“Oh, this makes sense.” Her voice is too sugary. “By the way, Holland, I’m so sorry for your loss. And thanks for the sacrifice you and your late husband made for our country. You both are the true heroes.”
Well, hell, now she’s acting nice as his dog comes to greet Maguire. He kneels down. “Hey, boy, missed me?” His voice changes from his tough guy vibrato to one I would have thought he had used on Scott when he was a little boy. Looking up at me, he begins, “Holland, this is Ranger.” He stands, still petting the dog. “And, Ranger, this is Holland.” The dog approaches me with his cold nose while I’m on my knees, and he’s nudging me to pet him.
“Hey, boy.” I caress his fur when Maguire puts his arm around Kat. I become irrationally angry. But it’s not intimate. He’s leading her to the car parked in front of the large garage on the other side of the big gravel driveway I somehow missed when we pulled up.
With Ranger on my heels, I open the door to his house, as Maguire says goodbye to Kat. I say good riddance. Sliding the front door open, I’m met with a house that screams Maguire Parrish. A couple feet from the door is a couch that sits perpendicular to the sliding front doors. A huge television sits in front of it. The sofa looks uncomfortable as hell, all contemporary. Behind the couch is the dining room table next to the kitchen. It’s small, but a sizeable butcherblock island gives a definition between the kitchen and dining room space. The kitchen takes up the whole wall on the back part of the house, with open shelving holding all white dishes.
Back in the small living room, against the same wall as the kitchen, is a little desk where Scott and my wedding picture sits. And to finish up the open living space is his La-Z-Boy chair. It’s one large rectangle that encompasses the living room, dining room, and kitchen. A hallway leads back from the dining room to one end of the house with another hallway that leads to the other end.
I’m attempting to guess where my room is when Maguire enters, with his duffle bag and one of my suitcases. “Fuck, I’m so happy to be home.” He sees me in the middle of everything when he cocks his head to the left. “Your room is back here.” The hallway from the living room is the road I should have taken and almost did. But now, I want to see what his room looks like. Is it as perfect for Maguire as the rest of his house?
He opens one of the three doors down at the end of the small hallway. “Here you go, darlin’.”
The room is tiny, a full-size bed in the space with a long dresser and a single nightstand. “I wanted something that’s yours. I had Ned’s wife, Elise, pick out a new bedspread for you.”
I like it, it’s a purple paisley print. “She washed it along with the sheets. You can crawl into bed anytime. Kat brought us lasagna if you’re hungry.”
I turn, not sure what to say. “You mean, Kat, your not-girlfriend. She certainly didn’t know I was coming.”
His chin hits his chest and his hands rub his forehead. “Darlin’, Kat and I have an arrangement. I don’t date. Neither does she. I enjoy her company. We are what we need. Please don’t make it something it’s not. But at the same time, I don’t like to fuck senseless women. It’s not wrong what we have and somehow when you bring it up, it seems very, very wrong.” He turns, walking away from me. “So, I’m getting myself some of her food. You can go to bed or you can join me. The choice is yours.”
Chapter 15
How does this little girl get under my skin so easily? And Kat—showing up like she had. For a second, I thought she’d get her hackles up, but she didn’t. She only hugged me, whispering in my ear all she could do to make me feel better. Yeah, I can’t say when I’ve been jacking off the last couple of weeks, she’s the face I see.
Kat will always be special to me, even if she’s the woman I sleep with, too. I open up the oven where she left our dinner. I’m excited to be eating a home-cooked meal after all these weeks of consuming most of my breakfasts, lunches, and dinners at every diner from North Carolina to here.
But as I settle in, grabbing a plate from the open shelves, the presence of Scott in my house is all around me. The memories are closing in like my home is shrinking by the second. On the fridge is a picture he sent of Mark and him overseas on one of his tours. I have an old photo of him in a soccer uniform I’ve kept out since he was ten, at my eye level. It’s faded though I still see the same toothy grin which has greeted me every morning when I grab cream for my coffee.
