No Pink Caddy (ACE Book 1) (38 page)

Her words burn in my chest. I stand up, grab my phone, and walk towards the safety of Aaron’s bedroom.

As I’m shutting the door, she says, “Johnny is like a Dementor in the Harry Potter books. He sucks your soul and leaves you an empty vessel. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, MK.”

My head throbs from my conversation with Grace by the time sleep finds me. When I wake, it’s in the evening. The room is darker. I roll over and stare at the ceiling crisscrossed with cedar beams. I’m so damn tired of sleeping. Tomorrow has got to be better.

Voices outside of Aaron’s room catch my attention as I fully wake up. Tiptoeing to the door, I press my ear against the hard wood.

“You’re an addict. I mean, look at your sugar consumption, Johnny. They warned you about it in rehab. You haven’t been able to switch from eating garbage to nutritious foods with vitamins because you’re white-knuckling being sober and using that poor girl. She’s your new addiction. For God’s sake, let her go.” Grace says, I think. It’s a female voice that sounds a bit muffled.

“Stay the fuck out of my personal life. You get business and Jude, but that’s it. You don’t know shit about her,” Aaron replies, and then there’s a loud noise like something has broken.

“You’re an asshole. You always have been and you always will be. You suck at relationships and take the good out of people, leaving them empty shells. I mean, look how you treated the mother of your child,” Grace yells.

There’s another loud, clanking noise, and I jump.

Aaron replies with so much force I’m surprised the walls are still standing. “Fuck you! How dare you bring her up? That was nineteen years ago. Get out of my house.”

Grace matches his tone, “Your house?
Your
house? You wouldn’t have two nickels to rub together if it wasn’t for me. I’ll see you in Austin.”

Then the door slams so hard that the house really does shake. I tiptoe back to bed, crawl under the covers, and pretend I didn’t hear a word.

After a bit, the back door closes and the house is silent. I take a moment processing what I overheard. Grace’s anger is not just directed at me. There’s obviously a deep family dynamic I’m not aware of. And it sounds like in her mind, she’s trying to protect me. But that’s where she’s wrong. I don’t need protection from Aaron. It’s like I told her—I have my own life, my own dreams that don’t revolve around his lifestyle. I cast shadows, not wilt in them. So far, my relationship with Aaron has shown me there is more to the world than I’ve been living. NoPinkCaddy and the doors it can open for me are just the beginning. Hopefully, Aaron will be by my side as I walk down this new path I’ve chosen—or he won’t and that will make me sad. Either way, I’m Mary Kay Landry, and I’ll be okay.

Praying that Grace is gone and Aaron is cooling down, I leave the safe confines of his bedroom. As I enter the kitchen, I find Sam sitting at the counter.

She jumps and grabs her chest. “You startled me. Johnny said you were asleep.”

“That’s all I seem to be able to do.” I smile. “Sorry. I should’ve been louder, but I thought the house was empty.” I open the fridge and find a bottle of lemonade. It’s like Christmas. My mouth waters in anticipation. Grabbing it, I cradle it in my arms. I could kiss it, I’m so happy to find something that isn’t carbonated.

“Grace is probably flying back to Austin, and Aaron is trying to find a way to cope. I’m sure you heard their fight.” She points at a cabinet. “I think there are chips in that one.”

There’s a bag of Zapp’s. Christmas and New Year’s in one beautiful day. I grab the bag and join her at the counter. “I caught the tail end.”

“They’ve been at each other’s throats for months. It was bound to happen. How are you feeling?” She steals a chip from the bag.

“Been better, but I’ll survive.” I rest the bag between us.

“You look like hell,” Sam says, as she stands up and walks around the island to rummage through the cabinets.

“Yeah. I know. Hopefully the doctor will have good news tomorrow.” The lemonade is my favorite—very tart, but tasty. “Why’s Grace so angry?”

Sam turns around. She wears a red tank top that shows off her very manly arms, yet she’s tiny. She must be a body builder with like five percent body fat. “Wouldn’t you be if you were constantly cleaning up the messes?”

I’m silent for a moment, contemplating her statement. “Do you think that I’m one of Aaron’s messes?”

“Why is there no booze in this house?” she laments as she opens more cabinets. Finally, she grabs her phone and texts someone. Then to me, she says, “We’ll have a nice bottle of wine in about fifteen minutes.”

