Getting Played

by Mia Storm

  “But, why? I still don’t understand,” I say, tossing a hand at her book, as if it were a conduit back to the past her. “You never fought or anything.”

  He lowers his head and gives it a sad shake. “We both made mistakes. After a while, mistakes have a way of piling up and becoming an insurmountable obstacle between two people. We hadn’t been happy in a long time.”

  “What mistakes?” I ask.

  He looks a long time into my eyes before saying, “I made mistakes. There was someone…” He rubs his eyes. “I was having an affair. It had been going on for a few years.”

  Now I’m the one shaking. There are so many answers I need—Who? Why? Did Mom know?—but I can see Dad shrinking into himself. I go to the window and stare out over the parking lot.

  “I’ve spent the last two years trying to drown the truth in scotch and shift the blame, but it was always me. What happened was my fault.”

  His voice breaks on the last word and when I turn I find his face in his hands.

  “No, Dad,” I say, taking a tentative step his direction. “It was mine. I was driving. I should have pulled over, or...” The pulsing lump in the back of my throat chokes off my words.

  He looks at me with damp, pleading eyes. “I don’t understand why she picked that moment to tell you. Why would she bring it up then?”

  It’s only when he asks that I realize this is the first time we’ve had any sort of conversation about the accident. He’s needed answers all this time, but I can see he’s been too scared to ask—scared I’d take more pills, maybe, or just go for the razor to the wrists this time.

  “It was me. She said she was going away again on book tour and I…” My face crumbles into despair. “I yelled at her…told her she’d abandoned us for her imaginary friends.” A tear trickles over my lashes and I scrub it away with my hand as I swallow the lump in the back of my throat. “I told her I hated her and if she left, she shouldn’t bother coming back…that we didn’t need her.”

  As the words leave my mouth, I feel the black sludge that I’ve hidden away in all the dark corners of my soul start to ooze out through my pores, poisoning the air and making it impossible to breathe.

  I brace myself against the window, but it’s not enough to keep my legs from giving way under the weight of my words. I slide into a heap at the base of the wall. “And then I killed her.”

  There’s a choking, hiccupping sound, and when I lift my eyes, Dad’s head is in his hand and he’s sobbing.

  I tip my head back against the wall. Tears stream across my temples into my ears as I do battle with the memory.

  “I shouldn’t have…let you believe that all this time, Addie,” he chokes out between sobs. “I…should have…been there for you.”

  I close my eyes and focus on breathing. In. Out. “The last thing she ever said was my name. She was begging me to try to understand, but I wouldn’t even listen. I just kept yelling at her.”

  “While you were driving on a learner’s permit,” he says, heaving the book across the room with all his might. It smashes against the wall and drops with thud to the floor. “Why the fuck would she do that?” The question is a raw wound.

  The answer is, because I forced her hand.

  “Is everything okay in here?”

  I look up as a woman comes rushing into the room.

  “Bruce?” she asks. “Are you okay?”

  He breaths a shaky breath and erases his tears with the heel of his hand. “My daughter and I are talking. Can we have a minute?”

  She looks between us then shakes her head slowly. “Whatever this discussion is, I can see it needs to happen, but I think your focus right now needs to be your personal recovery, Bruce. I can refer you to an excellent family therapist once you’re discharged and you’ll have all the time you need to work out your issues with your daughter.”

  She must be his therapist. I pull myself off the floor. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” I shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I say, snatching up the shopping bag and jogging out the door.

  “Addie!” Dad calls to my back, but I don’t stop until I’m out the doors into the parking lot.

  I sit on the bus stop bench, and while I’m waiting, I work on my normal mask. But Dad’s words crash around in my brain, shaking loose everything I’ve so carefully tucked away.

  Pick a task and focus. Another of my anger man-agement techniques that seems to help.

  I need a job. I can focus on that—something concrete I can do right now to help. Just as I’m getting my shaking under control, the bus pulls up. I climb on and sink into the back row, making lists in my head of how to make that happen.

