Can't Let Go (10 page)

As the guys leave, Dex glances back one more time before following.

“Later, Michaels.” Jessa tosses her hand in the air.

“You must think I’m horrible.” The brunette rushes over to me. “I’m Kailey,” she introduces herself and wraps her arms around my shoulders. When I don’t reciprocate, but rather stand there stiff, she pulls back. “Sorry, I’m just really happy right now. I didn’t mean to overstep your personal space,” she practically whispers, and a small smile crosses my lips. She’s nice and kind. My shoulders relax a little with her presence. “Come on over to the island.”

Kailey catches up with the two other girls, answering their stream of twenty questions. From what I can gather, she and Trey had recently split up. This is his parents’ house, he took her to some tree house last night and now they are happy again. Even with Jessa’s persistence, Kailey shyly shakes her head back and forth not giving any details.

After the gossip session, Kailey shows us out to the porch that opens up to more open land. A swing set to the left, a fire pit to the right. Two little girls run around the yard, blowing bubbles while a smaller boy waddles around in the grass as a woman, I assume is Trey’s mom, follows closely behind. They have three kids? Shit, I can’t even imagine. No wonder they weren’t talking for a while.

Leaning against the side of the pergola, the girls scream and cheer on at the two smaller girls tickling Dex. The sun streaming down on my face between the wooden slants, I watch Dex, so carefree and fun. Trey’s eyes veer to mine, and I instantly turn them back down to the ground. He jumps up, and the pit of my stomach fears he’ll come over and try to engage me, but instead he joins the masses. A few minutes go by with laughter shrieking throughout the yard. When everyone stands, Dex’s eyes find mine immediately and the smile falls from his face. That’s when I realize, this is the last place I should be. He has his life, and me showing up in his perfect shell is unfair.

Already regretting my decision to call Dex in the first place, I keep my distance for the remainder of the night, allowing him to have fun with his friends. He doesn’t engage me very much, only telling me even more that he wishes I wouldn’t have invaded his perfect life. By the time we go to bed, we venture into the room that is reserved for the two of us. I guess when you come with so many couples, it negates the whole guys in this room, girls in the other equation.

I escape into the bathroom and change my clothes. By the time I return, Dex is already in his pajama pants, digging in his bag. He drops his phone and bends down to retrieve it. As he steadily stands back up, his eyes roam up my body and a warm current in my blood swirls, following the path of his eyes. He bites his bottom lip and takes a deep breath. “I’ll be back,” he says with a husky voice.

Once he rushes out, I climb under the covers to disengage any sexual urges neither one of us will entertain tonight. In this moment, I wish I could be one of those girls. The ones who could sleep with Dex only to feel the comforting arms of a man, but it’s the fear of after that keeps my hands pinned around my body. The fear that he slept with me out of pity, or worse, that he only did it for his own pleasure and release.

He opens the door, and his blue eyes focus on the television and anywhere but at me. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he murmurs, never casting a glance my way.

“Don’t be silly. We’ve done this before.” I flip to my side.

“When we were fourteen, Chris.” He grabs the pillow.

“Really, Dex. I trust you,” I tell him, facing him head on, and oh my lord, his muscles are everywhere. He’s always been built, but holy mackerole, he’s insanely big now.

He looks at me long and hard for a few seconds and then pulls back the covers. As he’s sliding under the crisp white linen sheets, the mattress dips next to me. I turn around so my back faces his. We both reach over and turn off the lights on our respective sides. The funny thing is if someone walked in right now, they’d think we were two elderly people, who have been married for years, instead of hot-blooded early twenty-somethings.

Minutes of silence fill the room, and even with me shutting my eyes, visualizing what I imagine the beach must feel like, sleep won’t come. Dex’s close proximity has my body hyperaware of his breathing and his body. “Do you want to tell me?” he whispers.

“I’m okay. Like I said, I just needed a break. Thank you for bringing me. I hope I wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for you,” I lie, and a huge breath releases from him.

“You’re never an inconvenience to me. If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you,” he adds, and I roll over, although, he keeps his back to me.

“Nothing. Like I said I needed a breather.” If I admit to Dex the real reason, he’ll try to fix it and save me like normal. Being here with his friends and the people that care about him, he deserves normality and that’s not in my life’s course.

My hands itch to touch the grooves and contours of the muscles that spread across his back, displaying how hard he works out at the gym every day. “Just wanted to feel normal. So, thank you again.” The lies just continue to flow. He doesn’t need my drama in his life. He has his together, why should my fucked up past screw with it?

The pillow shifts from his slow shake of his head. “You’re welcome,” he says, and the silence encompasses us once again. Eventually, the light whistling of his breathing signifies he’s fallen asleep. I lie awake, observing the rise and fall of his back until my eyes relent to the exhaustion of the day.

Loud voices fill the hallway with doors slamming and kids’ laughter. Wrestling myself awake, I feel Dex’s warm leg over mine, and his one arm splayed across my chest. Relishing the warmth of his touch, I try not to move an inch, enjoying this for the short time it lasts. “Seriously?” he mumbles, and I shut my eyes automatically, pretending to be asleep.

When he must feel our compromising entwinement, his head jolts and then his body relaxes once again on top of me. I swear his body inches a little closer, and I hear the softest inhale from his nose. Tearing away from me, he sits up and swings his legs over the bed. Peeking one eye up, I watch his head fill his hands while his back rises and falls. Murmuring under his breath, he quickly stands, shrugging a shirt on, and leaves the room.

