Can't Let Go

by Michelle Lynn

  I gradually turn around, wiggling my body out of his embrace. Then repositioning myself to lie facing him, I allow his hand to cup my face and his thumb to mindlessly glide back and forth along my cheek. “Why would I hate you?” I ask him, and his eyes never leave mine.

  I watch him swallow a huge gulp and then maintaining eye contact, he reveals the big secret. “I made a bet.” I bite my lower lip, waiting for more because I can guarantee there is. “I still gamble, Chris,” he admits, and hearing the truth, my heart sinks with what I had already suspected.

  “Why?” I ask, trying to remain calmer than I did all those years back.

  He shrugs his one shoulder. “It’s easy money to me. Makes my dad happy.”

  “Does it make you happy?”

  “I’m not going to lie, it did at one time, but now—with you, it just feels wrong.” He moves his hand to my hip and tugs me a little closer. “I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner, but I’m done.”

  “Is that where you went on Monday night?” I clarify.

  “Yeah. My dad dug into sports betting when he got laid off back when I was in high school. It wasn’t until my sophomore year of college that he told me about it and asked for my help with clients.”

  “Oh, Dex,” I sigh. I had always thought Mr. Prescott was so much better of a father than to get his kid mixed up in the twisted life of gambling. Fear rises that Dex is like my father, but I have to remind myself how much more Dex has ever done for me than my father.

  “At first, I loved it. Kids were eager to make a quick buck, and I was some big man around the house. My dad was always praising me and telling me how much he loved me.” His eyes shift down and then back up. Now they’re filled with sorrow and sadness. “By junior year of college, the pressure increased. I told him I had to take a step back and concentrate on my classes. It was going pretty good so he said okay. He got this Pete guy to take over. I did still bet but only on the games I wanted to and I was fairly positive I would win. It was nice being a college student, playing in the band and just having a good time.”

  “So, how come you’re back helping your dad?”

  “Because Pete left and confiscated a ton of clients. My dad called me over to woo them back. Then he asked for the first time in two years to pick a bet.” His shoulder falls into the pillow, and my pulse beats fast with the expectation he’s going to tell me he lost all of his money. “We won, but I’ve never not enjoyed a win or even the game like this time. This whole betrayal to you made me feel guilty.”

  “Oh, sorry to be the party pooper,” I tease and a small smile begins to form.

  “That’s not what I meant—” he argues.

  “Dex?”

  “Yeah?” I tuck my hands under my head and admire him for being so honest with me. It’s refreshing to anything previous I’ve experienced with my dad.

  “Do you want to quit?”

  “Chris—” he begins to plead his case, but I hold my hand up for him to stop.

  “Hear me out, Dex. Take me out of the equation. Do you really want to stop the betting?” I scoot to the headboard, and he follows my movement, but sits up in front of me.

  “That’s impossible. I can’t take you out. You’re the reason I want to quit.”

  “Then I don’t want you to,” I say, and his forehead scrunches, and he cocks his head to the side.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want you to resent me someday, but I’m not sure I can stick around if you continue to gamble either.”

  Inching forward, he grabs my hands. “That’s what you aren’t hearing. Maybe I would have continued if you wouldn’t have come back. I don’t know. But, because you did, you make me want to stop. It’s an easy choice, Chrissy. You’re an easy choice.” He smiles, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

  My heart flutters because no one has ever chosen me over something else. “Dex, I don’t know.”

  “Chris, I would never resent you. As long as you’re in my life, I don’t need anything else.” Tears prick my eyes, because no one has ever said they needed me, let alone felt that way about me. “Why are you crying?” He comes closer, but I scoot back, my head hitting the headboard.

  “Don’t say anything else.” I wave my hand in front of my face to dry the tears.

  “Why? Chris?” he continues pushing for me to confess.

  I sit there trying to collect my thoughts as the world around me shifts. As though I feel the axis positioning me on a better course. That course being Dex. I wish I could leap on to it and allow it to take me where I want to go, but what if it doesn’t? What if I end up crushed?