I’m about to ask her the question again when she says, “The fact that you call him Aaron makes you unique.” She throws her hands up. “I don’t know, girl. I like you. I know he was scared to death when you were in the hospital. I know he thinks you’re great, but he’s Johnny Knite. Living on the fringe is kind of what he does.”

Living on the fringe is kind of what he does.
I roll her words over in my brain, but it just makes it throb more so I stop. I’m chin-deep in this relationship. It’s not like this is something that’s going to clear itself up. I mean, when I slept with him I knew who he was. Only time will tell if I’m his new hot toy or here to stay.

“Don’t look so down,” Sam says. “Your face already looks like shit. I didn’t know that many shades of purple existed.” She has such a huge smile on her face that I can’t help but smile also.

“Will you take a picture of me for my site?” I ask as I slide off the chair and exit the kitchen. Moments later, I return with my phone.

I hand it to her.

“Flip your hair over your shoulder,” she instructs as she holds my phone up.

I do what she says and pose like a Vogue model. She loves it and gets into it, snapping away.

Seamus walks through the back door with a couple of bottles of the same red he purchased for me. Without asking, he uses the electric wine opener and pours us both a glass. Sam and I toast as I take a sip.

“Thanks, Seamus,” she says, giving him a nod.

He returns the nod and turns to exit out the back door.

“Oh my God,” she screeches. “The wine matches your bruises. How funny of a post would that be?”

“Love it!”

She holds the wine glass up to the left side of my face until she finds a shade of purple that matches the closest. Then, I take the glass and she snaps away. I can see the post developing in my head, and my heart beats faster with excitement. This is a perfect opportunity to show my readers how you can turn lemons into lemonade or sour grapes into yummy wine.

“What are you doing?” Aaron asks as Sam and I both turn to him, look at each other, and giggle that we’ve been caught.

He frowns and his scowl borders on scary.

“Matching the wine to my bruises.” God, when I say it like that it sounds dumb.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue,” Sam says, grabbing the unopened bottle. “Talk to you later, MK.”

I wave.

When the door shuts, he says, “Do you think drinking’s a good idea when you’re on painkillers and antibiotics?” He’s wearing a wetsuit, and his hair is a damp floppy mess. He must have been swimming. Did he take my advice and use exercise instead of coke?

“I had a sip,” I reply, laughing. “You swam laps.”

He will not be distracted. “Not funny. I told your mom and dad I’d take care of you. Don’t make me a liar.” His face reminds me of stone. Skin is stretched so tightly over his prominent features that he looks as if he’s had plastic surgery. Pencil-thin lips do not return my smile. The neoprene hugs his sculpted physique, not leaving much to the imagination. There’s a bulge where his crotch is, and my mouth waters.

“You’re the most bipolar person I’ve ever met. One minute you’re like a teenage boy who never grew up. The next minute you go all dad and responsible on me. I can’t keep up with which version of Aaron I’m dealing with.” I polish off my comments with a sip of my wine. I’m thirty years old, certainly no longer a child.

“Just call me responsible.” The pulse in his neck beats faster. “Don’t take another sip.” His fists clench by his side.

See, I’m the second child, the baby of the family—don’t challenge me. The surest way to get me to jump off the tall rope swing at Grandmother’s lake house was to tell me not to do it.

Defiantly, I pick up the glass and take another sip.

In two long strides, Aaron closes the gap between us, takes the glass out of my hand, and throws it against the wall. I look over my shoulder and watch the dark-colored liquid sliding down the off-white plaster.

“What a shame. That was a really nice wine glass,” I reply, standing up and walking down the hall to Aaron’s room. My heart pounds. How dare he?

I shove my things into my bag. It seems he’s ill-equipped to deal with life when it doesn’t go his way. Grace may have catered to him for the past eighteen years, but I will not. I can make concessions and compromises—that’s being in a relationship. Bending to his every whim makes me more of an employee, and that’s not how I’ll be treated.

Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I remember my phone is back in the kitchen. I’m smart enough to know I can’t walk home. I need to either call Bella to ask for a ride or Uber. Frustrated, I drop the bag on the floor.

There’s no sign of Aaron when I enter the kitchen, and my phone is missing. It’s not like I misplaced it. I know exactly where it was resting when Aaron threw his fit.

