thanks again. See you in a bit.” I end the call and shove the phone into my back pocket again. Turning around, I notice Greyson has yet to move from leaning on his truck.
Carefully stepping around the mess, my stomach knots up as I stand in front of him. “Uncle Mark is running to the store to get things to secure the windows. He should be here pretty quickly.”
Greyson’s head snaps up from the ground, and his lifeless eyes bore straight through mine. “I don’t want his help, Charlie. Why would you call him?”
“Because, Greyson. You may not want his help, but you can use it. You are always doing things for him at the bar, and you know he would help you out with anything you could ever possibly need. Let him return the favor, accept the hand he is offering.”
“But he didn’t offer, Charlie. You called him.”
“Alright, I did. That’s only because you would never ask anyone to help. Get off this stupid high horse and let someone other than Cameron help you. The world is full of surprises if you are open to the possibility of it.” Realizing I had been talking with my hands, I yank them out of the air and tuck them tightly against my chest. This might be one of those situations where the pot is calling the kettle black, considering I let basically no one into my life, but sometimes it’s easier to say it then actually start to believe it.
Greyson pushes himself off the truck and locks his hands behind his head. Taking a couple steps around me, I crank my head to the side and watch him stare down the busy street. I can only image what could possibly be running through that man’s head. Accepting what happened is going to be hard, but letting people help you isn’t something that I think Greyson let’s happen very often.
“Thank you.” My forehead wrinkles and my head slightly jerks to the side when I think I hear the soft spoken words. My first instinct is to question the noise, but I know that will only make my actions look insincere. Twisting my body around, I brace myself for his next reaction.
“Thank you for helping me, Charlie,” Greyson admits, turning around to face me. He still carries the look of being beat to hell, but something has changed inside of him. Now, if I could only get myself to believe the crap I just spout off to him, then maybe there is hope for me as well.
“Thanks for helping, Mark,” Greyson says while wrapping the last extension cord around the loop on his forearm.
“Like I said, Greyson, I am willing to do whatever you need.”
Uncle Mark places his hand on the back of Greyson’s shoulder, giving it the customary guy pat. Normally, that man is a hugger. Any chance he gets, those big arms usually wrap themselves around you and squeeze until the feeling in your legs cut off. So, it seems a little odd that after all this work, and a thank you from Greyson, all he gets is the man pat thing.
“That clean-up crew was amazing. They seriously got the whole job done in less than two hours. Like crime scene cleaning ninjas they were.” Shaking my head in amazement, I toss the remaining plywood scarps into the back of my uncle’s truck.
“It’s their job, Charlie,” Greyson chuckles, instantly sending a smile to my face. Hearing that noise makes my damaged heart skip a beat in joy. A little sickening, and possibly a little weird, since I’m still on the fence about us, but none the less magical.
“Well, I would hate to be the owner of that company around Christmas time. They must divvy out some serious bonuses for doing such a good job.” Uncle Mark joins in on the laughter as they finish loading up the tools into the truck.
“I’ve got to get back to the bar.” Uncle Mark closes his tailgate and turns to give me a wink. I smile in return then scoot over to Greyson’s side.
“Are you going with him?”
“Nope. I think you owe me dinner,” I reply nonchalantly. All this work has made me hungry, and since I refused to just bail on him, he is obligated to feed me.
“I’ll see you in the morning my favorite niece.”
“I’m your only niece,” I call after my uncle as he climbs into the truck. Why that man never married is a mystery to me. He is exactly like my mom, which means he is a total catch. Any woman would be lucky to have him in their lives, but sadly it has never happened. I guess it’s the curse of our family, since my father left my mom when I was four, even though she was the most caring and compassionate person in this whole entire world.
“And that’s why you are my favorite,” Uncle Mark yells out the window while pulling away from the curb. I let out a soft chuckle, glancing up at Greyson.
“So, in all seriousness, I’m hungry again. But, I refuse to eat bar food. There has to be someplace else in this town that has edible selections.”
“Pizza?” Greyson questions and his left eyebrow peeks in wonder.
“That will do.” Knocking my shoulder into his side, I flash him a smile before walking over to his truck. “Are you coming?”
Greyson looks over his shoulder at the shop, letting out a deep painful sigh. Things like this are never going to be easy, but I’m glad he didn’t have to face them alone. Cameron will be back tomorrow, and she can take her rightful place at his side. Then, we can go back to deciding on our friendship once again. Tomorrow is a new day, another chance at a fresh start. Hopefully it’s the day I finally decide to take it.
“So, you’re telling me that you’re scared of needles?” The shock must be evident on my face, because Greyson just smirks. How can someone whose arms are covered in tattoos, is an artist himself, and even owns his own shop be terrified of needles? If that isn’t something that is ass backward in this world, then I have no clue what I’ m doing.
