Things We Never Got Over

by Lucy Score

  “I’ll just spread this out,” Mom said, draping my father’s ratty bathrobe over one of the armchairs. She hated the robe and had tried six ways to Sunday over the years to get rid of it. But Dad always found a way to resurrect it.

  She plopped down on the robe-covered chair and patted the one next to her. “Sit. Talk.”

  I shook my head even as I sat. “Mom, I’m really not in the mood to talk right now.”

  “Well, tough shit, sweetie.”

  “Mom!”

  She shrugged. “I’ve let you get away with this ‘don’t be a burden’ routine for far too long. It was easier for me to rely on you to always behave. To always be the easy daughter. And that’s not fair to you.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, dear, sweet, heart-of-gold daughter of mine: Stop trying to be so damn perfect.”

  I wasn’t sure if I was prepared to have this conversation any more than the Knox conversation.

  “You’ve lived your whole life trying to make up for your sister. Trying to never burden anyone, never ask for anything you needed, never disappoint.”

  “I feel like that’s something a parent wouldn’t want to complain about,” I said defensively.

  “Naomi, I never wanted you to be perfect. I just wanted you to be happy.”

  “I’m…happy,” I lied.

  “Your father and I did everything we could to help Tina be happy and healthy. But it wasn’t her path. And it took years, but we finally understood that it wasn’t our path to turn her into someone she’s not. We did our best with your sister. But Tina’s choices are not a measure of our worth. It’s a tough lesson, but we got it. Now it’s your turn. You can’t live your entire life trying to make up for your sister’s mistakes.”

  “I wouldn’t say that’s how I’ve lived my entire life,” I hedged.

  Mom reached over and brushed her hand over my cheek. I felt the grit of dirt transfer to my skin. “Whoops! Sorry about that.” She licked her thumb and leaned in for the Mom polish.

  “I’m too old for this,” I complained, backing away.

  “Listen, sweetie. You’re allowed to have needs. You’re allowed to make mistakes. You’re allowed to make decisions your father or I might not agree with. It’s your life. You’re a beautiful, big-hearted, intelligent woman who needs to start figuring out what she wants.”

  What did I want?

  Right now I just wanted to crawl in bed and pull the covers over my head for a week. But I couldn’t. I had responsibilities. And one of those responsibilities had conned my father into taking her to the mall.

  “Do you even want to be a guardian?” Mom asked.

  I stilled at the question.

  “I can’t imagine that taking in a soon-to-be twelve-year-old fit neatly into your life plan.”

  “Mom, I couldn’t just let her end up with strangers.”

  “What about your father and me? You didn’t think we’d be thrilled to make room in our lives for a granddaughter?”

  “You shouldn’t have to raise your daughter’s daughter. It’s not fair. Dad’s retired. You’ll be there soon. That cruise was the first big trip you two have ever taken together.”

  “Do you want to be her guardian?” Mom repeated, ignoring my excellent points.

  Did I want this? Did I want to be a surrogate mother to Waylay?

  I felt an echo of that warm glow in my chest. It pushed back against the cold that had settled there.

  “Yeah,” I said, feeling my mouth do the impossible and curve into a small smile. It was the truth. I wanted this more than I’d ever wanted anything on my to do list. More than any goal I was single-mindedly marching toward. “I really do. I love her. I love being around her. I love when she comes home from school bursting with news to tell me. I love watching her grow into this smart, strong, confident kid who, every once in a while, lets her guard down and lets me in.”

  “I know how that feels,” Mom said gently. “I wish it would happen more often.”

  Ouch. Direct hit.

  “Knox and I broke up,” I said in a rush. “We were never really together. We were just having really, really great sex. But I accidentally fell in love with him, which he warned me not to do. And now he thinks I’m too complicated and not worth the effort.”

  Mom looked at her iced tea, then back at me. “I think we’re gonna need a stronger drink.”

