Can't Let Go

by Michelle Lynn

  “Yeah, I’ve heard those babies are exhausting.” I chuckle.

  “You think it’s funny, huh? You could be next.” He cocks his eyebrows up at me, and I shake my head because that’s not happening for a long time.

  “You’re insane,” I laugh him off, but his face is serious.

  “You already made the first step.” He pushes his body off the arm of the treadmill at hearing his name being beckoned over the speaker. I’d be lying if his words didn’t scare me a little. That is until the thought of Chrissy holding our baby creeps into my visual, calming me instantly.

  “That I did,” I say, not an ashamed bone in my body.

  “Felt good, right?” He smirks, and I nod. “Now you just have to try not to fuck it up.” With that, he leaves and the fear that held me back for so long roars back to life inside of me. Sweat pours out of every pore in my body, but my finger pushes down on the incline and speed. Pushing the doubt that I’ll inevitably screw it up as far away as I can squash it, I give myself one option: to only focus on staying on this damn machine.

  SITTING OUTSIDE THE gallery, I debate on going in. Show Ryland that she’s mine—claim her. Every ounce of restraint kept me from demanding she quit this morning. But how can I do that to her? The image of her face burns in my memory of when she came barreling into the studio and told me she got a job. She was so elated and excited. I’d never take that away from her, especially since I know her true dream is to go to college. I wish there was some way I could make it happen. With graduation still months off and no real job in the future, I can’t swing it. Then my mind rattles into thought, and I’m like a damn hamster wheel unable to stop it. Nodding my head, I figure there is a way I could get her the money. Shaking it off just as fast as it appeared, because she’d never accept it if she knew where it came from. Then again, what if she didn’t know?

  The door of the passenger side swings opens, and she climbs in. “Shit, I’m sorry. I would have gotten out and opened the door.” I apologize for the lack of chivalry I currently displayed.

  “That’s okay.” She smiles and leans over the console. “I missed you,” she murmurs before our lips collide. I fist her hair in my palm, and she whimpers into my mouth as our tongues dance together like they’ve become accustomed to.

  “You hungry?” I ask her when we part, and she nods.

  “Yeah,” she sighs, placing her hand on her stomach. Grant’s words resurface in my head, ‘you could be next’. Damn him because it’s only been a couple of days. Although I’m all right with us having a baby, I would prefer us to be married first and maybe me graduating.

  “Where do you want to go?” I choke out, trying to appear as though my heart didn’t just stop for a second.

  “Home. I want to cook for you tonight.” She bites her lip, and I peer out of the corner of my eye.

  “Chrissy, you don’t cook,” I remind her, and she swats my arm.

  “I looked up some recipes at work. We just need to stop at the grocery store.” She pulls a piece of paper out of her purse. “I can do this,” she encourages herself. I wouldn’t be able to fight the cheesy grin from being plastered on my face because I love the fact she’s trying to please me with a home cooked meal.

  We stop at a light, and I turn her way, my hand caressing her cheek. “Of course you can,” I confirm, and her lips turn. “With my help,” I tease, and another swat at my arm has me chuckling.

  Pulling into the grocery store, I place my hand on her leg to keep her in place. Exiting the truck, I jog around and open her door, holding my hand out for her to take. I sneak another taste of her lips when her feet touch the asphalt. We enter the grocery store, and I grab us a cart while she ventures into the produce area. Not once did we bump into each other, or walk different ways, as though we are already naturally falling into a comfort zone with one another.

  She stands in front of an array of green, narrowing her eyes at the small signs identifying the items below the markings. “The lettuce is right there,” I point to a head of lettuce, and she turns around, those narrowing eyes now focused on me.

  “I need parsley.” Then her head falls back. “Aye … there it is.” She grabs a bag from the top and places a bunch in the bag.

  She peruses over the recipe in her hand. “Where to next, Rachel Ray?” I tease.

  “Seafood.” Then she turns to me, panic filling her eyes. “You aren’t allergic are you?”

  “Yeah, I’ll welt up within a second of eating shelled fish,” I lie, and her face falls. Not able to keep up the act, I close the distance. “I’m kidding.” I bend down to smile at her, earning myself another swat. “You’re going to start leaving marks,” I tell her, jokingly because I love eliciting any emotion from her.