“I don’t mind using them to create the things I do, and, well, being in the profession I choose to deal with the fear when I am getting ink done, or doing my own. But, shots like from the doctor are a definite piss my pants kind of moment.” Greyson shoves another slice of pizza in his mouth, leaving me with my mouth hanging open at his admission.
“That is just nuts, Greyson.” Grabbing my third slice from the tray in front of us, I take a large bite and savor the cheese flavor as it melts in my mouth. It might take a couple extra miles tomorrow to burn all this off, but the warm goodness is totally worth it right now.
“Why do you cut yourself?” Greyson’s question is a literal punch to the gut. My mind scatters in five million directions, promptly sending my stomach into knots and sweat developing on my brow. I’ve never talked about this with anyone, and I’m sure as
hell not about to start now.
“I don’t cut myself. Should we get a box for these leftovers?”
“So, you can see me vulnerable today. We can talk about what happened, discuss my fears over pizza, but the moment I ask you something personable, something that concerns me, you shut down and pretend like it’s not there.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Glancing around the small pizza joint, I’m desperate to catch a waitress’s eyes and ask her for a to-go box.
“I’ve seen the cuts, Charlie. You only care to hide them sometimes, so I can only assume that you are okay with talking about it.”
“Well, I’m not. Seriously, where is that waitress?” My breathing starts to quicken, and my palms are clammy. This is why I don’t do friends. Friends want to know things. Things about me that I refuse to share with anyone. I can’t put myself in situations like this ever again. Forget all the bullshit I told Greyson earlier today; right now I just want to go home.
“You give out all this advice about needing help and dealing with things, yet refuse to take your own advice. You might not still cut yourself, Charlie, but the scars are going to be there forever. Eventually you’re going to have to talk about it.” Greyson pushes his chair back harshly, and storms over to the front counter for a box.
“I don’t have to deal with it,” I grumble quietly. Who in the hell does he think he is? Just because I was willing to help him out today doesn’t give him free reign to ask me about my life. Once again, the moment I think we are getting somewhere the flames of hell come up and devour us whole.
“Your box,” Greyson sneers, tossing the white cardboard pizza box onto the table. Taking a few bills out of his wallet, he tosses the money on the counter and snorts. “I’ll be in the truck.”
Glaring at the stupid white box sitting on the table in front of me, I fight back the tears that are brimming on the inside of my eyes. How in the hell did our conversation go from laughing at his needle phobia to such hostility?
Placing the few remaining slices into the box, I tell the waitress thank you as she comes and collects the money. Slipping out the door, I can see Greyson sitting in the driver’s seat, still fuming. Glancing both ways down the sidewalk, I try and figure out which direction the bar is. I know the beach is just south of us by a couple blocks, and Bar 49 is only about a mile up from the east entrance to the beach. So, if I head west for a little bit, then travel north, I should hopefully run right into it. If not, well then I guess I’m getting another great tour of the town.
Yanking my purse strap up on my shoulder, I rest the pizza box on my hip and take off in hopefully the right direction. I’m not putting myself in the situation of dealing with an already pissed off Greyson. I stayed by his side all day, offering comfort when he needed it the most, and one comment in the restaurant ruined it all.
“Get in the truck, Charlie,” Greyson calls out as he slowly drives down the street following me.
Shooting him a disgusted glance, I roll my eyes and keep walking forward. There is no way I’m getting in that truck with him after he yells at me from inside the truck. Putting both of us inside an enclosed area like the cab of the truck can only lead to more yelling, maybe few tears, and probably a slew of cuss words tossed out.
“Charlie, please get in the truck.” His voice is still strained, and I know his already frazzled patience is now at its breaking point.
“I’m fine walking, Greyson. Just go home.” Keeping my chin held high, I then make a pack with myself in not looking over at the truck. If I glance over, then it shows my weakness. Keeping my eyes trained forward only shows how dead set on walking home I am.
“Charlotte, please get in the truck.” Greyson’s voice has softened and stops me dead in my tracks. Holding my breath, I bite down on my bottom lip and contemplate the situation. I know he just wants to make sure I get home okay, and after that little hissy fit he threw in the pizza place I am betting he is feeling a little shitty for our little spat. Getting in the truck right now isn’t giving in to him; it’s only accepting the ride home.
Letting out the breath I have been holding in, I silently nod my head and wander around to the passenger side of the truck. Opening the door, I hand him the pizza box and climb into the cab. Buckling my seatbelt in silence, I refuse to look at his face.
“You do realize you were headed in the wrong direction, right?” Greyson couldn’t contain a snicker as he flips around in the middle of the street.
