by Joanne Ganci
Blondie
By Joanne Ganci
Copyright © 2019 Joanne Ganci
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems or used in any manner, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
FIRST EDITION
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Lydia
Lydia
Max
Lydia
Max
Lydia
Lydia
Lydia
Max
Lydia
Lydia
Max
Lydia
Max
Lydia
Lydia
Lydia
Lydia
Max
Max
Lydia
Lydia
Max
Lydia
Max
Lydia
Max
Lydia
Max
Lydia
Max
Lydia
Max
Lydia
Lydia
Max
Lydia
Lydia
Lydia
Max
Lydia
Lydia
Max
Lydia
Max
Lydia
Jo's Ramblings
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About the Author
I wouldn't admit this to anyone, but the day you left broke me. We were supposed to have forever, but your dreams took you away. I guess I just wasn’t a good enough reason for you to stay.
- Lydia -
Lydia
1
I’ve been lying here staring at the ceiling for several minutes. There’s no reason for me to be awake, let alone 20 minutes before my alarm is supposed to go off. But it’s that day again.
March 23rd.
Every year I have the same vivid dream and wake up clutching my chest, tears streaming down my face. The pain hitting me so hard, I forget that so much time has gone by. Max left nine years ago today. But it feels like yesterday when I let myself think about it. I’ve tried to block the thoughts of him out of my mind. And for the most part, I do a damn good job. But I’m not strong enough to block out this day.
I don’t know if I ever will be.
March 23 - Eight Years Ago
“Lydia, sweetie, you have to get up. You have class today,” Mom says, rubbing my back in slow, soothing circles. Her cheery tone is punctuated by an exasperated sigh, though. I don’t blame her. She’s been trying to coax me out of bed for the last hour.
I’ve spent all of that time staring at the wall, putting all of my effort into keeping the tears at bay. Not saying a single word in reply. Even if I could find the strength to speak, I don’t think she would understand anything I was saying. My throat is swollen, and I can hardly open my eyes from all the crying I've done.
It’s been a whole year.
I’ve spent an entire fucking year drifting through each day, waiting for everything to stop hurting. This was supposed to be the best year of my life. Max and I had plans—plans he apparently never cared about—but he changed his. I guess he just forgot to include me in them.
Mom squeezes my shoulder and tries to get me to roll over, but I bury myself further into the covers. “Lydia, please,” she begs.
I hate that I’m putting her through this. I hate that I’m still this wrecked over him. I fucking hate him. But even more, I hate that I still love him.
“I can’t,” I croak out, my voice breaking on the two short words that sum up my entire outlook on life. Those pesky tears fall haphazardly, as if punishing me for daring to speak.
She sighs, and I feel the bed shift as she gets up. I listen to the sound of her feet shuffling on the wood floor as she leaves my room. When I know she’s out of hearing distance, I break down again. I sob into the pillow I'm clutching, because if I don’t Mom will just come back in the room. I don’t know if I can keep it in anymore. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to put the mask back on. Not today.
I’m so fucking angry. I thought I was done crying over him.
For the first month he was gone, I spent every night crying myself to sleep. Every fucking night. But eventually that stopped. It was as if I had run out of tears. I still felt broken, but they refused to fall. That’s when I started to pretend everything was okay. I would get up and go about my day, smiling when I was supposed to, laughing at people’s jokes, but none of it meant anything.
I was a hollow shell of the girl I once was. But at least I had stopped crying.
Then, as the anniversary of the day my life imploded drew nearer, the nightly crying sessions started back up.
I’ve been dreaming of him for over a week now. Just glimpses of his face or our spot. They hurt, but they were manageable.
Last night, I dreamt I was in his arms again and when I woke up, the pain of him leaving hit me like a fucking freight train. I wasn’t in his arms, and I never would be again. It feels like he left me all over again.
Everything hurts so fucking bad.
When I woke up, I swear I felt my heart shatter in my chest. I don’t know how it’s possible, because I’m not even sure it ever pieced itself back together after he broke it.
*
I never got out of bed on that first anniversary. The pain was still too fresh. Over the years I’ve learned that it’s best to take the day off. I’m just not myself, I always revert into the same broken girl I was when he left. Unfortunately, I also learned that I can’t just stay in bed all day either.
∞∞∞
“Dust off your boots, we’re going line dancing, Bubbles.” Mary looks at me like I’m fucking crazy, and maybe I am. But I need to go out tonight and drink enough to forget everything.
“Lydia, I know it’s Saturday, but I can’t go out. I work the opening shift tomorrow.”
“Pleaseeeee.” I give her my best puppy dog face. She looks like she’s about to cave, but isn’t quite there yet. “I need to get drunk tonight. Asking Rachael isn’t an option, she’ll just make me talk about my feelings. I just want to forget those exist tonight.”
“What’s so special about...” she trails off, and I know she realizes what today is when she gives me this look of pity.
“Don’t. This is why I don’t ask Rachael. I just want to get drunk and dance, Mary. Can you fucking do that with me, please?”