  Walking ahead of me, her head shaking in front of me. “They’re deserved,” she jokes back.

  As we walk down the aisles, I push myself up on the cart, riding it down the nearly empty lanes. Throwing things here and there in the cart, Chrissy concentrates on her list, studying it at every turn. When we get to the checkout, she peers in the filled cart and then back to the list, checking off items in her head. “Ready.” She gives one firm nod.

  We place the items on the conveyer, and when we get the total, I swipe my credit card in the machine before Chrissy can pay the cashier the money. “Dex,” she warns with clenched teeth.

  “Not a chance, baby,” I say, her hand freezing in motion, and I turn around. “What?” She’s just standing there and staring over at me. The cashier peers from the corner of her eye, trying to appear as though she’s not eavesdropping on our exchange.

  “Nothing.” She shakes her head as though clearing the thoughts from it. Fear rings that I did something wrong, but I rack my brain to the last five minutes—nothing.

  The cashier hands me the receipt, and I finish grabbing all the bags, placing them in the cart. Chrissy mindlessly walks in front of me, and when we get in front of the scratch-off lottery area, I place my hand on her arm to stop her. “What’s wrong?” I ask, and she turns around with wetness filling her eyes. “Chrissy?” I panic.

  Her fingers fly to her eyes, swiping the tears away. “It’s nothing, really … it’s just.”

  “What?” my voice more urgent and demanding, baffled to what just happened.

  “You’ve never referred to me as baby before. I don’t know why, but it just kind of felt nice.” She turns around and walks through the automatic doors, leaving me in the same spot, alone and confused to the exchange we just had.

  Looking side to side, as though anyone else would be just as confused by her reaction to something I said. I rush my steps, pushing the cart faster to catch up. When I end up at her side, I ask, “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  She nods. “It is. I was just taken by surprise at my own reaction to the word.” She helps me pack the bags in the truck, and then I open the door for her.

  Once in the truck, I turn her way, not ready to sweep this subject under the rug. “Chrissy, is there more than that?” I ask, and she turns her body to mine. The love for me still clear in her hazel eyes, but she’s unsure about something, I just don’t know what.

  “I don’t know. It scares me. The excitement for a future is a foreign feeling for me. I’ve never had a lot to look forward to since I’ve mostly concentrated on surviving day to day. It’s only been three days, and I’m just scared. It’s my own insecurity.” She shakes her head and then reaches for her seatbelt, but I halt her movement with my hand.

  “Chrissy, I’m just as scared. Worried I’ll fuck this up. That one day you’ll realize I’m not that guy.” I admit my own insecurity to our new found relationship without trudging up nightmares of me coming home one day and finding empty drawers and a note on my pillow.

  “What guy?” she asks, cocking her head to the side.

  “The guy that can put you before everything else in his life. That one day, I’ll fail you in some way.” I stare down at the console, concentrating on my pack of gum resting in
the cup holder because it hurts so much to admit it verbally, there’s no way I can look at her when I say it.

  “God, Dex. Don’t you realize,” she waits for my eyes to reach hers before she finishes, “you’ve put me first your whole life. Unconsciously, you’ve always worried about me and my needs before your own.” Thinking about her words for a second, I’m thankful that they are true and she’s sure of how far I would go for her. Somehow, some way, she’s eased my nerves with her confirmation.

  Unable to hold myself back from this girl who knows me better than myself, I grab her by the neck and yank her to me. Our lips smashing together in a frenzy of heat, tongues twining, saliva mixing, and teeth knocking. Pulling her away from me, my eyes notice her red, swollen, moist lips. “God, I love you,” I mumble, “baby,” I add, and a smile begins to form on her lips.

  “I love you, too,” she replies.

  “And?” I coax, and she giggles, creating deep ecstasy inside of me.

  “Baby,” she finishes, and I kiss her one more time before starting the truck to drive us home.