Glass fragments litter the hardwood floor near the dining room table behind the chair where Aaron had me to sit to play out one of his fantasies. The wine appears more like a dripping blood stain.

I refuse to clean it up. He threw the temper tantrum. He’s a big boy and should deal with his own messes.

Ugh, but now I have to find him and/or my phone. I have a feeling they’re in the same place.

The night is crisp, and the lights inside the pool make it look so inviting. Pools in the Garden District are rare. A discarded white towel rests crumpled on the deck by the pool stairs. I guess Aaron doesn’t pick up after himself. Another of Seamus’s jobs?

Without knocking, I open the studio door. Aaron is on the other side of the glass. He has can headphones on and is sitting on a stool, playing the guitar. The guy at the controls motions for me to take a seat without removing his eyes from Aaron.

The dichotomy of Aaron. He swings from stone-faced, angry at the world, to looking like the god of sex while he strums a guitar dressed in nothing but a pair of old, faded jeans, his hair still tussled. When did he remove the wetsuit? It doesn’t matter. I know why women are obsessed with him. They see my fallen angel.

A dial is flipped, and the sounds of his guitar fill the studio. I lie down on the sofa and let the music bathe me. It’s moody and raw. The guitar wails as if it’s crying and it stirs me. Awareness dawns as the playing comes to an end. Aaron is expressing his anger and frustration through his music. My anger dims somewhat. It’s as if I’m incapable of staying mad at him when he’s vulnerable.

When he quits playing, I sit up, as he takes off the headphones and rests the guitar in a stand near the door. He glistens with sweat as he exits the studio.

“That was fucking insane, Johnny. Have you written lyrics yet?” Bobby is beaming.

“Close.” He glances at me, but his face doesn’t betray what he’s thinking.

“Let’s keep it acoustic. I don’t think we want to add anything to it.”

“Great. I’d like to work on lyrics. But first, I need to put MK to bed.” He walks over to where I’m sitting and offers me a hand.

I take it and stand.

“Tell Bobby good night.”

“Good night,” I reply as Aaron leads me out the door.

Bobby says, “We’re all real glad that you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” I say as the door shuts.

“Are you still leaving me?” Aaron asks in a soft, gravelly voice, giving my hand a squeeze.

“You acted like a child. Smashing a wine glass—how rock star of you.”

“No, sweetheart. We trash hotel rooms. You must’ve mistaken me for someone else.” The relief is evident in his voice.

He holds the door open and I enter, turning towards his bedroom. We walk in silence. He sits on the edge of the bed and watches me remove my yoga pants and replace his T-shirt with a fresh one.

“You’re staying?” he asks in a whisper.

“If you want me to.” I guess I just assumed that I was still welcome.

“Of course I want you to.”

I lean against his closet door. “Are we going to discuss your fit?”

“Do we have to?” he asks as his eyes cut to the floor.

I think he’s embarrassed. “Yup.”

“Sorry. I just lost my temper when you wouldn’t listen to me.” He sighs. “In case you haven’t noticed, I like to be in control.”

I position myself between his spread legs. My arms wrap around his neck as he grasps me at my waist. His head is against my breast. This isn’t sexual. I’m feeling needy, and he’s responding. I don’t want to let him go. Right now, we’re perfect. He’s not trying to be my knight or Knite in shining armor. I’m not worried I’m his latest phase or play-toy. We’re just two people who need each other.

He pulls back and looks up at me with sad eyes. “I can’t stand that you’re hurt. I mean, I don’t understand what’s going on inside of here.” He touches his head. “Like, I feel the same way as when that bastard tried to hurt Jude, except I dealt with it by beating the shit out of him. I don’t think taking a baseball bat to your coffee table will make me feel any better. I can’t stop being so fucking angry that you’re injured.”

He swallows and kisses my chest. “Then, when I saw you going against the doctor’s orders and hurting yourself, it made me crazy.” He holds me tightly again. “You have to take care of yourself. You can’t let this happen again. I can’t find out you’ve been injured by seeing that your phone is at the hospital. Those minutes when I didn’t know what was going on were fucking awful. Almost as bad as Jude’s birth. I didn’t know if you were dead or alive or if you’d ever be okay again.” Kisses are dotted over my chest. “MK, if you want me to stay sane and sober, for the love of God, please quit being so damn clumsy.”