Dillon was the good thing in my life and I couldn’t let him be part of that drama. It was too ugly and painful and so far removed from the kind of family he knew, I knew he’d never get it. He’d look at me differently, pity me. Figure out how broken I really was.
“Becca?”
“I appreciate your…concern, Dillon. Really, I do. But I’ll go alone. I don’t want to drag you into this.”
He approached me and, grasping my shoulders, forced me to look up at him. The concern in his hazel eyes was clear, as was the confusion.
“I want to come, Becca,” he said quietly. “I want to be there for you. Let me. Okay?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“I can’t,” I said in a whisper. “I can’t. Please, just let me go.”
He stiffened and I could tell I’d hurt him. He’d shared his family with me and I’d shut him out of mine. But that was the way it had to be. Better we get that clear between us, even if it meant that this was the end of—whatever it was we were doing.
He pulled back and dropped his hand from my shoulders. His features went hard. “So that’s the way it is. Even after…never mind.” He turned away from me and I felt a moment of panic. I wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder. Comfort him, even though I was the one who’d hurt him.
Clearly I was losing my damn mind.
I headed towards the front door, my duffel slung over my shoulder.
“Becca,” he said when my hand was on the door knob.
Something warm flipped over in my stomach and I turned around.
“Here,” he said, thrusting his car keys at me. His features were still hard and he didn’t meet my eyes. “Take my car. It’ll be faster.”
I took the keys and gave him a small smile. “Thanks,” I said. I’ll call you.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything more, and I headed out the door.
Chapter Twelve
The great mystery of the universe isn’t which came first, the chicken or the egg. It’s not where do we go when we die, or whether the whole New Coke thing was just a marketing stunt to get people all riled up so that the company could “bring back” Coke Classic and make a boatload of money. The greatest question of our time is why are hospital waiting rooms so damn cold?
Is it because they think a bunch of people under stress won’t spontaneously combust if they keep the temperature under sixty degrees? It is because they think we won’t notice how long we’ve actually been waiting because we’re too busy trying to find a place just out of range of the security cameras to start a fire to burn stacks of outdated magazines for warmth?
I mean, on the other side of the ominous double doors are people with decades of education and experience in one of the most complicated professional fields there is. Some of those people can operate on your brain successfully, but they can’t figure out how to run the HVAC system?
Or maybe it just seemed so cold because I was sitting next to my older sister. I loved her and all, but if we were not related, I wouldn’t have liked her. At all.
Sherri was older than me by four years and, to be fair, between Mom and me had more shit to deal with growing up than any pre-teen should have. That had been enough to piss anyone off for a good, long time.
We looked a lot alike, with the same dark chocolate-colored hair, brown eyes, and full lips. Her figure was a little fuller than mine, thanks to the two rugrats she’d popped out in recent years. She wore the typical mom jeans and conservative tunic tops, which didn’t help. Her wavy hair was tightly restrained in a low ponytail and showed gray hairs here and there, while mine flew free around my head. She was conservative and uptight. I was, well, not.
I checked the clock on my cell phone and sighed.
“Can you stop fidgeting, please?” She didn’t even look up from the wrinkled copy of Ladies’ Home Journal.
“I’m not fidgeting.”
“You are,” she said in the mom voice I hated—a little bit dominating, a little bit condescending, a whole lot irritating.
“Well, it’s been like three hours already. When are they going to let us back?”
Sherri looked up from her magazine. “As soon as they’re done suturing.”
I got up to pace the waiting room. I was angry and worried and totally pissed off all at once. I wanted to hunt down the latest dickhead Mom had been shacking up with—I couldn’t keep track of their names—and show him what happened when a woman with a backbone and a heavy-ass baseball bat came knocking at his door.
“God, I hope she doesn’t go back to that asshole.” I dug through my purse for quarters to feed the coffee machine.
“You know she will. Or find someone just like him.”
I didn’t have to answer. Sherri was right. If there was a line of a hundred guys, ninety-nine of whom were nice, upstanding guys who would treat my mother with respect and affection, she’d automatically pick the one asshole out of the bunch who would lie to her, cheat on her, knock her around, then drain whatever was in her checking account.
I got my coffee and sat back down, hoping the heat would warm my frozen fingers enough to make a fist.
“I don’t get it. Why would you go back to someone who treats you like shit? How can you claim to love somebody like that?” It was a question I had asked over and over and over and there was never an answer that made sense. “I don’t get it.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I sipped my coffee and winced as the only warm item in the whole hospital singed my tongue.
Sherri leveled her icy gaze on me accusingly. “How many relationships have you had?”
“None,” I said automatically. “None that lasted more than a night or two, anyway.”
“Exactly,” she said, as if this proved exactly why her life was so great and mine was so shitty.
“Yeah, because all those wonderful relationships have brought you and Mom so much happiness,” I said, rolling my eyes.
My sister slammed the magazine down on the molded plastic coffee table. “You’re a real bitch.”
“It’s true. How can you sit there and judge the way I handle my life? You’ve been divorced twice and Mom is, well, Mom.”
“Think whatever you want to think, Rebecca.”