“Oh, honey, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“I said don’t. I’ll see you at Gator’s at seven.” I storm out of the coffee shop that Mary owns—The Busy Bean—and start walking up the street toward Jenkins, Parker’s auto shop. If anyone will just let me be, and avoid my feelings, it’s my younger brother.
I can’t even hear myself think over the rock music Parker has blaring through the sound system he installed in the garage of his shop. It’s perfect. I learned the hard way I can’t be alone today, but I don’t want to sit around talking. I’ve done both of those things in the past, and they don’t fucking help.
I can handle myself on every other day of the year. 364 days of normal Lydia. I mean, I’ll never be the same girl I was before, but it’s been long enough, that I’m okay with the woman I am now. Now, instead of wallowing, I try to
cope with the onslaught of feelings the best way I know how: avoidance and booze.
Parker’s rolled up underneath a beat up Chevy pickup. I kick his leg to get his attention, because lord knows he’ll never hear me if I try to call his name. He rolls out and glares at me, “What the fuck, Lyd?”
“Hi, baby brother, just wanted to let you know I was here to keep you company.” I give him a sweet smile that I already know he won’t buy.
“Cut the bullshit. I know what day it is. You know you can always come here and hide out, but quit kickin’ me to announce your arrival. Just take a fuckin’ seat somewhere. I’ll figure out you’re here eventually.”
“But where’s the fun in that?” I kick him again just for fun and move over to the chair he keeps for visitors.
“Bitch.”
“I heard that!”
“You were meant to.” He tosses me the middle finger and rolls back under the truck.
I fucking love my brother. To most people that exchange would seem offensive. But to us, it’s just another way we show our love.
Growing up I was always closer with my older brother Julian, since we’re closest in age—he’s only 14 months older than me. But the past few years I’ve been hanging out with Parker more and more. He likes to keep to himself most of the time, and with his surly attitude, he doesn’t have a hard time doing so. But I know he’s a sweetheart underneath the beard, tattoos, and that pissed off expression. I wish he’d let more people in to see that, though.
I grab my Kindle out of my purse and open up the latest reverse harem novel on my To Be Read list. I’ve been holding off on reading it until today, I knew I would need a distraction. This book promises to do exactly that. Unlike my best friend, Rachael, these books are pure fantasy for me. I can’t even get one man to date me, let alone a harem to worship the ground I walk on. I’m more than happy to live vicariously through the main characters of my books until a decent man comes around. Fat chance of that happening in Midland, but this is home. I’ve got my family, my friends, and my library here. If all I’m missing is a man, I’d say I’m doing pretty damn good.
Hours later, I’m texting Rachael when Parker comes over. He kicks a nearby bucket, plopping down once it's upturned and glares at me. “Can I help you?” I ask him before he burns a hole in the side of my head with those laser beams.
“Sure. You can tell me where the fuck you’re going to get drunk tonight, so I can come pick you up.”
“How would you know I’m going to get drunk tonight? Maybe I’m going home to have a nice, quiet evening to myself,” I retort, glaring back at him.
“Because I’m not stupid. I just want to make sure you’re safe. You’re my sister and I love you. I saw you go through the first few years before I moved out, not to mention the year I had to drag you from the bar, back to my place. I know it’s gotten a little easier each year, but you always turn back into a ghost or you get drunk. You’re here, and you don’t seem like a ghost to me, so I know the plan is to get drunk.”
My eyes well up with tears. “I didn’t realize you noticed so much. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for. Just tell me where you’re going, and we’re good.”
“I’m going to Gator’s with Mary.” Before he can respond, I pull him into my arms, hugging his neck. “Thank you, Parker. You’re the best brother a girl could ask for.”
Lydia
2
Pushing the door to Gator’s Bar and Grill open, I’m immediately hit by the smell of cheap beer. Country music and laughter echoes through the open space, and a smile spreads across my face. This is exactly what I need.
I make a quick sweep over the place, looking to see who’s come out tonight. There are a few guys here I wouldn’t mind dancing with later on, but first I need to find Mary. And get a damn drink.
I spot her unmistakable copper hair down at the end of the bar. “Hey, Bubbles! Thanks for coming out tonight.” I wrap my arms around her in a hug, before plopping down on the stool beside her.
“Oh, stop. I’m happy to be here. I probably won’t be saying the same thing in the morning, but I can’t fucking wait to dance. I haven’t been out in ages.”
“See? This was a great idea. We both needed to go out.” My hips start swiveling to the beat of the music blaring through the speakers, and I wave Pat over from the other end of the bar. He nods and holds up a finger, letting me know he’ll be right over. “I’m so glad it’s Pat behind the bar tonight. He’s never stingy with his pour, and I’m going to need as much as I can get.”
Mary tosses her hair over her shoulder, to give me a disapproving look. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Lyd. Maybe try pacing yourself?”