  “You’re words scare me,” I admit, and this time he doesn’t accept the distance. Grabbing me by my hips, he raises me up and then seats me on his lap.

  “They’re supposed to make you happy. I’m supposed to make you happy,” he says.

  “You do. But what—”

  “Stop it, Chrissy. I’ve done enough ‘what if’s’ to last us until our dying days. We’re done with that shit. Now it’s I love you, kiss me, hug me, and your mine time. Got it?” He winks, his eyes void of the guilt from the past two days, being replaced with the love he’s so willing to give me.

  I smile, and he takes his fingers pushing my lips further. Once I’m almost laughing, he smiles. “Better,” he remarks. “So what will it be first?”

  I tilt my head to the side. “Kiss me, hug me, f—” he begins suggesting.

  “Let’s start with hug,” I direct him, and he wraps his arms around my waist, tugging me close, securing me into the warmth of my home.

  His head nuzzles in the crook of my neck, exactly where he likes it. “Come with me tomorrow?” he murmurs in such a low voice, I barely hear him.

  Pulling back from him, I keep my arms linked around his neck. “My dad’s. I have to tell him.” His body deflates, and I massage the back of his head.

  “Always, Dex … I’ll always be here for you.”

  “Thank you for not blowing a gasket. I was terrified you were going to go all ballistic and leave me.” He kisses the corner of my mouth.

  “Well …” I joke, and he shakes his head.

  “No, Chrissy. I seriously thought I was going to lose you.” He pulls me into him again, a little tighter this time. “The thought of losing you again was gut-wrenching.”

  “You’ll never lose me, Dex.” I grip him tighter, because his honesty and my acceptance to his secret shows how deeply we do care about one another.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Dex drops me off, a little quieter than previous mornings. I don’t say much, because I know he’s struggling with telling his dad. Like a robot, he opens my door, I slide in, and he walks to his side. He leans over, and his lips peck mine, but I grab his head, holding it there. I sneak my tongue into his mouth, and, for a while, he doesn’t reciprocate. A minute later, it’s his hand on my neck, claiming my mouth, and, as always, he makes me feel utterly and completely wanted.

  Tearing away, he kisses my forehead. “Have a good day. We’ll continue that tonight.” He winks, but there’s not as much of a punch as before. He’s hurting, so I’m hurting.

  Ryland’s been in his studio for the past week, working on some new pieces, which leaves me alone with myself. Locking up the door, I walk down the block to grab some lunch. Lily’s in the window of her florist shop, putting together a display, so I decide I need some cheer in my life and walk in.

  “Good afternoon,” Lily’s voice rings out from the display window area.

  “Hi, Lily. How are things?” I ask her, bending down to smell the different scents of flowers.

  “Busy. The holidays always increase business, and then I have to prepare for Valentine’s Day.” Her hands reaching for flowers out of big buckets to position in other arrangements for display.

  “How do you know what looks good with what?” I ask her, because her arrangements are so beautiful, I wonder where she finds her inspiration.

  “
Hmm … I’m not sure.” She shrugs. “Years of experience, I suppose.” She giggles.

  “I love them—” I look around the small store, “all,” I finish, and she turns around, smiling with gratitude.

  “Come here,” she says, motioning me toward the counter with long green stems that have been cut from their beauty.

  Following her, she pulls a few buckets up from below the table and sets them on top. “Pick the flower you like the most,” she prompts me.

  Bending down and inhaling the different fragrances each emits. Picking a Dahlia pom pom, I offer it to Lily, who shakes her head and hands me a pair of scissors. Demonstrating how to cut the stem, I snap the excess green and place it in a vase. “Now, you go ahead and finish it up,” she instructs. “Use anything you want.” I check my watch, finding I have a half hour left for lunch.

  Taking flowers out and comparing to those already in the vase, I go back and forth, indecisive to my core showing its mark in this task. Once I’m done, I can’t stop fixating on it. To me, it’s beautiful, and I can almost see a little of myself in it. Deep pink Dahlia pom poms, white daisies, purple gallants, and a couple light pink roses sprinkled around. A few green sprigs fill the voids. Lily ventures back my way when she hears the clap of my hands when I’m finished.