  On the way home, I stop into Sam Hill since it’s the only business in town where I already know the owner. When I walk into the saloon, Bran is wiping down the bar with such vigor that it looks like he’s trying to take off the varnish. I thread past tables of patrons in varying stages of drunkenness to the bar.

  “Hey,” I say as I approach, a little afraid to break Bran’s concentration. With his military cut and bulk, he’s more than a little intimidating.

  His head snaps up. “Oh, hey, Addie.” He sets down the rag. “Your Dad’s not here. Haven’t seen him for a while.”

  “He’s in rehab,” I say, sliding onto a stool. “Went in six days ago.”

  A grin lights his face. “Excellent! How’s he doing?”

  “I just came from there. He’s got another week or two, but I think he’s doing okay.”

  “Good,” he says, bobbing a nod. “So what can I do you for?”

  “I was hoping to find out if Vicky is looking for someone to bus tables or wash dishes or whatever. I need a job.”

  “How old are you?” he asks, picking up his rag.

  “Seventeen.”

  His face pulls into half a grimace. “We’ll need a waitress in a few weeks when my cousin goes on maternity leave, but the state of California says we’re a bar that serves food, not a restaurant that serves liquor, so our waitresses have to be twenty-one.”

  I shrug and slide off the stool. “Okay. Thought it was worth a shot.”

  “You might want to check in at Lou’s in the morning,” he calls after me as I head to the door. “She might have some weekend hours.”

  Lou’s is the diner up the street, but it closes at three, and I’ve seen my hospital bill. I need more than just weekends.

  “Thanks, Bran.” I give him a wave and push through the door. I turn for home and start hoofing it up the sidewalk.

  “Addie.”

  Marcus’s voice from behind me stops me in my tracks. With everything that’s happened today, I’m a raw nerve right now. I’m not sure I have it in to keep up with all the rules of whatever game it is we’re playing.

  I breathe, then turn and find him standing next to his truck in front of Sam Hill.

  “Here for burger crack?” I ask.

  He’s about ten feet away and I don’t move closer. Anything less than this feels like I’m risking temptation. His eyes flash as he cracks half a smile and it sends my insides spiraling into chaos. Suddenly, ten feet isn’t enough.

  “I’m going to open a vein and have Bran mainline it. Save the steps of chewing and swallowing.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I spin and start up the walk again before I do something I’ll regret. “See you tomorrow.”

  “I ordered two!” he shouts.

  The street is quiet and the sidewalk is empty. His voice carries to the next block. When I turn back, I see all the desperate need I’m fighting painted on his face. The rush is sudden and intense, and I shudder so hard my teeth chatter.

  “…if you want one,” he adds at a more reasonable volume.

  I should say no. I should turn and walk home. I can’t be around him right now. Not the way I’m feeling. If I slip—let myself forget, even for a second, that I’m putting myself in the way of his job—I’m likely not to stop until we’ve both fallen. “Okay.”

  I hear it come out
of my mouth before I’ve fully made up my mind to say it. But when a smile breaks over his amazing face, I can’t make myself regret it.

  He backs a step toward the door. “Wait here. I’ll be right out.”

  I fidget with my hair and the hem of my shirt because there’s no way I can stand still, and a minute later, Marcus appears with a brown paper bag. He gives a quick look around, then clicks open his truck and we climb in. The instant I’m within the enclosed space with him, the air begins to buzz with electric current.

  “So, where to?” he asks, his eyes flicking to me.

  My heart pounds so loudly I can hear it over the rumble of his engine. “No one’s home at my house.”

  He swallows as he pulls away from the curb, but his eyes stay on the road unfolding in front of us. A few minutes later, he rolls up to the front of my house and cuts the engine.

  My insides are a jumbled mass as I stumble out of the truck and up the walk. I fumble for my key and slide it into the lock. The brush of his fingertips across my back as he follows me in may as well be a taser. The current scrambles my synapses and I can’t think. But when I turn to close the door, he passes on his way into the kitchen and I decide the contact was accidental.