Shrugging my shoulders, I keep my gaze out the window. Of course I was headed in the wrong direction. Not only am I friendship challenged, but I’m also directionally challenged to top it all off. Just when I think I’m one step ahead of Greyson, he gains in leaps and bounds. I can’t wait until Cameron comes back and we can go back to fighting instead of trying to force this otherwise doomed friendship.
Chapter 16
Greyson
I know I’m being an ass, but for some reason I can’t seem to help it. Today’s events have sent me into a slump that I just can’t seem to shake. Even with the extra attention from Charlie, which I normally would be relishing in, the asshole in me seems to rear its ugly head at all times. Charlie has been nothing but amazing with me, and I end the evening with pushing her to talk then demanding she get into my car. If people could have seen the interaction between the two of us out on the sidewalk, they would have sworn I was driving a ninety-seventy-nine Astro Van, no windows, painted dark green, with free candy written on the side. I looked like a full on chump, and there is no logical reason why she decided to get back into the truck with me. I wasn’t too surprised when she didn’t say a single word to me as I drove her back to the bar. Fuck, I bet we go right back to the way we were before today’s discovery. Tomorrow she will go back to work and serve the customers with her fake forced smile. I’ll pick up Cameron at the airport, catch her up on everything that happened today, listen to her yell and bitch to people on the phone, and then maybe swing by the bar to grab some dinner. There, Charlie will continue to ignore me, I’ll try hard to get her to smile, and then she will express that we can’t be friends, again.
Same fucking cycle, different fucking day. The only difference is that I had the damn chance at making a change, and my head got shoved too far up my ass in order to pull it out in time.
***
Twisting the top off my beer, I force it between my thumb and pointer finger to flick it across the room. The best part of having someone come clean the house is that they pick up all the bottle caps I fling around the house. Placing the cool glass rim up to my lips, I take a long deserving pull from the bottle, savoring the flavor while it slides down the back of my throat. Liquor solves all problems, but after hearing Charlie has a drinking problem, I decided to forgo the Jack Daniels and opted for a Pacifico instead.
The blank canvas in front of me is an open invitation to paint away my troubles. Normally, the brush would be flying all over, but tonight I can’t seem to get past this mental block. My mind is cluttered with what will happen with the shop, and how I’m going to apologize to Charlie.
Smashing my brush into the black latex paint, my hands fly over the canvas in an angry fashion. I’m hurt from what happened at the store, pissed off that my world had been invaded, and angry as fuck that I treated the one person I am trying to do things differently with in an asshole kind of way. Mixing the colors, I start to incorporate shades of white into the black, making a dull grey that seems to take over the page. No subject matter is being created, just different sized strokes of black and grey. The only thing my mind is allowing me to paint is darkness.
I finish my beer and take a step back from the easel. Everything is a total cluster-fuck, and I’m so bogged down that even painting, the one release that usually brings me back around isn’t happening. Chucking the empty bottle in the trash, I smash the light switch off and bound up the stairs for the bedroom. Sleep is the only thing I can think of doing, and even that might not be possible tonight. Moments
like this are for getting so shit faced that you pass out and sleep for days, thus allowing time for your mind to heal. But, since I’m still sober and have no plans on getting drunk tonight, I’m going to have to settle for climbing in bed and turning on the flat screen. Hopefully I’ll fall asleep and not wake up until my alarm starts screaming at me in the morning.
Stripping my clothes off, I toss them on the floor next to the hamper. Pulling the sheets back, I grab the remote from the nightstand and flick the TV on while climbing into bed. Flipping through the channels, I find some mind-numbing program. Days like this should never be repeated, and if for some unknown bullshit reason it does, I pray to the gods that I have enough alcohol in my system to try and deal with it again.
My cell phone screeches on the nightstand, and I flop my arm around to try and find the thing. I hate getting up. The act of pulling yourself from the nice, warm, comfy bed should be illegal any time before ten. I usually don’t function without a couple cups of coffee, and at that point I’m still usually a grump. I can fake being a morning person, but for everyone’s sanity it’s not something I try to do very often.
“Hello?” I grumble into the phone. Whoever is waking me up better have a fucking good reason this morning.
“Did you forget about me?” Cameron’s voice blares through the speaker.
“What are you talking about?” Rolling over on my back, I force my eyes open.
“I’m sitting here at the airport waiting for your lazy ass to come pick me up. I can’t believe you forgot me. I told you yesterday, like twenty times, what time my flight got in, and you swore to me that you would be here.” Cameron’s irritated voice instantly turns to an angry whine, grated on my non coffee filled nerves.
“What in the fuck are you talking about, Cameron? Your flight wasn’t until three.”
“It’s three-thirty, you ass.” Bolting up in my bed, I yank the phone away from my ear. My eyes grow huge when the display reads three-thirty-four.
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