  “See, it’s beautiful, Chrissy,” she compliments my mediocre, compared to hers, arrangement.

  “Thank you, Lily, it was a lot of fun.” I appreciate her allowing me to explore a little creativity during my break, and I wish I could stay to do ten more.

  “You’re welcome. Why don’t you take it with you,” she offers, but I immediately shake my head. I’ve never even bought a single stemmed rose for myself. For some silly reason, I’m holding out on one day a delivery man shows up at my door.

  “Okay, well, I’ll let you know when it sells because I’m positive it will.” She places her hand on my shoulder, and warmth, like a mother’s touch vibrates through my fabric.

  “You’re very optimistic,” I say, beginning to make my exit from the heaven a few doors down from where I work.

  “I only speak the truth, sweetie.” She remarks and I laugh as the door chime rings above my head, announcing my departure.

  THE REST OF the afternoon, I research flowers and their meanings. Finding such an array of beauty in each one of them. I get nothing done, not that Ryland has much for me to do these days. Just the scheduling of shows and arranging drivers for delivery of purchased pieces. Ryland recently opened a small area in the back of the gallery for up and coming artists. Many having small shows on Friday or Saturday nights.

  Dex arrives right at five o’clock. I’m surprised he actually comes in to get me. “Hey. I’ll just be a second.” I raise my finger in the air and finish shutting my computer down.

  “Okay,” he says, walking around the room. “The guy’s pretty talented, huh?” he remarks, staring at the same piece I did the first time I came here. The Unfixable one that always has me pondering what Ryland’s inspiration was for that specific piece.

  Walking up beside him, I shrug my purse over my shoulder and he takes my hand in his immediately. Even with his quiet demeanor, and occupied mind, Dex still shows me affection. “Isn’t this one amazing?” I comment, and his head swivels to me.

  “What do you think it means? The woman’s face is so—”

  “Sad,” I finish, and he nods his head. “Lost,” I continue. “I know.”

  “It’s a little hard to look at actually.”

  “Maybe that’s why it hasn’t sold,” I say, debating those words in my head. As though the painting scares people because the woman portrayed is a little too close to their comfort level.

  He shrugs and turns my way. “You ready to hit it?” he asks, and I nod my head.

  MY STOMACH CHURNS, my fingers drum, and my knee bobs. All day, I’ve gone hot and cold on this conversation with my dad. I think he’ll understand. I hope he’ll see how I need to leave. After Chrissy fell asleep last night, I dissected my love-hate relationship with betting. Finally realizing I love the part of my dad’s praise and accolades, but hated most everything else. Except for the money, who would hate that? But, since I’ve never gotten in too deep, I’ve never truly lost like others.

  That thirty grand my dad handed me a few nights ago sits in my safe with maybe a few other thousand, but it’s the biggest amount I’ve ever received. Ted and my mom pay my tuition, my room and board, and give me an allowance. They have no idea about the bets I make, and I’m positive they wouldn’t be happy about it. That’s why I’ve already decided the thirty g’s are Chrissy’s. For her to go back to school.

  I just need to find a way to tell her and pray she’ll accept it. She’s so stubborn I could see her not accepting it from me.

  The closer we come to my dad’s, the more deep breaths I’m taking. My heart races, but Chrissy reaches over and links my hand that’s currently tapping on my knee. Glancing over at her, she smiles and slowly my reflexive body movements calm down.

  “It will be okay,” she reconfirms, and I pray she’s right, because I’m scared I’m going to lose my dad tonight. That he’ll no longer want me if I can’t win him money or help him out at the house when he needs me.

  Pulling in the circle drive, we walk up to the door, and I walk in with Chrissy’s hand in mine. “Dad!” I yell, and the smell of his spaghetti sauce greets us.

