Not Your Fault

by Cheyanne Young

  On the positive side, she has massive boobs.

  “Uh, boss?” I say, poking my head into their conversation. “I’m gonna head back to the group.” As fascinating as it is seeing him get a verbal lashing from a girl who looks like she’s been around the block a few times, I am so over being around Kris Payne. Plus I have to pee. And maybe cry a little.

  “Your employee, huh?” the woman says, shoving him in the arm. “Do all your employees dress like a slut? You own a strip club or something?”

  “Whoa,” I say when Kris doesn’t say anything to stick up for me. “I’m not a part of this little drama fest you have going on, so I’ll thank you not to insult me as if you aren’t a piece of white trash yourself.”

  In the shocked silence that follows, I grab my shoes from him and begin to walk away. The woman’s annoying voice lashes out again and this time I can’t ignore it.

  “Where’s her brother, Kris?”

  My chest goes cold as I turn to face her, my knees going wobbly even without wearing my heels. What does this woman know about my brother? She eyes me and I hate that my face just showed emotion. She continues, motioning with her hands to the vast room around us. “Well where is he? Did you steal her brother too?”

  I glance at Kris, hoping for some kind of explanation but a pained expression is all he flashes at me before holding up his hand to her. “Shut the hell up, Lucy.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do, Kristofer Payne! You don’t get to tell me that anymore.”

  “Don’t act like I was the monster here,” he says as he leans closer to her, his voice seething and raw. Now I can’t walk away. Now I have to know what they’re talking about.

  “How do you know about my brother?” The last word threatens to make me crack, but I stay strong. She gives me this open-mouthed stare of ignorance, lifting her eyebrows at what she obviously considers a stupid question.

  I look to my right. “Kris?”

  Our eyes meet and he looks just as sad as I feel. “She doesn’t know about your brother, Delaney.”

  Confusion grips me as I stand on weary legs, my heart hurting more than it’s hurt all year.

  Kris’s annoying ex-girlfriend gives me a dismissive glance. “I don’t know shit about your brother unless he tried to steal him like he stole mine.” She points her finger at our ex-boyfriend. “You stay away from my brother. No more hanging out. No more taking him to get ice cream. You fucking stay away!”

  Kris starts in on how he’s just trying to be a positive influence in the boy’s life and how that has nothing to do with her. But I’ve heard enough. The mention of my brother was a false alarm and this isn’t my business anymore.

  This time I really do walk away, leaving them to their hateful argument. My head hurts and it’s not from the alcohol. I don’t know what’s going on; I just know that I want to be away from here.

  Chapter 11

  My front door swings open the moment I step on the porch. Cat greets me from inside my house, a frown so pitiful on her face, it almost makes me want to comfort her. I had called her the moment I left Fun Max House, running barefoot across the parking lot to my car. I couldn’t leave that place fast enough. Now, Cat reaches out and takes my kicked-off heels from my hand, opening the door wider to let me in.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she says, even though she has no idea what’s wrong. From what I remember of our brief conversation, I was crying and blubbering about how much I hate Kris Payne while fumbling through my purse looking for my keys. She told me to calm down and drive safely and that she’d meet me at my house. Now that I’m here, with my baby sister treating me like I’m the younger one, I’m not sure I want to tell her everything going on in my head. It’s all just a bunch of pointless embarrassing crap that I’d rather bury deep at the bottom of my subconscious brain, never to remember again.

  Cat shoves me into my bedroom where I rip off my dress while she finds a pair of pajamas in my closet and tosses them to me. I slip into the soft clothing, even though I’d really like to shower first to wash off the residue of this terrible night. When I’m dressed, Cat appears in front of me with a warm washcloth and a bottle of face wash.

  “Clean off your makeup and meet me in the living room when you’re done,” she says, squishing her lips to the side. “You did a really great job on your winged eyeliner, by the way.”

  After doing what she says, I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly, preparing to meet my sister in the living room and listen to her pry all of my secrets out of me. When I step into the living room, my breath catches in my throat.

