by Sophie Hill
I was stunned. That was a low, low blow. She was playing dirty pool.
“You don’t want me living with you. You haven’t wanted me home in three years.” My voice was shaking.
“That’s not true. You don’t know everything that’s happening.”
Tears filled my eyes and ran down my cheeks. This was so unfair. So, so unfair. She was forcing me to choose between her life and freedom from a miserable marriage…and a ghost. A girl I’d never met. What did I owe that girl? Did I really owe her more than my own mother?
If I told my mother that I was staying here, and that I refused to abandon my search, she’d stay in her miserable path to destruction. She could overdose and die and it would be all my fault.
Except it wouldn’t.
I pulled together every last bit of my resolve and took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Hot tears burned my eyes and spilled down my cheeks, and my breath seared my throat as I spoke.
“You already know you’re an addict, and everyone around you can see that you’re popping so many pills you slur your speech and you can barely stand up straight. You already know that you’re miserable in your marriage. You’re supposed to be the grownup here. I absolutely pray that you seek help for your addiction and that you stop letting dad bullying you and making you feel like you’re responsible for the fact that he’s an angry, miserable bastard, but if you don’t, that’s your decision. And I am not responsible for it. You have no right to lay that on me, and I’m hanging up now.”
“Keep the phone! At least keep the phone! And let me send you money!”
“I need to support myself. I’m not taking money from either of you, because then I’ll feel obligated, and I am done answering to you,” I snapped. “I will keep the phone. For now.”
And I hung up and blinked hard, wiping the tears from my face with the back of my arm.
Parents suck. They really do.
“Heather. Heather! Hey! Heather!”
Slowly my head cleared and I realized that Aurora was barreling down the sidewalk towards me, excited, yelling my name.
“I found the Rodriguez family,” she said.
Chapter Twelve
“Am I good, or am I good?” Aurora said. She, Dottie, Dottie’s latest hookup, and I were sitting at the counter at the Greasy Spoon. I think Dottie’s boytoy-of-the-week was a townie. He wore a Van Halen T-shirt and jeans that were too dark and new, and he was leaning on her and running his hand up her thigh, and she kept pushing his hand off like she was swatting away an annoying fly that kept buzzing her. Aurora either didn’t notice that her niece was being indecently assaulted in front of her eyes, or she was very skilled at pretending not to notice.
“You are good.” I shook my head in admiration. “What did you find?”
She pulled a piece of paper out of her purse and slid it across the counter to me.
“Timberline. Where is that?”
“About two hours from here.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I ran some state records checks, and found out that Pedro, Maria, and her husband all have drivers licenses registered at this address. Maria and her husband are definitely still alive. So is their son Pedro. Their daughter Trinidad recently died of cancer. I didn’t find any record of a Consuelo Rodriguez.”
“Oh, that sucks about Trinidad.” A pang of sadness strummed inside me. God, she’d died young. She would have been, what, in her late 20s? “Maybe…maybe they need financial help because of medical bills. Maybe that’s why Consuelo wrote that letter.”
“Could be. You could go out there and try to talk to them.”
“I could drive you there tomorrow,” Dottie said.
I perked up. “That’ll work.”
“Cut it out!” Dottie squawked suddenly. Dottie’s boyfriend had slid his hand all the way up her leg and was actually trying to grope her crotch, right there in public.
She jumped off her chair, slapping his hand away.
He jumped up too, glaring at her. “You’re a fucking drag today. I’m out of here,” he said, stomping out of the restaurant. Dottie didn’t even bother to watch him go.
I saw the fry cook, Chuck, Dottie’s sometimes-squeeze, glare at Dottie’s now-ex-hookup as he slammed out of the restaurant.
“Fucking douche,” she muttered at her plate of food. “On to the next one.”
I lost myself in work that afternoon, rushing from one table to the next, stuffing tips in my black polyester apron. The Rodriguez family…I’d finally see them again. I’d have answers. All the grief and family drama would be worth it.
That night after work, Dottie and I went out to the movies, and then she dropped me off back at Slade’s house. I showered and shampooed all over and changed into a tank top and shorts, and then fell asleep on the couch waiting for him to get off work.
I think it was around 4 a.m. when he finally came home, and he sat down on the couch and took me in his arms and kissed me hard.
“All night long at work, I couldn’t wait to get home,” he said, and kissed me again, then pulled back and looked at me, stroking my face.
“Tell me about your day. Did you miss me?” he teased, and bent down to kiss me.
“Maybe. A little.”
He pulled back. “Just a little?”
“A lot! I barely made it through the day without you!” I laughed, and he broke into a huge smile. “That’s much better,” he said, and then his mouth claimed mine, his tongue inside my mouth, exploring, probing. Claiming me.
When he came up for breath, I said, “Is it my fault if my mother decides not to go back to rehab?”
“Whoa. What?” He pulled back, staring at me in bemusement.
I flopped back on the couch and told him everything that happened during the day, how my mother had called me and how Aurora had found the Rodriguez family.
“Am I selfish brat for what I did to my mother?” I asked.
“You are not selfish. You did exactly the right thing. She’s got no right jerking your chain like that. Trying to make it your fault that she’s a drug addict.”