“Fuck that! I’m here to drink and dance and drink some more.” She sighs and I speak up before she can say anything else. “It’s Saturday, and I don’t have work tomorrow. I just want to have a good time.” Maybe if I say it enough one of us will start to believe it. Thankfully I see Pat coming our way before she can call me out on my bullshit.
He lets out a whistle as he approaches. “I swear, y’all get more beautiful every time you come in here. Now if I could just get ya to come see me more often, I might be able to die a happy man.”
“You’re so sweet, Pat. But we both know you’re just vying for tips,” Mary points out. She has her elbow resting on the bar and her hand in a fist, propping up her tilted head. Her eyes sparkle with a dare to deny it.
“I would never. Mary Louise Montgomery, you are by far the most beautiful girl to ever walk into this bar, and you damn well know it. My tips are doin’ just fine. I can stop complimenting you if you’d prefer?” He quips, laughter sparking in his blue-green eyes.
“Patrick Hutchins, don’t you dare stop complimenting me,” Mary demands, laughing. “I just like pushing your buttons is all.” She flutters her eyelashes playfully, before dissolving into laughter. Mary is fucking gorgeous, and I’m pretty sure Pat has had a crush on her since we were in high school. Midland is quite limited in the dating pool, but her options are a little more plentiful than mine, since she’s an equal-opportunity lover. Even with the extra options, she doesn’t date much.
“Would y’all quit flirting, so I can get some whiskey?” I plead, shaking my head. I’m doing my best to pull off an angry look, and it’s almost impossible with Mary around. Lucky for me, I’ve had a lot of practice being pissed off. Smiles won’t come freely until I down at least a few shots.
“Coming right up, Lydia,” Pat says, deciding now would be a good time to start doing his job. But not before winking at Mary and blowing her a kiss.
He comes back and lays out the glorious whiskey in front of me.“Thanks, Pat.” I throw back the first two shots and immediately ask for another.
“Damn, Lydia. You’re not fucking around tonight,” he says as he passes over a third shot.
“Do I ever?” I ask with a wink before throwing the last one back and dragging Mary to the dance floor. Watermelon Crawl is playing and we jump right in.
Everyone is in sync, and I get lost in the repetitive motions of a dance I’ve done a million times. Three songs later, I duck out of the line and head back to the bar. “Better give me a beer with my shot this time, Pat.”
“Yes, ma’am. I saw you moving out there. Sure you don’t want a water, too?”
“And dilute my alcohol? No thanks!” I burst into laughter. I’m having such a good time, I almost forget what today is. But it’s impossible. My face falls as soon as those unwelcome thoughts make their way back into my head. I definitely don't want to answer any questions about my sudden mood change, so I plaster on a smile and thank Pat when he passes me my drinks.
The DJ announces that the music is going to change pace and quickly reassures the crowd that the line dancing will pick up in about an hour. Mary plops down on the stool beside me, smiling and laughing. “That was amazing! Why don’t we do this more often?”
“Because you work Sundays, an
d usually refuse my offer,” I deadpan.
“Well, that’s sober Mary talking. She’s boring. Drunk Mary loves to dance.”
“Hey, drunk Mary. I’m Travis. Wanna dance with me?” A deep voice asks from behind us. We swivel around to check this Travis out. He’s tall, bearded and sexy as fuck.
Mary glances at me and I give her a nod of approval. “I would love to dance with you, Travis.” He grabs her hand and twirls her over to the dance floor in a flourish. I watch on as he pulls her in, and she throws her head back in laughter. The pure joy radiating off of her is infectious. Sitting back, I nurse my beer with a smile on my face, watching Mary and Travis command the dance floor.
“You plannin’ on watching all night, or are you gonna find yourself a man to drag you around the floor too?” Pat asks from behind me.
“Why? You offering, Patrick?” I quip over my shoulder.
“If you’re saying yes, I most certainly am. Jo can handle the bar for a couple of songs.”
Patrick Hutchins is an attractive man. He’s tall, muscular—but not overly so—and he has the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen on a man. “Give me another shot and get your fine ass out here then.”
“Your wish is my command, gorgeous,” he tells me, before shouting over to Jo to let her know he’s stepping away. I take my shot as he makes his way out from behind the bar. When he reaches my side, I grab his outstretched hand and let him pull me onto the dance floor.
He swings me around, pulling a massive smile out of me. Dancing to country music is and always will be my favorite. We’re moving together like we’ve been doing this our whole lives. Then the song changes to a slower one. One that begs you to take your person in your arms and press as close as possible. He lifts an eyebrow in question, and I step in closer.
I lean into him as we sway together to the beat. Tears prick my eyes and I bury my face in his chest. Not now. I’m having a good time. Please don’t start the waterworks.
I sniffle and Pat moves his head to whisper in my ear, “I’ve got you, darlin’.” Stupid sweet man, now I’m crying harder. No man has truly had me in a long fucking time. Nine years to be exact. I spend the rest of the song trying to gain my composure. “You good? Or do you want to keep dancing, Lyd?”