by J. P. Grider
Didn't someone once say, "There is a fine line between love and hate?"
Do I not see that line?
All I know is, before Holly started working at the bar, I'd kept my distance because of the intermittent bursts of electricity that spread through my veins at the sight of her. Plus, I'd been an engaged man. But once she'd started being a regular fixture in my pitiful life, even though I'd long since broken things off with Lara, I couldn't handle the fire that raged through my blood when she was near me. I can't handle it. Still.
I'm at a difficult point in my sister's life. I don't even have my own shit together, as Holly so considerately pointed out, yet I need to straighten out my sister's life at the same time. I don't have time to sort through my feelings for a girl. I put that behind me when I shut the door on Lara. If I open my heart to Holly, how do I know she won't do the same thing as Lara? How do I know she won't crush my heart? She certainly has the capability of doing so.
But the feeling of her hand in mine, like it is right now, feels so good, and it's these moments where I want to toss aside all my reservations and embrace the beauty of Holly—her sarcasm and all.
Until the moments when I'm kissing her, and it scares me half to death.
I'm supposed to be sad. I have a little girl in foster care, where she does not belong. I can't be contemplating a new relationship. I shouldn't be walking on the boardwalk of Seaside Heights.
I let go of Holly's hand, no warning, and blurt, "We gotta go."
"Go where?"
"Home. Right now."
"Oh...kay." She shakes her head. "Why so suddenly?"
I stop, turn toward her, and snarl unintentionally, and more for me than for her. "Why am I here, Holly? Kenna's probably somewhere crying...hurting...and I'm here. Down the shore. Where she would love to be right now. Riding the merry-go-round, winning stuffed animals. My God, how unfair is that?"
She nods, understanding. "I know. It isn't fair." Holly shrugs. "So let's go. When we get home, we can run through a list of lawyers that you can call tomorrow. I'll give my dad a call, see if there's anyone he knows."
I run the back of my fingers along her cheek. "Thanks."
All the way up the Parkway, my thoughts go from that lady taking Kenna, to guilt over taking Holly down the shore, to “if only Holly would move her hand lower down my jeans.” I know…sick. I’m going through this terrible turmoil, yet I can’t keep myself from thinking about Holly’s hands wrapped around my waist, so close to my dick.
As the minutes pass by, I try to close my mind of all thoughts, but I can’t, and though my heart hurts for Kenna, my increasing desire for Holly is taking up its own lion’s share of my heart.
Her hands are not still on my stomach, and with each movement, my desire grows, both in my heart and in my pants. I’m nothing but a perverted male who thinks of nothing but sex. My niece has been uprooted abruptly, and I can’t stop thinking about my sexual needs? What an ass I am.
But it’s Holly. And something about my desire for her is more than just sexual. I know that. I feel it.
***
After dropping Holly off, without a kiss I so desperately wanted to leave her with, I go to my apartment and fight the urge to go downstairs and have a drink. I don't know who or what I'll be dealing with tomorrow, so I try to keep my head sober and my veins clean.
My phone has one missed call—Chief Paul, who didn't leave a message.
"Yello," he says, answering on the first ring.
"Chief. Mick. You called?"
"Micky, yes. Meet me at the station at ten tomorrow. Gotchya an appointment with my friend Carmine. Big domestic lawyer. He's willing to do it pro-bono. But Mick. You do exactly what he says. Got it? He wants you to move, you move. Wants you to get a new job, you get a new job. Christ, he asks you to jump off the GW, goddammit, you do it. 'Kay?"
"Yeah, Chief. Hey. Thank you so much."
"We got your back."
The Mack truck size weight that'd been sitting on my chest since Kenna was taken from us eases. It's now the size of an average-sized car, if I'm going to compare the weights of my burden.
Finally, this nonsense will end, and Kenna will come home.
Since the first person I think of is Holly, I call her and tell her the news. Of course, she's excited and offers to come with me, but I tell her I should probably go alone. She agrees. After we hang up, though, I kind of regret declining her offer. I may need the moral support. I really don't want to mess this up tomorrow. For Kenna. For Charity.