A coat rack sits at the front door, and I turn to see his Tarheels cap he’d forgotten when he visited a couple months ago. Man, for a kid from Virginia, he could have bled Carolina blue. It was imprinted in his soul. He’d watch every basketball game as if he was playing in it himself.
I walk over, ignoring the lasagna that had been the beacon at first to bring me in the kitchen. I pull off the hat, where Scott left it. I smell it—it still has his aroma. I turn to see Holland and his wedding picture on the desk on the same wall as the kitchen. It sits next to a framed picture of his handprints he made for me before Christine moved him to Virginia. Like the soccer picture, it’s faded, but his little hand reminds me of all the times when he was small, he’d reach out and hold my hand to say, “I love you, Daddy. I hope I grow big and strong like you.” Remembering those words in my mind, I sit down at the desk, holding his picture—looking at it like the lifeline it now is to the memories I have of my son.
I stand, grabbing the lasagna from the stove to place it quickly in the fridge. I can’t eat, not now. I go back to the picture of his hand, pull it toward me, and hug it to my body. I don’t stop until I get to my bedroom where I sit and cry for the son I’ll never hold or hug again.
After ten minutes of pouting in my room, I owe Maguire an apology. He’s right. It’s consensual. Why have I allowed my panties to get in a bunch over it? I know the answer to that question but hell on a sticky bun, I can’t admit it out loud.
In the open living space encompassing the den, dining room, and kitchen, I don’t see Maguire. The oven is empty. The lasagna is uncovered in the fridge. I rummage through the drawers to get some tin foil to cover it. Behind the kitchen on the complete opposite end of the house from my room, I hear a muffled noise. I can’t make it out, not at first. But nosy as I am, I walk toward his door. It takes me a minute. He’s crying. Something about Scott, from the pictures of him on the fridge to the other memories he has of him in this house, must have become too real to him at this moment.
I stand still. Should I knock? Go to him to be his comfort? Let him hold me as we grieve together. I can’t—for so many reasons I won’t try to articulate. I slide down the wall next to his room. Memories assault me of my last conversation with my husband. It was a Skype call.
“Hell, Holland, I miss you so much.” I’ve been crying ten minutes before he called, missing him though I’d just seen him a couple weeks before. “Holly, honey, have you been crying?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I begin, I can never keep anything from him. “I just miss your strong arms keeping me safe.”
He winks at me. “I know, hon.” Emotions make him uncomfortable and he always shies away from them, because he doesn’t know how to comfort me from afar. He gets a smile on his face. I know where this is leading. “Want to hear a joke, Holly?”
I smile because this is my man, my jokester, and I love him so much. And his jokes are sure to make me laugh because they are always dirty. “Sure, hit me,” I begin.
“What’s the difference between a tire and three hundred and sixty-five used condoms?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.
I take the bait, “I have no idea, babe.”
He begins to laugh before he delivers the punch line. “One’s a Goodyear. The other’s a great year.” We both erupt in loud laughter. We talk for another ten minutes, nothing exceedingly memorable, but I’ll always have that last laugh to help me to remember the good times.
Maguire’s cries intensify. I know he needs his space, to truly get them out. He’ll put on a brave face for me, so I stand quietly an
d head back to my room where I’m sure to do the same thing—grieving for the loss I’m confident I’ll never get over.
Chapter 16
I wake up to Ranger’s nose on my own. The sun is shining through a couple of blinds that aren’t turned the correct way. I don’t remember falling asleep and I’m still in my jeans from yesterday. The breakdowns that come over me too quickly have so many emotions I can’t explain. I’ve never sifted through all the feelings that converge on me quickly. Not when I caught Christine in bed with another guy or when she took Scott away. It’s a sensation I’m unable to put into words. And receiving sympathy from anyone makes it ten times worse. I’m not one who wears my emotions on my sleeve. My mind silently reminds me that I’m still in this world where my son no longer exists.