A drug addict? I winced at the harsh words, almost wanting to jump in and defend her. My father was a bitter, critical man who had a way of making everyone around him feel like they’d disappointed him. If I were stuck with that man, I’d be popping pills too.
“I’m going with you tomorrow,” he added.
“You don’t have to,” I said. “It’s a long drive.”
His arms tightened around me. “I wouldn’t let you go by yourself.”
“Really?” I smiled and I was secretly pleased, even though he was acting like a total caveman. Me man, you woman. You my woman.
“You mean too much to me.” He kissed my forehead. I opened my eyes to stare at him, to drink in his beauty, and I realized that he looked kind of pale. There were circles under his eyes.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“You’re - you look a little under the weather. I don’t know. Nothing.”
“I’m fine.” It came out in a growl and he abruptly stood up. “I’ll be right back. Just give me a minute. Going to grab a snack.” I could have sworn that his hands were shaking as he got up and walked out of the room, leaving me lying on the couch and wondering what I did or said wrong.
I wanted to run after him and apologize for making him mad, because I couldn’t stand the thought of him being angry at me, but I had the feeling that wasn’t a good idea, so I lay there running through the various possibilities in my mind.
Hypoglycemia? He was irritable because his blood sugar was plummeting? He had caught the flu from his uncle, and he was under the weather, and that’s what was making him crabby? Some men don’t like feeling vulnerable…maybe when he was sick he got crabby.
I could hear him rustling around in the kitchen. About five minutes later he came back, carrying two sandwiches, one of which he set down before me. He’d had a few bites of his sandwich. His hands weren’t shaking any m
ore.
“Let’s get some meat on those bones,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. I breathed a silent sigh of relief.
“So you like fat chicks?” I said, and took a big bite of the sandwich.
“Fat chicks are hot.” He grinned at me teasingly. “More to love.”
I kicked out at him. “Oh yeah? Maybe I like fat guys.”
He snorted in contempt at the idea. “Really? I know some fat guys I could introduce you to.”
“Please.” I challenged him with a smirk. “Hook me up.”
He set his sandwich down, put his hand on my face, and tilted it up to look at him. “You’re not hooking up with anyone but me,” he said, in a low, sensual growl. “No fat guys, no skinny guys, no in-between guys…just me. Believe me, I’ll keep you satisfied.”
“I believe you,” I breathed, setting down the sandwich, and then he was moving towards me to claim me with his mouth, and I fell into that hot hazy cloud of desire that clouded my mind every time he touched me.
Chapter Thirteen
Slade
“You’re lucky I like you, because I’m really not a morning person,” Dottie groaned to Heather. She was sucking on a cappucino and leaning her head on the back seat passenger window.
“Rough night?” I asked.
“Yeah, it was.” She flashed a wicked grin.
“You got back together with that loser?” Heather sounded concerned. I didn’t know what loser Heather was talking about, but it didn’t really matter. There was no point in remembering their names. Dottie was with a different guy every week.
“Hell no! I found me a different loser.” She laughed, a short, sharp bark. I sighed. Who was I to judge? Dottie was the female version of me, before Heather came along.
We were parked on a small side street, watching the Rodriguez family’s house. And a very nice house it was, too. It was Tudor style, two stories, with diagonal beams set against pale white plaster on the top half, brick on the lower half, and with a beautifully landscaped yard.
A beat up pickup truck with a bunch of landscaping tools in the back pulled up out front, and a guy climbed out and pushed a lawn mower over the landscaped yard. We could see the blue rectangle of the swimming pool in the back yard from where we sat, and we watched Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez stroll out there, with trays of drinks, and then a little while later they were joined by Pedro.
There was no sign of Consuelo. The girl who wasn’t there.
Heather was waffling on going out there and talking to them. I could see why. It was hard to come up with a way to start that conversation.
“So, Mrs. Rodriguez. I’m Heather. Remember me? You screwed my dad, while you and he were both married. And my dad clearly bought you this house that you and your husband and son now live in. I was wondering, where’s Consuelo?”
Yeah, that would be awkward. Major awkward.
“I don’t get it,” Heather said. “It’s a week day. Obviously neither of the Rodriguezes have to work. They’re living in a beautiful house, they’ve got a Mercedes Benz and a Range Rover parked in the driveway, they’ve got a lawn company mowing their lawn. They clearly don’t need any help. And where the hell is Consuelo? Does she even exist?”
“Obviously she exists or your dad wouldn’t have freaked out when you mentioned her at the police station,” Dottie said.
“I don’t know what to do right now. I need a little time to think about this. Can we just go home, for now? I don’t see any emergency here…it’s pretty obvious nobody’s starving. And if I walk up to their front door and start asking questions…I doubt they’re just going to spill the truth. Maybe keeping my father’s secret is the only thing that’s supporting them in this lifestyle.”
“No pressure,” I said, and started the car up. “We can come back any time you want.”
We headed back to Hidden Cove. I was feeling fine right now…because I’d had half a pint of vodka that morning. And the night before.