  CHRISSY DID A great job at cooking dinner. Actually, everyone had some as they filtered into the kitchen and Chrissy would shove a spoon or fork to their mouth, asking them to try it. Laughing at the table, I tried to concentrate on economics when I couldn’t stop admiring her ass when she bent over. Or when I sensed her eyes on me, briefly waiting for something to finish cooking. The anticipation level increased with every glance, building to when I would spread those legs open tonight and thrust into her over and over again.

  I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Because as we’re washing the dishes and loading the dishwasher, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Chrissy bumps me with her hip as payback for flicking water to her face. Pulling it out of my jeans, my dad’s name flashes across the screen.

  Chrissy’s eyes glance over when she hears me answer. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?” I grab her and encase her in my arms. She rains sweet kisses over my Adam’s apple and neck, gaining a huge smile from me.

  “Hey, Edge. I hate to ask, but I need you tonight. Pete started his own business, taking some of my clients. I’m trying to do some damage control with odds and things. The fucking asshole,” he yells, and Chrissy’s eyes pull back, wondering why my dad is so angry.

  “All right. Give me a half hour,” I tell him and press the end button, agitated from the obligation to help him that nags at me every time he’s desperate.

  “You’re leaving,” Chrissy whines, and my heart shutters with the sound of her voice.

  “Can I talk to you for a second?” I guide her to the kitchen table. “My dad needs me to go to his place. Help him out,” I don’t flat out lie, but the untruths singe my tongue as the words leave my mouth.

  “I’ll go with you.” She’s eagerly ready to leave with me.

  “You can’t. Plus I won’t be long, I swear.”

  “Okay.” Her voice low and unsure of what is really going on.

  Standing up, I bring her to her feet and wrap my arms around her waist. “Be ready when I return, because I’ll be stripping my clothes off as I walk up the stairs to my room.”

  She giggles, and I smile down at her. “Love you.” I bend down and kiss her. “Thank you for dinner. It was great,” I compliment her, and she nuzzles into my chest a little before I ultimately have to put an end to it.

  I fist the wheel when I’m halfway to my dad’s. Chrissy’s unsure yet unwavering eyes following me the whole time as I got my wallet and keys only angered me more toward my dad. I swear she knows I just lied, but she didn’t call me out on it, and I’m wondering why she didn’t. She’s not someone to keep her feelings hidden from others. I’m pissed at myself, at my dad, and a little at Chrissy for not calling me out as the loser I am right now.

  It turns out my dad needed my help more than I thought. I had to contact a couple bigger clients, promising tickets to shows, entertainment, kegs of beer to the college kids. You’d be amazed how many kids pay their college tuition by betting odds on sports.

  “Edge, grab the tablet. Use those great instincts and find me some damn pearl to save us.” The fact he uses me twists my stomach, guilt slowly taking over the swarms of butterflies Chrissy ignited only a half hour ago.

  Scanning, I try to turn off the pressure. Allowing myself to feel it, opening myself to the one odds that flash out in front of the others. I attempt to push Chrissy out of it and do this one thing for my dad. The sooner I figure one out, the faster I’ll be in her arms. The problem is I’ll be lying to her while I’m there, separating us by omissions, cheating us of a real chance to a future. Guilt from her words a few hours earlier, her confirmation I wouldn’t ruin this, but it’s only been seventy-two hours, and I’ve already screwed with us.

  Like someone was shining down, a simple game listed, and the anchorman’s voice from two nights ago resonate in my head. An underdog hockey team that may just be able to pull off a win because of injuries on the other team. My gut signals me this is the one, so I tell my dad, and he wearily grips his neck with his locked fingers. “This is aggressive, Edge. You sure?” he questions, and I nod my head feverishly.

  “It’s the one, Dad.” I divulge the inside scoop I heard on ESPN, and he agrees. The game starts in an hour, and my dad makes the call into Vegas to his own bookie.

  Me: Sorry, baby. I’m caught up. Go to bed and I’ll be back soon.

  I text Chrissy, two hours later when I’m still stuck in the family room, watching the game with my dad.

  Chrissy: Okay. Miss you

  Guilt … fucking guilt

  Me: You too. I love you.

  Chrissy: Love you. Hurry up.

  Me: I promise

  How on earth can I promise her anything at this point? Look what I’m fucking doing here.

