by L A Cotton
“Yeah, and what kind of a friend deserts you? I’m sorry, Dawson, I know you thought you were doing him a favor and saving Joy, but he didn’t deserve it. You’re not telling me his uncle couldn’t have pulled some strings?”
The question hung between us. I always did wonder that, but then, I would have owed him; Franco DeLuca didn’t do anything out of the goodness of his heart. Donnie would have taken his place by his side, his successor, and I would forever have been expected to be right beside him. I might have spent time in prison, but when I left, I was a free man. I didn’t owe anybody shit.
“You’re better off without him, Dawson.” I nodded because I knew he was right. This version of Donnie wasn’t my best friend from years ago; he was a cold-hearted stranger, and what disgusted me the most was the way he treated Joy. He should have been treating her like a princess, not flaunting her around using and abusing her.
“And what about Joy?”
Regret flashed over his face, and he dipped his head. His shoulders sagged under the weight of his worry. “I tried my best, Dawson. I’m sorry.”
I nudged his foot with my boot. “Hey. You have nothing to be sorry about. You did the best you could. It would have been worse for her if she hadn’t had you. You were a good friend to her.”
“When you didn’t come back, Mom was a mess. Dad never mentioned anything about visiting you. Said you’d decided not to come home when you were released. Some bullshit about you thinking it was best for everyone.”
“That fucking liar,” I spat out, and Mikey nodded.
“Mom tried to hold it together, but she missed you. We both did.”
“I’m sorry, Mike.”
“It wasn’t your fault; I know that now. When Dad died, Mom thought you’d come back.”
“I wanted to, but it had been so long. Every month I stayed away, it only got harder to even think about returning. It’s another regret.”
“I know.” He nodded his head in sympathy and moved off the sofa and into the office. When he came back, he had a pack of beer in his hand. He grinned as he handed me one. “You sure you only want one? Lex can always give us a ride home.” He touched his bottle against mine and settled back into the seat beside me.
“What happened when I left, with Joy and Donnie?” I could hardly bring myself to ask, but I needed to know.
Mikey exhaled heavily. “It was a gradual thing. I didn’t really notice it at first, and by the time I saw what was happening, it was too late.”
“What do you mean?” I turned my body around to face him, arm stretched along the back of the sofa.
“For a while, she was okay. Sure, she was cut up about what happened to you, but she got on with it, believing it would all work out and you would get your happily ever after.” He paused and picked at the label on the bottle before he carried on. “She said it was just a bump in the road.” He snorted and took a drink from his beer. “Then things started to fall apart. She found out she didn’t get the full scholarship the same week she found out her grams got sick. When Ophelia died, she fell apart.”
“How?”
“Just stopped caring. Stopped talking about you as much, seemed to think she deserved the bad things that had happened. I kept going to see her, to try to take care of her, but she started to pull away. She would come around to the house and Mom would make her dinner, but I think the house held too many memories. She said I reminded her of you too much. Then she started hanging around with Donnie. Going to parties and stuff with him.”
I coughed and managed to swallow my beer without spraying Mikey. “Joy. Partying?” And he laughed, understanding my disbelief.
“Yeah, I didn’t believe it at first either. How many parties did we manage to drag her to?”
“Hardly any. She always hated them.”
“Exactly.”
“So how did she and Donnie … you know …?” I winced, unable to get the words out. Mikey eyed me warily, almost trying to gauge whether I’d hit him if I heard something I didn’t like. I flashed him a tight smile. “It’s okay, tell me. I can take it.” I hoped I could take it, but either way, I wasn’t going to take it out on Mikey.
After he had drained his bottle of beer and picked up another one, popped off the top, and took a long swallow, he was ready to talk. “After I heard the rumors of him taking her to parties, I ran into him one day. I was locking up for the day and he was on his way to the diner, to see Joy, I presume. Anyway, he asked how things were going and then he said that Joy was his girl now.”
“And …”
“That was it, just that Joy was his girl, and he walked away. It was as though he was warning me to stay away from her.”