Oh my God, poor T. She never meant to put Kenna in danger. She never asked for this disease. It's not her fault she was born to alcoholic parents. But we're all responsible for our own actions, I suppose. And endangering a toddler's life—well, there is no excuse. There can't be.
So now I'm fighting my own addictions to keep Kenna safe.
To get her back.
I'm not an alcoholic. I don't think so. But this weekend has been difficult. For as long as I can remember, I'd had a drink in my hand. It's how I cope. It's how I'd watch my parents cope. It's their addiction that started this all. It's their addiction that caused the mess that has become T's and my, and now Kenna's, life. T and I are by-products of alcoholic, drug-addicted parents, and now the brunt of it is being borne by an innocent child...again.
But I can't have a drink.
38
HOLLY
"Holly," Braden shouts from across the coffee shop. "Over here."
Like I don't see him. The cafe is not that big.
"Holly," Rose says behind me, her hand lands on my forearm. "I got it. A spot in a small Broadway play."
"Oh my God, Rose, I had no idea you were auditioning."
"I didn't. That competition Saturday? The choreographer was there."
"Oh my God, Rose, that's awesome." No one deserves this more than Rose. She works her ass off when it comes to dancing. When it comes to anything really. I admire her determination to succeed at everything. And she doesn't even have overbearing parents. Lucky her.
"So how was your weekend?"
"Medium Latte please," I tell the girl behind the counter. "Good," I tell Rose.
"Holly," Braden shouts again.
I hold my finger up to tell him to wait a freakin' minute.
"What happened?" Rose asks, then orders her non-fat latte. Turning back to me, she asks, "Anything with Mick?"
Her smile widens as my face grows warm, and I'm obviously blushing.
"Oh my gosh. You two..."
"No. Not really. I mean, he's got a lot going on, so I don't think he's ready for anything, but yeah." I shrug, to come across indifferent, though I'm anything but. "I like him. He's...different."
"Brooding?" Rose adds.
I laugh. "Yeah, very brooding." Rose and I sit. "So what is so important, Braden, that you needed to yell for me from across the room?" A chuckle slips out as I sip my coffee, causing me to drip coffee down my chin.
"Nice. Classy," Griffin remarks.
"Thanks. So...what's so important?" I ask Braden.
"I hear we're gonna be roomies."
"That's it?"
"Well. Sure. That's a big deal. We'll have a girl in the house. Maybe the house'll finally be clean."
"Oh God." Griffin shakes his head.
Rose is holding her hand over her mouth.
"Yeah, sure. 'Cause I was raised in the 50s and I live for cleaning up after pigs." I laugh.
Griffin breaks out into a laugh now, as does Rose. Braden, however, looks clueless, if his dipped eyebrows are any indication.
"Seriously, Braden? Is that what your Mom does, clean up after you?"
"Sure," he says with a shrug. "She doesn't work, so..."
We all just shake our heads.
"Anyway...I'm not sure yet if I'm moving in. I'll know before the semester's over though."
"That's, like, in two weeks," Griffin points out.
"It'd be cool to have you," Braden says. "Seriously. Not to clean either." His smi
rk tells me he's embarrassed now.
"Thanks, Bray. But...I'm not sure. I have a lot to think about. Plus, I'm not so sure I want to go against my dad just yet."
"Why not?" Rose asks.
"What if I need him? A waitress job isn't exactly security. You don't know him. You're lucky. You have great parents who embrace who you are and what you want. Mine don't."
"I'm sorry," she says, as if it’s her fault.
"Nah. Don't worry 'bout it. It’s not like it’s your fault. And I get why you don't understand."
"I understand, Holl. I just don't get it, that's all. I understand you have to do what you have to do."
"I get it, Holl," Griff adds. "My dad's a lot like you say your dad is. Controlling. Domineering. It's hard to get out from under that."
"Hey, that's why my mom doesn't work," Braden chimes in. "'Cause Dad doesn't think a doctor's wife should work. I mean, he hires a maid for her, but she does all the cooking and stuff."
We all just stare at Braden.