  Hours later I tiptoed out onto the deck with my phone in hand. The phone he’d bought me. Which meant it needed to be smashed into a million pieces at my earliest convenience.

  The rest of the family was cleaning up from dinner. A dinner that Knox was conspicuously absent from. My mom had distracted Waylay from his absence by demanding a post-dinner fashion show of the new winter coat and sweaters my pushover father had bought her.

  I had a headache from fake smiling.

  I dialed the number before I could chicken out.

  “Witty! What’s up? Did they find the bastard who broke in?”

  I’d texted him and Sloane about the break-in. But this deserved a phone call.

  “Stef.” My voice broke on his name.

  “Shit. What happened? Are you okay? Is Waylay okay?”

  I shook my head, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat. When I remembered what Knox had said.

  “Do not shed one more tear over some asshole who never deserved you in the first place.”

  I cleared my throat. “Knox ended things.”

  “That gorgeous piece of garbage. Fake ended things or for real ended things?”

  “Real ended things. I’m too ‘complicated.’”

  “What the hell does he want? A simpleton? Simpletons are terrible in bed, and they’re worse at blow jobs.”

  I managed a pathetic chuckle.

  “Listen to me, Naomi. If that man isn’t smart enough to recognize how amazingly intelligent and beautiful and kind and caring and wickedly awesome at board games you are, it’s his loss. Which makes him the simpleton. I forbid you to spend one second of your time over-thinking this and coming to the false conclusion you’re the one with the problem.”

  Well, there went my evening plans.

  “I can’t believe I fell for him, Stef. What was I thinking?”

  “You were thinking, ‘here’s a gorgeous man who’s great in bed who walks my niece to the bus stop, breaks my ex’s nose, and brings me mid-afternoon coffee so I don’t get cranky.’ All the signs were there because he put them there. If you ask me—which I know you didn’t—I’m betting he wasn’t faking it. He was feeling it, and it scared the shit out of him. The beautiful, tattooed piece of chicken shit.”

  “I really need to stop texting you about everything that happens in my day,” I decided. “It’s co-dependent.”

  “I’ll bring it up with our couples therapist,” Stef quipped. “Listen. I’ll be back in Knockemout in a few days. What do you want to do until then? Get out of Dodge? Buy a new ‘fuck you’ wardrobe?”

  He meant it. If I said I felt like flying to Rome and spending a ridiculous amount of money on shoes, he would book the plane tickets. If I told him I wanted to get revenge on Knox by filling his house with Styrofoam peanuts and cat litter, Stef would show up at my house with a U-Haul packed with retribution supplies.

  Maybe I didn’t need a life partner. Maybe I already had one.

  “I think I want to pretend he doesn’t exist long enough that I forget he does,” I decided.

  I wanted to make him not matter. I wanted to not feel a damn thing when he walked into a room. I wanted to forget I’d ever fallen for him in the first place.

  “That’s annoyingly mature of you,” Stef observed.

  “But I want him to suffer while I forget,” I added.

  “That’s my girl,” he said. “So it’s a straightforward Ice Queen with a side of Swan.”

  I managed a watery smile despite the gaping hole in my chest cavity. “That sounds about right.”

  “Keep an eye on your mailbox
for an order from Sephora,” Stef said.

  No amount of expensive cosmetics would make me feel better. But I also knew that this was Stef showing me how much he loved me, and I could let him.

  “Thanks, Stef,” I whispered.

  “Hey. Keep your chin up, Witty. You’ve got a kid to set an example for. Resilience isn’t a bad trait to pass on. Get out there and have some fun. Even if it doesn’t feel fun right away, just fake it till you make it.”

  I had a feeling I’d be faking it for a very long time.

  Knox Morgan wasn’t the kind of man you got over. Ever.

  FORTY

  THE CONSEQUENCES OF BEING AN IDIOT

  Knox

  “Stop looking at me like that,” I ordered.

  Waylon huffed out a sigh that ruffled his jowls. He looked more mournful than usual, which was saying something for a basset hound. He was also sitting in my lap, with his paws on my chest, creepily staring at me.

