“A good friend of mine works as a bellboy at the Lyon Casino Resort, and I’m pretty sure I can get us a room.”
“But you might not stick around.” She folds her arms like she’s thinking.
I’m so twisted up right now that part of me actually hopes she says no. Toned legs, killer body. Gorgeous hair. Probably okay with casual. Exactly the kind of girl I go for.
“I definitely won’t. I do occasional’s, or weekends, but--” And I have to stop on weekends because Rachel and weekend are now synonymous in my brain.
The second her eyes meet mine again, I know I have her. I know she’ll say yes, and I know that since it’s a weeknight Emilio will be able to snag me a room. I hate that I’m torn about this. Hate it.
“I’ve never been to the Lyon.” She steps toward me, almost resting our bodies together. “Heard it’s nice.”
“They have the best bacon and crepes. Room service.” I breathe her in and she smells all wrong. But maybe a night with Tawny will erase the girl I need to get out of my head.
***
Half the girls I’m with, we’re together wherever we happen to be. If I think it’s going to be a hard sell, I offer up the casino. I’m sprawled out in this massive bed, a naked Tawny snoring lightly next to me, and yet, I feel like I’m choking. It feels like I’ve done something terrible. Like when I was a kid and Tobin and I were playing baseball in the house and put a ball through Ma’s china hutch. We knew she loved that thing, and telling her was one of the hardest things I’d ever done.
This is so much worse, and it fucking shouldn’t be. I go from being pissed, to feeling guilt so heavy that it pushes on my chest and takes my breath away. I’m the world’s biggest asshole. I didn’t want this to happen. I didn’t ask for it. I sure as shit don’t need it. I’m lying next to a hot girl and thinking about Rachel.
Fuck this.
I slide out of bed, shower off and get dressed, remembering my car isn’t here about the time the hotel room door closes behind me. Whatever. I take the elevator down and use the back stairs to get into the kitchen. I know there’s room service all night, so someone will be down here.
“Eamon!” Emilio waves from where he’s standing in an open doorway at the back of the kitchen smoking. “You done with her already?”
“Very funny. What you guys got going on tonight?” I ask needing some kind of diversion.
“Josh got a job for the railroad so we’re going to head down and distract him before the big shift rolls in at five.” He wags his brows a couple times.
It’s about three A.M. now, so we might even have time for some kind of fun out there. The train yard is one like in old movies. Big abandoned buildings, trains on tracks heading fifty different directions. It’s a bit of a high just jumping from roof to roof, especially on the older trains they keep around for tourists.
“Can I tag along? I’m gonna have to find a train headed Crawford direction. We came in her car.” I lean against the other side of the door and reach for his cigarette, which he hands over.
“‘Course.” Emilio flicks his cigarette, hollers something in Spanish to the other two guys there and we step outside.
“Got too tangled up in a girl last weekend, and I really don’t need morning drama today,” I explain as we head to his old Charger where another guy and three girls are leaning.
“Don’t need to explain nothin’ to me.” He drops the cigarette to the ground. “But we’re short seats.”
“I don’t mind if someone needs a lap.” I grin as we stop next to his car.
“Eamon, right?” A blonde takes a step toward me, squinting in the dark of the parking lot.
“Yeah...”
She looks young. Maybe too young to be on my lap.
“I’m Stevie. We met a couple years ago at one of Nelson’s parties.”
“Oh, right.” I pretend to remember. “How old are you?”
She rests her weight on one hip while she checks me out, probably trying to look older than she is. “Don’t worry about it, I’m legal.”
I chuckle as I look back toward Emilio who’s standing in the open door of his car. “Who the fuck is this?” I tease.
“That’s exactly your type.” He winks and we all shuffle in, the small blonde, Stevie, ending up on my lap. “And she’s telling the truth. You’re all good.”
I was just with Tawny a couple hours ago, so I’m not even sure what to do. I mean, I like girls but there’s an asshole line somewhere that I’m probably about to cross. Stevie drapes an arm over my neck, leaning on me and chatting with her girlfriends like we’re always getting together like this. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse.
