Vote Then Read: Volume III

by Aleatha Romig

  “No? Then let me tell you a story.” His hand came down on her shoulder, directing her to one chair, sitting her down like a good little student. “You want to know the whole, gritty truth? The reason why I created CBR? The reason why, you and me, we’ll never make this official?”

  Her knees squeezed together at his sardonic tone, and yes, that was her heart picking up speed, tumbling over itself in pain.

  “My grandfather was a cop,” he started, “as was his father. Main difference being that my grandfather died on the job, a traffic stop gone wrong. My grandmother did what she could to raise my dad on her own, and imagine her horror when her only kid decided he wanted to join the NOPD, too. I suppose it’s a stroke of good fortune that she passed away before my dad did.”

  As she watched his almost manic hand gestures through the air, Lizzie worried that she’d pushed him too far, that she’d requested a story that would ruin her, just as it had ruined him. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his jaw clenched and unclenched with every step he took, pacing the room like a caged lion.

  “My parents separated when I was nine. She loved him, both Owen and I could see that, but my dad’s job took a toll on everyone. Overtime. Details. She’d sit by the damn radio at home, tuned into his district just to hear his voice. To make sure he was safe.” A masculine hand flipped off his hat, tossing it on the chair opposite hers. “When he was at home, it was worse. She begged him to quit. Apply to a different department, she’d ask. Every night for years on end, she pled her case. Until she stopped. That’s when she took us to Hackberry. Sent us to Dad every weekend with letters written to him in our handwriting, even though she dictated every damn thing we wrote.”

  “She loved him,” Lizzie whispered, hands curling in her lap. “You can’t fault her for that.”

  Black eyes narrowed, and he averted his face. “Yeah, well, he loved the job more. I dated a girl from Hackberry in high school, and after. Sweet, quiet. She dreamed of becoming a nutritionist of all things, and I’d always planned to follow in my father’s footsteps. Work for the NOPD, work for S.O.D. It was in the plans, and then it all went to hell.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to beg him for information, but this was his story, his pace. He hadn’t rushed her when she’d opened up about her father, and it seemed unfair to cut into his now.

  He stopped behind the chair across from hers, hands gripping the back. “He died up on the I-10, with the Superdome in sight, doing his job. Helping some lady with her car, even though he’d already gotten off the clock.” Lashes fluttering down, his nostrils flared. “There wasn’t any chance to revive him, not even to tell him the news. The plan was to visit him at work that Monday, when he’d be out patrolling, and I’d be able to sneak away for lunch during the academy.”

  Weakly, she asked, “What was the news?”

  “I’d proposed to my girlfriend that very evening back home in Hackberry. I’d planned it all out; September was her favorite month.”

  September, the month he’d chosen for the calendar. Something told her he hadn’t done so because of his ex, though, but rather in honor of his father’s passing. She hadn’t thought it possible for her heart to crack any more, but here he was, proving her wrong. “What did your mom say about your proposal?”

  His expression turned pained. “She celebrated. Wine, toasts, the whole shebang. I went to Michelle’s apartment for the night, but something . . . I couldn’t sleep, so I went home early the next morning. Four a.m., maybe, and I found her there in the living room. Gunshot to the chest, blood everywhere. No cell phones back then, but my dad’s sergeant had called Mom’s house phone with the news.”

  “Gage.” His name broke on her tongue, and he hardened before her, jaw locking, temple pulsing. “Gage, I—”

  “I know,” he grunted, then shut his eyes. “I sat there, you know, not understanding what had pushed her to take her life. No one had called me, and my mom was dead, and I didn’t even know why.”

  She couldn’t take it—she shot off the chair and stepped in front of him. She’d been right that he’d ruin her, but he’d been wrong about the pity.

  Lizzie didn’t pity him.

  Her heart ached for what he’d gone through, and his dread about visiting his hometown made sense now. Would she want to go back to a place with very few good memories? She could barely visit Danny at his house somedays, so strong were the images that had once been her life.

