Darker Water

by Lauren Stewart

  “Do you mean that?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I do. Because whoever the fuck this guy is, you’re going to need it.”

  When she moved to slap me again, I reacted instinctually. I caught her wrist, stopping her hand a few inches from my cheek.

  “Stop it,” she hissed. “You’re hurting me. Let go of me right now.”

  “What did you say?” I’d heard every word, and they’d stung so much more than if her hand had actually made contact. Because she’d told me to stop. She’d told a man to stop hurting her, probably for the first time in her life.

  But the part that didn’t let go of me was that I was the man she was talking to, the one whose fingers were digging into her flesh, whose entire body was tense with the potential for violence, who couldn’t find a way to release her, whose hands were both fisted—one at my side and the other around her thin wrist.

  I focused on relaxing, letting her go, coming back from a place I knew I’d end up if I ever let myself get too close.

  I left Renee standing there. It wouldn’t be long before she wiped her eyes and went back to the table to lie about why I’d left. She’d probably go with something like me being upset that my father didn’t have a chance to see me succeed in something so worthwhile. She’d used that one before and, from what I’d heard, it worked pretty damn well.

  The next time I saw the Curtises or Windhams, they’d tell me how proud my dad would’ve been of me. And I would be silent, unable to say anything to keep up the farce but knowing I had to. Not for myself. Not for my family, either. I kept my mouth shut for families who had all the reason in the world to be screwed up, but who actually loved and took care of each other.

  If people found out about my parents or any of my mother’s rich, powerful, and abusive ex-husbands, it would probably suck for a while, but we’d live. The problem was that no one would donate money to a nonprofit named after an abusive husband and father. Run by his fucked-up kid. I hadn’t realized it until the name was too much a part of the foundation. If I changed it now, donations would plummet and people would want to know why Bennett’s kid didn’t want his name attached to it anymore. They’d find out why because people care about that kind of shit. It’s entertaining.

  So I’d pay people to keep quiet about my fuck-ups and I’d keep my mouth closed until I found somewhere to get drunk and get laid and forget everything for a little while. All things I was good at. The only things I was good at.

  Since Lane was in the driver’s seat, I got in the passenger side. “I shouldn’t have brought you.”

  She shrugged. “Aside from not knowing what I was actually getting into or understanding whatever just happened between you and your mom, I thought it was great. I had some fancy water and a piece of bread. And…” She waited until I stopped staring at my hands and looked at her.

  “And what?”

  “That champagne was really, really good,” she said. “Thanks.”

  I should’ve thanked her. “We left before the check came, so it was someone else’s treat.” Although, knowing Renee, she’d talk the restaurant into sending me a bill.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Normally after I spend time with Renee, I get loaded and fuck someone to take my mind off it. You interested in doing either or both of those things with me?”

  “Let’s start with the drink.”

  “I guess I’m coming out of the closet today after all. Take me to the nearest bar.” This was the first time I didn’t want to get her naked. Renee would taint it somehow, and even though sex with Lane wouldn’t be emotional, I didn’t want to use her to forget something shitty. I wanted to remember her for something great.

  Chapter 13 - Laney

  Carson ordered whiskey for both of us, ignoring my pleas for something tamer. “Okay, fine. Jesus. The lady wants a beer to go with her whiskey. Make it a double, though.” We took our drinks to one of the many empty bar tables.

  I let him lead the topics of conversation, knowing that if he wanted to vent or share, he would. We didn’t talk about his mother or what he’d said at all. After I forced down the whiskey and he’d had another, I stopped drinking, knowing one of us should be thinking clearly or both of us would be in trouble.

  “One night when I was about eight,” he said after I came back to the table with a glass of water, “my dad dragged me out of bed by the ankle. Scared the shit out of me, but I knew it would only be worse if I cried. When he took me into the garage, I think I stopped breathing.”

  I think I did, too. And I almost started crying, imagining Carson as a child, terrified of his own father. The argument between Carson and Renee had been impossible to follow, but I picked up enough to understand a little about why Carson was the way he was.

  “There are a lot of tools in a garage. Metal and wood tools, you know?”

  I nodded, knowing I should stop him, so he wouldn’t regret opening up to me once he was completely sober. But I wanted to know. I wanted to believe he was choosing to trust me with something he’d probably only told a few other people. So I didn’t stop him.

  “When he told me to get into the car, I was just confused. Scared too, but that was more of a perpetual thing, so it wasn’t that big a deal. We drove two hours to the boarding school my brother Hayden went to.” He looked at me. “You’d like Hayden. He’s a good guy. Quiet, though. Needs to relax, misbehave a little. Kind of like you.”

  He pushed his drink away and pointed to my glass. “Can I have some of that?”

  “How about I get you one of your very own?” Before I’d even stood up all the way, he’d taken my glass and drank half of it. “Carson!”

  “I only have so much patience,” he said, smiling.

  When I came back, he started talking as if he hadn’t stopped. “Dad told whoever was on duty in Hayden’s dorm that there’d been an emergency, so he could take Hayden out. Want to know why?”

