Charlene’s teeth press into her lip as she puts together what I mean. “Oh,” she breathes.
“It was . . . damaging in more ways than I can count, which is why I don’t like to talk about it. Most of the memories are vague and indistinct, like wisps of a dream I can’t quite catch and hold.”
She nods. “I understand that. Sometimes I feel the same about my childhood, like it’s shrouded in a fog I can’t sift through.”
“Exactly.” I worry what telling her this will do to us. I worry more that we’re too cumulatively messed up to be good for each other. “When I was four, I was removed from my parents’ home and sent to live with my grandparents. I was raised in two very extreme households. The first was expressly permissive and overly sexual. The second was suffocatingly oppressive. There were restrictions put on me that weren’t always reasonable.”
“What kind of restrictions?” Her voice is a whisper.
I consider how much I want to tell her and decide I might as well let her in all the way. “As soon as puberty hit, the door to my room was removed.”
She frowns. “Why?”
“My grandparents wanted to eradicate the perversion out of me.”
“And they thought they could do that by taking away your privacy?”
“Mmm.”
“God, you must’ve had to take a lot of long showers.”
I give her a rueful smile. “They put a timer on the thermostat in the shower. The hot water shut off after five minutes.”
“How did you even manage?”
“I lived and breathed hockey. I spent hours at the rink every single day, and I became very accustomed to being uncomfortable. Thankfully I was drafted at eighteen. But sometimes, when you’ve been oppressed for so long, freedom causes more pain. I think you might understand that.”
Charlene nods, and her fingers drift up her throat, but stop when she doesn’t come in contact with her pearls. I want to ask where they are since they rarely come off.
“It’s hard to trust,” she murmurs.
I edge closer to her, my knee nearly touching hers. “Yes. That’s it exactly. The only people I could safely place faith in were my teammates.”
Charlene drops her head, her fingers dragging down the side of her glass. “Is it like that still?”
Charlene is just as broken as I am. Someone whole would be better for her, but I don’t think I’m selfless enough to let her go if she’s damaged enough to want to stay.
“I covet privacy because it was something I was never permitted. I didn’t tell you about my parents because I never anticipated you would have the misfortune of meeting them. I took my grandparents’ last name because it separated me from them and removed the threat of association. They didn’t want people to know, and frankly, neither did I.”
I exhale slowly, hating the tightness in my chest, wishing I could control it. “I’m not normal, Charlene. I don’t feel things the same way other people do. Relationships are difficult for me because I genuinely struggle to understand where the boundaries should be. Mine were always too close or too far away. Real intimacy is unfamiliar and terrifying because I have not allowed it. Until you.”
She startles when I trace the edge of her jaw without making physical contact.
“And I’m beginning to see I haven’t done a very good job at conveying that, or making it easier for either of us with all of this secrecy,” I say.
“I understand the need for secrets.”
“I know you do.” I skim the back of her hand, a whisper of touch that helps calm me. “The only good thing about my childhood was hockey. I learned very quickly that people like to use my past for their own personal gain, hence the NDAs and the lack of relationships.”
“I understand that a lot better now.” She flips her palm over, the ends of our fingers meeting.
“My childhood fucked me up, Charlene, and I would like very much if it didn’t have the same impact on what we have. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to drive you away.”
“Well, if you haven’t noticed, my childhood was pretty fucked up too, so I guess our broken parts sort of fit together, don’t they?”
“They seem to.” I stroke along her throat, where her pearls should be.
She covers my hand with hers. “I was fidgety today, and I couldn’t stop playing with my necklace. I worried I was going to break it again, so I took them off.” Reaching into the pocket of her skirt, she withdraws the pearls. “Will you help me put them back on?”
“Of course.”
She drops them in my palm.
Charlene gives me her back as she piles up her hair and bows her head, exposing the gentle slope of her neck. I clasp them around her throat and place a kiss just above where they lay. “I’m sorry if my secrecy hurt you, Charlene. I’ll try my very best not to do that to you again.”
CHARLENE
Who knew finding out your boyfriend’s parents are porn stars could take a relationship to the next level? Not this woman, that’s for damn sure. It’s been three weeks since Darren met my mom, and he hasn’t decided my crazy is too much for him. In fact, for the past three weeks, I’ve seen more of him than usual. We’ve had more sleepovers in the past couple of weeks than we had in the two months before that. It’s weird. I like it. But it also makes me nervous.
Because I still have a secret, and Darren doesn’t anymore. I’ve considered telling him about The Ranch, but I don’t want to upset this new balance. I’ll tell him eventually—maybe after the playoffs are over and the expansion draft is out of the way.
I pull into the underground parking lot at Stroker and Cobb Financial Management and groan as I hoist myself out of the driver’s seat. My legs ache. So do my arms. Actually, my entire body hurts thanks to the marathon of sex Darren and I engaged in. Chicago lost last night’s game, and Darren needed a way to get out some of that pent-up negative energy. Obviously I offered to help. Hence I’m underslept and achy, but sated.
I take the elevator to the third floor. Six months ago I was offered a senior accounting position. Aside from Violet, I’m one of the youngest on staff in a senior position. Jimmy and Dean, who were hired around the same time as me and Violet, weren’t all that happy about it, and for a couple of weeks they were real dicks, but things have settled down. Mostly.
One of the perks of my promotion is that it came with a sweet office instead of a shitty cubicle and an extra forty grand a year. While I may only make a fraction of Darren’s salary, I’m doing pretty damn good for an almost twenty-six year old.
I drop my purse beside my desk and turn on my monitor so I can check emails. I’ve just finished logging in when Violet peeks her head in the door. “Do you have any snacks? I’m so freaking hungry this morning.”
“I should have something in this drawer.” I tap my desk and motion her inside while I pull up my emails. My mother has sent me a million. She still hasn’t figured out that she can text me pictures and doesn’t have to send them individually by email. “I didn’t know you were coming in today.”
“I wasn’t, but Alex wants me to come to Toronto this weekend if they go to game seven of the series, so I’m shuffling days around, just in case.” Violet only comes in to the office two or three times a week at most. The rest of the time she works from home. As awesome as it is for her, I miss having my best friend around every day. Jimmy and Dean can be fun, but they’re not Violet.
She digs around in the drawer, tossing items on my desk. “What is all this shit? Why don’t you have any good candy?”
“Probably because you ate it all the last time you were here.”
“It looks like I have to settle for this.” She sighs and unwraps a chocolate-coated granola bar. Taking a huge bite, she makes a face. “The oats totally ruin this. We should hit the Thai buffet for lunch.”
“Sure. Sounds good. I have a meeting from ten to eleven. Other than that I’m catching up on emails and reviewing accounts.” I click on an email from my mom. I assume it’s anot
her picture from the sex convention.
Violet choke coughs at the image on the screen.
“Darren can never see this,” I say.
It’s an action shot of the masked dude administering the Heimlich maneuver when my mother auditioned for the reality show thing. It looks like he’s trying to hump me from behind. Darren would break the guy’s knees with his hockey stick for putting his hands on me. It’s worrying that the idea makes me a little excited in the pants.
“Yeah. You should tell your mom to delete that, and then you should delete it, too. Forever.”
“Yeah.” I move on to the next email, cringing as I open it. This time it’s a video of the dude giving me the Heimlich, but there’s no sound, so it really does look like he’s trying to hump me fully dressed. I rub my forehead. “I don’t know why she insists on sending these to my work email.”
Violet pats my shoulder. “Two days ago Skye told me she wore that fetish gear for Sidney. She also told me she slipped him a Viagra and his hard-on lasted so long they had to go to the emergency room. You’re welcome for that horrifying visual.”
“Is Sidney okay?”
“I think so? Skye was pretty proud of herself, so there must not be any lasting damage.”
We’re interrupted by a knock on the door. I quickly close my browser, expecting maybe Jimmy, Dean, or my boss, Mr. Stroker, but it’s none of them, and I can’t see the person on account of the huge bouquet of flowers.
“Delivery for Charlene . . . Hoar?”
“The H is silent,” Violet says with a grin.
The delivery guy lowers the bouquet enough so he can see us. “Sorry ’bout that. Where would you like these?”
“Oh, right here would be great.” I clear some papers from the corner of my desk, and he sets them on the edge.
I nearly choke on his cologne. It smells like he dumped the entire bottle on himself. My eyes are watering.
Violet coughs into her arm. “Fred?”
He adjusts his baseball cap, which sends another waft of cologne in our direction. “Violet?”
He seems familiar, but I can’t place him.
“Hey! How are you?” She coughs again.
“Good, good. Still delivering flowers. Still single.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “I, uh, saw in the news that you married Alex Waters a while ago, so, uh . . . congratulations, I guess.”
Well, this is awkward.
“Thanks.”
“That offer to take you to the movies doesn’t have an expiration date, so if you ever get divorced, you can always look me up.”
“I’m taking my wedding vows pretty seriously—the whole ’til death do us part thing. Besides, he’s got a huge dick, so you know, lots of incentive to stick around.” Violet cringes, likely because she’s gone too far with her sharing.
“Right. Yeah. The, uh, condom endorsements made that pretty obvious. I guess if you’re looking to downsize to something more average, I could be your man.” He takes a step back, toward the door.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Fred’s pager goes off, and he blows out a breath. “It was really nice to see you, Violet. Hopefully I’ll deliver flowers again here soon.” He continues to back out of the office, knocking his elbow against the doorjamb. He frees one of his hands from his pockets so he can wave and disappears down the hall.
Before I can say anything, he peeks his head in the office again. “Oh, those flowers should be in direct sunlight. They’ll last longer that way.”
“Thanks, Fred.”
“Okay. Well, bye.” He disappears again.
Violet waits a few seconds before she tiptoes across my office, but she’s wearing heels, so she’s not stealthy or coordinated about it. She almost trips and falls into the hallway. She manages to catch the doorjamb before she goes down and sticks her head into the hall.
“Coast is clear, but the hallway smells like an entire high school of teenage boys doused themselves in cologne at the same time.” She smacks her lips together as we open all the windows in my office. “I’m probably going to taste that for the rest of the day.”
It’s not particularly warm out, but I’d rather freeze my nipples off than continue huffing cologne. I suck in several lungfuls of fresh air. “I think my olfactory senses are destroyed. Who the hell was that guy?”
“He used to deliver Alex’s flowers when I lived in the pool house.”
“Oh my God! I remember him! Didn’t he ask you out right after you told him you’d had Alex’s dick in your mouth?”
“That’s the one.”
“I don’t remember his cologne problem being that bad before.” I have to dab under my eyes to wipe away the tears since they’re still stinging.
“Maybe it’s gotten worse over time, like prolonged exposure to the flowers has made him incapable of smelling things.” Violet motions to the bouquet. “Are those from Darren?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?” I pluck the card from the bouquet, which is almost entirely comprised of yellow flowers with a few pinks and oranges thrown in. It’s like a sunrise. I dab my eyes again, telling myself it’s because they still sting from the cologne.
I slip the card out of its tiny yellow envelope. Darren’s neat writing fills the space.
Violet’s chin rests on my shoulder. “Wow. That’s super sweet.”
“It really is.” And not like anything he’s ever done before. I mean, the flowers, yes. He surprised me with that bouquet and candy before, just never at work.
“Did you let him in your backdoor last night or something?”
“Seriously?” I elbow her and accidentally get her in the boob.
“Ow!” She staggers back, gripping it in both hands. “That really fucking hurt, Char!”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on.”
She keeps kneading her boob. “No, really. It feels like you tried to shave off my nipple with your pointy-ass elbow.” She looks down her shirt, as if she’s checking to make sure her nipple is indeed still attached to her body. “Remember how sore your boobs were when you were a teenager and they were just busting out?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“It’s like that, but worse. They’ve been like this all week. Alex is getting frustrated that he can’t slide his dick between them.” She’s still kneading her boob with one hand and fingering the petals of a dahlia with the other. “I have a meeting in twenty, but I expect to hear all about what you did to inspire those flowers at lunch.” She nabs another granola bar from my desk and leaves me to it.
Darren calls before I have a chance to reach out and thank him for the flowers.
“I was about to message you,” I tell him.
“Were you now?”
I can almost see him smiling, and it makes my heart flutter.
“Someone sent me something beautiful.”
“Is that right? What kind of something beautiful?”
“Some very stunning flowers. They look like a sunrise.”
“So you like them?”
“I love them. They’re gorgeous. I’m not sure what I did to warrant them, but they’re certainly appreciated.” Why are there butterflies suddenly flitting around in my stomach?
“You don’t need to do anything to warrant something nice. If it was reasonable, I’d send you flowers every day.” He clears his throat, and I can hear water running in the background. “I wanted to check in with you before I head out this afternoon. Would it be okay for me to call you later tonight, once I’m settled in Toronto?”
“Of course.”
“And when I’m home, you’ll stay over again? If you’re not busy?”
“I’m available whenever you need me.”
“That would be always, Charlene. I’ll touch base when I’m in Toronto. Enjoy the flowers.”
“I will. Bye, Darren.”
He never ends a call with goodbye. I don’t know why. I stare at my phone for several long seconds as I roll what he said around in my
head. “That would be always.”
With the recent revelation about his family, I’ve come to a few new realizations. Darren was essentially starved of affection as a child, and likely for his entire life, so his asking for my time is him trying to restrain his neediness. All those nights spent in his bed with him lying like Dracula was as much about giving me space as it was about being afraid to seek intimacy and be denied. It isn’t control he’s seeking, so much as a way to let go of the restraints placed on him.
Part of me loves being needed by him like this, but the other part worries that need turns into dependency, and that’s when things get dicey. Until now I’ve never allowed myself to get involved with someone to the point of needing them so acutely.
I don’t have time to fixate on it, though. My morning meeting and deleting my mom’s emails keep me too busy to be able to obsess. At noon, Violet peeks in my door and declares it’s lunchtime and she needs to eat all the Thai food because she’s starving to death.
I shoulder my purse. “Should we invite Jimmy and Dean?”
She gives me her cringy face. “Only if we run into them on the way out?”
“Sure.”
We’re barely seated at a table before Violet is beelining it to the buffet, loading her plate with things she normally wouldn’t. She barely utters a word as she shovels food into her mouth.
Violet slows down about halfway through her plate. “Okay, I think I got a little overexcited.” She slumps back in her seat and rubs her tummy. “I hope Chicago doesn’t shit the bed this game.”
I pause with my fork half an inch from my mouth. “Vi! You can’t say things like that. You’re pretty much ensuring they lose with that kind of talk.”
“Toronto has been solid this season, and they’re fighting to win, you know? They haven’t seen the Cup in more than half a century. Besides that, and you can’t repeat this to anyone, but Alex hasn’t been on top of his game. That injury last season has slowed him down, and the only reason he’s been managing is because Darren is picking up the slack. Everyone knows that. All the guys, and Darren I’m sure, but none of them will say anything.”
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