  “Let me hug you,” she said.

  He chuckled, and the sound sent a fissure of worry through her. “Don’t you want to hear the rest?”

  The urge to vomit was real. “There’s more?”

  “You might have noticed, princess, that I’m not engaged.”

  “Well, yeah, but I figured that breakup came later, much later. Not . . .”

  “What’s that saying again? When it rains, it pours?” His smile was not kind. “My engagement lasted a total of fifteen hours, give or take. Michelle heard the news about my dad, then about my mom, and she wasted no time in coming to my house, returning the ring I’d bought, and skipping out.”

  It was shitty, no doubt about it, but . . . “You were, what, twenty at the time? Gage, y’all were kids still. I’m not surprised that she left you.”

  “Would you have left?”

  His sharp question caught her off guard, and she stumbled over her words when she spoke. “I-I, maybe back then. Probably not.”

  “Probably not.” Jamming his hands on his hips, he snorted. “That’s what I figured. Truth is, I didn’t expect a different answer from you, from any woman. And that’s why I didn’t want this to go any further. I might be suspended—”

  “Suspended?” she echoed. Oh no, his text. She reached for him, only to be shaken off.

  “I let my head get all messed up.” With you, seemed to be his unspoken words.

  “Don’t blame this on me, Gage Harvey. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You said that you loved me.”

  Her heart cracked, and she dropped her gaze. “I did say that. I’d say it again now, if I thought it’d make a difference.”

  “It might,” he answered roughly, “but not forever. Forever is my mother killing herself because she lost my father. Forever is my girlfriend of six years deciding that I wasn’t worth the headache of everyday life with a police officer. I don’t blame them for it, not anymore. But I don’t want that for you, Lizzie.”

  No, her heart whispered, no, no, no.

  “Don’t martyr yourself just because you think you know what’s best for me,” she told him. “It’s not noble. It’s stupid.”

  His lips moved up in a sad smile. “Owen tells me that all the time. You’d probably be better off if you’d asked him to do your challenge.”

  “I don’t want Owen,” she snapped, fighting back tears, “I want you.”

  “I’m off the market, princess. It was good while it lasted, and trust me when I say you opened my eyes to a lot of shit about myself I’d rather not deal with, but the fact remains: one day you’re going to realize that you’ve been livin’ your life beside the radio, waiting for the moment you hear that I’m the one who’s not coming home. I’m saving you the hassle.”

  The . . . hassle?

  “You’re a self-sabotager, Gage.”

  “I told you, princess,” he said, mouth curling in the smallest of smiles, “that’s not a word.”

  A scream launched in her throat, but didn’t escape. It hummed over her tongue and vibrated in her throat, and Lizzie turned for the door before she did something stupid, like punch Gage Harvey in his stupid, handsome face.

  His voice stopped her just before her hand landed on the doorknob.

  “I know you said that you love me, but sometimes . . . sometimes love isn’t meant to last forever.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “If you loved me, would it last forever?”

  Adam’s apple dodging down with a hard swallow, he gave a short nod and an even shorter respon
se. “Yes.”

  “Then why would my love for you be any different?”

  If he answered, the door slamming shut behind her captured the words. It was just as well. It wasn’t like he could say anything more to shatter her heart, anyway.

  29

  From the desk of ThatMakeupGirl

  Written and then recited read on YouTube

  Dear Doll,

  You’re probably wondering a few things. One, why the hell am I back on YouTube after I made a whole big fuss about needing a “break”? Yeah, I plan to bunny quote that as soon as I read this out loud to you. Back to our list. Second, what am I doing writing this all down?

  Here’s a little fun fact for you . . . if you scroll back to the early days of this channel, like ten years ago, you may have noticed something. I stuttered. A lot. Don’t worry, I’ll just wait here in case you’re hoping to go stalk me down.

  Oh, you’re back? Great.

