For Life (Reclaimed Hearts Book 1) (10 page)
September 1996
Grady
That asshole wants to fuck my girlfriend, and she doesn’t seem to have any clue.
I watch them carefully at first, wary of her feelings for this douchebag, but she isn’t flirting with him the way he’s obviously hitting on her. Then again, I stole Cassie from another guy. In my back of my mind there will always be some worry that someone else will come along and sweep her off her feet just like I did when she was dating what’s-his-name from band.
Plus, this dude is in college. I’m a senior in high school. Cassie says she doesn’t care about that, but I’ve met her friends and their boyfriends from other schools. Their “other schools” are universities, not McKinly High School.
Nah, the more I listen to him the more I realize this guy is a complete tool. No threat whatsoever, except that I don’t trust him. Really don’t trust him. He’s the kind of asshole they should warn girls about during freshman orientation. Date rape is written all over this fucker.
Cass brought me to this diner to meet up with a bunch of her friends. Most are other girls - her roommate, Ariel, and some others from her floor crowd into this booth with us. Some guys and other couples are at the next booth over. So far everyone’s been really cool.
Jeff, the guy who slid in across from us and barely acknowledged me, is not cool and he’s not part of our group. But he’s been here for ten minutes, with all of his focus on Cassie. Her girlfriends are starting to glance over at me, clearly uncomfortable with what’s happening. Her roommate, Ariel, raises an eyebrow at me like,
What do you plan on doing about this, big boy?
“Heading out for a smoke,” the guy says, finally, looking only at Cassie when he does. “Back in a few, babe.”
It’s the “babe” that does it. Fuck that. I wait about two minutes and excuse myself from the table under the pretense of going to the bathroom.
When I step out front, the guy is alone. He looks like any other preppy college asshole - button-down shirt, khaki shorts (even though it’s far too cold for shorts), loafers with no socks, floppy hair, white baseball cap on backwards. He’s fiddling with his pack of Camels and looks nervous when I step toward him. He
should
look fucking nervous. He just called my girlfriend “babe” right in front of me. He was wise not to touch her, but I’ll bet if I wasn’t there he would’ve.
I’m happy to see he’s about four inches shorter than me. He looked taller sitting down. Physically, he’s no threat, and though I didn’t come out here for a fight if he starts one he’s not winning it.
“So what, you’re like the back-home boyfriend?” he says, blowing out smoke and trying to appear nonchalant.
But we’re not playing that game. “I see you’re interested in my girlfriend. But I also see you haven’t taken your shot. That tells me a couple things about you.”
He swallows nervously as I step closer to him, just close enough that I’m not yet in his personal space. We look like two guys having a friendly conversation to anyone who passes us by.
“One, you’re a pussy. Because only a pussy hangs around waiting for an in instead of just asking a girl out if he’s interested.”
“Who are you calling—”
I cut him off. “Or maybe - and mind you, I’m still pretty sure you’re a pussy - maybe you’re waiting for something better to come along. Hedging your bets because you think a better girl is just around the corner. Seeing if you can work some angle.”
Something in his eyes changes and I realize that’s exactly what it is. This guy is a bottom-feeder, every college girl’s nightmare. The guy who acts like a friend, pounces when a girl has a weak moment, and then fucks off like nothing ever happened. Like a bad Hollywood cliché of college guys.
“I’m going to marry that girl,” I tell him. He rolls his eyes at me and takes another drag of his cigarette, but he’s also taken three slow steps back, so he obviously knows I’m serious. I cover those steps and take another toward him so now I am right in his face, close enough to share his cigarette if I smoked. “Do not even think of fucking with her.”
He stares back defiantly for about three seconds before his gaze drops to the ground. “Whatever,” he mutters. “You act like you’ve got the hottest chick at this school. News flash, dude, there’s like ten thousand girls here.”
“Then go follow one of them around,” I growl. “Cassie’s off limits.”
He shrugs and takes another long drag of his cigarette without saying anything.
I seriously don’t have time for this asshole. “Are we good?”
He looks at me, sizing me up. He takes another drag of his cigarette and looks away. Saving face.
“Yep,” he says, not looking back at me, and I turn and walk back into the diner.
When I slide back into the booth next to Cassie she snuggles into me and then pulls back, wrinkling her nose. “Ew, you smell like smoke.”
“Had a little word with your buddy Jeff,” I say. “He was out there smoking. Guess I got a little too close.”