  Thank god the question was rhetorical because honestly, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to know or not.

  “All so the motherfucker could take us fishing. Fishing. Something he’d probably never done in his life. He didn’t even know how to put the worm on the hook. Hayden and I had to teach him. That part was kinda nice—teaching him something. We sat on that fucking dock all day long. Probably the only time in history anyone had their fishing trip catered, but my old man didn’t know another way to be. Nature and nurture.”

  He picked up his drink and took a sip. “I still don’t know why he did that. Maybe he knew he was dying and wanted to give us one good memory before he croaked. The next day, shit went back to the way it’d always been, as if that night had never happened. Don’t talk about the good shit ’cause then somebody might accidentally mention the bad shit, too.”

  I took the glass out of his hand. “I thought you didn’t drink in public. Something about hiding your shame.”

  “That’s a recent development.”

  “Why’d you stop?

  He paused. “Because the last time I got drunk, I hurt someone pretty bad. More than pretty bad, I guess. I don’t actually remember what happened, so I figured it was time to go into hiding until I could figure out why I’d done it. But that’s not going to happen here or now, so let’s stop talking about it.”

  Sometimes I felt like there was a hundred times more I didn’t know about Carson than I did. I was probably right.

  He held my eyes with his for a second longer than was comfortable before he spoke. “I’m gonna ask you something, but you’re not allowed to get weird about it.”

  “Um… I’ll try my best.”

  “Why did you go out with so many frogs?”

  “They weren’t frogs when I started going out with them.”

  “Yeah, they were.”

  “Yeah, they were,” I repeated. I knew I wasn’t the reason they’d changed, it just seemed like it. I sighed, wondering if he’d open up more if I started. “My parents were high school sweethearts, love at first sight, fated to b
e together. After high school, my mom left everything she knew to go to California with him. I must have heard their story a thousand times growing up. I figured it would be the same for me—I would know from the moment we met that he was the one. I was wrong once in high school and have been wrong another four times since then.”

  “And now you don’t believe in love?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do your parents still?”

  “Yeah,” I said quietly. “I guess they do. But they’re both good people, so being together is just something they don’t think about anymore. Something they’ve believed for so long, it’s turned into a habit they’ll never break.”

  “You mean a habit like how deeply I believe you need to get laid? I’m going to need your help to break that one.”

  I laughed. “I think you’ll make it.”

  Over the course of a few hours, he’d calmed down, sobered up, and found his joie de vivre again. I knew this because he started making more frequent passes at me.

  When I came back from a bathroom run, he was in the hallway, waiting for me. “Can I help you with something?” I stepped to the side, but he didn’t let me pass. “Are you okay?”

  “I need to repay you for the hell I put you through today. You and I are going to play a game.”

  Why was I suddenly so nervous? “What game?”

  “I haven’t named it yet. Let’s call it ‘Something for Nothing,’ at least for now.” He grabbed me by the waist and turned us so we both faced the bar area with him behind me. His hands stayed put, and he bent down so he could whisper in my ear. “The goal is to get as many drinks as you can out of a guy I choose for you. You don’t have to drink them all—you just have to get him to pay for them. Give them away, dump them in the plants, whatever.”

  “This sounds like a truly terrible idea.”

  “No, it’s a great idea. As in all games, there are rules,” he said seriously. “Under no circumstances can you take the guy’s number. If he asks you for yours, you can’t give it to him, not even a fake one. That’s cheating.”

  “What exactly is the point of this game?”

  “To be open and honest and say what you want and don’t want. Practice getting something for nothing. Because believe me—I know this from experience—the guy is going to be trying to do the exact same thing. He’ll have a lot more practice and motivation than you will, so don’t think you can half-ass it.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s just for fun, Lane. No one’s gonna get hurt. You’re not forcing him to do anything. You need practice not worrying about other people’s needs more than your own.”

  That was true. “I guess I could try. But you’re not allowed to laugh if I fail miserably.”

  “I swear I’ll only laugh if you fail any other way. Now, who’s the lucky guy gonna be?” He walked me into the crowd, saying, “Eeny-meeny-miny-moe.”

  Just before I could say I wasn’t going to do it, so he was free to laugh at me all he wanted, he shoved me sideways into a tall, good-looking guy about our age. When I looked back, he mouthed, ‘No cheating,’ and went to go sit at a table near the back of the bar—with a perfect view of me.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, trying to squeeze around the guy. “I was just trying to get to the bar.”

  He smiled down at me. “No problem. Let me help. What are you drinking?”

  Seriously? That was way too easy. I guessed it wouldn’t hurt to get one. Then Carson wouldn’t be able to laugh as hard. “Vodka tonic. Thanks.”

  He reached over a few people and tapped the bar to get the bartender’s attention. A minute later he handed me a drink and invited me to sit down. I saw Carson switch to a table by the door to have a better view. The prick.

  Chapter 14 - Carson

  The game was hysterical to watch until I saw Lane lean in close to the guy and whisper something. Then he said something back and she laughed. Why’d she laugh? The guy couldn’t possibly be funny. I’d picked him because he seemed like the type who’d appreciate some attention from a woman who looks as good as Lane does, and I figured she’d get a boost to her self-esteem. It was supposed to have been my good deed of the year.