“I will. And I think you’re both stupid to wait around for some man to ride in on a white horse and rescue you. It’s the new millennium. Prince Charming is dead. You’ll drown if you wait for him to pull your ass out of trouble.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of love?”
“That’s not love. It’s insanity.”
Sherri was silent for a moment. She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes as if trying to read my mind. “Shutting yourself off from life only gets you so far, Rebecca. One day you’ll wake up and realize you missed out on all the good things in life by not letting anyone in.”
She nodded towards her two small children sitting on the floor playing with blocks. Delilah looked a lot like us, with dark hair, big eyes, and a bigger mouth. Jake was cute as a button and would no doubt grow up to break hearts himself.
“Things don’t always end up happily ever after, I’ll give you that. But I’ll never be sorry I married Jimmy. Or Kevin. The best things in my life came out of that. Just because things don’t end up like you thought they would doesn’t always mean they’re bad. Sometimes life gives you gifts you never knew you wanted.”
She picked up the magazine again dismissively. “But you’ll never get it. You’re too afraid to let anyone close to you. Not Mom, not me, not Delilah or Jake. You’re too afraid you won’t be able to walk on by, patting yourself on the back for being so much smarter and tougher than the rest of us.”
“I’m not afraid,” I said, my anger beginning to thaw the iciness of my skin. “I’m independent.”
“Okay.” She kept reading the magazine. “Whatever.”
I pouted like a child and told myself she was wrong. But the suspicion that maybe she had a point kept nagging at th
e back of my mind. I mean, there were nice guys in the world. Look at Dillon.
He was kind, considerate, honorable in an old-fashioned kind of way and yet hot as hell between the sheets. He was one of the good guys. The kind that would never break a girl’s heart. A friend, a lover. Someone to talk to at the end of the day and who really cared about the shit that happened to you. And missed you when you weren’t there.
The kind of guy who let you borrow his car at the drop of a hat so you could drive to Paducah to see your mom in the hospital after she’d gotten the shit kicked out of her by someone who claimed to love her.
If I was ever going to take a spin on the roulette wheel of love, it would be with a guy like Dillon. Given the track record of the women in my family in picking men, love was a calculated risk, at best. But when was the possibility of all the good stuff worth the risk of getting hurt? I’d never found a guy I was willing to bet on.
Until now.
I froze, the whole world coming to a standstill. Did I want something more with Dillon than just hot sex? Nervous energy sent my stomach pulsing with a kind of sick feeling. I allowed myself to imagine what it would feel like to let him mean something to me beyond a good romp in the sheets. I thought about how good the Thanksgiving holiday had been with him. How I’d let myself flirt with the fantasy of being his girlfriend and having him as my own.
It was scary as hell, but I thought of the way he looked at me after the first time we kissed: like it was a revelation and I was the most beautiful, special girl he’d ever seen. I had the sudden urge to hear his voice.
“I have to make a call.” I scurried away before Sherri could ask any questions and I could second-guess my own actions. I slipped outside the big sliding hospital door, glad for a rush of humid air for once.
I hit his cell phone number on my speed dial and waited for him to answer, biting my lip. My heart beat faster as I anticipated hearing his voice. I got voice mail. I hated voice mail and usually hung up. But this time I listened and couldn’t help the smile that touched my lips when I heard his voice telling me to leave my name and number and he’d get back to me. He’d recorded it at our house and I could hear the wheezing of the air-conditioner in his room. I imagined him sitting on his bed recording the message and it sent a ribbon of warmth threading though my chest.
The message beeped, surprising me out of my little Dillon daydream.
“Hey, Dil. It’s Becca. Just wanted to…” What did I want to say, exactly? “Uh, just wanted to say hi and, uh, let you know your car is safe and sound and still has all its hubcaps.” I paused. “I’ll, be home tomorrow or the next night.” I swallowed hard. “I…miss you. I wish…well, I’m sorry.”
No knowing what else to say, I flipped the phone closed, feeling like an idiot. Like some pre-pubescent girl calling a boy she has a crush on or something, instead of the confident, independent woman I was.
I went back inside just as the nurse was talking to my sister.
“You can go back now. We just want to make sure she’s not concussed. She can go home in the morning.”
My sister nodded while gathering up the kids, taking one of their small hands in each of hers. “Thanks.”
When the nurse left, Sherri looked at me. “She’s never had to stay overnight before.”
“She’s never been thrown down stairs before, either.” Just beat around a little. Bumps and bruises. A few broken bones. Different guy, same story.
I started to walk towards the double doors, but Sherri caught my arm. “Becca, Mom can stay with me for a while, but I don’t have the money for whatever prescriptions they’re going to give her for pain. Not to mention what an overnight stay and all those tests are going to cost.”
She averted her eyes, focusing on a point over my left shoulder. “Child support is spotty and is never enough to even buy food and clothes for the kids when it does come.” She looked down at my niece, who was hugging her legs. “How are we going to pay for this?”
I know it killed my sister to admit to not being in total control. She had as much pride as I did. But she cared about the people who depended on her and I respected that. I thought of all that lovely padding I’d built up by working two jobs, security in the form of a bank account with a comfortable number of zeros so that I’d never ever end up like my mom or my sister. Then I kissed it goodbye.