Ariel smothers a smile.
“Wait - what did you say to him?” Cassie pretends to look horrified, but when I tell her I warned him off she grins.
“Called that,” says Ariel.
“You guys,” Cassie protests. “No, Jeff isn’t interested in me, he’s just…” She trails off and looks around the table. A couple of her friends shake their heads and smile as if to say it’s cute that she’s so clueless. Ariel gives her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look.
“Wait-” Cassie turns back to me. “Did you just get all jealous-boyfriend-from-home on him?” She’s working hard to feign indignation and failing. I can tell by the gleam in her eye she loves it.
“Baby.” I wrap my arms around her and tug her closer. “I staked my claim is all. That guy will not bother you again.”
“But Jeff isn’t any kind of threat,” she protests.
I grin. “Not now, he isn’t.”
She laughs and her eyes sparkle when she whispers, “I might think this is a little bit hot.”
We’ve been with her friends since I got here, and we’re way past due for some alone time. She stares at me and licks her bottom lip. Oh, yeah. Alone time, right now.
“Hey Ariel,” I ask without taking my eyes off Cassie’s mouth. “You coming back to the dorm any time in the next three or four hours?”
There’s some muffled giggling from around the table. Cassie squirms a bit in the booth and puts her hand on my thigh, high enough to make her intentions perfectly clear.
“Absolutely not,” Ariel replies. “Won’t be there before two or three.”
“I’ll buy you breakfast tomorrow for that.”
“Deal. Just please put some shorts on or something before you fall asleep. I like you, but I do not want to see your naked ass.”
I promise I will be dressed by the time she returns and tug Cassie out of the booth. “Nice meeting you guys,” I call as I head out the door to stake my claim a bit more fully.
Grady
I’m up before the sun. Even Ares looks disgruntled about having to run this early, but if I don’t move I’ll explode. I spent another long night tossing and turning and thinking about Cassie. I need to sort my shit out and fast. I creep down the hall and can’t resist the urge to brush my fingers across her bedroom door when I pass it. Last night comes back to me in a flood and when we’re out on the sidewalk I push my body in the hopes of exhausting my head.
When I met my last girlfriend, Yveta, I responded to her because there was nothing about her that reminded me of Cassie. Blond rather than dark, petite rather than tall, and easygoing rather than tempestuous, she was beautiful and kind and uncomplicated. I chose her because she was inherently different from Cassie, and in my mind I could never compare the two. Apples and oranges. After years of purposely fucking only women who resembled Cassie in some way, I found someone who was nothing like my ex-wife, and it was a blessed relief.
I took her out to dinner and found she was great company, a pleasure to talk to, and beautiful to look at. Unlike many beautiful women, she knew her value and made me work for it. Yveta was worth every second of the wait.
The more time we spent together, though, the more my heart was divided. There was nothing I could put my finger on, no deficiency in her character or our relationship. She was supportive, affectionate, sweet as a dream. There were times I made love to her and felt the presence of something deeper floating just beyond my reach. We were passionate together, but there was always some missing, unidentifiable element, and its loss left an ache inside me.
I made the decision to try. It had been seven long years, and I was no closer to Cassie than I was the day our divorce was finalized. After years of Cassie avoiding eye contact, forcing smiles, and treating me like a stranger, I looked at Yveta’s delicate alabaster shoulder one morning while she was sleeping and decided it was time to start living in the present.
When I asked Yveta to come home with me for Thanksgiving and meet my family her blue eyes filled with happy tears, and I felt a moment of incredible pride that I had done right by her. She’d already met the kids, but this would be the first time they’d spent any real time together. They seemed to like her, and my mom was curious about this woman whom I’d been dating for the better part of a year.
My family welcomed her with open arms, of course. We had a great time in Delaware and for the first time in forever it seemed like I might actually be able to move on. Cassie was losing her grip on me - or, more accurately, I was losing my grip on her. Letting her go. Finally putting the past behind us.
But a week or so later, when I was making love to Yveta, I was seized with a horrible sadness. I knew I’d been kidding myself and I was never going to feel the same way about her that I felt about Cassie. There was something in the autumn air that made my ex-wife weigh heavily on my mind, some intangible essence of her all around me. It wasn’t fair to Yveta. She was competing with a memory.