I am sure that her black bra underneath her white shirt is damn distracting, and her shorts are cut up on the sides and probably barely cover her panties. Though... I’d bet fifty bucks she’s a thong girl.
Flashes of Rachel laughing as I pulled on her panties hits me and burns in my chest. I should not feel like an asshole right now. I take Stevie’s lead, and loosely wrap my arms around the lower part of her waist. We’re just sitting, and now I’m being the good guy and providing her with some amount of safety. Also, I know I’m making excuses for doing something I don’t need excuses to do.
I’m done feeling guilty. This is bullshit. I stroke my thumb over her skin and try to soak her in, because in my own twisted logic, it makes sense that the more I throw myself into other people, the less I’ll be thinking about the one I’m trying to forget.
Stevie pauses in her conversation to give me a little smile and to shimmy on my lap enough that she rubs me in the right places. Emilio hit the nail on the head. This girl is exactly my type.
***
An hour and a blowjob behind a train car later, I’m sitting like Huckleberry Finn, my legs hanging off the side of the train as I fly down the tracks in the very beginnings of morning. I should be feeling perfect. Two fucking beautiful women in one night. That’s a banner night if I’ve ever heard one. I should be counting the minutes before I can let it drop in front of Traive, but instead I don’t want to say anything.
Guilt sucks the air from me and I hate it. I’m not this guy. I’ve done everything to make sure I’m never this guy. I know we’re a ways from Crawford, but I need the walk to clear my head. I’m sure I should wait for the train to slow like it always does near town, but as I stare at the gravel rushing past my feet, the idea of jumping takes over. Spins everything else out of my brain because I’m going to need to land this just right.
I stand, but quickly realize that sitting and pushing off with my arms will be the better way to go. I sit back down, swing my legs a few times, still staring at the gravel underneath me and shove off.
The brief seconds I’m in the air are pure nirvana. As my feet skim gravel, I tuck in and let myself roll. The train was going too damn fast for me to just roll once or twice, and I lose count as the world spins around me.
By the time my body comes to a stop, it feels like someone scrubbed me all over with a wool pad. I squint as I slowly sit up and when I wipe my face, my hand comes back full of blood. Everything hurts like it always does when I crash, and I know I just need to take a minute so I can figure out where the worst spots are.
I roll my wrists and ankles, so nothing’s broken but when I pull in a deep breath I get a sharp pain in my side. Probably not a broken rib, but definitely wicked bruised. That sucks, but really just means sleeping in the recliner for a week or so.
When I stand the world spins for a moment before righting itself. I’m okay. Good. I bring my arm up to touch my face again and realize that the stitches Rachel did for me have ripped open. Damn. I’ll need those stitched back up and maybe my face, too. I make my way slowly back up the tracks and start the walk to town, every part of me in pain. But fuck, if anyone deserves it, it’s me.
Only a couple miles to go. I’ve done worse.
20
Rachel
At least my four hours of sleep were four solid hours because Doc is bu
sy, and it’s only nine A.M., which means I’m an hour in and there’s a lot left to do.
The distraction is good, though, and I’ve already learned a lot of the practical stuff. The order to getting everyone’s blood pressure and weight, and how to work Doc’s computer system.
I finish up the chart and just hit save when Doc’s voice is behind me.
“Eamon just stumbled in looking like he was drug behind a truck. Says you stitched him up the first time and I thought maybe you’d like to do it again.”
My mouth dries out and my heart bangs in my ears. “How does he even know I’m here?”
“I mentioned it once I finally convinced him to come all the way in and lie down.” Doc pats my shoulder. “I got everything else covered if you can patch him up and send him on his way.”
I take the few steps to the room where Eamon is and stop outside the closed door trying to find enough air to speak. Why this?
Maybe it’ll be good. Maybe this will catapult us back into something like friendship.
“Eamon LeJeune,” I say as I open the door, looking at the tablet that holds his chart. “I’m shocked to see you--”
I freeze when I take him in. Deep, dark rings under his eyes and small scratches fill every bit of visible skin.
“That bad, huh?” He gives me a lame attempt at a smile and my heart breaks a little at how he does this to himself.
I swallow a lump that’s formed at too many things for me to count. “What was the stunt this time?”
He clears his throat to speak, and I turn away from him, rummaging in unfamiliar cupboards to find what I need. I start setting gauze and disinfectant and wraps on the small tray.
“No stunt. Jumped out of a train to get home.”
I freeze for a moment as the stupidity of his actions. Does he give a shit about nothing? Even himself? I start sliding open drawers, even though I know I have everything I need. “I see...” I bite down to keep the rest of what I actually want to say to him locked inside me.
Finally I’m at the point where I’ll have to face him again because I’ve run out of drawers. “Let’s get some of these washed out, and then we’ll work on re-doing the stitches, okay?”
“It wasn’t a big thing, Rach. I was just hitching a ride home ‘cause--” But he stops short.
“Because you left in her car,” I finish for him. Lord, I swear I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but I know it seeps in. My stomach caves as I think about all the small moments between us that I thought were so unique and special, that he might actually have with every girl he’s with.
Eamon closes his eyes as I run the cool saline over more tiny scratches than I can count. Even when I have to pick out small rocks or rinse out dirt, he doesn’t flinch, he just lies still. This is old hat to Eamon, and he may think that that’s impressive, but I find it old now.
Maybe it’s better that we don’t talk. I rinse his arms off next and try not to think about the way his familiar hands traveled over my body. But I can’t stop the shiver that runs through me, and I have to release a slow breath to keep my head and heart from spinning out of control. The wound where his last stitches were is healing nicely, so I just put a couple of butterfly bandages over it instead of re-doing them.
“Okay. Sit up. You’ve got a nasty cut on your forehead. I’m gonna have to stitch it up.”
Eamon slowly sits up, finally opening his eyes. “Cool that you’re working here.”
Work. This is a safe topic. Or should be. “Yeah. It won’t last long, and with how long it’s going to take me to get through school, it’ll be short-lived.”
“Why don’t you take more classes?” he asks.
“You know why. We got bills to pay, and I’m already short on sleep. I worked Carl’s last night and was here a couple hours before you showed up.”
Eamon wrinkles his forehead in concentration as I thread the suture needle. “Yeah. I knew that. I’m sorry.”
I shrug before positioning myself in front of him. This is going to be a lot different than last time. There will be no special reward when I finish.
“We’re still watching Arnaud’s place, and I don’t get where that money comes from. It’s the only thing Mama’s tight-lipped about, so I finally gave up.”
Eamon lets out a breath as I start sewing him up. Again.
“The scrubs are kinda sexy.” He pinches a bit of my shirt.
My heart cracks a little further, and I push his arm away. “Eamon...just… Don’t.”
Our eyes meet for a second, and he looks more confused and broken than I’ve ever seen him. “Sorry.”
Nerves and frustration and hurt all claw through me as I finish the stitches in silence. “You’re all done. But Eamon, you can’t put all these scratches in that suit you wear welding. Help Jerry with the books or something for a few days, okay? Or take some time off.”
Eamon stands, the height and feel and warmth of wrapping me up in something I can’t find the energy to fight. “I like you taking care of me, Rach. And I promise I’ll try to be good.”
His words shake through me, putting me in a place I don’t know how to deal with. His finger brushes the underside of my chin spreading goose bumps over my body. I can’t look at him right now. I feel too much. When I turn away he doesn’t stop me, putting us in the exact position I knew we were in. Me feeling more than him. It’s a place I should be more used to, or found a way to be comfortable in by now, but I haven’t. It’s like how Eamon gets hurt over and over doing these ridiculous stunts. He goes in knowing he’s going to get bruised and battered, and still does it. I’m doing the same thing with my heart in this case. We’re both equally stubborn and stupid, just in different ways I think.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I tease as I start separating trash and items I didn’t use. Anything to keep busy while I'm alone with him.
