by P. Dangelico
Little did I know that a year later another tragedy would alter the course of our friendship forever.
* * *
Week four has been quite productive. I’ve mastered the point-of-sale system and gotten to know most of the employees. I’m getting a better idea of what it takes to keep the books in the black––but mostly I’m starting to understand how exhausting Rowdy’s is. I give Noah a ton of credit. Running this club is hard. There are a lot of moving parts and he makes it look effortless.
I’m in his office, using the managers’ computer, when I stumble across something in the older files. A bank statement about a loan taken out a decade ago against the building. I read the bank documents over and over. Then I compare them to the spreadsheets of the first three years Noah took over operations.
I grab a few screenshots and, evidence in hand, fly down the steps to find Noah. In my haste I almost run into another bartender setting up for the night. When I ask him if he’s seen Noah, he sends me to the back room where the pool tables and dartboards are located.
Once I step inside I notice that the pool tables have been moved out and a mechanical bull has been moved in. Three of the larger guys that work for the club are leaving as I walk in. Translation: Noah and I are now alone.
He’s crouched low, inspecting the steel and leather beast in the middle of the room. That’s when my old foe chemistry taps me on the shoulder and says, “Remember me, bitch?” It’s an ongoing battle, trying to keep it in check. So far I’m winning but only by a slight margin.
The curve of his muscular ass is showcased perfectly in his vintage Levi’s…an ass a certain somebody would love to sink her teeth into. Speakingforafriend.
The second he glances over his shoulder at me, his lids get a little heavy and on cue a rude amount of heat grows between my legs and spreads.
“What’s this?”
Noah stands. “What’s it look like?”
I should thank him for dumping a bucket of cold water in my lap. I really should.
“Gosh, so charming. So pleasant to be around. Stop it or you’ll make me blush. When did we get a mechanical bull, jackass?”
He smiles––against his will. It softens the severe air about him.
“We’ve been trying for awhile. Rowdy wanted it but the insurance was an issue. I found a solution.”
Neither one of us mentions that Rowdy isn’t here to enjoy it. And yet I can see the bittersweet thought on his face as clearly as I know it’s on mine. I walk up to it and run a hand over the back, feeling a rather giddy urge to get on.
“Can I try it?”
“No.”
“Come on. Can I. Can I Can I!” I’m suddenly a five-year-old, bouncing on the balls of my feet.
Two big hands wrap around my waist and plant me astride the bull as if I weigh nothing. I squeak and laugh. Noah unleashes a broad smile that lights up his entire face and my female organs wake up, jump up and down, and squeal.
“It’s not plugged in yet.”
“Dream killer.” I pout and he smiles back and our eyes hold. And in the silence, the comfortable ease turns electric.
Snap, crackle, pop.
He’s always been handsome but now he’s breathtaking. A flush crawls up my neck and sweat beads on my forehead and it terrifies me that he may notice.
He has a girlfriend, dumbass!
I clear my throat and make a conscious effort to get back on track. “I found the bank records of the loan my grandfather took out.” His smile slowly falls as he runs a hand over the black leather of his new toy. It grazes my leg and moves away. “He was in serious debt when you took over.”
When he still doesn’t respond, I start to get a little annoyed. “He took these loans out for me, didn’t he? To pay for my travel expenses…when I was competing as a junior. Why didn’t he say anything? I would’ve paid him back.”
He looks at me then. “Too damn proud…it’s okay. We took care of it.”
“You took care of it. The bank would’ve foreclosed on the building if you didn’t take over and pay it off.”
Noah turns to face me, leaning a hip against the bull. So close I can smell him, feel his body heat.
“That means I don’t own half this club…it means it’s yours because you own the debt my grandfather made on my behalf.”
“This club is half yours.”
“I’m going to tell Tim. The loan means I sold my share to you a long time ago.”
His hand finds my thigh and squeezes. His eyes drift down to where we touch. It happens automatically, I reach out and stroke his hair. So soft…like silk…exactly as I remember. His eyes flutter shut. His lashes are stark, black spikes resting against his tan cheekbones.
This is so complicated. I don’t know what to do. It feels like we’re fighting a losing battle, that it’s only a matter of time before we start doing stupid shit we’ll both regret.
“Don’t…leave it be.” He looks up one last time before walking away.
Chapter Seventeen
Maren
The day of Noah’s car accident is preserved in my mind as if it happened yesterday. Each detail sharp, and every one marked by a corresponding emotion. Shock, fear, regret, pain, sympathy…love. Steadfast and endless.
It was a little past 10 p.m. when the call came in on the house phone. I’d spoken to Noah earlier in the day and he’d told me that he was going to the city with Doctor and Mrs. Callahan for dinner. Crystal wasn’t joining them, he’d told me. Despite the impression he’d given me that their relationship was strained, they were still a couple.
“Maren.” I instinctively knew something was wrong. Dane calling my house was the first indication, his voice being serious was the next.
“What’s wrong?”
“Noah was in an accident…car that hit them ran a red light. Noah was driving.”
The world ended with one simple sentence. For a split second the fear that Noah was not okay made the world end for me.