When I ended things she was far nicer to me than I deserved. To be clear, I knew what I was losing. I knew what I was willingly giving up in favor of a snowball’s chance in hell. Cassie had moved on to the Nordic Douchebag (my secret name for Adam), and chances were excellent they would eventually tie the knot. I didn’t care. I couldn’t put Yveta second, and that’s all she was ever going to be. Cassie had already taken the top spot in my heart and she had never left it.
The night I ended things with Yveta I almost drank. I’d been years without a drop or even an inclination, but that evening I fought against an urge so powerful it almost got me. I loathed myself. I mean, I’d rejected a lovely human being who had never been anything but good to me. What kind of piece of shit does something like that? And for what? Cassie was never, ever coming back. My dream was unhealthy. It was an obsession, really, and a waste of time. I knew that, rationally. But I also knew my own heart.
Feet pounding the pavement, muscles protesting at being used so hard, I try to clear my head my head, but a jumble of memories and dreams of the same woman, spanning more than twenty years, swirls inside my brain. Maybe I’m delusional, but after everything that’s happened this week, something inside me believes fiercely in the possibility of a second chance with Cassie.
If I crash and burn, so be it. I’ll try again and again, for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes. The fact is, I could cast away my love for Cassie a thousand times, but like a boomerang it just keeps coming back to me.
Cassie
With my own needs out of the way it’s time to take care of everyone else’s. I shower and dress quickly and head downstairs to brew some coffee and start on breakfast. I pull the pallet of eggs from the fridge and dig until I find two bricks of scrapple. I haven’t had it in years, but this morning there isn’t anything I’d rather have than the favorite salty breakfast meat of my childhood. I set up the griddle and crack eggs into a mixing bowl, then slice the meat and out it on to brown.
Caden appears first, lured by the smell of frying pork. Funny how I can shake him for a full five minutes before he even stirs, but if he smells food he’s out of bed in a flash. Pulling out a container of orange juice and pouring himself a generous glass of it, he swallows it down without taking a breath and fills his glass again.
“Leave some for everyone else,” I admonish him. “And where’s your retainer?”
“Having my juice first. Can’t brush your teeth and then have orange juice. That’s like…” He screws up his face in imitation of the OJ-after-toothpaste look.
I pull him in for a hug and release him just as we hear the back door open. Grady and Ares appear in the kitchen, Ares panting and Grady covered in sweat. I try not to react to how good Grady looks, especially not in front of our son, but his long-sleeved black running shirt clings to him like a second skin, defining every muscle in his chest and arms. When he bends for Ares’ dish I watch those muscles bunch and ripple in his back and I almost drop the whisk I’m holding.
I thought I could keep myself under control, but I hadn’t counted on seeing him all sweaty before I’ve even had my second cup of coffee. My gaze wanders up his well-defined calves to the sturdy muscles of his thighs. I admire the sleek coating of dark hair that diminishes slightly just past his knees, on the insides, and my throat tightens as I allow myself to imagine where it thickens again at his groin.
I return to whisking the eggs, trying to keep my breath steady as he moves past me to the sink to fill Ares’ water dish.
Do not look at his ass
, I will myself.
“I hope I didn’t wake you up,” he says, still breathing deeply from his run.
Well, technically…
“Nope,” I reply cheerfully. “Didn’t even hear you.”
He’s worked himself hard this morning - punished himself, if Ares is any indication. The poor dog looks like he’s ready to collapse. Grady’s dark hair is soaked and curls at his neck, which is coated with a sheen of sweat. As I watch him a drop trickles down his temple, and I fight the urge to lick my lips.
Instead I thrust a kitchen towel in his direction and quickly turn my attention to my eggs.
“Got up pretty early,” he says. “Scrapple sandwiches?” His eyes light up as he surveys the preparations on the counter. He seems pleased that I’ve remembered his favorite. “That’s perfect. I’m starving.”
“Good. You need to eat quickly.” I motion with the whisk to Caden, who’s already made himself toast and is munching it standing up while checking something on his phone. “That one over there will suck down every bit of this if you don’t fight him for it. He’s like a locust. And God forbid he’s got a friend over, they strip the whole place bare. There isn’t so much as a heel of bread when they’re done.”
“Oh, I’m well aware.” Grady grins at his son.
“I’m a growing boy,” Caden pipes up without looking away from his phone. “My friends are growing boys, too. We can’t help ourselves.”