  Apparently my dog wasn’t a fan of the fact that we were back at the cabin full-time.

  He didn’t see it as sparing Naomi from seeing me at the dinner table.

  He didn’t care that it was the right fucking thing to do.

  It was the right thing to do, I reminded myself.

  No matter how hurt she’d looked.

  “Fuck,” I muttered to myself, swiping a hand over my beard.

  Dragging it out would have only made things more complicated, hurt more feelings.

  She’d been so relaxed and happy, sitting across from me at Dino’s. So damn gorgeous I couldn’t look directly at her or look away. Then the light had gone right out of her.

  I’d done that. I’d extinguished it.

  But it was the right fucking thing.

  I’d feel better soon. I always did. The relief from ending a complication would come, and I wouldn’t feel so…unsettled.

  With nothing better to do, I popped the top on my third beer.

  It was Monday. I’d put in a full afternoon at Whiskey Clipper, moving into my office when clients and staff started shooting dirty looks at me. Word spread fast in Knockemout. I’d planned on working tonight at the bar, but when I’d walked in the door at Honky Tonk Max and Silver had booed me. Then Fi flipped me the bird and told me to come back when I learned how to be less of an asshole.

  This was why I didn’t mess around with Knockemout women.

  They were rattlesnake mean when riled. So here I was. Home for the night. Enjoying my solitude.

  It would all blow over soon. I’d stop feeling like shit. Naomi would get over it. And everyone would move the fuck on.

  Waylon let out another grumble and shot a pointed, droopy look at his empty food dish.

  “Fine.”

  He jumped down, and I fed him, then returned to the living room, where I flopped down on the couch and reached for the remote.

  Instead, my fingers found the picture frame. Since I had nothing better to do, I picked it up and studied it. My parents had been happy. They’d built a life for me and Nash. A good one.

  Until it had all crumbled because the foundation was unstable.

  I ran a finger over my mom’s smiling face in the photo and wondered for just a moment what she’d think of Naomi and Waylay.

  What she’d think of me.

  After a long pull from the bottle, I shifted my attention to my father’s face. He wasn’t looking at the camera, at whoever had taken the picture. His attention was on my mom. She’d been the light and the glue. Everything that had made our family strong and happy. And when she’d gone, we’d collapsed in on ourselves.

  I put the photo down, angling it away so I wouldn’t have to look into the past anymore.

  The past and the future were two places I had no business being. The only thing that mattered was right now. And right now…well, I still felt like shit.

  Ready to numb out for a night, I reached for the remote again when a loud knock sent Waylon galloping to the front door, ears flapping.

  I followed at a more dignified pace.

  Crisp, September evening air wafted in when I opened the door.

  Nash stood on the doorstep, jaw clenched, hands fisted at his side.

  “You’re lucky I gotta do this right-handed.”

  “Do wha—”

  I didn’t get a chance to finish the question before my brother’s fist connected with my face. Like any good sucker punch, it rang my bell and knocked me back a full step.

  “Ow! Fuck! What the hell, Nash?”

  He pushed past me and stomped inside. “What did I tell you?” he snarled over his shoulder. He opened my fridge and helped himself to a beer.

  “Jesus. Tell me about what?” I asked, working my jaw back and forth.

  “Naomi,” Lucian said.

  “Christ, Lucy. Where did you come from?”

  “I drove.” He clapped me on the shoulder and followed Nash into the kitchen. “Feel better?” he asked my brother.

  Nash handed him a beer and shrugged. “Not really. He’s got a hard face to go with that thick head.”

  “What are you two assholes doing here?” I demanded, swiping Lucian’s beer and holding it to my jaw.

  Nash handed him a fresh one.

  “Naomi, of course,” Lucian said, accepting the beer and squatting down to pet Waylon.

  “For fuck’s sake. That shit is none of your business.”

  “Maybe not. But you are,” Lucian said.

  “I told you not to fuck it up,” Nash said.

  “This is bullshit. You can’t just come into my house, punch me in the face, play with my dog, and drink my beer.”

  “We can when you’re being a stupid, stubborn son of a bitch,” my brother snapped.

  “No. Do not sit. Don’t make yourselves comfortable. I finally have a night to myself and I’m not wasting it with you two.”

  Lucian took his beer and wandered into the living room. He sank into one of the armchairs and put his feet up on the coffee table, looking content enough to stay there for the rest of the night.

  “Sometimes I really hate you assholes,” I complained.

  “Feeling’s mutual,” Nash growled. But his hand was gentle when he leaned over to give Waylon the loving he demanded. The dog’s tail blurred into happiness.

  “You don’t hate us,” Lucian declared mildly. “You hate yourself.”

  “Fuck off. Why would I hate myself?” I needed to move. I needed to buy a thousand acres and build a damn cabin in the damn middle and never tell a damn soul where I lived.

  “Because you just told the best thing that ever happened to you to take a damn hike,” Nash said.

  “A woman is never going to be the best thing that happens to me,” I insisted. The words tasted suspiciously like a lie.

  “You are the stupidest son of a bitch in the state,” my brother said wearily.

  “He’s not wrong,” Lucian agreed.

  “Why in the hell do you two have your panties in a twist over who I do or don’t date? It was never real anyway.”

  “You’re making a huge fucking mistake,” Nash insisted.

  “What do you care? Now you get your shot at her.” The thought of it, just the split second imagining him with Naomi, nearly brought me to my knees.

  My brother set down his beer. “Yeah, I’m definitely hitting him again.”

  Lucian dropped his head back against the cushion. “I said I’d give you one. You’ve had it. Find a new way to get through his thick skull.”

  “Fine. Let’s try something new. The truth.”

  “How novel,” Lucian said.

  I wasn’t going to get rid of either of them until they’d said their piece. “Say what you need to say, then get the hell out.”

  “This happens every time he sees him,” Nash complained to Lucian.

  Lucian nodded. “I am aware.”

  I didn’t like that my brother and my best friend seemed to have a history of making up and discussing my issues.

  “Sees who?”


  Nash leveled me with a look.

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come the fuck on. I broke it off with Naomi because she was gonna get herself hurt. I did the right thing, and it had nothing to do with anyone else. So stop trying to fucking analyze me.”

  “So it’s just a coincidence that you see him, and the very next day you decide things are getting too serious?”

  “He has nothing to do with anything I do,” I insisted.

  “How much did you give him?” Nash asked.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “How much cash did you give him? That’s what you do. You try to solve problems with money. Try to buy your way out of feeling pain. But you can’t. You can’t buy Dad into sobriety. You couldn’t buy me into a life you were comfortable with. And you sure as fuck can’t make yourself feel better about breaking Naomi’s heart by handing her a wad of cash.”

  Lucian’s gaze cut to me. “Tell me you didn’t.”

  I slammed my bottle down on the counter, sending a geyser of beer everywhere. “I warned her. I told her not to get attached. She knew there was no chance. It’s not my fault she’s this romantic who thought I could change. I can’t change. I don’t want to change. And why the fuck am I even having this conversation with you? I didn’t do anything wrong. I told her not to fall.”

  “Actions speak louder than words, dipshit.” Nash threw up his good hand. “Luce, you take this.”

  Lucian leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees.

  “I believe what your brother is trying to tell you is that while you said you couldn’t and wouldn’t care, your actions told her something else.”

  “We had sex,” I said flatly. Great sex. Mind-blowing sex.

  Lucian shook his head. “You showed up for her time and time again. You gave her a place to live, a job. You went to her niece’s school. You bashed in her ex’s face.”

  “Bought her a cell phone. Helped her get a car,” Nash added.

  “You looked at her like she was the only woman you saw. You made her believe,” Lucian continued. Waylon trotted over to him and hefted his bulk into my friend’s lap.