  Either you couldn’t make it through a single video (I don’t blame you), or you’re ready for me to keep going with this super odd update. (I expect it to trend, don’t let me down).

  Anyway, there was a definite stutter. In fact, I stuttered quite frequently growing up. I suppose it came as a result of certain things in my upbringing. We won’t get into that here. In any case, it wasn’t until I started creating and uploading videos that the stutter started to quiet and I could enjoy myself.

  You did that, doll.

  Playing with makeup, however silly it might seem, did that.

  For so many years, this channel was my happy place. It gave me confidence when I had none. It straightened my posture when I slouched and hid in the shadows. It reminded me that we can all be beautiful, no matter the shape of our nose, the height of our cheekbones, the strength of our jawlines.

  And if you don’t like it, you can always contour the hell out of it and be the YOU that you want to be.

  (It should be noted that my writing is atrocious, and there are underlines all over this paper. Sorry for any random stumbling over of sentences.)

  Sometime in the last few years, I lost love sight of all that. I wanted something new, to be something more than just the chick applying makeup. So, naturally, I created a new online identity as if that would solve all my problems! (bahaha, don’t do this. Trust me). To this date, Naked You, my photography business, has half as many followers as ThatMakeupGirl, even if a woman in Boston had the credit for a little while. Spoiler alert! It was me all along.

  It’s been great traipsing (I love this word) around Lousiana Lousianna Louisiana and having new types of adventures.

  Only . . . do you remember that challenge I started without meaning to? The #badboyirredemption one, which is still trending and I honestly don’t understand why? Well, I fell for the bad boy, just like I warned you all not to. Interesting tidbit: he’s not all that much of a bad boy. He’s actually quite noble.

  Too noble.

  I love him anyway.

  I let him charm his way into my life, even though I knew I shouldn’t let down my guard. I let him become my happy place, my rock, my best friend. If I needed a laugh, I called him. If I wanted to go on an adventure, he was the first person I looked to. If I wanted to feel special, wanted, loved, all I had to do was sit in the same room as him and he showed me all of that.

  It wasn’t a lie.

  None of it was.

  And when he broke my heart, I made a startling discovery. I didn’t want my friends, I didn’t particularly want my family either. I love them and all, but what I truly needed was you, doll.

  Sometimes, when we as beauty influencers sit in front of our cameras and film, we think of the viewer. What do you want to see? What can I say to hold your interest? Sometimes, however, YouTube is my personal diary, the timeline of my growth as a woman finding her way, the space in which I retreat when nothing else provides comfort or solace.

  I’m reading this to you today because I have a few things to say (obviously), and I hope that one day, I’ll look back on this video and think, “Oh yeah, that was the day I grew into the next best version of myself.”

  We’re numbering this because I feel like it.

  I didn’t fall for the bad boy. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t be here now. (There is a pile of crumpled up tissues scattered over my desk, and I’m drinking wine at eleven a.m. Don’t worry, this is good progress). No, I fell for the man who tempted me to do wild things, who made me smile and who taught me to never fear the fall, no matter how gross or disgusting the landing. I fell for the man who met me out at a club because I asked him to, and even when I threw up all over him, he made me laugh and pushed me to do more for myself. Which leads me to . . .

  Sometimes you can’t make other people do what you want. You can’t own their shit, you can only own your own. You can choose to be happy or you can decide you want to be miserable. From this day forward, I’m going with the former. Happy is not only better for the skin, it’s also better for my heart and soul. Win-win.

  I’ve missed my makeup. They’ve sat lonely and quiet for the last few weeks, and there is a decent chance I spent my morning in my three-day old pajamas, swirling foundation all over my skin and pretending I looked fabulous. (Confession: I did)

  Thank you for being you, doll. Thank you for listening to me read this letter out loud, and for forgiving me because my stutter is back in full force after nearly ten years of absence. It’s the reason I wrote it all down, you see. I have to accept all that I am, and I encourage you to do so, too.

  Never believe you’re not worthy of something or someone.