Grady raises an eyebrow at me and I burst out laughing. “That’s been your excuse since you were about three.”
Caden looks up from his phone and deadpans, “I’ve been growing that whole time, Ma.”
“Your son,” I tease Grady, and my face flushes as I realize what I’ve just said.
Your son
, I used to remind him when Caden was a toddler, getting into everything, making my heart stop a hundred times a day because he’d grabbed for something he shouldn’t have or outwitted some childproof lock I had.
Your son
, I used to whisper when we peeked in at him while he slept, his arms flung out and tiny chest rising softly inside his colorful pajamas. But I haven’t said those words in a long, long time.
I turn my back to Grady and hear him tell Caden to go wake his sister up. I silently plead with Grady to go change, hop in the shower, something. Instead he walks over to me and stops on the other side of the island. The clean musk of his sweat wafts around me and I stifle a groan as my body reacts greedily to his proximity.
“Cass.”
At the sound of my name I turn, definitely not ready for whatever he’s about to say to me but desperate to get it over with.
“I’m sorry for last night,” he continues softly, looking me right in the eyes. “I was in a bad place. I don’t want you to think I took advantage of our—” He pauses, searching for the right word. “I shouldn’t have touched you like I did.”
“It’s okay.” I brush it off too quickly, trying not to be disappointed. Granted, I don’t know what I would’ve done if he said something else, if he insisted on hashing out our feelings or tried to kiss me in the middle of making eggs. But I’m still slightly hurt. I would’ve liked for him to at least have
wanted
to kiss me in the middle of making eggs.
“We don’t have that kind of relationship, so I apologize.”
As if I needed his reminder. I take a deep breath, look up, and reply, “I know you were in a bad place. That’s why I hugged you. I didn’t feel like you took advantage in any way. So please, don’t worry about it. Yesterday was hard for all of us.”
He searches my face for a minute before he nods in agreement. “I just didn’t want things to be awkward.”
“Things are less awkward between us than they’ve been in years. Really. We’ve had a good couple of days. Besides, you’re family.”
Grady’s silent for so long I peek at him. He’s staring at me so strangely.
“What?”
“We’re not family, though. Not anymore. You made that pretty clear, Cass.” Not blaming, just speaking the truth.
“I know how I’ve acted, but we are. That doesn’t change. Our kids are almost eighteen, but even then…” I shrug. “We’ve got graduations ahead of us. Weddings. Grandkids. In a way they’re going to need us more than ever. Carl’s funeral made me think about all of that. I don’t want us to be strangers. I want us to be friends, real friends. I want us to be able to bury the hatchet and move on. And I’m sorry for…” I don’t even know how to describe how I’ve been. “I’m sorry for ever treating you like you were the lesser parent.”
And there it is. The evil little pod of blame I’ve held onto for a long time bursts open, spreading its dust around us. I’ve never admitted that to myself and I sure as hell never expressed it to Grady, but that’s how I’ve felt all along. I felt it plenty the night I waited for him to finally get home from the bar so I could tell him to leave. I felt it the day my attorney drafted the custody agreement. I felt it every time Grady couldn’t or didn’t do something I wanted him to do, regardless of whether or not his reasons were legitimate. In my own head I’ve lorded it over him for too many years to count, and it’s time to stop.
He’s shocked into silence by my admission.
“Be my friend,” I say softly, touching my fingertips to his. “I’m sorry.”
He clears his throat. “You’re not the one who should be apologizing,” he replies in a hoarse voice. “Cass, the way I treated you—”
Caden barrels back into the kitchen with Chloe shuffling behind him, and we snatch our hands apart. Grady reaches out and tugs Chloe’s messy ponytail and she spares him a sleepy half-smile before mumbling, “Hi, Daddy. Morning, Mom.”
She stopped calling me “Mommy” when she was about twelve, but she still calls Grady “Daddy.” I try not to be jealous. The fact that she said “good morning” to me is exciting enough. Sometimes we go through entire mornings without her verbalizing once.
“I’m gonna bring Nana some tea and toast,” Caden tells us.
“She doesn’t want to come down for breakfast?”
Caden shakes his head. “I asked.” He lowers his voice. “I think she’s… uh… having a rough morning.”
I plate the sandwiches and Chloe serves while Caden makes his grandmother her breakfast and takes it up to her room. Grady slips upstairs to change and check on his mom, and I pour juice and turn off the griddle. Ten minutes later, the four of us are sitting around the table, eating scrapple sandwiches like we do this every day of our lives.
* * * *
I watch my kids closely to see what their reactions will be to this unprecedented shared meal. Caden inhales two sandwiches and is working on his third while Chloe tells us Grady in great detail about her friend’s new guitar. Neither of them seem even remotely disturbed by us eating breakfast together, even though Caden can’t possibly remember it ever happening and Chloe was very young when we last did this. My stomach feels as though a thousand sparrows are flapping their wings inside of me. I can’t tell if I’m exhilarated, terrified, or just going crazy. The past twenty-four hours have been like living in some alternate universe. I keep expecting to wake up and be back in Ohio, with Chloe refusing to interact with me. I should be driving to yoga and listening to Sandra telling me about her latest fuck-buddy, not eating breakfast with my ex-husband and son and uncharacteristically chipper daughter.
Before long the food is almost gone, but no one makes a move to rise from the table. I see Grady’s cup is empty and ask if he’d like some more coffee, and he thanks me when I refill it. After a couple sips he speaks. His voice is purposely casual, and I realize he’s been as anxious about this meal as I’ve been.
“Since your grandma’s not doing too well today I thought maybe we’d give her some space. Maybe go for a hike or something. What do you guys think?”
“Sure. What are you gonna do, Mom?” Caden asks.
“Your mom can come, too,” Grady says. “If she wants to.”
That
gets their attention. Chloe and Caden both stare at me curiously. I can’t tell if they want me to come or not.
“Cass?” Grady prompts.
“Uh… Sure?”
Both kids grin. Chloe’s smile is so big the dimple in her cheeks pops, which shocks me. I think the last time she smiled that wide for me she was about eleven. That was the year she stopped holding my hand in public.
Grady looks pleased. “Good,” he says. “Your mom cooked, so let’s clean up and then we’ll get showers. Chlo, you’re up first since you take the longest to get ready.”
They start clearing away the dishes, leaving me in a state of shock. My first thought is that they’ve barely batted an eye at the four of us spending time together. My second thought is that I’ve been doing way too much for these kids. They do their share of household chores (if I nag them), but the fact that I could be getting them to clean up every time I cook is a novel idea. I immediately make plans to free up an extra half hour of my day.
As I head for the laundry room to get a load of towels from the dryer, my ears are treated to the banter of the kids mixed with Grady’s deep laugh. A pang of something hits me so deep in the gut that I nearly lose my breath. What could have been. What
should
have been.
There have been times in the past, especially around the holidays, when I’ve gotten so angry I couldn’t see straight. Although I’m the one who closed the door on our marriage, I’ve always blamed Grady for what I never got to have. Mornings like this, which other families enjoy all the time and probably take for granted, were my due when I married him and gave birth to my children. I didn’t ask for the world. I never needed him to be a rich man or important outside of our household. I could happily have put up with any of his smaller faults if it hadn’t been for the one very big, very important flaw: he didn’t put our family first.
That was all I ever wanted - a man who put us first, who protected us without question, who provided for us without complaint, who loved me without a divided heart. Instead we took a backseat to his band, and we were shortchanged by his drinking. The memories hurt, but our words before this morning’s breakfast have done a lot to heal. I realize it’s my words, not his, that have been the most cathartic. Letting go of the past has given me more comfort than his apology, mostly because if I’m honest, I already knew he was sorry.
I haven’t been completely oblivious. I didn’t know he quit drinking altogether, but I did know he left the bar and stopped playing every weekend with the band. Grady’s respected in his field, and you don’t get that way by being a fuck-up. My interactions with him over the years, no matter how brief or businesslike, have always been responded to with kindness. A few times he even offered to do something helpful for me, like when I needed a new roof and he found me an honest contractor so I wouldn’t be taken for all I was worth. Or when he noticed the driveway was cracked and he and a couple buddies came over and repaired it while I was out of town. I recognized those gestures for the apologies they were.
And yes, it was nice to hear him say he was sorry. It was more than nice. It ripped away some weight in me and freed up space in my lungs. I was grateful and it felt right to tell him he was forgiven. But then last night…
Last night was just an emotional fluke
, I tell myself. We were both exhausted and sad, and we reached out to each other in a moment of weakness. But if it got us talking, then it wasn’t a complete mistake. I said what I needed to say to him, and whatever comfort he got from it was well worth it.