  The main lights are turned off; the only light in the room coming from a strand of clear Christmas lights that are draped over the curtains, around the back of the couch and up the entertainment center. Two purple aromatherapy candles sit on the coffee table, their flames burning the soothing scent of lavender. Between them on the table are two pints of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, their lids removed and a spoon shoved into the deliciousness underneath.

  The television is on and the DVD player is paused on the opening credits of my favorite movie—Pretty Woman.

  “What is this?” I ask, trying not to burst into tears again.

  Cat sets a box of freshly baked cookies from Nancy’s Bakery on the coffee table and hands me one of the two wine glasses in her hand. She fills my glass all the way to the top from a bottle of Moscoto and then clinks hers to mine in a toast. “This is to help you forget about whatever that asshole did to make you cry.”

  When the credits roll and my stomach begs me not to stuff another cookie down my throat, I push the bakery box away and sit back on the couch. Cat picks up the bottle of wine and wiggles it, showing less than an inch remaining, sloshing around the once-full bottle. “We sure know how to put it away,” she says, tossing her head back and chugging the last of the wine, then overdramatically wiping her mouth with the back of her hand like a drunken sailor.

  I laugh and my phone beeps from the arm of the couch. I lean over and see Nathan’s name light up on the screen, but I don’t click the message to see what it says.

  “Is that Nathan again?” Cat asks from her spot on the other side of the couch. She rolls toward me on her knees, trying to get a peek at my screen. I nod and roll my eyes. She’s so close now, I can smell her wine breath, so I playfully shove her back on her side of the couch. “He’s been texting you all night. What is he saying?”

  I sigh. “He’s asking what I’m doing with Mom, and why my texts are so short and what’s wrong because he can tell when something’s wrong.” I make air quotes when I say the last part.

  “What are you doing with Mom?” Cat asks.

  I shake my head. “Nothing, that was just my excuse when I left after Kris called.”

  “Ahh,” Cat says with a big nod of her head, as if it all makes sense now. “So…Kris called you? And…” she says, her eyes going wide as she tries to ever-so-casually get me to finish her sentence for her. “And…then he told you to…?”

  I let out an even longer, more annoyed sigh and tell her what she wants to hear. “And he told me to meet him at Fun Max House for an employee team-building thing.”

  The movie credits come to an end and the DVD menu pops back on the screen. I grab the remote and press play. It may just be the sugar and wine talking, but I need to tell someone everything that’s swirling around in my mind. And there’s no one more trustworthy than my baby sister.

  So I spill the story of the whole night, starting with the pool games and the sideways glances from Kris, to how tipsy I got and how I almost fell over until Kris grabbed me. I tell her how he looked when he told me to take a walk with him, and how the veins in his muscular arms sent chills down my spine every time he whacked a mole. She listens to me talk with an uninterrupted focus, as if her survival depended on stories of my life.

  My phone lights up three more times with messages from Nathan, but I don’t read or answer them. All I had told him earlier was that I’d had a rough n
ight with Mom, and she stressed me out so much that I was going to go home and go to sleep early. So, if anything, he doesn’t deserve replies because he’s texting me when I’m supposedly asleep.

  I finish telling Cat about how Kris gave our tickets to the little boy and she holds out her hand to stop me. “So…um, Delaney? You do realize that everything he’s done is so freaking adorable and he totally likes you. Why are you upset about this?”

  Her question is so ridiculous, I actually burst out laughing. “Yeah, so, that’s all that happened before.”

  “Before what?” she pries, her eyes lighting up at the anticipation of drama that I fully intend to give her.

  “Before his ex-girlfriend showed up and yelled at him in front of everyone.”

  “What!” Cat’s eyes get so wide, I’m tempted to press my hands to her eyelids so they don’t fall out of her skull. She covers her open mouth with her hands. “Oh my god oh my god,” she says behind her fingers, rocking back and forth on the couch. And then, as if reading my mind, she asks, “Was she hot?”