“And did you?”
“Hell, no.” He glared at me. “I went to see her a couple of days later. She’d lost the house by now and was staying on the couch at Sherri’s place. Man, she was on edge that day. I think she was afraid Donnie would come by and see me there. She was bundled up in a big sweater with these fucking ugly thick furry socks on. It was the middle of summer, Dawson.” He frowned and I motioned for him to carry on and spit it out. “Anyway, I asked her if it was true. Was she Donnie’s girl and … she nodded, but I saw the way she shrunk into herself. She had this haunted look in her eyes. I’ll never forget that look, gave me chills.”
“What did you do?”
“I hugged her.” He eyed me cautiously, but there was no way I would hit him for that. Did he think I was that much of a heartless bastard? “I offered to help her leave Chancing, whatever she needed to get away and start again. I wanted her away from Donnie.”
“Did you know about him then?”
Mikey’s head jerked around to look at me. “No. I’d heard rumors, but he hadn’t taken over yet. Franco was still alive and running things for all intents and purposes. But there was something different about Donnie; he was changed. Cold, cruel, and I didn’t want Joy anywhere near him. I was looking out for her as you’d asked. Even if you hadn’t asked, I would have done the same; she was my friend too.”
“What did she say?” I hated asking because Mikey seemed to be having a rough time telling me.
“She said it was too late. She was with Donnie now, and it was better if she stayed.”
“What?”
“She had that lost look in her eyes. I don’t know what Donnie said, but he’d gotten to her and nothing I could say would convince her to leave.”
“That bastard,” I murmured through a tightly clenched jaw.
“Yup. You can’t let it happen again, Dawson.” He held my gaze for a long moment before he pushed up, cleared away the beer, and moved around turning off the lights.
“My car’s down the street. I’ll give you a ride,” I called out. Not waiting for his answer, I stood and walked over to the doorway of the garage and looked down the street toward the diner. I couldn’t see in the windows and had no way of knowing if she was still working. As I listened to Mikey talk, I made my mind up.
Joy had asked for me to give her time and trust her. Fuck that. If I left it too long, I could risk losing her to Donnie and whatever demons she was fighting, forever. I wasn’t going to let that happen. Not when I could do something about it.
Her time was up.
It had been a whole week since Dawson turned up at my apartment, asking me to choose him. And for seven days, I ignored his texts and calls, and there were many of them. I knew he was watching me, following me to work and sitting in his Camaro across the street. With Donnie’s guys, I always felt stifled, but knowing Dawson was out there comforted me somehow. And while part of me was a little pissed that he didn’t trust me to handle it, deep down I knew his motives were innocent. He cared. As long as he kept his distance and let me handle Donnie, for now, things would be okay.
They had to be okay because I was treading water where Donnie was concerned. After distracting him enough to avoid sex with him last week at Shakers, I’d spent the weekend evading him—which was almost impossible with a man wh
o took what he wanted when he wanted with no consequences. Sherri had an ‘incident’ at the house with one of the girls and asked me along to help Friday evening, which dragged into the early hours of Saturday, and I’d picked up an extra shift at Hank’s Saturday over the lunch shift. Inconveniently, I ended up home after a couple of hours with the stomach flu. Donnie brought me chicken soup before he headed to the club to handle his regular weekend business. Any girl in a normal relationship would have swooned at the sentiment, but I knew better. He was checking up on me, and if he didn’t already suspect something, he did now, I was sure of it.
So here I was, working my regular shift at the diner, checking out the window for Dawson every five minutes. Saturday, I’d spotted him while I was taking the Bronstein’s order. Our eyes locked, and for a split second, my broken world pieced itself back together. But then he broke our connection—probably pissed that he’d been seen—and disappeared down the street. Guilt had clawed at me for the rest of my short-lived shift. After laying eyes on him, I felt sucker punched and everything I’d been telling myself—all my reasons for doing this—flew right out the window. This was Dawson—my Dawson—the one person in the whole world who knew me better than anyone did, even maybe myself. The person who had offered me an out and vowed to keep me safe. And what did I do? I shut him out and dug in my heels.