"Where do you keep the time machine, Bray?" I joke.
"What?"
"'Cause your family does still live in the 50s."
Everyone laughs, and Braden whips his balled-up napkin at me.
"Well, I gotta go meet Cali. See you guys later."
"Bye, Griff," we all say.
While Rose and Braden chatter on, I can't help thinking about how Mick's appointment with the lawyer is going. I send him a quick text letting him know I'm thinking about him. Part of me wishes I were there with him. Part of me is glad I'm not. We're getting familiar with each other, and I'm not so sure that's a good idea. I mean, obviously, Mick has serious issues going on. Getting involved with him would just mean dealing with more crazy rollercoaster emotions. I don't think I could handle a person like that on a regular basis. In my family, things are cut and dry. We do or we don't. My parents, well more like my dad, don’t accept wishy-washy, and he would consider Mick's hot and cold temperament as wishy-washy. Pick a side—you're either strong or your weak. You can't be somewhere in-between. Oh, Daddy, you are mistaken...there is so much in-between.
After having the past two days off of work, it's nice to be back at Donny's. Sans Mick though. It occurs to me that even though he switched to days, he probably wasn't in today anyway. When Donny catches a break, I approach him about it. "Have you heard from Mick today?"
Donny frowns.
Uh-oh. "Not good?"
He shakes his head.
"Where is he?"
"Don't know. Said he'd check in with me when he got back."
"Damn." No wonder I hadn't heard from him. "Can I ask what happened?"
"He didn't say much, just that he won't be getting her back until he goes to court. They got him a date for next Friday."
"Next Friday? Why so long?"
"Passaic County is inundated with domestic court cases. It was the soonest they could get him in."
"Why can't he just have her back, then go to court?"
"Holl, he wasn't in the mood to talk. He only called to let me know he wouldn't be in today. It's all I know."
Since it's Monday night, and we hardly have any customers, Donny lets me leave early. I was hoping to hear Mick's bike pulling in before I left. Since my books are in the car, I decide to grab my psych notes and study for Thursday's exam. It's a nice night, so I sit on the top step that leads to Mick's back porch. I'll study 'til he comes home. I may tell myself it's not a good idea to get involved with Michael Ross, but my heart doesn't seem to hear me.
And so I sit and study.
And wait for him to come home.
39
MICK
I had a drink.
I had many drinks.
After the day I had, I couldn't help myself. It's how I cope.
It's four o'clock in the morning, and Holly's white Mercedes is in the lot. Why?
I park my Harley, toss the helmet on the trunk in the back hall of the bar, and try the door. It's locked.
I climb the back stairs, stopping at Donny's apartment, but from the darkness that peeks through his blinds, I'm guessing he's asleep.
So maybe she went out with friends and left her car here.
And maybe not.
Sitting on my top step, her head propped against two railing slats, Holly is asleep, an open notebook dipped between her slackened legs. This is the sweetest thing I'd seen all day. Until now, I hadn't realized how much seeing Holly would brighten my horrible day.
After quietly removing her book from her lap and taking her purse, I unlock my door, toss the stuff on my counter, and go back to pick up Holly. As gently and deftly as possible, I scoop Holly into my arms to bring her into my house. A sweet sigh escapes her throat as she snuggles her head beneath my chin. My God. I can't believe the difference a weekend makes. Last week, I wouldn't have dreamed of holding Holly. At least not without also wanting to smack the fresh out of her. But now...all I want to do is hold her like this and never let her go.
So I meander over to my couch and sit. Propping my feet on top of the coffee table, I keep Holly still scooped in my arms, her heart beating close to mine, and closing my eyes, because today just kicked my ass, I succumb to sleep myself.
Until a startled yelp wakes me up.
"Holly. Shh. It's okay. It's just..."
"Holy shit." She sits up, still sleepy, gets off my lap, and stumbles to sit next to me.
"You were sleeping on my porch, so I carried you in."
"You car... aww," she says so uncharacteristically.
"What were you doing here?"