  “That’s the thing,” I say, pulling my knees closer to my chest as I ignore another text from Nathan. “She looked like…” I pause, trying to think of the right words to describe the woman from tonight. Somehow, “trailer trash” doesn’t seem accurate enough. “She looked like someone who’s been around the block a few times,” I say. “Maybe even around the city. And possibly in jail.”

  “No freaking way,” Cat says. “I mean, he’s obviously rich since he bought the gym. He could get hot girls.”

  I shrug, trying to ignore the pain in my chest. “You have no idea. This girl was so…” I hold my hands up, and then squeeze them into fists when I can’t find the words to describe her.

  “What’d she look like? I want details.”

  I glance to the ceiling to think, but it isn’t necessary because I could never forget what that woman looked like. “She had brown wavy hair that looked either greasy or covered in hair spray. She had gigantic boobs, kind of a big stomach pooch and she wore shorts that were way too small for her.”

  Cat scrunches up her face in disgust. I continue, “But the weirdest thing was this massive tattoo she had on her leg. I mean it covered her whole freaking leg. It wasn’t a beautiful tattoo either; it was poorly done and just looked like an ink gun threw up on her.”

  Cat’s mouth falls open. “Was it a dragon?”

  The knots in my stomach twist themselves into knots. I ask a question that I’m not sure I want to know the answer to. “Do you know who I’m talking about?”

  Cat nods. “Lucy Delanco.”

  A chill runs down my arms and legs when Cat says her name. There are so many things I want to know about this woman, so many questions I want to ask. But none of it is my business, and I don’t see how knowing anything about Kris’s ex-girlfriend would benefit me in any way. Because I am not allowed to like him. And I’m not allowed to care about who he dated after he dated me. But then Cat gets up and grabs her iPad from her purse, holding it up as if it’s the answer to my unasked questions.

  “Wanna stalk her Facebook?”

  My chest runs cold, and nothing but reckless adrenaline and the thirst for forbidden knowledge flows through me. I know what I should do, but I don’t care. “Yes,” I tell her. “Definitely.”

  “It’s so ironic that you just ran into her,” Cat says as she searches through her massive friends list to find the one we’re looking for. “I had a few high school classes with her but we were never really friends. I had forgotten all about her until about two weeks ago when she randomly added me on Facebook and I went through her photos, trying to remember who she was. The tattoo thing tripped me out, though. I knew she was wild in high school, but damn.” She clicks on a profile whose default picture is of Lucy holding a newborn baby.

  I suck in a deep breath. Cat shakes her head. “Don’t worry, that’s her niece. It’s not Kris’s kid or anything,” she says with a snort. I shrug as if I don’t care, but I’m glad Cat answered my mental question.

  We skim through her timeline, looking for any mention of Kris. Cat scrolls back six months of stupid status updates and sarcastic e-card shares until we find something remotely useful. “Life changes. People break promises. Oh well, one day I’ll find my prince charming.”

  “Looks like they broke up six months ago,” Cat says. “Bad for her, good for you.”

  “Why would you say something like that?” I ask her, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks in embarrassment.

  “Uh, duh. Because you want him.”

  “No I don’t,” I say with rock-solid conviction. “He can die for all I care.”

  “Pah-leeze,” Cat says all dramatically. “You want him so bad.” She clicks on Lucy’s photos. “Let’s see if she kept any pictures of him. I want to see what he looks like now. I barely remember him from when I was ten.”

  As much as I want to get up and walk away out of fear of finding a photo of Kris and Lucy sucking face, I stay right where I am, looking over Cat’s shoulder at her iPad. Lucy has hundreds of photos, mostly from partying, drinking and going to rock shows. “You’re like twenty thousand times hotter than this bitch,” Cat says, pausing on a particularly unflattering photo of one very drunk Lucy posing with the Hooters girls.

  “I’m done looking at her,” I say, reaching out to close the Facebook app. “I think maybe I should go to bed now.”

  Cat swats my hand away and flips to the next image. “Oh my god. Sweet baby Jesus that man is gorgeous.”

  My breath catches in my throat, silencing me from any kind of rebuttal. But there’s nothing I could say anyway, because she said it all. Kris Payne stares at us from the photo—shirtless and in board shorts, standing on the beach with a goofy smile on his face. He has six pack abs and chiseled arms, strong shoulders and one tiny dimple in his left cheek.

  The way the photo was taken makes it look like he’s staring right at me through the pixelated screen. I open my mouth to say something, but all that comes out is, “Damn.”

  The front door slams shut and I spin around, not realizing that it had even been open. Mild panic grips me at the thought that an intruder might have just walked in my house, but then my eyes meet a pair of familiar eyes staring at me from across the room.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Nathan stares at the iPad in Cat’s hand, the photo of Kris filling up the entire screen. “So are you fucking your old boyfriend now? Is that why you’re ignoring my texts?”

  He grabs the house key I had given him and twists it off his keychain while Cat and I sit dumbfounded, unable to say anything. I hate that this is happening, but I don’t care enough to stop it. Nathan and I are never going to work out anyway.

  “So you don’t have anything to say?” he asks, his voice softer now as he pulls the key off his key ring. I stand and walk to the edge of the couch.

  “Why did you invite yourself into my house without asking?”

  “I was trying to be sweet and come take care of you! You’d know that if you read your fucking text messages.”

  “I told you I was going to bed, Nathan,” I say, feeling anger with him swell up and replace my guilt.

  “And clearly you lied. Just like you lie about everything.”

  My eyes narrow and I’m so pissed off at him for turning his intrusion around on me, that all I can do is point my finger toward the door. “Leave.”

  Nathan throws his key on a side table. “Oh trust me, I am. I hope you and your new fucking boyfriend are very happy together. I’m sure he won’t ever fuck you over again.”

  I clench my jaw together to avoid saying anything I’ll regret and watch him throw open my front door and leave. When the door closes behind him, I walk up and twist the deadbolt, locking him out of my life forever. My forehead leans against the cool metal door, and I close my eyes and take deep breaths. That was way more drama than I could have imagined a week ago when my life was normal.

  Cat clears her throat and I turn to loo
k at her.

  “Well,” she says with a timid smile on her face. “At least that part’s over.”

  Chapter 12

  Two days off work is the last thing I need right now. I’m not exactly sad about my breakup with Nathan, because it needed to happen, but it could have happened a little…nicer. Still, there’s a painful lump in my chest every time I think about it. At least I won’t have to endure anymore hairy man boobs and basketball sex.

  And I’m not upset that Cat had to leave our movie marathon and junk food fest for work, because she has a job and it is definitely not in her job description to take care of me when I’m wallowing in self-loathing and regret.

  I set a bottle of Clorox spray on the countertop and look around the kitchen to admire my work. My house wasn’t even this clean the day I moved in. Thank god today is the last day the gym is closed for renovations—I can handle being off work, but I can’t handle not working out. The elliptical machines are my stress relief and the free weights aren’t just the source of my physical strength, they’re my mental stability as well. Working out keeps me sane.

  Not working out for two days? Well, I get a squeaky-clean house and holes in my shoes from pacing back and forth. Oh yeah, and a brain that’s about to explode. Just a week ago, I wanted out of my relationship. I thought that would make things better, but now that I’ve gotten my wish, all it’s done is make life more complicated.

  Three days after the nightmare that was employee team building night, I arrive at the gym a few hours early for my seven o’clock shift. As psyched as I am to jump on a new cardio machine and hit the hardest level as long as my legs will let me, the moment I see Kris’s shiny black truck parked in my favorite spot, my stomach throws itself to the floor.

  I wonder if the 24 Hour Fitness located an hour up the highway would hire me.

  Determined not to let him stop me from my daily routine, or ruin my career, I throw my sweat towel over my shoulder, toss my car keys in my gym bag and walk into the gym with confidence. Only, the moment I push on the door, it doesn’t open and I slam face first into the glass. The plastic CLOSED sign swings against the other side of the door, mocking me for the idiot that I am.