What in the hell am I doing? The question spun around in my head as the doorbell to Hank’s chimed. I looked up across from my spot behind the counter and my body almost gave way. Gripping the edge for support, I watched Dawson stroll into the diner as if he was a regular.
Betty caught my wide-eyed stare and leaned in to whisper, “Fine man, that one, doll.”
She wasn’t wrong, and I felt my mouth dry as Dawson’s skintight t-shirt flexed with each movement, hardened muscles rippling underneath the material.
“Afternoon, Betty,” he said refusing to look me in the eye.
“What can we get you, Dawson?” Betty chimed as she continued to organize the menus and cutlery to the side of the cash register.
“Just looking.”
“Take your time, hon. Joy, here, can take your order when you’re ready. I have a kitchen to clean.”
Dawson laughed and waved Betty off as she disappeared through the swinging door. The energy changed around us, but he still didn’t acknowledge me. Time slowed, each second ticking by painfully. I deserved no less; I knew that. The way I’d treated Dawson, with no explanation, but surely, he had to know what I was trying to do—that I was just trying to keep the peace, for as long as possible.
“What game are you playing, Joy?” His eyes didn’t look up from the laminated menu in his hands, but he’d directed his words at me. Their anger bounced off me.
“Game?” I hissed, glancing around the diner to check that no one could see us.
“It’s been a week. Seven whole days and nothing.”
“Dawson-”
His eyes narrowed as he finally met my stare. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like I mean something to you.”
“But you-” I leaned forward, my body instinctively trying to be near his despite the animosity rolling off him.
“No, Joy.” His whole face contorted as if the words were painful to say. “Time’s up. I won’t wait forever; you chose—him or me.”
Dawson dropped the card onto the counter, rose from the stool, and walked away.
I kept my head low as we entered Shakers as if somehow it would protect the secret hanging over me. All week I’d tried to balance appeasing Donnie with doing my best not to piss off Dawson any more than I already had, but it was impossible, and all I really wanted was to escape. The hunger was eating me, and if I didn’t give in soon, I felt like I might lose my mind. What did that say about me?
“I need to handle some business. Go see the girls, drink, enjoy yourself. Tonight, we’re celebrating.” Donnie leaned in to kiss me, but my mind was reeling.
Celebrating?
Stunned, I found Sherri at her usual place at the bar. She took a sip of her bottled beer and eyed me warily. “What the hell is going on, Joy?” she hissed.
“What?” I replied, leaning closer.
“Don’t play games with me, darlin’. How long do you think you can keep this up? I thought we agreed you should let Dawson handle things.”
Actually, Sherri insisted there was no other option, not since he came to Hank’s to deliver his final ultimatum. Twenty-four hours had passed, and I was still stalling.
What are you so afraid of?
“I’m handling it. I can’t let Dawson go up against him. Donnie will kill him,” I rushed out unable to catch my breath.
“That’s what this last week has been about, you trying to protect Dawson? Darlin’, that man doesn’t need protecting. Can’t you see that?”
My lips quivered and a tear slipped through my carefully constructed exterior. Sherri turned us away from Shaun’s eye line and ran her hands down my shoulders. “Pull yourself together. If someone notices, he’ll notice.” She half-smiled and retrieved my drink from the bar. “Drink.”
Plastering on a fake smile and deflecting her inquisition, I accepted the glass and sipped the vodka cooler. “Do you know what we’re celebrating?”
“Celebrating?” Sherri’s perfectly drawn on eyebrow arched.
“Don said something about a celebration.”
Concern crossed Sherri’s face. “I have no idea.” She glanced across the room at where Donnie was meeting with his associates. “But it can’t be anything good where that man is concerned.”
“I think I’m going to throw up.” The vodka swished in my stomach as I watched Donnie reach over the table and shake hands with a fat, balding man in a tailored suit.
