by Kim Karr
“I’m sorry,” she cries, and closes her eyes.
I stare at her, my heart feeling pulled in so many directions I don’t know what to do. Then without another word I turn and walk away.
CHAPTER 20
Little White Lies
Bell
The dogwood trees blow in the wind and their white blossoms whirl in the air. One sticks to my arm, but I swat it off. I don’t want to make a wish on it today. I watch him, following his back as he walks away from me until I can’t see him anymore. I bolt down the street as fast as I can, running nowhere. When another blossom blows in my path, I pause for a brief moment and decide to make a wish after all. I wish for him to understand—even when I know that’s impossible. Still, I’m not sorry I told him. I know I had to. I am, however, sorry I didn’t do things differently from the start. I’m sorry about how I messed my own life up again. I’m sorry I can’t go back in time and change everything.
Feeling defeated, lost, and disheartened, I turn around and go back to the restaurant to get my things. It’s quiet inside and thank God Rocko is nowhere to be seen. Pebbles has always been a place of comfort for me. That’s why I flock here whenever I’m nervous. It’s kind of like a home away from home. When I was little, my dad would bring me here after school sometimes, just him and me. We’d sit and talk about my day, about music, and about my brothers. Rocko would join us sometimes and they’d talk about when they were younger. They were good friends, attended high school together and Rocko even played the drums for my dad when he was on the road. So after my dad died I came here a lot. I’d take a bus after school to just sit and talk to Rocko. He’s told me so many stories about my dad, good ones, happy ones—it was the way I wanted to remember him.
A brief bittersweet smile passes across my lips as I walk by the bar and look at the picture on the wall of Rocko and my dad among all the other celebrity photos. My dad was famous even if he never thought so. More tears fill my eyes and I don’t even know who they’re for anymore—my dad or Ben. I grab the package of books off the table and fumble for keys in my purse. When I go back outside I hand my keys off to the valet and wait while he quickly pulls my car up. He opens my door and I seek refuge inside. The sound of the car engine helps to muffle my loud cries.
You knew better, I cry to myself. You did. I slam the steering wheel. I thought he’d be mad, but I didn’t expect disdain from him or his disgust. The flame of attraction that burned in his deep blue eyes whenever he looked at me was extinguished the minute my words registered.
The drive home feels too short and the walk up the stairs even shorter. The longest part of the day is yet to come—the night I was supposed to spend with him. I throw myself on the couch and lie here for the longest time. My phone rings and I glance at it, knowing it won’t be him. It’s not. It’s Tate. Why won’t he leave me alone? I ignore it and resume my blank stare, not wanting my numbness to vanish because the pain will be too much to bear.
I must have fallen asleep, because the sound of my phone ringing again wakes me up. I sit up and look around before reaching for it. Romeo Fairchild flashes across the screen.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Bell, it’s Romeo. Sorry to bother you at home but that band you recommended is playing tonight at a bar not too far from the showroom and since you told me you lived close by I was wondering if you would come over and tell me what you think.”
I contemplate the idea. Maybe some distraction is just what I need. Maybe a drink wouldn’t be so bad either. I need to get Ben out of my system. To not let this bring me down. I knew better than to go down this road with him. I knew there was nowhere else for it to end up. Ben just isn’t the kind of guy to open his arms and say I forgive you, it’s okay. Somehow I hoped it would be different, yet in my heart I always knew things would end up like this.
“What do you think, Bell? Tate said he’d try to make it too.”
His voice over the line jolts me from my thoughts. Something doesn’t feel right with this invite. I remember when I was leaving last night in a rush to see Ben that I saw Tate and Romeo and that girl I feel I’ve seen somewhere before standing together, the three of them at the makeshift bar.
“I’m sorry, I can’t tonight, but I’m sure you and Tate will find your own kind of fun.”
His laugh is a rumble. “Guess you’re not interested in our kind of fun. Sorry to hear that. But if you change your mind we’ll be at a place called Beck’s. It’ll be fun, I promise.”
“I have to go.”
“Yeah, no worries,” he says, and hangs up.
I stand up and pace the room. The brown package is on the couch where I threw it. I open it up and place both books on the coffee table, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn on top.
I decide to call my mother. I can talk to her about this.
“Everything okay?” she answers.
“Yes, but you sound like everything isn’t.”
“I’m talking to Aunt Celeste. Jagger’s father is really sick and Jack and I are going to fly out in the morning to be with her. Can I call you back?”
“Of course. No rush. I hope everything is okay.”
“I’ll call you back,” she says, and hangs up.
I try to call Jagger but there’s no answer. I try Aerie but no answer there either. My aunt and Jagger’s father were close; at least they were when I spent a year with my aunt in Paris. She spoke to him every day. I felt they were in love, but they were two ships that passed in the night, star-crossed lovers, I remember thinking.
With sadness for my aunt and Jagger in my already broken heart and no one else to talk to about Ben, I head for the door, leaving my cell phone behind. I need to chase away the dark clouds storming in my head—a few bottles of wine, maybe even a bottle of vodka can certainly help me do that.
CHAPTER 21
Away from the Sun
Ben
The winds have picked up as I tear down the road. I haven’t wanted a drink in a long time, but I do now. I ride like hell to get out of town. I don’t pay any attention to where I’m going, turning right or left depending on which light is green. A few hours later I end up far from where I started, in West Hollywood, only a few blocks from Beck’s. The traffic is fucking bumper to bumper and I can’t sit in it. I park in the first open spot I find and walk the rest of the way to his place.
The sign above the door is lit in neon red. It’s like a beacon lighting my way in a storm. I slip inside the hole-in-the-wall bar and look around. The place has really changed. The jukebox that sat in one corner is gone, as are the few booths that used to line the wall to the right. They’ve been replaced by a stage and a dance floor made out of parquet wood. The few bunches of tables that used to be scattered throughout have multiplied into many. The giant L-shaped bar is the same and the wall of beer taps that rests behind hasn’t changed. I sit at the end of the bar and a chick I don’t know approaches me.
“What are you having?”
I scan the more than one hundred beers behind her. “Whatever you want to give me,” I answer, unable to decide.
She pours a beer and sets it in front of me. I stare at it for the longest time as she tends to some other customers. Then I pick it up and down it.
She bends down in front of me to wipe a few too many times around where the condensation from my beer mug dripped on the bar. “Another?”
I nod. “Beck around?”
“Senior or Junior?” she asks, twisting to refill my glass.
“Junior.”
“No, he’s not around much anymore.” She bounces her tits in my face.
“Who are you?” I ask her.
She smiles. “I’m the new manager. My name is Kate.”
I lift my glass. “Nice to meet you, Kate. The place looks great.”
“Yeah, the band Echo starts tonight. They’re really good. You sticking around?”
“I might be.”
Beer after beer . . . I chug them down and before I know it I’ve moved
on to my trusty old Jack. She pours me another drink and I hazily stare at what she’s wanted me to notice all night. Her tits hang out of her tight T-shirt nicely. They’re not bad-looking and neither is she—short blond hair, medium height, about forty.
“How do you know Beck?” she asks over the start of the blasting sound of the bass.
I glance around and notice the band is onstage and the dance floor is full. “I met him here. He works for me now.”
She smiles. “You’re his new boss.”
I try not to slur my words. “That would be me. I’m Ben. Ben Covington.” I reach for her hand.
She extends hers. “Nice to meet you.”
A redhead I hadn’t noticed before calls her over to the other end of the bar. When I look over toward her, she winks at me and I can’t keep my lips from pulling into a frown as I think of S’belle’s red hair. My mind wanders back to what she told me today—I have a child out there somewhere in the world. A child that is about the same age I was when my father died. My mood turns dark.
“She’s bad news,” the bartender says.
I turn to look at her. “Makes no difference to me.”
She nods. “Trust me, it should.”
I shrug. “A chick’s a chick.”
I stand up and gain my balance, needing to hit the restroom. To get to the back hallway I need to weave my way through the crowd. The number of people has multiplied tenfold since I arrived and everyone seems to be in their own world, caught up in the music and seduction of those around them. The band is pretty decent and I catch the sound of horns in the background, which even in my state draws my attention. The bartender chick was right, they are pretty good.
When I come out I run right into the redhead from the bar. Her gaze traces me and I allow mine to do the same to her. She’s tall, really tall. Her features are attractive enough and her body isn’t bad. I zero in on her ample chest and catch sight of her nipples pebbling through her sheer top. Fuck, she’s not wearing a bra.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she says, her eyes locking on mine.
I allow a smirk to cross my lips. “Something tells me you planned it.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Cocky, aren’t you?”
I shrug. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She smiles and steps a little closer. “I’d love that.”
I sidestep her to head to the bar. The place is so packed there’s nowhere to move. I turn toward her. “Stay here and I’ll grab us a couple of drinks. What are you drinking?”
She tugs the collar of my shirt. “We could go somewhere . . . quieter,” she whispers in my ear as she leans forward.
I pull back and stare at her, considering the possibility of forgetting everything and just getting lost in her. “How about a drink first?”
“Sure, vodka cranberry.”
Just as I pass the dance floor I come face-to-face with not only Tate Wyatt but fucking Romeo Fairchild. I try to ignore them both, but as soon as I walk past them one of their hands is on my shoulder.
“Ben, man, it’s been far too long.”
I’m in no mood for this guy’s shit. I turn to look at him. My eyes take him in—dressed in a suit with a smug-ass look on his face. I really want to deck him. “Not long enough,” I mutter under my breath, and keep walking.
“I saw your name on your friend’s phone not too long ago. Shame you’re just friends because she’s a hot piece of ass.”
“Why the fuck is she showing you her phone?” I don’t even give him time to explain because I don’t give a shit what he has to say. I just turn around ready to pound him to the floor like the piece of shit he is. This arrogant son of bitch and I were never friends, but his superiority complex isn’t why he hates me. He hates me because he couldn’t get the one thing in high school he wanted—Dahlia.
A hand grips my shoulder a little too tightly and draws my attention. I twist around, ready to deck the guy getting in my space.
“What’s going on?” Beck asks.
My teeth are gritted and the anger is all I can feel. He steps between me and them. He whispers something to them I can’t hear and they make their way toward the door.
“Yeah, you better leave,” I spit out.
Beck grabs me. “Shut the fuck up.”
I take a step back. “Yeah, sorry, man.”
His lips settle into a thin firm line. “Come on, man, let’s get out of here.” He pulls me toward the back door and Ruby is right behind him. I nod in her direction. The fraction of a smile graces her lips in return.
I look at Beck. “You two just got here. Don’t you want to stay and celebrate with me?”
He furrows his brow. “Let’s get you home and you can tell me all about what you’re celebrating.”
“Fair enough.”
“Hey, what happened to that drink?” the redhead asks, pulling on my shirt.
I turn around. “Yeah, sorry about that. I have to go.”
She stands there pissed as hell looking at me. I shrug, not really caring about being cordial right now.
“You’re an asshole,” she mutters.
“Yeah, I am,” I toss back at her.
We hit the outside a few seconds later and the sudden burst of air makes my stomach turn. Beck and Ruby walk in front of me not saying a word. They turn into the side alley where Beck’s Jeep is parked. I start to feel sicker with each step. I stop at his car but have to brace my hands against the brick of the building and hang my head. Inhaling and exhaling over and over, I catch my breath.
“You’re not going to barf in my car?” he asks.
I shake my head no and climb into the backseat with my head spinning.
Over his shoulder as he drives he asks, “Where are you parked?”
“I have no fucking idea.” I laugh.
“Are you for real?”
“What crawled up your ass?”
He slams his foot on the brake and jerks the car into PARK, then turns around. “I don’t want to see you ruin everything you’ve worked so hard to accomplish.”
His words are sobering. “I found out today I have a kid out there somewhere that I never knew about.”
Ruby’s head snaps in my direction.
Beck’s eyes soften. “Let’s get your vehicle and get you home and I’ll throw on a pot of coffee and we can talk about it.”
“Okay, man. I think my bike’s down on Melrose somewhere.”
Beck rides my motorcycle and Ruby drives his Jeep to Laguna. I fade in and out of consciousness until we hit the beach. The smell of the sea air awakens my senses. I stare out the window and into the vast body of water. Childhood memories assault me one after another—making sand castles, flying a kite, shell hunting. My phone is vibrating like a motherfucker, but I ignore it. When we get to my house, I sit at the kitchen table and cradle my head in my hands.
Beck makes the coffee and pulls three mugs from the cupboard.
Ruby sits beside me. She takes my hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I take a breath. “You know the girl I told you about?”
“The one with the French name?”
I can’t hold back a slight smile. “Yeah, S’belle. Well, her name is Bell.”
She nods, obviously already knowing this.
Beck sets three cups of coffee on the table and has a seat.
I take a sip of mine. “I . . .” I ponder how to say I fucked her one night without a condom and never thought twice about the lack of protection.
“You slept with her and she got pregnant?” Ruby asks.
I stare down at the table. “Yes, I slept with her one night my senior year of college when I had a girlfriend.”
“Dahlia?” she asks.
I nod, not really remembering how much I told her during any of my previous drunken ventures but ascertaining that I blabbed about plenty. “She told me today . . .” I tell them both everything that happened earlier this evening. They listen, no judgment or comment.
When I’m finished ba
ring my soul, Ruby asks, “Do you know if it was an open or a closed adoption.”
My eyes rise to hers. “I have no idea. What does it matter?”
“An open adoption usually has an option of contact.”
I shoot her a quizzical look.
“I’m adopted. I’ve known since I was six years old, but my adoption was closed.”
“Your parents told you when you were young,” I comment.
“Yes, they didn’t want me to feel any less loved and I didn’t. In fact, I grew up feeling extremely special. But a part of me wanted to know who my birth parents were. I went through the whole nature-nurture debate in my mind and when I turned eighteen I paid a woman five hundred dollars to locate my biological parents. She wasn’t able to find my birth father, but she gave me the address and phone number of my birth mother.”
“Why couldn’t she locate your birth father?”
“His name wasn’t recorded on the birth certificate.”
With my elbows on the table, I steeple my hands together and then look over toward Ruby. “Did you contact your birth mother? Did she tell you who he was?”
She shakes her head. “I love my parents—my adoptive parents, and once I had that piece of paper in my hand, I decided I didn’t need to know.”
Beck stands, lifting his empty cup. He looks down at Ruby. “We should go.”
She glances up at him and nods. She rises and shifts her eyes to me. “Ben, if you ever want to talk, call me.”
I walk them to the door and Beck leans over toward me. “You call me first the next time you feel the need to go to my bar. You know I’m always here to talk.”
I nod sincerely, shooting him an appreciative glance.
Staring at them as they walk to their car, I think about what Ruby said. Then I stand there wondering if someday in the future I’ll be sitting across from a person with a piece of paper in her hand with my name on it.
• • •
He runs down the stairs with a football tucked under his arm. He’s wearing a Chicago Bears football helmet and a blue jersey that’s too big for him. It looks so familiar.