She closes her eyes and her head sways side to side. "I don't know. I just...couldn't stop thinking about you...at the lawyer's," she says, almost apologetically. She shuffles a little uncomfortably. "It didn't go well?"
I sit back, defeated, against my couch. "No. Not at all."
"You wanna talk about it?" Her eyes are wide, letting me know she wants to hear about it.
But I don't want to talk about it. "No. I don't, no," I say, swallowing some leftover tears. "You gotta be tired," I say to change the subject.
"What time is it?" she says more to herself while she pats her pockets, probably looking for her cell. "Where's my stuff?"
"It's almost five. Your stuff's on the counter."
She falls back against the couch as her hand flies to her forehead. "Crap."
"Stay here." I'm not even sure I said that out loud. I want her to stay here. I know I thought it. Did it actually escape my mouth?
Her eyes dart to me first before her head follows, so I'm pretty sure I said it out loud.
"I mean...you can have my bed. I'll sleep here," I explain, tapping the couch once with my hand. "You can't drive home now. I mean...I know it's not far, but...you can still fall asleep while driving." Pathetic, Mick.
She nods, but says nothing.
"I have a pair of sweats you can sleep in and a t-shirt. They're clean. I promise." I know it's silly asking her to stay. She lives five minutes up the road, but I don't want her to leave. It's comforting having her here. She makes me feel less burdened.
"Okay. But I can't miss my eleven o'clock class, so..."
"I won't let you oversleep," I say, way too anxiously. I know we won't be sleeping together, but knowing she's here...in my one-room apartment...I couldn't ask for anything more right now.
I go to my dresser and pull out my smallest pair of sweats and shirt and bring them back to her.
"Thanks." She takes them and stands. "Bathroom?"
Pointing to the door to the left of my bed, I say, "Jiggle the handle."
The waistband of my sweats is cinched around her tiny middle. My smallest gray t-shirt hangs mid-thigh, and the extra material dwarfs her, hiding her small, but perky boobs. Well, at least I think they're perky. Through her own shirts, they look perky.
But she is absolutely...stunning.
Even in drabby gray.
And I can't stop gaping at her.
"I can take the couch, y
ou know," she says, pulling me out of my stupor.
Shaking myself free from the awe, I tell her I wouldn't think of it. So corny.
"Hey," she smiles one of those sympathetic smiles, "if you need to talk, well, that's why I'm here."
I only nod. "Bed's over there. Sheets were washed last week, so..."
"So long as you didn't do any funny business." She laughs silently.
"Ha, ha. Light's on the tool chest next to the bed. Turn it on, and I'll turn off this light."
It's after I'm tucked under my blanket on the couch that I decide to confess out loud. "I got drunk today."
40
HOLLY
I don't respond.
Not at first.
Because...
I'm uncertain as to what to say.
What he wants to hear.
What he needs to hear.
So I just say,
"Okay."
But then I sit up in his bed.
He says nothing.
"Did it help?" I ask him once I grab hold of some courage.
After, no lie, probably five minutes, I actually thought he'd fallen asleep, he responds with, "No. It didn't."
"Michael." Long pause. "It's okay."
I see the shadow of his head pop up from the couch. “No. It’s not,” he says. “How ‘m I gonna get her back if I can’t keep myself from drinking for two fucking days?”
I hear something crash against the wall, but he’s still sitting on the couch. I turn on the light that sits next to his bed and walk over to him. “What broke?” I ask, sitting down next to him.
“It was just the remote,” he says quietly. “Nothing broke.”
I lay my hand on his thigh to comfort him, and find my heart racing again. “It’s okay, you know,” I tell him. “You’ll try again tomorrow. You can’t beat yourself up about it.”
He’s silent after that, but he doesn’t pull his eyes away from mine. After several awkward seconds, Mick starts moving his gaze down toward my mouth, and then it drops even lower. I see his chest rising and falling faster, so naturally, mine does. I know where he’s headed, but I vowed not to kiss him until he pulled himself together. I turned to get up, and stop this from happening, but his fingertips graze my forearm and he curls his hand around my wrist – tenderly this time. “Sit,” he whispers.