I’d tried to spend a couple of days not drinking, and it turned out to be a lot harder than I thought. I’d nearly bitten Heather’s head off the night before, just for asking if I was all right; it had taken all my self-restraint not to tear into her. A day without alcohol meant a pounding headache, swirling nausea, shaking hands, a million invisible insects crawling on my skin…
So I’d snuck into the kitchen last night and chugged half a pint of vodka, to drown the demons that were trying to claw their way out of my body.
Now I was drinking in secret, sneaking alcohol so Heather wouldn’t know how bad I needed it. I was just like my uncle Larry, who never really had the flu; the problem with him was that his liver was failing, and if he didn’t stop drinking, he’d die from it.
I was just like my father. I’d let down those who loved me the most, I’d hurt them and break them.
How long could this last? This relationship with Heather came with an expiration date stamped on it. She needed me, and I’d disappoint her in the worst possible way. I’d find a way to screw things up; it was the Monroe way.
Heather reached out and put her hand on my arm, and I felt warmth spread from her hand throughout my whole body, and desire pulsed through me, and a deep, aching tenderness.
I was a grade-a douchebag for dragging her into my fucked up life, but God help me, she was the best thing that had ever happened to me. So as selfish as it was, I was going to hold on to her for as long as I could. I was going to bathe in the warmth of her smile, bury myself in her sweet, delicious flesh, and fall asleep in her arms every night…until I found a way to screw things up between us for good.
“I’m sorry I wasted your time. Thanks for being so understanding,” Heather said.
“Anything for you.” I wasn’t lying. I would do anything for her, anything that I was capable of.
Dottie made retching noises from the back seat. “Get a room, you two.”
Two days later…
I could tell Heather was frustrated by her lack of progress trying to find Consuelo, but she tried to tamp down on it when she was with me.
I struggled to ignore the black cloud of doom that I felt hanging over us, and to enjoy every second with her while I could. She bathed me in sunshine, lightened my mood, turned me into a person I barely recognized. A person who wanted to be a good man, good enough to deserve her.
She cleaned up the house without me asking her to, silently handing me four pairs of other girl’s underwear and a half dozen single earrings, and one black stilleto. I chucked them all in the trash.
“That was the past,” I told her, kissing the soft curve of her neck and feeling warmth shudder up through me when she whimpered and melted into my arms.
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do…” she breathed, as I nibbled my way down her neck.
“Oh really? Because I’m definitely telling you what to do. Take off your shirt.”
Staring at me, her eyes half-lidded with desire, she stripped off her shirt and stood there in a red bra and jeans, barefoot. She’d painted her toenails with sparkly blue polish.
“Now what?”
My God. I could tell her to do anything. She was mine. She was the most beautiful angel on the planet, and she was mine, for as long as I didn’t screw things up.
“Take off your jeans.” I ripped off my shirt, and I loved the ways her gaze was glued to me as she shed her jeans, the way her lips parted with desire.
“Lie down on the sofa.”
She obeyed me, and I stripped off my jeans and climbed on top of her. Her nipples were stiff peaks straining at the fabric of her bra, and I bent down to take her nipple between my teeth, biting through the fabric. I nipped at it gently, and she cried out.
“I want you so much,” she moaned.
“You’ve got me,” I promised her, and began kissing my way down her flat stomach, tongue swirling, and her moans made me rigid with desire.
I tugged at her underwear with my teeth and she moaned and shimmied out of them, lifting up her butt to slide
them off, and then I was between her legs, tongue lapping up her honey sweetness.
“Ohhhhhh…” It was a wail that seemed to go on forever, until I sucked her little pink bead into my mouth and then she broke, shuddering convulsively, fingers twisted in my hair.
“My turn,” she hissed, when she could speak again. “Roll over on your back. Now.”
I obeyed instantly, and she knelt down and sucked my nipple into her rosy mouth, and I gasped and stiffened. Her fingers lightly caressed me, teasing my cock, as her mouth moved down my stomach, tracing the ridges of my muscles with her tongue, and I lay there helplessly, desperate for the warmth of her mouth. When she took me between her lips, I cried out in a guttural groan, and her fingers caressed my sac, nails lightly scraping it, as I thrust deep into her mouth, heat rising and rising until the explosion rocked my body, with sparks shooting down my nerves and lighting me on fire. She sucked up every last drop, and then moved up again to lie in my arms.
I hugged her tightly, pressing against her. I wanted every inch of my flesh to wrap around hers.
“Was I good?” she asked anxiously.
“You were amazing. You are a miracle,” I said fervently into her sweet smelling hair.
Heather’s love should have been enough, but it wasn’t. The dark beast with talons and fangs that lived inside my soul still chased me. The beast was thirsty. I drank at the club at night, and then at home during the day, with bottles tucked in the back of my closet. I didn’t want to lie to Heather, but without the drinks, I turned into a raging, moody, asshole.
I drank to drown my past and my present.
How long could someone like me last in Heather’s world, a trespasser in paradise?
Not long at all, it turned out.
That Friday, I pulled my car up to the curb in front of The Greasy Spoon and climbed out. There were two people standing in front of the diner, a man and a woman, and I felt an odd warning tremor running through me. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted.