“Okay, calm down. Yes, but—”
“But what, you little bastard? I told you to steer clear of me. Why do you always sneak your way into my life and try to take anything and everything away from me? What is it about me that makes you try so hard to take it all away from me?” He’s like a cancer that keeps rearing its ugly head.
“Dallas, what the hell? I don’t!”
“Yes! You do!”
Denton glares at me. “I swear, I didn’t know you had a thing for her. That’s not usually your MO. You’re usually done with them after you’ve had them. I thought you wouldn’t care. Honestly.”
I squint at him. My MO? God, is that what people think? I’m just plowing my way through the female co-eds? Saddest part is, he’s right, but to have this little bastard voice it, and then for it to mess up things with Carmyn—shit!
People are filing out onto the porch. I step back and run my fingers along my jaw to calm down. “Well, I do. Care, that is.” I turn around and walk away because Denton’s the last person I want to talk about this with.
I drive home and shower, lying low for the rest of the night. I have class with Carmyn on Tuesday morning. It takes everything I have to not call her and ask about the date right now. Better to wait until class, in person.
I walk into the most anticipated class I’ve ever had, and Carmyn doesn’t so much as look at me when I sit down. What the hell is her problem? “Are you at least gonna tell me what I did wrong?”
She looks at me now, but her eyes are colder than dry ice. “Denton.” Then she turns her head back to the front. That’s as much as she’s going to say.
Fucking shit. “You have to let me explain. There’s more to it than anyone knows.”
She peers over at me and her cold stare is a wind chill along my skin. “I’ll be asking Professor Keating to assign us new partners.”
My chest tightens with something unfamiliar. Panic. This can’t be happening. That bastard made me end up losing her anyway. “Chill out. Let me explain. If you still think I’m crazy, I’ll ask Keating myself to assign us new groups.”
She tilts her head. “Do I even really want to hear it?”
I swallow. That’s low. “So you’ll hear what everyone else has to say, probably ninety-nine percent of it fabricated, but you’d rather believe that than hear me out?”
Her face softens. “Okay, when you say it like that, it does seem unfair. So I’ll hear you out. But, if I still don’t like it, I want a different group.”
Shit. What the hell is she thinking I did? “Again, I’ll talk to Keating myself.”
She nods. “Fine. I’ll hear you out.”
“Can you meet me tonight?”
She looks at me with suspicion. “Where?”
“It’s still not a date, so settle your fine ass down. How about in the quad?” The fact that she’ll so willingly go on a date with Denton, but not with me, even if I were asking, irritates me further.
“Near the fountain,” she says. “What time? I don’t get off work until eight.”
“Does nine work?”
“Yeah, I can be there by then.”
And that’s as much as we talk for the whole hour and a half. When I get to the fountain at eight-thirty, I’m nervous as shit to tell her about Denton. I pace around the fountain. It doesn’t matter what she thinks. I shouldn’t have to explain myself to her.
But if that were true, I wouldn’t be circling this damn fountain like a bitch. And I guess I do owe her an explanation. I’ve kept this thing with Denton a secret from everyone, so how can I expect her to think any differently than how she is now? She probably thinks I’m some jealous, controlling asshole. At least she agreed to meet and hear me out.
But what if she still doesn’t want anything to do with me? The possibility bothers me much more than it ought to.
And how can I be so sure that what I tell her will stay within her strictest confidence? I guess I can always threaten her with the hairy ass mole again. That seemed to scare her good last time.
But this, shit. I guess I did it to myself by going all apeshit on Denton like that. I gotta make a choice: risk telling Carmyn my secret, or risk losing her before we get to—wherever—I don’t even fucking know where I want to take this.
I stop circling when I spot Carmyn coming out of the dorms, heading this way. Her hair is up, exposing her sleek, delicate neck. She looks fucking gorgeous.
“Hi,” I say when she reaches me.
“Hi.”
“How was work?”
She allows my small talk. “It was okay.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
I need to know where we’re starting here. “Okay, so what did you hear happened?”
She walks around the fountain to the other side and sits on a wooden bench.
I sit next to her.
“I guess the better question is what didn’t I hear.” She peers up at me from under her dark eyelashes. Her rum-filled irises sparkle in the lamppost’s light. “That you punched him, threw him to the ground, broke his arm, stabbed him. Some of it obviously not true.”
“All of that is definitely untrue.”
“Because he asked me out?” Now her face is tight again.
“Yes and no, and this is where the explanation comes in, so I need you to really hear me out, okay?”
“I’m here.”
“And please, what I’m about to tell you is pretty personal. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share it with anyone else.” Why am I about to divulge this to her? Why does it matter so much to me?
She inhales, taking on the weight of what I’m asking without giving full disclosure first. “All right.”
I’m relieved. “Thank you. So I told you about how my mom and dad divorced. I even told you it got messy and I chose my mom’s side.”
She nods.
Good, she’s empathizing. “Well, there’s more to it than that. The divorce happened because my dad had an affair. He cheated on my mom, and he got his mistress pregnant.”
Carmyn gasps and her hand shoots up to her mouth. “Dallas. Oh my God!”
“Well, that’s not all. The child? It’s Denton.”
She drops her hand and leans against the back of the bench. “Really? Denton Brown. I guess that makes sense. But I never put it together because Brown is such a common last name. So then, Professor Brown is your dad? And Denton … is your brother?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. We have the same dad. Professor Brown.”
She tilts her head at me. “Why not that far? That is what Denton is.”
“Because I don’t want anything to do with him.”
Her eyebrows dip. “How can you say that? He’s your brother.”
“I don’t consider him my … blood.”
She looks at me, confused. “You two have the same dad. Whether you like it or not, he is your blood.”
“I’m not the bad guy here. We’re not close. I don’t claim him. After my mom found out about him, my mom wanted Dad to give up that family and quit living his double life, but Dad wouldn’t give them up.”
“Wow.” She drops some of her defenses. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”
“It did. It does. It’s like Denton came into my life and took everything away from me. He took my dad, my summer camping trips with him, everything. And then I start hanging out with you, and he knows we, well, you know.” She nods. “And it all just came back up with him taking everything away from me.”
“So you did punch him?”
“No. I went over to his house, clutched the back of his neck as we descended the stairs, and yelled at him. That was it. As much physical contact he and I have had in years.”
She’s quiet for too many breaths.
“Say something.” I adjust on the bench.
“First, I empathize with you. I don’t think you’re a lunatic.”
I relax my shoulders, the kink in my neck twitching as it releases.
“Second, y
ou know it’s not Denton’s fault your dad did those things, right?”
What the hell? Is she siding with Denton? “Of course he didn’t cause my dad to cheat. But you haven’t been there; you don’t know the dynamic with him, my dad, and me.”
“All right,” she concedes. “Finally, if we’re going to be friends … “ I grin because we have officially graduated from acquaintances to friends. “Acquaintances, friends, it’s pretty much the same thing.”
I’m still smiling. “That’s what I thought too, but I’m not one to correct a woman. Especially not a woman who is already pissed at me.”
She laughs and the knot in my gut unfurls. “Smart boy. But finally, if we’re to be friends, you need to realize that I will date who I want, when I want, and I better not hear anymore of this nonsense about you going around beating people up over it, you hear?”
I raise my hand in an oath. “I’m not like that. I swear. You don’t even have to worry about it.” And I’m not, but a sudden urge comes over me to keep Carmyn occupied enough that she won’t have time to date anyone else.
“Sometimes you have to borrow strength from someone else until you’re strong enough on your own.”
—Carmyn Rafferty
THE bridal shop is a madhouse. Three brides came in to choose their wedding dresses, and all three asked for me. I’m hustling down an aisle with dresses hanging on each side, looking for a specific one. This lady wants a smooth look, but at the same time puffy and princessy.
I find it and rush back to her dressing room. “We only have a size four and ten in stock. I grabbed the ten, but we can alter it, no problem.”
I wait in anticipation for her to step out. I have a feeling this will be the one for her. And the look on a bride’s face when she finds that dress is a happiness I’ve never found anywhere else.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve found it with Dallas. He’s had me come over to his shop quite a bit lately. He’s working on a project he apparantly needs my help with, but I don’t really do anything when I’m there. Sometimes he’ll take measurements of my arm or my neck, but mostly I hang out, dancing or messing with his tools, while he sketches. I think it’s just an excuse for me to keep him company.
I was afraid to come back to work after the Becker incident, but surprisingly, it was easier than I anticipated. Certain things reminded me of Becker, but soon after I’d remember what an ass he is, so I didn’t have to dwell too long on anything sentimental.
I think I owe part of that to Dallas. He’s taught me that life goes on after “The Fall of the Plan.” And it does. It’s about making a choice. I could wallow in my grief that things didn’t turn out the way I’d hoped with Becker, or I could live each new day as if it really is a new day. I let my relationship with Becker define me for a long time. But I’m more than his girlfriend or his wife.
Dallas has helped me see that I’m fun and flirty and feisty. That I’m loyal to those I care about. And that I have a good head on my shoulders—I don’t need a man to be what I’m all about.
The bride comes out of her room and turns to the mirror, stepping onto the platform. Her smile starts small but grows until it lights up her whole face. “I love it. You’re right, it’s a little large in places, but this is beautiful.” Her eyes well with tears. She swipes at them and turns to her maid of honor. “This is it, don’t you think?”
Her friend stands and comes closer to appraise her, smiling as wide as the bride is. “You look stunning. I don’t think you need to try on anything else. This is perfect.”
I pick up one of the veils I brought over for her and place it on the back of her head, giving her the full effect.
She giggles and fingers the white lace hanging below her shoulders.
I help her with more of her accessories and hand her off to Emery to get her stuff ordered and alterations scheduled. Back I go to the dressing room to help another bride find that perfect dress.
By the time I make it home, I’m exhausted. I miss Dad, though, so I give him a call.
“Hey, biscuit,” he says. He’s called me that for as long as I can remember. He sounds tired.
“Long day for you too?” Dad works at the oil refinery. Has for years. He’s worked his way up, but he still puts in long hours and the job has never gotten easier. If anything, it’s become more stressful as he’s taken on more responsibilities.
“Yes, and your mother called.”
I frown. “She’s been calling me too.”
“She wants to talk to you.”
“I know, but you know it never goes well with her.”
“She says this time is different. She’s even asked for me to come to one of her therapy appointments.”
“And you believe her?” I’m stunned. I’m not sure what to think of that. She says every time that this new time is different, but she’s never asked Dad to go. “Are you going?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
I lie back on my bed and brush the hair off my forehead. I can’t let him deal with her by himself. But I really don’t want to go. I don’t want to see her.
Every time she does this, I hope it’ll be the time she heals, the time she sobers up for good, the time I might get back the version of my mom from before the divorce. And every time it’s not that time. I can’t go through this again.
And she shouldn’t be dragging Dad into it now, either. “Dad, we can’t go. She’ll never see that she’s the cause for all her problems. She’ll never stop blaming me for you finding out about her affair. She won’t take responsibility for her actions—she’s still saying she got into drugs because we had to move to the projects, but you and I both know she was using before that, and that’s why we had to move to the projects. She was blowing all our money on drugs.” I was in seventh grade then, old enough to see through her bullshit.
Dad was able to get me out of her home some time after that. Another thing she blames us for: me for not wanting to stay in that environment, and Dad for taking me—along with the child support check—away from her.
“Well, I’m not certain what I’ll do yet. If you don’t feel like you can handle it, you don’t have to go.”
“I know, but I don’t want you to go, either.”
“Don’t worry about me, biscuit.” This is Dad and me; we protect each other. “How’s school?” He doesn’t ask me about Becker anymore. He knows. And I’m sadder that the plans I had with Becker blew up in my face more than I am about actually losing him.
I tell him all about classes and work before hanging up for the night. I can’t help but worry what kind of shitstorm Mom is going to kick up for us. Nothing about this can turn out well. At least not when she’s involved.
“The moment you hand your balls over to a woman,
you’re whooped.”
—Dallas Brown
I’VE spent the past few weekends with Carmyn at the shop. She’s been helping me with a piece I’m working on. She doesn’t know what it is yet, but it goes along with my plan of keeping her occupied.
This weekend is the first in a while that I’m not with Carmyn, so Randall, Nate, and Howie are on their way over. After I told Randall I wasn’t interested in going with them to the strip bar tonight, he said they had to come over and make sure I wasn’t under duress.
I pull out the leftover Jack from the freezer and take the shot glasses from the cupboard. I’d much rather chill here and get wasted.
The guys announce their arrival with their loud-ass clomping feet on the stairs outside my apartment. I open the door before they reach it. “What the hell do you bastards want?”
Randall throws his arm around my neck and pushes through the doorway. “What kind of bullshit is this? When your boys invite you to go to the titty bar, you go to the ATM and roll out with them.”
I shrug out from under his arm. “Just don’t feel like going. Plus, I have a bottle of Jack. About time we got rid of it.” I lead them into the kitchen and pour shots.
We drink
, get drunk. They forget all about the strip club until I start talking about Carmyn again.
“That’s it!” Randall says and points at me with both hands. “It’s Carmyn. That’s the reason why you wouldn’t go to the strip club. You’re whooped.”
I shake my head and laugh. “I am not.”
“Oh, yeah,” Howie adds. “Let me have a go at her, then.”
I force my face from becoming too serious. “I will kick your ass where you stand.”
“You are!” Nate says. “If she weren’t your sole plaything, you wouldn’t care if Howie tried to get her attention. But you do, so you are.”
“You clowns aren’t making sense anymore.”
“We’re making perfect sense. You’re the one who’s having a hard time following along. We invited you to the strip club. You said no. We come over here to find out why, and a little bit later, you start going off on Carmyn this and Carmyn that.” He’s drunk and animated with his hand gestures. “Bro, the last time you talked about a girl this much, it was your mom, the only other woman you love, so either you like to fuck your mom, or you’re falling for Carmyn.”
“Oooooohhhh!” Randall and Howie howl.
“I’m not whooped,” is all I say. But maybe I am falling for Carmyn. I don’t know. All I know is that when I’m not with her, I’m thinking about her. About her delicate black currant scent, the soft skin along her neck, the way her face squints at me when I say something she doesn’t like, or the chime in her laugh when I say something she thinks is funny. She’s more to me than a girl I like to hang out with, or even fuck. I don’t know what she is.
She’s just … more.
“A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer.
It sings because it has a song.”
—Maya Angelou
DALLAS asked me to meet him at his shop today, so I borrowed Ava’s car. I like hanging out with Dallas. He has a peace and calm about him that I enjoy.
A large, older man is sitting outside on a wooden rocking chair when I pull up. “Well, ain’t you a beauty.”
I widen my lips. He’s tatted up, but he seems harmless enough. I’ve not seen him all the other times I’ve been here. “Is Dallas here?”
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