  I set my shopping bag on a kitchen chair and go to the cupboard, pulling down two plates. “What do you want to drink? There’s Coke, or milk, or water.”

  “Coke works,” he says, unpacking the wrapped burgers from the grease-stained bag.

  I grab two cans and bring the plates to the table. He dumps some fries on my plate and sets a burger on each, then goes to the fridge and pulls the door open. “Catsup?”

  “In the door. Bottom shelf.”

  He nods when he sees it and brings it back to the table, dropping into his seat next to mine. He pours catsup all over his fries, then dives in. I’m convinced he’s halfway through his burger before he ever breathes. I can’t stop my eyes from trailing down his chest and arms. There’s not an ounce of fat hiding a single aspect of his cut body. You’d never know he’s a human Hoover.

  It’s not until he picks up a fry that I notice his hand shaking. And when he flicks a nervous glance my way, I realize the reason he’s so engrossed in his food is so he doesn’t have to look at me.

  But I want him to look at me. I need to feel that intense cinnamon gaze eat me alive the way it did at the pool Monday.

  “How can you afford to eat out every night?” I ask, sipping my Coke.

  He huffs out a laugh but doesn’t look up from his food, confirming my hypothesis. “I can’t. Vicky gives me the family discount. Which means the food is free.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nods as he takes another bite. “If I eat there, I have to pay for my beers, because she’ll get her liquor license yanked if she gives away alcohol, but she never charges me for the food. I felt bad about it at first and started doing some work on the bar, painting or whatever she needs, so it’s sort of a barter thing now.”

  “Did you pay for this one?” I ask, taking a bite of my burger.

  He shakes his head, and finally, his hungry gaze lifts to me. He watches me chew, his eyes fixed on my mouth. But a grin spreads over his features just as his hand darts out. “Because I’m going to eat part of it.”

  I yank my hand away before he reaches my burger. “Are not!”

  He grins, polishing off the rest of his in one bite. “We’ll see,” he says after he swallows.

  “Well, you’re going to want to save room,” I say, reaching for the bag I dropped on the chair. “I’ve got desert.”

  “What you got?” he asks, eyeing the bag.

  I pull out the package of chocolate bacon. “I wasn’t sure how you were doing on the culinary portion of your bucket list.”

  “Our bucket list,” he says, taking it from me and reading the label. “Boss Hog’s Chocolate Covered Bacon.” He turns it in his hand. “I’ve had bacon and I’ve had chocolate, so would this technically be a new food?”

  “I guess it would count if you’ve never had them together.” I make an involuntary face at it. “My Aunt Becky sent it and I’m not going to eat it, because it’s, you know…disgusting, so I thought of you.”

  “Because I’m disgusting?” he says with a grin.

  I just look at him, not sure how to respond, because he’s the total opposite of disgusting. I could eat him alive. “Um…not so much.”

  There’s a second that he stares at my mouth again, even though I’m not chewing. But then he clears his throat and looks at the bag.

  “What about your dad?” he asks holding the package up. “Shouldn’t you save it for him?”

  I lower my gaze as my stomach cramps at the thought of Dad. I hope he’s okay. I shouldn’t have run out like that. “I offered. I don’t think he’s working on a food related bucket list at the moment.”

  He tugs open the Ziploc and smells it. “Chocolate. Bacon. What’s not to love?”

  I feel my nose crinkle of its own volition. “Um…those are two foods that were never meant to occupy the same sentence.”

  He stands and sets his empty plate on the counter, then leans his butt against it and shakes the bag at me. “Did you try it?”

  My face pulls into a mask of disgust. “Um…no.”

  He plucks a piece out. “What if it turns out to be the best thing you’ve ever tasted?”

  “It’s not,” I say with a definitive shake of my head.

  I watch with a deepening cringe as he pops it in his mouth and chews. “Mm, mm, mm.” He pulls another piece out. “I think you need to do this. It’s our bucket list, after all.”