The door slowly shuts, and you can barely hear the click of the knob. I open my eyes and a huff releases from my own mouth. It was the first morning in a long time I felt safe before the breaking of dawn brought me back to my shitty reality.

By the time we leave Trey’s, Dex asks Brady if he can borrow the Camaro. The good guy Brady appears to be answers yes. A few hours later, Dex parks outside my crappy apartment in my crappy neighborhood. Dex tried to convince me to go back to Western with him, but I declined the offer. He has his life and I have mine, unfortunately, they aren’t on the same path. His hand moves for the door handle, but I place my hand on his other one. “It’s okay, you go. Thank you for the ride.” I release him of my obligation, opening the door with my other.

“Are you sure? I can walk you up.”

“No, I’ve got it.” I turn around and step one foot out the door.

“Chrissy, you’d tell me right?” he almost whispers, and I stop.

“Of course,” I lie for the umpteenth time in twenty-four hours.

He adds nothing else, so I continue my exit.

“Call me if you need me, okay? The offer is always good. Call me and I’ll be here in a half hour.” He leans over the center console, and those blue eyes search mine.

“Of course,” I say. “Bye, Dex. Thanks again.” I shut the door before he can even say his own goodbye.

Waiting for him to drive away, I pretend to walk up to my old apartment, secretly praying my father’s not around and especially that
Nico
isn’t. Once I open the doors and walk in, smelling the stench of garbage, cigarettes, and piss in the entryway, I hear the muffler of the Camaro roar to life and I slowly exit. Peering down the road, the red taillights are only two specks in a sea of black. Taking a breath, I walk down the street and around the corner.

Digging my keys out of my bag, I insert them into my now home. Climbing in and tossing my bag on the seat, something catches my eye. Something that I definitely didn’t pack a day ago when I used the last of my paycheck for the bus fare to Western.

My fingers practically shake as they reach for it. Rolled up in a small rubber band are crisp twenty dollar bills. Slowly, I release it from the bands and three hundred in bills land in my lap. A long breath I was holding releases. “Damn him,” I mumble. I despise myself for his need to consistently save me.

Four Months Later

MY VOLKSWAGEN PIDDLES across the gravel parking lot, and I look down at the gas needle. Releasing an exhausted breath when I find the needle just below the red. Once I make my money back, it will at least get me to the gas station.

I turn off the ignition and pull the key out. Clasping them in my lap, I stare up at the sign above the shack of a bar, reading Weddle’s in red neon. Sighing, I open my door before changing my mind. Squeaking, the rust bug cries for the attention it needs. The same as I need, someone to give a shit about us.

Little bits of gravel fall into my sandals as I reluctantly do something I despise. Something I loathe. Something I hate as much as the people that are a part of it. Right before my hand reaches out for the door, I take a much-needed deep breath, allowing the fresh air to reach my lungs. Especially since it will be a while before it fills with outside air again, well, at least I hope.

Hank spots me first, raising both eyebrows my way. I play the game by sitting down at the bar and grabbing a drink. Flirting with Hank a little, I pull the mask over my face, as though this is my life and I love it. While secretly, I’m hating myself a little more with every word.

“Hey, Hank,” I flirtatiously greet, sitting down on the stool closest to the red door.

“Chrissy,” he answers, nodding. A minute later, my usual Stoli and seven is placed in front of me. Twirling the small black straw around the glass, I wait for my invite just as I’ve been taught. I know the cameras are on me right now, Len most likely debating about letting me in. God knows I owe him money, but the one saving grace is that I can win it back plus some.

I’ll be the first one to admit, I’ve played better, but that’s what happens when the pressure hits. When you know you have to win in order to eat, to clothe yourself, to survive, the stakes are higher. The need to win outweighing every other fight in you.

It takes three drinks tonight, which kind of sucks because I like to play with only one drink in me. Enough to take the edge off and relax me, but not enough to make me sloppy. “Go on in,” Hank says, nodding toward the red door, and I reluctantly leave a twenty on the bar top. “No, Chrissy, I got you.” Hank pushes it back my way, and I give him a small smile for his kindness.

Another long and deep breath later and I’m in the room. They should refer to it as the red room of death. Poker tables fill the rooms; poor and rich men seated next to one another. No doubt the rich thinking they have the poor, but I’ve seen those tables turn in one deal. Suddenly, the poor become more fortunate and the rich leave empty handed. Too bad it’s can’t be like that outside of the red room.

Old vinyl chairs rest in the center of the room, strewn about around the round tables. Red … everything I see is red. Isn’t red for sexy? You’d think that it’s a strip club the way it’s decorated. But that has been tried before, failing miserably. The last thing you want around when someone begins losing all their money is to have a hooker to bury their sorrows in. To save those last few bills to sneak into the hands of a woman, who will make you forget you just lost your last buck.

Just when I’m about to sit down in order to wait my turn, a man stumbles away from a table in front of me. Ivy, the dealer, waves me forward and motions toward the seat. She smiles at me and out of all the tables I could end up at, Ivy’s is the best. It has to mean a sign of good luck, right? Placing the chips I’d just cashed in when I walked in on the table, I patiently wait for my deal. My drink of choice quickly appears in front of me, and I nod a thank you to the waitress.