“Where is he?” My voice shook, my heart hammering hard enough to physically hurt.
“His parents––” Dane’s voice broke and there was a long period of silence. “They didn’t make it.”
“Where is he!”
“He’s at Mercy Hospital. He has a concussion and bruised kidneys. They’re checking for internal bleeding but so far they haven’t found anything.”
Annabelle was home. She was in between surgeries and required a lot of care. My parents were still at the stage where they never left her side if they could help it, too paranoid that something would happen in their absence.
I’d gotten my driver’s license by the time I was sixteen and a half. So when the call came in I immediately asked my father if I could take his car. He was worried I was too emotional to drive, which was absolutely true, and called my grandfather to come get me.
The car wasn’t even at a full stop when I jumped out and ran for the ER doors. “Doggone it!” my grandfather yelled after me. “You want to wind up in the ER too!”
They’d already moved him into a room. I reached his floor with the weight of the world sitting over my heart. How do you comfort someone you love more than the next breath of air when he’s hurting? How do you express sympathy to someone who’s lost the only family he had? The task seemed impossible at the time. Walking into Noah’s hospital room was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
A nurse was fixing his IV. Neither of them noticed me in the doorway at first. Chilled to the bone while my throat burned, I stood there and watched. His eyes, perpetually flashing with mischief and humor were glossed and aimed at the ceiling, unblinking, his mouth trembling.
My heart shattered into a thousand pieces for him but I refused to cry. He needed me and I was going to be there for him the way he’d been there for me. “Noah.”
His bandaged head turned slowly and his haunted eyes met mine. That’s when he began to cry. His face remained completely still as tears ran down his face.
Th
e nurse glanced between the two of us and left the room. I was at his bedside a second later, my legs moving of their own accord.
He sat up abruptly and grabbed me, pressed his face into the curve of my shoulder, and held me tightly while I did my best to soothe him. My arms gentle around his neck. My whispers quiet in his ear while his big body shuddered and jerked with each silent sob.
I don’t know how long we sat like that. Time became elastic, stretching and expanding. The only thing that marked the passing of it was the quiet broken by the sound of a different voice. A new one.
“Noah?”
We both looked up at the doorway to find Crystal standing there, her expression a dead giveaway that she was unhappy about finding us like that.
Stiffly, she walked to the other side of his bed, the awkwardness palpable but I wasn’t about to move.
“I’m so sorry.” Her expression did little to validate her words. Which kind of surprised me. And yet what happened next surprised me even more.
“I want you to leave.” Noah’s voice was flat, toneless in a way that said he’d made up his mind and there was no changing it.
“What do you mean?” Worry blinked on and off on Crystal’s face.
“I said I want you out. It’s over…We’re over.” A dangerous mix of emotions swirled beneath the surface of his calm exterior.
She tried to take his hand but he ripped it away. That’s when he finally glanced up at her. “It’s over, Crystal. We’re done. You can leave now.”
“You’re in shock. Your parents just died––”
“Leave!” he shouted, wincing afterward. Lord knows how much physical pain he was in.
The nurse came running back into the room. Seeing Crystal made her frown. “Miss, only one visitor at a time. You need to leave.”
Crystal blinked over at her and then, expression switching between confusion and anger and acceptance, she slowly walked out.
Two days later I drove Noah back to an empty house. Four days after that we buried his parents.
* * *
Having been ambushed by Crystal, I never did get to talk to my father. With that in mind, a few days later I head over to the house around early evening. On Wednesdays my mother has her book club meeting and my father is free to do…well, nothing. Otherwise she would have him fixing something around the house.
“Dad?” I say to an empty kitchen.
The house is strangely quiet. I know my sister’s home because I spotted her bedroom light on when I pulled up. I walk out to the back patio. In the distance, inside my mother’s gazebo, the silhouette of a dark figure catches my eye.
“Dad?”
The figure jerks––almost out of his sturdy brown shoes. “Jesus Christ! Maren, you scared me half to death.”
“What are you doing out here in the dark?” I say stepping closer. I see it then––the light of his e-cigarette.
“Don’t tell your mother.”
“I’ll take it to the grave.” I walk into the gazebo and sit next to him. “She’s out of the house. Why are you out here?”
“Can’t risk it,” he says, looking out at nothing in particular. “She could come home early. If she catches me, it’s all over.” He takes another hit of his e-cig and smiles. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’m sorry about the other night. It wasn’t fair to you guys.”
“I’m the one who should be apologizing, honey. I should’ve been more present, taken more interest in both your careers. I’m the same with Bebe unfortunately––don’t feel singled out. I get so wrapped up in my work that….well, you know.”
“I know. I’m the same way with mine. So is Bebe. We get that from you––the single-minded focus. I guess we all get that from Grandpa.”
“Remind me to give you his ashes before you leave.”
I nod. “Dad, how come you never held it against him––the way he treated you? You never let it get to you, make you bitter.”
My grandfather was always hard on my father, nitpicking how he did everything from driving to opening a beer can. It was painful to witness.
He takes another hit of his poison. So stoic, my father. Majestic even; his profile looks like it belongs on a coin.