  Now it looked like they were actually having a good time. I fell against the back of my chair when Lane licked her lips. What the fuck? It was a game. Games are fun.

  This wasn’t fun.

  Someone stopped right in front of me and blocked my sightline. “Pick a direction and keep moving in it.”

  “Is ‘down’ one of the choices?” A blonde slipped into the chair across from me, smirking. “I really enjoy going down.”

  “That’s quite a coincidence.” My view just got a lot better. She was pretty much as different from Lane as you could get. Fake blonde, fake tan, fake tits. All the things women think men shouldn’t like, for whatever reason. Her lips might have even been fake, but I have firsthand knowledge that silicone has no effect on how well a woman can use them.

  I bought her a drink. She told me about her job. I pretended to care. We both knew I didn’t. Every once in a while, I felt like I could hear Lane’s voice. In this loud room of strangers, her laugh came through, taunting me.

  I started to get antsy. Every time I looked around whatever-her-name-was’s shoulder, I saw Lane smiling and the table fill with more empty glasses. This was her first time out, so she needed to take it easy. I should’ve warned her about that.

  When I saw the guy run his hand up the back of her neck and pull her in, I shot out of my chair.

  The blonde stood, too. “Are you okay?”

  “No! Obviously not!” I took her by the arm to scoot her to the side so I could see, although I wasn’t sure if I should look. As if I could stop myself.

  Lane’s eyes were huge—focusing on me, then the blonde, then me, the blonde, down to her drink, and finally on that stupid fucking guy she was with.

  “Do you want to leave?” the blonde asked.

  “God, yes.” Then I understood she meant with her. “No. No, I can’t leave my friend.” I slumped down in my chair and put my head in my hands. This had to be the worst fucking idea I’d ever had.

  I didn’t notice the blonde had gone until I heard Lane’s voice. “I thought you were going to leave with her.”

  The guy wasn’t around. Thank fuck.

  “I couldn’t. I had to stay and make sure you didn’t get yourself in trouble.”

  She smiled as if she knew something I didn’t and turned towards the door.

  “What?”

  “I won your game, Carson. I kicked ass.”

  It was nice to be able to breathe. Doubly nice to be able to leave. With her. “You must have cheated.”

  “You’re a terrible loser. But you’re also right.”

  “Wait.” I caught up with her. “What does that mean? You gave him your number? A fake one, right?”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean no?” What the fuck? “You actually gave him your number?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Cool. So how’d you cheat then?”

  “I asked him if he could buy me a few drinks and hang out with me for a while. Because I needed his help to make you jealous.”

  “Nicely played, Lane.” It completely fucking worked.

  Chapter 15 - Laney

  Two days later, Carson and I met for lunch and spent the next four hours talking about things that couldn’t possibly have taken four hours to talk about. Time didn’t seem to work the same around Carson as it did around everyone else.

  Since his place was between the restaurant and mine, he made me walk him home.

  “I get a little nervous walking home alone in the daylight,” he said, getting up and tossing some cash on the table.

  “At—what are you—six-foot-one, I can see why. You’re so weak and frail. Don’t worry—if anything happens, just hide behind me.”

  Thankfully nothing bad happened, and I delivered him to his building without a scr
atch.

  “Come up for a second.” He held the door open. “I promise to behave.” He let go and then caught it just before it smacked me in the face. “Mostly.”

  I had purposefully avoided his apartment when we were together, which all of a sudden was a lot. I hadn’t invited him up to my place, either. I was well aware people can have sex in places other than a bed, but it was easier to keep my thoughts clean in public.

  As soon as I decided I could do it—separate sex and love—it wouldn’t matter. I would finally be able to do something that I pretty much filled my days imagining. But, unfortunately, another fantasy appeared out of nowhere recently—that I was the one to tame him, make him change his ways, want to be with me and me alone. Ugh. If I knew how to give myself a partial lobotomy and knew where my delusion center was, I’d be picking out a drill bit.

  Maybe it was because now I knew about his childhood, and the maternal, girlie side of me was triggered by the pain in his voice. I didn’t know. And he wouldn’t care.

  The longer it lasted, the more dangerous it was. Carson would walk away if he even smelled anything that moronic on me. His senses were heightened when it came to recognizing monogamy pheromones.

  He’d been more than clear about what he could give me—sex. And no matter how amazing it was, he was also clear about what would happen afterward—nothing. He didn’t do long term. We both knew how risky it was, how quickly things could go bad. Neither of us wanted it to happen until I was one-hundred percent sure I wouldn’t attach a whole bunch of strings to him.

  When I walked into his place, the first thing I saw was my driftwood table. The table that was supposed to raise money for his foundation, not be here.

  “What the hell is that?”

  He turned to see what I was freaking out about. “That is a three-year-old piece of art. It’s not strong enough to hold strippers though, so you’ll have to use one of the others for that.”

  I stomped over to it and then spun around to face him. “I thought it was for the auction.”