by Frost, Sosie
“Ravaged by a dangerous man?”
“Yes.”
“You want to get fucked and taken and used by a piece of shit, drug addicted, alcoholic, worthless burden of society?”
I couldn’t hide the anger in my words.
Only hoped she couldn’t hear the pain.
Honey stiffened, pushing up on the desk. Her eyes widened, but the desire still slowed her thoughts. “Tidus, I…”
Too fucking late.
I backed away from her, wiping her wetness onto my jeans. She flinched, finally ashamed.
“Don’t say a damned thing,” I said. “You are right, you know that? You knew what my problem was. How I don’t accept help. Why I refused to change.”
Her legs closed, but it was too late. I’d seen everything she had to offer, lusted after every part of her, and already regretted not taking what she’d never give again.
The words roughened in my throat. “But I’ve learned an awful lot these past couple years. I learned that for as many people out there who want a man to succeed, there’s an equal number that hope he’ll fail. And that’s why you can’t depend on anyone else. Why you shouldn’t ask for help. Nobody actually wants to give it. They only want to feel superior to others, to fuck you over and push you down every time you try to crawl out of that gutter.”
Honey sat up, reaching for me. I brushed her hand away.
Didn’t need her pity or her pussy.
“Tidus,” she said. “That’s not what I—”
“I’m gonna ask you one goddamned thing, and either you answer me truthfully or you get the hell out of my garage.” I stared her down, seeing more of this woman now than when she laid back with her legs spread. “Even if you wanted to help me, and even if I accepted that help, do you think I could change?”
Honey went silent. I knew what she’d say, but I pressed her anyway. Why not? The truth stung harsher than any needle.
I grinned at her. “I buried my face in your pussy. The least you can do is answer the fucking question. If you helped me, do you think that I would change? That I could kick the addiction, pour out the alcohol, and become a functional member of society? Do you think the only reason you’re humping my face is because you know I’m a lost cause and you wanted one shameful memory to keep you warm at night?”
Her eyes lowered. “Tidus, changing is up to you.”
“That’s not what I fucking asked!” I clenched my jaw so hard I feared my molars would crack. “I want to know what you see when you look at me. Do you think I can change?”
At least she had the courtesy to look away while she broke my fucking heart.
“No.”
I laughed. It was all I could do. Life was shitty enough. Had to find joy somewhere.
Even if it was at my own expense.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think,” I said. “I don’t need anyone’s help, permission, or encouragement to change. Don’t need friends. Don’t need a mother who was ashamed of me, a father who hated me, and brothers who never understood me. A man’s gotta do it himself, especially when no one else believes he can.”
I reached into my pocket, feeling for the smooth, plastic chip I kept at my side. Hidden.
A lot of good it did suffering in silence.
I flipped the chip towards her, but Honey’s trembling hands nearly dropped the quarter sized green token. She fumbled it, flipped it in her fingers, and stared at it with wide eyes.
I sneered. “I’m three months sober. And it’s been the hardest fucking ninety days of my life.”
“Tidus…”
“You keep it. I don’t need a stupid trinket to change.”
I pushed away from the desk, ignoring her questions, and slammed the office door behind me.
I took a deep breath, but I couldn’t get her scent out of my head. It would never leave. I’d just traded one addiction for the other.
Giving up the drugs had been brutal.
And I thought drying out from the alcohol would kill me.
For the past three months, nothing had felt worse than finally giving a damn about myself, my life, and my family. But I was wrong.
Honey’s absolute disbelief that I could be sober…
Really fucking hurt.
7
Honey
Something told me the Butterpond community monthly meeting would be bad when Quint Payne handed me a bag of popcorn, a bingo card, and an agenda before I stepped foot into the building.
I scanned over the bingo card. A homemade, laminated bingo card.
What sort of meeting was this?