“Mostly because carrying a grudge only hurts the person who carries it. It’s really not that complicated.”
“Thanks,” I reply drily.
He chuckles and thinks about it some more. “Is this about Noah?”
“It’s about me. It’s something Grandpa said in the letter he wrote me.” My father faces me, wearing an expression of interest. “He said I should keep living life to the fullest and loving without the breaks on and I’m starting to think I haven’t been doing that.”
He nods in understanding.
“I don’t think you can move forward unless you let go of the past. Bad feelings, grudges––they’ll keep you there, trapped in a place you don’t want to be,” he waxes on. “I had too many things I didn’t want to miss out on, people to love.” A slow smile softens the sharp cut of his jaw, the frown lines around his mouth. “Any resentment I held onto would’ve taken up precious space I needed for all the love and joy I wanted to experience.”
We sit quietly for a bit. “What are you thinking?”
“I think I’m glad I came home. And I think I need to clear some space…thanks, Daddy.”
“Anytime, Cupcake.”
* * *
Minutes later I walk into Annabelle’s bedroom to find her sitting up in bed watching television, prosthesis leaning against the wall by the headboard.
“Move over.”
Bebe glances up from the TV with a hand armed and ready to shove potato chips into her insatiable mouth. Dumping the chips back in the bag, she shimmies to the other side of her king-size bed.
As much as I saw the breakup coming, I’m still raw and in need of someone to help me rally, and for that who better than my sister.
I examine her room as I walk over. Fifty-inch wall-mounted flat screen. Cable. High thread count linens. “I’ll say this for you––you know how to live.”
“Live like you’re dying, baby.” Bebe has always had the darkest sense of humor. More potato chips end up in her mouth.
“What are those, salt and vinegar?” I question. She nods. “I hate those. Gimme some.”
Handing the bag over, she flips through channels. John Cusack appears onscreen. “Oh, oh, oh,” I stutter, waving at the TV. “Stop. Go back. Say Anything. I love this movie. They don’t make them like this anymore.”
“Never seen it.”
I frown. “You’re missing out.” Thrusting a hand into the potato chip bag, I come up with a handful and cram them in my mouth. “Oliver and I broke up.” My voice is as flat and bleak as I feel.
She raises her hands in the air. “Hallefreakinlujah.”
“Don’t say that. He was good to me. We just…grew apart.”
“The Tin-Man grew? I thought inanimate objects didn’t have the capacity.”
“He’s not heartless. He’s just…” I search for a word that doesn’t make him sound cold.
“A host in Westworld?” That earns her a real dirty look, which of course doesn’t stop her. “Has a central processing unit?”
I snort. “Motivated by other stuff, you jerk.”
“What about Noah?”
“What about him? He has a girlfriend.”
I don’t know how serious it is. I don’t see them spending much time together at work but that’s not for me to judge.
“He does?”
“Yeah, he does. And I think you know how I feel about that. And even if he didn’t have a girlfriend, I would have to be an idiot to go there again.”
Even if I do enjoy being around him every day. (Which I kind’a do.) Even if pesky ol’ chemistry was still alive and well between us. (Which it kind’a is.)
She shrugs. “You already are an idiot, so no extra work there.”
I level my little sis with a semi-disappointed smirk.
“I gotta say, this is not the pep talk I was hoping for. You’re usually much more positive.”
“I’m having an––issue,” she replies cryptically. Her brow gets pensive, scrunching up a little, and her gaze looks far away. As in lost in another galaxy.
Something against my ass vibrates and I realize I’m sitting on a cell phone. I retrieve it from under me and stare at the screen. “Tinder? Are you kidding me?” I level my sister with a lot of shock and even more amusement.
Bebe lunges for the phone and I hold it away from her, out of her reach. “Give it over, bitch,” she growls.
“Nah ah!” I screech while she crawls all over me. I start laughing hysterically and she pinches and tickles me until I have no choice but to cry mercy. “You little ho. Tinder? That’s kind’a big league. Don’t you think you should start in peewee league first?”
“I can’t date a guy like Jonah as a virgin! He’ll think I’m creepy and weird.” She quickly glances at the screen of her cell and an evil little smile graces her lips. This is bad. Annabelle armed with a plan is a dangerous thing.
“You are creepy and weird.”
“Fine.” Icy blue eyes narrow on me. “I can’t have him thinking I’m bad in bed. I need to practice on someone I’ll never see again. If I get one shot at Jonah––and it won’t be easy as he is highly sought after around these parts––I can’t screw it up by fumbling around in the dark and looking pathetic. And what’s my personal motto?”
“Practice, practice, and more practice makes perfect,” I say by rote in a monotone. Hand on Bible. She came up with that when she was nine.
“I understand there’s a method to the madness but, Beebs–– this isn’t tennis. It’s…umm…there’s a lot of fluid exchanged.”
“Way to kill the dream. And no, I don’t know. That’s the point.”
“Well…it’s…hmm.”
Oh heck, how do I describe sex without making it sound like a lot of squishy, sloppy sounds coupled with weird jerking motions, culminating into a Fourth of July fireworks display between your legs––and that’s if you’re lucky?