  “That you forced me to participate in,” I say. “I never wanted to make a bucket list.”

  He points the bacon at me. “I didn’t force anything. If I remember right, we agreed to do it together for moral support.”

  “Or peer pressure,” I mutter, glaring hard at the bacon in his hand.

  “Whatever works,” he says, holding it out to me.

  I feel my face scrunch again as I take it from him. I break a piece about the size of my thumb off the end. But then I hesitate with it halfway to my mouth. “How bad was it? Seriously?”

  “Honestly, it isn’t as good as anchovies, so it’s not going to top my bucket food list, but it wasn’t horrible.”

  “‘Bucket food list?’” I say. “Is that even a thing?”

  “Damn straight. I’m chronicling our bucket list experiences. It’s my list of bucket list related foods.”

  My lip curls in disgust as I scrutinize the bacon in my hand. “And I really have to try them all too?”

  He tips my head in a question. “You’d seriously leave me to do this on my own?”

  “Yes,” I say, reaching for the bag to drop the bacon back in.

  He pulls the bag back. “Nuh-uh.”

  I give him a long look, then touch the tip of my tongue to the end of the bacon. Those cinnamon eyes swirl into espresso, dark and wanting as he watches my mouth.

  I realize I’m chewing when I taste grease and sugar. In my daze, I put the bacon in my mouth.

  “Oh, God,” I say, looking for somewhere to spit it.

  But as I’m standing here near panic for myriad reasons involving revolting food and hot coaches, there’s a bright flash in my face. I look up to see Marcus aiming his phone at me.

  “You did not just do that!” I screech.

  He snaps another shot. “Do what?”

  I force the bacon down my throat. “Delete it,” I demand.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, snapping another picture, an amused gleam in his eyes.

  I grab at his phone, but he catches my wrist before I get hold of it. He slowly draws me toward him by it, that same hungry look in his eyes. My breathing stops and my pulse quickens as he tucks his phone onto his pocket and threads his fingers through my hair.

  He spins us as a unit and presses me against the counter, and when his firm lips collide with mine, sparks crackle through
the air and under my skin. He tastes like chocolate and bacon and all of a sudden it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. I feel my whole body vibrate to his frequency. When he lifts me and sets me on the counter I open my knees and he wedges himself between them. I can’t stop my hands from gliding over firm deltoids and landing on hard pecs.

  The rush is intense. I can’t believe I’m touching him like this. We tear into each other, devouring each other as if our lives depended on it. By the time he finally breaks our kiss, we’re both struggling for air.

  His lips brush over my forehead, down my temple to her ear. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Addie.” He shakes his head. “It’s more than that. I don’t want to stop thinking about you.” He pulls me against his hard body and fireworks explode in my chest. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore. All I know for sure is I was crazy to think that any of this is in my control.”

  My hands skim over his shoulders before settling his back, and he closes his eyes and a moan rumbles deep in his chest with my touch.

  He opens his eyes and they’re dark with hunger and want. “Tell me you’re feeling it too, Addie…that I’m not delusional.”

  I want to answer but his kiss has robbed me of all breath. And then I lose my chance when his lips seal over mine again. His hand is sure as it glides down my back to my ass. He drags me forward so I’m pressed against him.

  I hook my legs around his hips and pull him tighter to me. Flames erupt deep in my belly when his erection presses against the sensitive spot between my legs. I am totally out of my element here, but my body takes control like I’ve done this a million times. I inch his T-shirt up and he pulls away only for the second it takes me to lift it over his head.

  His hand finds my breast over the top of my shirt and the rush is fierce—a bolt of lightning to my groin. I feel every part of him I can reach, still amazed that we’re here and I have permission to touch his body. Every muscle my hands glide over is steel under silk, coiled tight with anticipation.

  I realize I’m grinding myself against him when he moans, a deep rumble in his chest that I feel more than hear. In one deft motion, he rips my shirt over my head and buries his face between my breasts.