The spaces ranged from diabetic coma to fistfight. I had two squares for a drug deal, a spot for a wardrobe malfunction, and two different types of wildlife-related events—one in which the animal was the hunted, and one where the residents were the critters’ intended target.
The free space was named in honor of a resident who seem to have a propensity for alcohol. I pitied his liver, but I eagerly filled in the Raymond Adamski Attends The Meeting Drunk space.
It appeared Quint was the one who smuggled in most of the items for the meeting. He also offered me a wide assortment of candy bars, chocolates, and even tiny bottles of alcohol. Seemed an odd collection for someone attending any municipal meeting, let alone a man who seem to have little regard for his diabetes.
Quint waited at the curb just outside the Township building, taking bets for some sort of mystery wager regarding a conflict between the historical society and a group called the Knitter’s Korner.
Butterpond was a very strange community. So strange, in fact, that the bingo card didn’t really surprise me anymore. Neither did Quint’s enthusiasm for the game.
He gave me a grin, but his eyes searched behind me. My heart broke. He looked for Tidus.
He wasn’t the only one.
“Don’t tell me you’re braving the infamous Butterpond municipal monthly meeting alone?” Quint asked.
“Guess so.”
“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”
I’d been asked that question too many times, and the truth still made me squirm.
No. I didn’t have a goddamned clue anymore. I didn’t know what I was doing in Butterpond. Why I stayed. What I expected out of it. Or just what I wanted from Tidus. Unfortunately, my hesitation revealed all too much to Quint.
“I can handle myself,” I said. Wasn’t sure I believed it. “It’s just a meeting, right?”
“Butterpond doesn’t have meetings. Butterpond has catastrophes.”
Yeah. It did seem to have that effect on people.
Quint awkwardly shuffled his feet. I did the same. Neither of us wanted to ask the question.
Where was Tidus?
He’d left without telling me where he was going.
Or why he was leaving so quickly.
Or how the hell I could apologize for being such an inconsiderate asshole to him.
How was I supposed to know that the one bad boy in Butterpond, the man with the worst reputation, with nothing to lose, and with such low regard for himself…
Was actually trying to get better?
It had only taken a couple minutes for Tidus Payne to turn my world upside down. First, he’d given me the most mind-blowing, unbelievable orgasm of my life. For those few moments in his arms, I’d felt feelings and desires and urges that should have humiliated me.
But it hadn’t.
It’d felt…wild and exhilarating, sensual and naughty. Like everything I’d ever imagined a night with him to be, and I’d lost myself within the thrill of how utterly wrong it was to be wanted by that man.
And that made me the worst person in the world.
I’d treated Tidus like a cheap thrill. Worse. I’d used him for no reason but my own selfish desire and a complete inconsideration for his feelings, his fears, his thoughts. I knew he was someone I never, ever should’ve let in my bed.
And that’s why it hurt him so much.
He didn’t
want to be that man anymore. And he was trying to overcome it.
What was worse—refusing to believe a man could change…
Or not trusting him to stay sober?
I held his AA chip in my hand. I’d hardly let it go. He was three months sober. Ninety-four days. It was a hell of an accomplishment, but he wasn’t proud of it. In fact, he’d thrown the chip at me.
As if he was glad to be rid of it.
As if he never wanted to see it again.
And worst of all?
Nobody else knew anything about his sobriety.
Quint’s curiosity finally got the better of him…or maybe he was just that desperate.
“Have you seen Tidus today?” he asked.
I squeezed the chip harder. I didn’t know what to tell him. What could I tell him? There must’ve been a reason why Tidus kept his sobriety a secret.
So why was I the only one he trusted with the information?
I bit my lip. “He wasn’t at the garage today.”
“Surprise.”
Quint’s bitter disappointment hurt, but I was secretly glad Tidus hadn’t shown. He deserved an apology, but what was I supposed to say?
Sorry I grinded on your face. See…I thought you were an alcoholic and would potentially ruin my life.
You know. For fun.
“Do you think he’ll come tonight?” I asked.