“So...” He scratches his head a few times with his hand on the door. “Can I ask you something?”
I slide gauze to the back of the drawer to make space for the supplies I didn’t use. I can’t run out of busy work when we’re this close. “Like you’d suddenly be the pillar of restraint and listen to me if I said no, you can’t?”
“I...” He pushes out a breath. “Are you going to go out with that guy?”
It takes me a moment to even guess at which guy he’s talking about, but then I remember the last time I saw Eamon and the tidy guy who I gave the fake number to. I weigh possible options for answering before deciding to hit him right back in the same relaxed way. “Did you have sex with that girl?”
He grimaces and then winces as he pulls his stitches. “You’re right. Sorry. You and I, we’re friends.”
“Friends.” The word feels dirty in my mouth. Friends can’t break your heart in the way that Eamon can break mine.
The second he walks out the door, I nearly collapse. Lucky me, my day’s only half over.
I’m so tired from feeling so much, and from night after night of not getting any sleep that my first day with Doc Jansen is a blur. After Eamon left, he crept into my thoughts between every patient that came in.
Doc gives me a pat on the back and a “good job” as I stumble to my car on aching feet.
I want to shake Eamon and ask him why for a million different things. Why did he think it was okay to jump off a moving train? Why did he have to kiss me? Why can’t we have fun like we did over the weekend? I wasn’t asking him for babies and a house. And mostly, why can’t I stop hurting over something I knew was coming?
I sit in my car and can’t breathe because it feels like my heart is cracking apart and caving my chest in with it. It was idiotic to think that we could survive a weekend together. I probably knew that to begin with, but I was stupid and selfish enough to want him anyway. I’m not sure how to soak that up as the part of Eamon I can have, and let the rest go. I have to let the rest go. I cannot feel this way day after day. The drive home is blurrier than my workday.
I’m so exhausted,
I don’t even waste the extra energy it would take to wipe my cheeks as the tears fall. There’s no way I could keep up. Tears of exhaustion and heart ache. The saltiness of them sliding between my lips and rolling down my neck. I’m a mess. A certifiable mess who knew what she was getting into and who needs more sleep.
The moment I stop my car in the driveway I want to leap out, change into running shoes and go ‘til I drop. But instead I sit in the driver’s seat, finally taking the time to wipe some of the tears off my pathetically swollen face. How many times will I regret a weekend I don’t want to regret?
This is stupid. I’m not the mopey girl. Even after splitting with Brett after a year I held it together better than this.
But Brett wasn’t Eamon.
I wipe my palms over my face and neck again before pushing my way out of my car. My chest is so tight that it takes a few breaths before I think my body might eventually be normal again.
“That you baby girl?” Mama calls from the kitchen.
“Yep, just me.” I kick off my shoes and flop onto the couch wondering if there’s any way I’ll have the strength to make dinner tonight when I breathe in. Mama made enchiladas.
My mouth waters immediately.
“Don’t you move, Rach. Put on a show and I’m coming to you,” Mama calls.
Done.
Mama rolls out with a tray on her lap, and two heaping plates of enchiladas. I mumble a thanks as I shove the first bite in my mouth.
Heaven.
I’ve scarfed my whole plate down in about five minutes, and then slump low on the couch as we watch Survivor--one of Ma’s favorites. Only I can tell she’s watching me instead of the show.
“What, Mama?” I ask.
She purses her lips together before she speaks. “I figured you’d be full of news about your day with Doc.”
I should be. I gave a few shots, input data, learned so much about the practical side of the job I want to do. “Just tired.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing else,” I lie.
The people on Survivor are still trying to get their fire started, and I’m slowly going numb from tiredness and good food.
My Fate for Yours Page 10