I push my sheets back while Ranger jumps off the bed. How in the world did he not only get back into the house, let alone in my room? But I’ve missed my furry friend. “Boy, you need to go out?” I somehow had shed my t-shirt, opening the door to brewed coffee. I’m out of my element and have lost my bearings when I round the corner to the kitchen, running smack dab into someone. Oh, shit, for a split second I’d forgotten I’m now sharing my house with another person.
“Ah, crappity crap—you scared me.” Holland’s voice is loud, louder than she typically is in the morning.
When she backs up, she looks up and down. It’s now I realize I have no shirt on. Above my heart is the word Scott with his date of birth. Her eyes fixate on it, my son’s name etched in my skin.
“Wow, I had no idea.” She reaches for Scott’s name and immediately drops her hand. “How long have you had it?”
I worm around her, attempting to get away from her gaze. “Um, I got it the day Christine left for Virginia when Scott was six.” The loss of him that day had always been what I compared loss to until Christine called me with the news over a month ago.
“I’ve been thinking of getting a tattoo, too, for Scott, where I can carry him around with me everywhere.”
My back is to her, Ranger at my feet ready for me to let him out. Holland is getting closer to me, as I’m desperate to have space between us without a shirt.
“Wanna go out, boy?” I ask my dog, walking to the back door. And with how loud my daughter-in-law walks, she’s close on my heels. “That’s not a bad idea,” I mention, about the tattoo. I’m on my way back to my room and she’s still fucking following me.
“Maybe we can go today?” Why does she have to be so loud when it’s just her and me in the house, but for once, it’s not the loudness of her voice, it’s her words.
“Darlin’, you can’t get a tattoo now.” I twist my body as I stand in front of my bedroom door. Her hands are on her hips. Shit, I have got to get some clothes on. But as I watch her, pissing me off a little with her absurd, ‘let me get a tattoo while I’m pregnant,’ kind of claim, she’s also as cute as ever. I’m trying to make the wood of my cock calm down a bit.
“Why can’t I get a tattoo?” she asks.
I point to her belly as I turn around and she begins to follow me as I cross the threshold to my bedroom. I turn as her foot is about to step over it. “Um, darlin’, can you give me a second?” I shut the door pretty much in her face, but I need a moment to calm the fuck down. As soon as I relax, my fucking boner sprouts to life and I’m relieved it’s just me. Fuck, I need to get laid, to get her out of my system.
I leave Holland to her thoughts for a while as I get into the shower. Shit, I need to jack off, but if I do, I’ll be jacking off to the images of Holland.
Holland is sitting on the couch. It’s faced away from my bedroom and all I can see are the purple strands falling over it. She must hear the creak of my door and she twists her body around. I’ve taken thirty minutes for me and now I’m showered and shaved. Grabbing for my own keys I’ve not used in a month, I make my way to the sliding front door, pulling at my UCLA ballcap that’s right next to Scott’s Heels hat.
“Darlin’, I’ve got an errand to run. I’ll be back shortly.”
She stands. “Wait, can I come? I don’t want to be left alone here on my first day.”
Ranger scratching at the front door directs my attention to him, and not Holland.
“Sorry, I need some time to myself—a little breather, going to see Ned and chat about some business stuff. I’ll be back soon and then I’m yours the rest of the day.” Well, shit, what am I saying?
She sits back down, her phone in her hands. “Um, okay.” Her voice goes quiet and I don’t miss her disappointment.
I let Ranger in and he moves over to Holland. He jumps on the couch, laying his head on her lap. “Well, aren’t you the sweetest eighty-pound lap dog,” Holland says as I shut the door.
I knock on her door lightly. I’m not sure I want to be here. But I need something to get Holland out of my system. I’m a dick, using her like this, but it’s what we do. Use each other for this need—this desire.
She opens the door. I have no idea if her daughter is at her dad’s this weekend. We don’t involve our kids, that’s not how this works. She pulls it back, just enough to see me when a broad grin covers her face.