  You are.

  You’re better.

  Change only because you want to, and not because someone holds that expectation of you.

  Laugh loudly every day.

  And take the risk on love. The heartbreak may come, but you may still learn something along the way.

  I’m signing off as someone else today. Not as ThatMakeupGirl, but as Lizzie, plain old Lizzie from New Orleans, Louisiana, who spent her later teenage years on the Wank, otherwise known as the Best Bank there ever was.

  See you soon, doll. I’ve got more tutorials to tackle, and I swear to God I tried this facial primer the other day and it was like an orgasm and a unicorn came together to birth something magical. Stay tuned.

  Love,

  Lizzie

  30

  “You’re an asshole, Harvey.”

  Nathan Danvers.

  Shit.

  Gage finished spritzing the leather chair with an antibacterial mist, swiped a white towel over the seat so it’d be ready for the next client, and then glanced up.

  Only to meet the beady black eyes of Rocky, Danvers’ K-9 partner.

  The dog’s bottom lip quivered, revealing white teeth that may or may not have made Gage’s balls disappear into his body. Once, when he’d done some surveillance work, the old K-9 officer had mistaken Gage for a criminal and had sent his Malinois over for a little “meet and greet.”

  In other words, the dog’s teeth had both met and greeted Gage’s right forearm.

  He didn’t fear dogs explicitly, but he’d be damned if he ended up with anymore stitches.

  Tucking the spray bottle behind his back, so that the dog didn’t think he was about to get spritzed in the face, Gage glanced up at Lizzie’s brother. “Really? You had to bring the dog?”

  “Seemed like a good idea for intimidation purposes.”

  Yeah, because Nathan Danvers didn’t do a solid job of it on his own. The man was taller than even Gage, and at six-two, it wasn’t often he had to crane his head up to look someone in the eye.

  “I could cite tattoo parlor policies.”

  Danvers gave a short whistle, and the dog jumped off the tattoo table and retreated back to his owner’s side. “You could,” he drawled smugly, “but your brother was the one to let us in.”

  How wonderful.

  “Owen likes to pull pranks,” Gage said.

  “No, I just like to see you ha
ppy.”

  His eyes snapped to the right, where his twin emerged from the back room. He ambled toward them, expression somber, eyes rimmed with tired shadows.

  Jesus. “What, is this a circle jerk or something? If so, thanks but no thanks.” Gage didn’t miss the way his brother rolled his eyes, nor the little head dip he gave Danvers. “In all seriousness, an intervention isn’t necessary. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got shit to take care of before the next—”

  “Sit,” Danvers snapped, followed by a very close-up, very loud, ruff! from Rocky.

  Gage’s ass hit the chair he’d just cleaned down.

  “I feel like this might be a little dramatic? We could do this without the intimidation tactics.”

  “Nope, Rocky likes taking part in the festivities. Don’t you, boy?”

  Ruff! Ruff!

  There was a good chance Gage would be leaving today without an appendage—if he was lucky, it’d be his left arm since he was a righty. If he continued to be plagued with all the bad luck in the world, it’d be his genie lamp.

  Did you really just think that? Say it with me now like a man . . . C-O-C-K.

  Not for the first time in the last two weeks, he thought of Lizzie. He’d hated seeing her tears. Despised the way that, just before she’d slammed the door in his face, her beautiful blue eyes had glittered with disappointment.

  In him.

  He could handle the anger—hell, he’d pushed her to that, purposely acting like as ass with the hope that she’d walk out without a hint of regret. Better that she leave furious now, he’d decided, than for him to take everything she offered and later leave her with nothing.

  One day she’d thank him.

  A breath shuddered across his lips, and Gage steeled himself against the pain and the doubt.

  The pain of not having her beside him.

  The pain of not hearing her voice.

  The creeping doubt that he’d damned himself to a life of misery.

  In a hollow voice he hardly recognized, he said, “Are we going to get this over with?”