  “In here,” my dad calls out from the kitchen. Chrissy tugs my arm, and I peer down at her smiling, encouraging face. Bending down, I sneak a kiss and bring her my way.

  My dad’s in the kitchen with a pot on the stove, and his reading glasses on while he measures some form of herbs. “Hey, Edge,” he says, never looking over. Chrissy releases a small huff upon hearing my nickname. It clearly disgusts her the same amount as me.

  “Dad,” I repeat, and he glances from the corner of his eye and then turns all the way around. His eyes dart to our tangled hands and then up to our faces.

  “Well … it’s nice to see you, Chrissy.” He slyly tries to raise his eyebrows my way, but it doesn’t work, because Chrissy giggles under her breath a little. “What brings you two here?” He drops the herbs into the sauce and mixes it around with a spoon.

  We take a seat at the table. “I need to talk to you,” I say, my knee bouncing until Chrissy places her hand on me to quiet the nerves.

  “Okay.” My dad takes off his reading glasses, placing them on the counter, and then sits down at the table.

  “Dad, I can’t help anymore.” I spit it out, and Chrissy squeezes my hand in encouragement. This is why I needed her here, because I’d never have the balls otherwise.

  “Chrissy, do you mind giving us a minute?” My dad stares her way, and she begins to stand up, but I grab her hand.

  “She stays, Dad,” I say.

  “Edge,” he warns with a cocked head and piercing eyes.

  “She stays.” I remain firm, and Chrissy sits down again.

  “Mr. Prescott, Dex told me, and you know you don’t have to worry.” She starts speaking and that’s the last thing I need right now unfortunately. Her to fight my battles with my dad.

  “Oh, did he?” my dad comments, nodding to himself.

  “I don’t enjoy it, Dad.” I stare over at Chrissy and back to my dad. “I just won’t put us in jeopardy anymore.”

  My dad relaxes a little and leans back in his chair. Pointing between us, he says, “You two are together?”

  I look at Chrissy, our eyes connect, and we smile at one another. Our love too strong to not be leaking out from our eyes. “Yeah,” I tell him.

  He stands up and walks to the pot on the stove. Chrissy continues to dart her eyes between him and me. The silence of what he’s thinking or how he’ll react inducing anxiety. “Okay, Edge.” He never turns around, but continues stirring the pot. Then he gives his attention to Chrissy. “Can I steal him for just a moment, Chrissy?” She nods of course. “Would you watch the sauce so it doesn’t boil over?”

&
nbsp; “Sure, Mr. Prescott.” She stands, and I kiss her forehead before following my dad downstairs to the basement.

  At the bottom, he leads me over to the table, and I take a seat in the chair while he deals me some cards for blackjack. Who else can say any conversation with their father usually happens while playing a card game? He deals the cards, and, as I give him the hit-me motion, he asks the question I figured he would pick first. “You love her?”

  Placing my hand out to stay, I answer, “Yeah. I do.”

  He deals himself two more cards before standing. We flip, and I win. Re-shuffling, he deals them again. “You’re positive?”

  “Yeah,” I answer, and this time he wins when I bust.

  “That’s all I need to know. This life isn’t for everyone, and I know you’ve always been hot and cold with it. You’ll be getting your degree soon.” He puts the cards away and comes around clapping me on the back. Conversation over and he’s accepted it, the weight that’s been pounding in my stomach all day let’s up. “You have options I never did.”

  When we ascend the stairs, Chrissy’s shutting the lid on the pot. When her gaze finds us, I give her a small nod, and she smiles, just as happy as me that it’s over and my dad has accepted the news. “The sauce smells amazing, Mr. Prescott,” she compliments him.

  Going over, he puts his arm around her shoulders. “Take care of my boy.” She leans into his side, and he kisses the top of her head. “I always had a feeling about you two.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Prescott.” She beams over to me, and I walk over to drag her away.

  “She’s mine,” I joke, and my dad laughs.

  “She always has been,” he murmurs and goes back to his simmering sauce. “You two going to stay for dinner?” he asks, and I glance to Chrissy for the answer.