Quint seemed optimistic about everything except his brother. “Tidus never misses these meetings. They’re his thing.”
“…Municipal meetings?”
“They're more fun than you’d think. The meetings are a shit show and a half, probably because Tidus loves to play rabble-rouser. He gets his kicks inciting the crowds. Wouldn’t miss this unless…”
“Unless?”
“Unless he’s on a binge.” He looked away. “Another binge.”
It was bad enough that Quint was angry and hurt, but it was worse that he wasn’t surprised. As if he expected this sort of behavior from Tidus.
It didn’t make sense. Why the hell wouldn’t Tidus have told his family about his progress?
“Are you sure?” I tried to smile. “Maybe he’s just running a couple errands?”
Quint snorted. “You wouldn’t like the sort of errands he runs. Usually he splits for days—no one has a fucking clue where he goes. Just disappears without a word then, poof, he returns more miserable than ever.”
“He leaves town?”
“The county’s dry. He’s gotta head to Ironfield to get drunk. The only solace is that he’s smart enough to sleep it off before driving home.” Quint rubbed his face. “That’s only if he hasn’t gone back to the harder stuff.”
I hated asking the question. “Like what?”
“Christ. Anything? Everything? He’s not addicted to the drugs, he’s addicted to being addicted. Ever since he was a kid, his only goal in life was to get in this much trouble as possible and then escape it with a needle. He’s lucky he never got sick, luckier he never died. But here we are, years later, and he still makes the same mistakes over and over again.”
Quint was the type of man who could charm a girl to bed at night and then sweet-talk the sun to rise late. He was a flirt, but he was sweet. For the right girl, he’d make a good friend, a better lover, and the best guy to bring home to her father. I’d always pictured myself wanting a Quint…
But that was before Tidus.
“He might surprise you.” I wondered how much I could reveal without pissing off Tidus. “I’ve only known him for a little while, but he seems like he wants a second chance.”
“He burned his second chance. And third. And fourth. It’s not about starting over with him. It’s that he’s too afraid that one day he might wake up and realize that he’s happy.” Quint met my gaze. “Honey, believe me when I tell you…he’s not worth your time.”
Except, I started to think that, for Tidus…I could make the time.
Any girl would be attracted to Tidus—especially when the mischievous green of his eyes promised everything that his rock hard, sculpted body could offer. He had a genuine smile he never used, hair he never combed, and a jaw perpetually shaded with stubble. He didn’t need the leather jacket to prove he was bad news, and the tattoos only served as a warning.
But Tidus deserved more than a quick and dirty night with a girl who was just frustrated and bored enough to think trouble was fun. He needed somebody he could trust, someone he believed could help him. Who wanted to help him.
Someone who could make him happy.
But was that person me?
Absolutely not.
I knew better than to get involved with anyone, let alone a jackass like Tidus Payne. Until the day we met, my life had been blissfully uncomplicated. I spent my days cooking, cleaning, and dreaming of blue ribbons. The barbecue circuit was tough enough for me. I had no time to welcome a bad boy into my bed just to peek at what he hid behind his walls.
I squeezed the chip in my pocket. Quint didn’t have much faith in his brother, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t hope for the best. Tidus was sober. But the realization pitted in my stomach.
If he wasn’t on a binge…
Where the hell was he?
“You staying for the fireworks then?” Quint asked.
My eyebrows rose. “There're fireworks at your meetings?”
“Usually courtesy of Tidus.”
I juggled the popcorn and bingo card into one hand and pulled the township’s letter from my pocket. “Actually, I’m here on official business—or to save my official business. The mayor shut me down today.”
Quint panicked. He ripped the letter from my hand. “What do you mean? No more barbeque?”
“It’s a Stop Work Notice.”
“Fuck me.”
My sentiments exactly, though Quint took the news especially hard. No wonder. I’d been feeding the man for the past three days. Without me, the diabetic would be back on a diet composed mostly of alcohol, candy bars, and insulin.
“I don’t understand what happened,” I said. “Everyone in town loved the food. I was starting to make some decent money.”
Quint didn’t have to guess. “You have Marius For Mayor signs up, don’t you?”
“I…” I shrugged. “Technically, a super pregnant campaign manager busted into the garage and posted the signs, balloons, streamers…”
“Gretchen.”
Good to match a name to the belly. “Well, Gretchen came in, said Tidus gave her permission, and turned the truck into a mobile campaign headquarters for Marius. I figured it was okay—she bought a sandwich for her dog and then downed an entire jar of pickles herself.”
Quint laughed. “Yeah, that’s Gretchen—Marius’s manager, baby mama, and future wife. The dog is Ambrose.”
“Is Ambrose running for office too?”
“Don’t encourage Gretchen. Ambrose is already the MC of every parade in Butterpond.”
“Okay.”
“The problem with befriending Gretchen and Marius is that Mayor McDouchebag is pissed that Marius is challenging him in the upcoming election. DC Politics got nothing on Butterpond.”
“So, he’s punishing me?”
“Butterpond is a fiercely divided town. You’ve got the historical society versus the preservation society, Paynes versus Barlows, and now the mayoral race. Desmond takes it personally. You are just the latest casualty in a long line of parking tickets and citations. The farm had three violations last week. He even sent a zoning officer to the fields with a ruler to measure the length of our grass.”
“Why?”
“Butterpond takes its politics seriously.”
And now I was stuck in the middle. “This is bad. I won’t make any money if I’m shut down, and I can’t get out of town if I don’t have cash to pay for the repairs.”
“You that eager to leave Butterpond…or that tired of Tidus?”
Just the opposite.
I couldn’t get my mind off Tidus. Just another reason I n
eeded to work and work hard. The more committed I was to the barbeque, the less likely I’d be to make another major mistake.
I didn’t want to hurt him again.
And if that meant getting as far away from Butterpond as possible, then I had no time to waste in a town meeting called to order by a jackhammer.
A string of police caution tape sectioned the municipal building down the middle. On one half, dozens of Butterpond’s citizens watched the public works crew in action. On the other half…a hole.
A giant, gaping hole.
The jackhammer chewed through the linoleum, into the foundation, and under the building itself. The public works crew shouted to the men stationed inside the hole, tossing a shovel down and bringing the jackhammer up. With a heave and a grunt, one of the workers cast a layer of dirt, debris, and rubble out of the pit and onto the reception area.
Some townsfolk screeched.
Some bemoaned a misuse of municipal funds.
And some passed around crisp twenty-dollar bills as the man I presumed to be the mayor nearly tumbled into a hole.
“Did you find it?” Mayor Desmond brushed the flecks of dirt from his neatly pressed suit. He flashed a two-faced grin at the crowd and spoke between clenched teeth. “Please tell me you found it.”
The public works foreman, a man entirely too old to hobble into a hole, peered out from the rubble. “You sure the capsule is here? We dug right where the blueprints said to dig. Ain’t got nothing down here but a leaking septic system…” He pointed at the mayor. “You outta look into that.”
The mayor groaned. “Forget the septic system!”
“Looks like you already did. Gotta be a couple thousand in repairs needed here.” The foreman tisked his tongue. “And during an election year too.”
“Is the capsule down there or not?”
“Not that I can see.”
The mayor waved towards the impatient citizenry with a practiced gesture. “One moment, folks. Just a moment…” His words turned to a hiss. “You keep digging until you find it!”
The foreman saluted, grabbed his shovel, and returned to the hole. “Shame about that septic system though…”
I raised my hand. “Excuse me? I received a letter—”
A flurry of grumbles, groans, and cracking joints muffled my question. Canes swatted at the air, slippers tossed towards the hole, and one unfortunate gentleman lost his dentures in a swarm of profanity.