  An hour or so later, my dad’s screaming at the television and my knee is bouncing up and down out of control, distressed that maybe I made the wrong choice. Shit, maybe it was another calling out to me from that damn tablet. I’m glued to my dad’s leather chair, watching a small black puck shoot from one side to the other. The two teams tied with only twenty seconds to go. I bite at my fingernails, my heart races, and this is the part I hate most. The uncertainty if you’ll win. Taking big chances that could bankrupt you. If I’m wrong and this team doesn’t pull it off, that’s exactly what I’ve done to my dad, ruined him. He’s worked years to get his client list and this betting ring going, and one game is his deciding fate.

  Finally, a player swings around the goal and sneaks the puck into the net, and my dad roars so loud, I swear the walls shake. “Shit, Edge. You did it again.” He grabs my hand, yanking to my feet, and they stumble before going steady. “Gotta love that adrenaline rush,” he says, and I silence my disagreement. “Come with me.” He motions with his hand, and I follow him back to the basement.

  He opens a door that I’ve been forbidden from touching, and there stands two safes side by side. Turning the knobs and pressing his hand under an illuminated light, it clicks. Piles of green fill it, the smell of filth filtering out. My dad always said there was nothing better than the smell of money, but it’s another thing I completely disagree with. Thumbing up the piles he hands me three stacks of money. “College tuition,” He smiles, and I add the amount in my head.

  “Dad, this is thirty grand.” I hold it up and shake my head.

  “You have no idea how much money you just made me, do you? It’s your cut.” He shuts the safe, ushers me out of the room, and then shuts and locks the door.

  Debating in my head what the hell to do, the money just confirms the guilt of what I’ve done. “I’m not sure I can do much more of this,” I honestly say, and he clasps his hand on my back. That affirmation, he’s proud of me. The sole reason I’ve done it this long—getting praise from him.

  “Oh, Edge, when you’re out of college, you can just dabble into it. I’m not asking you to take over the business.” He laughs, and I hang my head down; the money in my hand
burning my flesh.

  When I arrive at the door that I unconsciously walked to, I turn around to find a very satisfied dad. He’s on his high—high of winning. “You did good tonight, kid,” he says, and my stomach churns. “Now go find some girl to celebrate with.” Chrissy’s face floats to mind, weighing my stomach down. He opens his door, an invitation to leave.

  “See ya, Dad,” I say, leaving the house I spent two weekends a month in for so many years. The place I witnessed men lose everything and temporarily gain something from poker parties my dad threw. Here I was leaving with a temporary gain, and I’m not elated like the usual men, instead I’m disheartened at my own actions. I’ve betrayed the one I love, the one I promised I wouldn’t fuck this up.

  DEX SNUGGLES INTO me, his cold hands brushing against my shoulder when he pulls the blanket over us. It’s been two days, and, although I’m happy, something shifted that night I made him dinner, and I’m not sure what it was. He’s still attentive, driving me to work on the days he has late class. It’s hard to describe, but there’s this little wedge between us that wasn’t there before that night.

  I felt it when he returned to his room. Just like tonight, his cold body slid against mine, nuzzling into my neck. I heard his inhales and sighs. The only difference between that night and this one is I had turned around. I had asked him what was wrong, what had happened at his dad’s. He just shook his head and said nothing, but there in those eyes that shined so bright the two days earlier, were a little dimmer, a little removed from us. He distracted me with his roaming hands, and his lips maneuvering over my body. I allowed him to lie to me, deceive me from whatever it was he felt he had to hide. Although it scared me to my core, somehow I believed he’d divulge it to me. I was sure in time, Dex would come clean, and my only fear was it could be something we couldn’t get through together.

  The charade hasn’t stopped, but instead of asking or demanding he share, I act as though I’m asleep when he slips into bed with me tonight. Forcing my body to stay limp and my eyes to remain shut while the despair of what we are slowly becoming stays constant under my skin with every touch of his hand. As always, he nuzzles and inhales. Sighing. This time, however, he speaks. “Please don’t hate me,” he whispers. That’s when I know, I can’t let this go on further.