Kat is beautiful. She’s appropriately aged for me at thirty-seven. Her ex-husband’s extracurricular duties included him sharing his seed with the greater Northern California population like a cat in heat.
Kat’s light blonde hair falls over her shoulders. Her almost gray eyes sparkle. Could I have loved Kat? Possibly if we hadn’t been screwed up by each other’s exes. Her divorce is much more recent, where the travesties of Christine continue to haunt me, especially now.
I don’t say anything, but push her up against the wall. “Is Adeline here?” I ask.
Her lips have already found their way to my neck, peppering kisses down it. “No, at her dad’s.” She’s multi-tasking, unbuttoning my pants, pulling them down just a bit as her hand wraps around my shaft. “Shit, M, I’ve missed you.” It’s what Christine called me all those years ago. I didn’t put a stop to it because Kat is different than Christine. It helps me to remember I can’t lump all women into the Christine category.
Pulling at her arms, I push them roughly above her head. “Yes, you know how I like it.” I look into her eyes and still.
I expect to see the deep dark brown color, not the gray of Kat’s. She’s staring at me. This is a good woman. But all I can think about as I look at her hair falling right above her tits is what it would look like with purple ends. “Shit, Kat,” I say, buttoning up my pants, “I’m sorry, I just can’t right now.” I don’t wait for a reply; I only turn around and jet out. Fuck, I’m such a prick.
I’m at the lake on my property, but instead of taking the road that leads to my house and then the service road that heads out to the lake, I make my way around, avoiding my home. Avoiding my daughter-in-law. I look at my phone and my heart falls.
I step outside and stare at the calm waters housing many residents. I opted to have my house built away from the lake, giving me the seclusion I need. I didn’t want speed boats flying by my house with jet skis. But to be near the water, a half of a mile had been the cherry on the top. I have a little dock and my boat here. But for now, I sit on the top of my own pickup truck to think when a text comes through.
Kat: I can’t imagine what you’re going through, M. I’m here. Just know this.
She thinks I bolted because I miss my son. I do miss my son. But it’s not why I ran. I couldn’t have sex with her when another person’s face is floating through my mind.
“Maguire.” Her loud but sweet voice pulls me out of my daydreams. “What are you doing here?”
She has Ranger on a leash. The traitor seems to have found another human he may like more than me. I stay propped on the hood of my Tundra. “Just thinking. I come here when I need some perspective.”
“Yeah, I can see why. I had no idea where your dog was taking me until I rounded the corner and saw you.” She stands in front of me
and points to the part of the hood I’m not sitting on. “Do you mind?”
I reach for her hand when she puts one foot on my bumper, and I haul her up. With the wind blowing, I catch a faint hint of sandalwood, which is odd on a girl. And as much time as I’ve spent with her, her scent changes from day to day as does her crazy clothes. She’s back to wearing a large ass white men’s t-shirt, a pair of neon green leggings with silver hearts speckled throughout and pink Converse shoes.
“Did you get a chance to see Ned?” she asks.
I shake my head back and forth. “No, never made it that far.” She can’t see my eyes; they’re covered by my aviators.
“Shitake mushroom, this sunlight,” she begins, not asking me if I’ve been anywhere.
I pull my aviators from my face, bringing the bill of my cap down. “Here, use these.” She smiles, putting my sunglasses on. “Do you need to go anywhere? Maybe get some food for the house. Specific things you like? I mean, Kat got the bare necessities.”
At the mention of Kat, she turns her head, “Look, about Kat, I was a bitch yesterday. It’s hard to understand your relationship with her, especially since I miss my husband so fuc—I mean, freaking much. But you’re right, you’re an adult, hurting no one. If she brings you comfort, then go do what you do.”
I don’t want to talk about this, not any longer, especially after what had happened today. “Um, thanks.” I leave it at that. “So, want to go to the grocery store later?” I suggest.
“Sure, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to just sit here for a while.”
Her stare has not left the lake. My stare doesn’t leave her profile. “Sure, darlin’, whatever you’d like.”
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