“Don’t worry, Sherri. I’ll take care of it.” I could work some extra shifts catering for Ricky and make up some of it. Maybe I’d even put the word out that I was looking of more demo work to some of my friends at other studios. It would be fine, and once I built up my balance again, I’d feel better.
The look of relief on my sister’s face was immediate. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “You’re taking care of Mom, picking up the pieces for her.” I looked down at the kids. “For your family. Just like you always did.” I smiled. “Remember when Mom took us to Graceland that time?”
Sherri smiled. “Yeah. Right after she broke up with Roy. She was so proud of herself for standing up to him and kicking him out when he started drinking again. She wanted to celebrate, go on a road trip with ‘just the girls’, she said.”
She’d always wanted to see Elvis’s mansion, but none of her guys would ever take her. So we just got up one day and drove to Memphis. I met my sister’s gaze. “That was a good time.”
We’d piled into the Buick Mom had at the time and listened to an old Elvis cassette, laughing and singing all the way down I-55 into Memphis. That was the only memory I had of my mom so happy.
“Yeah, it was a good time.” She smiled back and I knew she remembered, too. She squeezed my hand. “Let’s go see Mom.”
Chapter Thirteen
On my way back to Nashville, Ricky called my cell phone and told me he had a last-minute cancellation and could I possibly fill in for a riverboat cruise Blue Moon was catering that night?
I thought of the vast emptiness of my formerly full bank account and agreed. What I really wanted to do was see Dillon. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say or what was going to happen. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted. But something fundamental had shifted during my little road trip and during the two-and-a-half-hour drive back to Nashville, I found myself often going a little faster, just wanting to get home to see him.
Traffic was a bitch on 24 so by the time I got to our apartment, all I had time to do was run in, change clothes, pull my hair back, and grab a cab over to the dock where The River Goddess was anchored on the Cumberland. Dillon hadn’t been home—I supposed he had a gig or a late lesson, so I left him a note telling him where I would be and what time I would be home. I wondered if he’d missed me while I was gone or if he was still pissed at me.
After a couple of hours of setting up and detailed instructions for serving, the boat shoved off. There were no crazy themes or costumes this time. I wore a black skirt that hit just above the knees, white blouse and sensible shoes. It was a black-tie wedding rehearsal dinner and the bride and groom had chartered the boat, which usually cruised up and down the river splitting Nashville as sort of a dinner theatre.
Tonight there would be a live band, buffet, and open bar, which always meant good tips from the male half of the guest list. I left an extra button of my blouse open since I’d found the amount of cleavage shown had a direct correlation to the amount I took home in tips.
The night was chilly but not bad for late fall in Nashville. The breeze off the river was fresh and sweet and carried the scent of rain. I was one of the servers on the upper deck of the old-fashioned paddleboat, so I got to enjoy it for once, instead of being stuck in the trenches, dodging guests and delivering bites of overpriced gourmet crap Ricky whipped up.
It wasn’t as busy up top, but tonight it just sort of suited my more thoughtful mood to be alone on deck, watching the reflection of the city lights slide by on the river’s smooth surface. The music drifted up from the lower decks and I looked up at the stars peeking out from between the gathering cloud
s.
“There you are.” I jumped a little at the sound of his voice. I hadn’t heard anyone come up from the lower decks.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “This is a private party.”
Dillon stepped out of the shadowed doorway. Strings of tiny white lights bordered the entire deck, casting a soft glow. It kind of reminded me of the night of the ball and the dance we shared.
It felt like I was seeing Dillon for the first time. He was wearing a suit and tie and a white shirt, and his hair looked a little damp, like he’d just hopped out of the shower. I couldn’t stop staring. My breath caught in my throat when he smiled and walked over to me.
“I know a guy in the band, so when I got your note, I called him up and he let me tag along to crash the party.”
“Why?”
“Missed you?” He looked sheepish, like he didn’t know how I’d respond to that. “I couldn’t wait another minute to see you.” He looked at me, trying to gauge my reaction. He kept touching his hair and I knew he was nervous.
My heart hammered in my chest, but I kept my composure and wracked my brain to come up with some typical Becca riff—something sarcastic or funny to break the tension that hummed between us. The only thing that kept running through my mind was that he’d come for me.
A question hung between us, unanswered.
I met his gaze. “I...missed you, too.”
The look of pure joy on his boyishly handsome features melted something inside me and I returned his wide grin.
“You did?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Hospital food sucks.”
He took a step closer, never taking his eyes off me.
“Hmm. Was that the only reason?”
I pretend to think about it. “Well, you do make a mean pot roast. But it that wasn’t all.”
He took a step closer to me, his dark eyes glittering, reflecting the pinpoints of light surrounding us.
“My prowess in the bedroom?”
“Definitely. But that wasn’t all.” I moved closer until I was only a breath away. Heart pounding in my ears, I traced his lips with my fingertip. I brushed a damp tendril of hair from his forehead and trailed my fingertip down the strong line of his jaw, loving the smoothness of his skin and the slight tangy scent of aftershave. “I missed everything.”
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