“Now would be the time. He’s coming over here.”
I spun on my heels and slammed my drink down on the bar. Did he know? Was that what all of this charade was? Him luring me into a false sense of security?
“Hey, Don.”
“Sherri,” his baritone voice answered.
“I think your girl’s sick. Perhaps I should take her home?”
Donnie’s hand snaked around my waist, turning me to him. Lifting my jaw with his finger, he searched my eyes. “You’re not going anywhere tonight, baby. Let’s make a toast. Shaun.” Donnie raised his fingers in the air and signaled the bartender. Shaun had two flutes filled with the club’s best champagne in front of us in less than a minute. Donnie relaxed his grip on me and handed me one of the glasses, picking up the other for himself. “I’ve been waiting for the right time, but life is too short, too delicate to waste. I know you love that shithole you call home.” He laughed. “But I want you to move in with me. As soon as possible. I shouldn’t have let you keep the apartment for so long.”
My eyes widened as I tried to find my words. “Don- Donnie, I, hmm, I don’t know what to-”
“Yes, say yes. You have to say yes.” Donnie clinked his glass against mine and gulped down the fizzy liquid. If I didn’t know him better, I would have said he sounded almost desperate. But I had to be wrong. Donnie DeLuca was many things, but desperate was not one of them.
Before I could process what was happening, let alone protest, Donnie had spun me around to face the room. The music stopped and all eyes fell on us. As he announced our news, I stood motionless, lifeless in his arm still firmly around my waist. Our small audience clapped and cheered, and some of the guys came over to congratulate us, lining up shots to take with Donnie. Sherri joined us shooting me a questioning look as I forced myself to smile—to do something, anything, other than just stand there like a puppet. It became a small intimate party; the drinks flowed and Donnie gloated how he’d finally persuaded me to move into his apartment. Unable to listen to another second of it, I excused myself feigning another stomachache. Donnie pressed a tender kiss to my cheek, and I could see the swirl of intoxication in his eyes. Barkley thrust another shot between us, breaking the connection, and I took the opportunity to
slip away.
Sherri caught up with me in the restroom. “What in the hell was that?”
I dropped my head into my hands and said, “I have no idea. What in the hell am I going to do, Sherri? What am I going to do?”
The door opened and both our heads whipped around. One of the waitresses appeared, “Umm, hi,” she murmured glancing between us.
“Out, darlin’,” Sherri commanded, shooing her out and yanking the door shut behind her. “We need to get you out of here.”
“Leave? I can’t leave. He’ll know something is wrong.” My voice came out shrill echoing off the walls.
“Joy, he already knows. What do you think that stunt just now was about? Donnie DeLuca might be a bastard, but he’s no fool. Especially when it comes to the one addiction in his life.” I stared wide-eyed at her. “You, darlin’.”
“How did my life end up this way, Sher? Why, why me?” I sobbed in frustration suddenly overwhelmed with all the truths I’d refused to see staring me in the face.
Sherri closed the distance between us and pulled me into her. “Now, you listen to me good, Joy. Now is not the time for tears. Pull yourself together, get out there, smile, and tell him you’re sick. Tell him you need to leave. It’ll buy you some time.”
I nodded because it was all I could find in myself to do.
“Okay, clean up your face, and let’s get back out there.”
Sherri dabbed some tissue under the faucet, wiped the smeared mascara off my face, and then ushered me out of the restroom. My eyes immediately picked Donnie out of the crowd, which seemed bigger than five minutes ago. People laughing and joking and celebrating surrounded him. Sherri nudged me forward and I inched toward them—to him.
Donnie noticed us and cut through the thrum of people. His eyes burned into me, searching and accusing. It took everything not to turn and run. He knew. Sherri was right; he knew something had happened. Maybe not the whole story, but enough to make him bring up moving in together tonight, of all nights.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
I clutched my stomach and said, “I really don’t feel so well, Don. Sherri can get me home, right, Sher?”