Pulled Within (25 page)

I continued to keep my things in the guest room, though I slept
in his bed—even if he wasn’t in it. His smell lulled me to sleep, and
the
comfort of that suited me in a way that no other place could. I’d
taken
on more shifts and was really able to start saving some decent
money. Still, I didn’t expect anything for free…and that was exactly what his hospitality was.

It wasn’t long before I brought up the subject of paying him rent.

“No way,” he said over lunch one day, “there’s no way I’m
taking your money.” He opened the fridge, which was completely stocked with groceries I hadn’t paid for. I wasn’t able to eat much, and what
little I did eat was staying down for the most part. It didn’t matter.
Whatever I put in my mouth was his food, not something I’d picked up on the road. And it wasn’t right.

“It’s not fair for me to live here for free, Hart.”

“Not fair to whom?” He twisted the cap off his water bottle.
“You do my laundry. That makes things pretty even.”

“I did it
once
, and only because you left clothes in the dryer and I needed to use it.”

He took a huge swig. I could tell he was searching for excuses.
“You clean up. That’s something.”

“I wipe down the counters and do the dishes after
you make us breakfast
. I wouldn’t exactly call that ‘cleaning up’. You have a
housekeeper who does that, and everything else.”

He walked over to me and leaned against my body. “I don’t
want your money. I just want you.”

“But I need to give you something—the electric bill, water, your car payment, whatever. Just let me help out.”

Did he even have a car payment? I knew I couldn’t afford to
make
a mortgage payment on a place like this, but I could at least
contribute something—the utilities, if nothing else.

His cloud-gray eyes darkened, as if a storm had descended in
their
reflection. “If you want to give me something,” he said calmly and
firmly, “then stop working at the casino.”

He was serious. This was the first time he had ever mentioned
my
job and not wanting me to work there. We’d finally reached the
pride stage. He was ashamed of what I did for a living, and he wanted me to stop.

“It’s because I’m cocktailing, right?” It was easier not to make
eye contact. So I stared at the divot between his throat and his chest. “It bothers you.”

“Nothing about what you do bothers me, Rae, except the hours
you work. I never see you, and I hate it.”

I rubbed my hands over his stomach and up to his neck. “I don’t like that my hours take time away from you. But it’s winter. Off-
season. No one in Bar Harbor is hiring.”

“Then work for me.”

So that’s where this was headed. “No way.” I slid out from
between his arms and moved to the other side of the counter. My whole body
went slack from his words. There was no way I was going to sleep with my boss again, or take any money from him. My relationship
and job
needed to stay separate. One month of being unemployed had lost
me
Brady’s apartment and prevented me from making my deposit. I
could never let that happen again. Not for anyone.

“Rae, just hear me out.” I refused to look at him. “I have tons of admin work that I don’t have time for—filing, emailing,
organizing…things like that. You’d get to be with Shane, and you and I would have so much time together. You’d be working normal hours again.”

He made points that were difficult to deny. I’d gotten used to my schedule, but I didn’t enjoy all the driving. Christy had been my
only
friend at work, and she and pink streaks had taken off to New Orleans. There wasn’t anyone else there who I even spoke to. The
money was the only reason I stayed.

“I’ll pay you whatever you’re making at the casino, plus another
fifteen percent on top of that.” He waited for me to look at him, to
signal my agreement. “I’ll give you benefits, too, which I doubt
they’re giving you there.”

He was right; I didn’t have benefits. Saint hadn’t even given me those.

“Sounds like a little too much to be paying your assistant.” But not his girlfriend…

I didn’t like the feel of it.

He smirked. “Good help doesn’t come cheap.”

I wasn’t amused by any of this. “What happens in a few weeks
when
I’ve gotten you all caught up and you don’t have any more work to give me? It will be the middle of the winter, and I won’t be able to get another job.”

“That won’t happen.” He leaned across the counter to get closer.
He sounded so sure of himself. “This isn’t something I just thought
of.
I’ve needed an admin for a while, and once we finish the job here,
you can come with me to the Bangor location.”

He hadn’t mentioned anything about the Portland spa, which meant I’d have a job for as long as he was in the area, but not forever…unless I was willing to relocate. The same was true for my
relationship.

Both would expire within a year.

But from the moment I’d gotten my scar, I’d learned that nothing else lasted. Not relationships, not family—not life. Was that a good enough reason not to try? I wasn’t sure.

I also wasn’t sure I was ready to work for another boyfriend.

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“I expected you to say that.” He came around the counter and
held
me again, leaning down to kiss my neck. Then his lips moved up and stopped beside my mouth, grazing the smooth skin of my
unscarred
cheek. His breath floated like mist around me; my eyes closed and my body relaxed. I reached for the bottom of his shirt. It was the
safest place for my hands to be. If I were to touch any part of him, I’d want to rub my fingers over his skin…and then his muscles beneath.

He didn’t have time for being naked, or that kind of sexual
insanity before he had to go back to work.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said. He kissed me one last time.

He wasn’t out the door for more than a few seconds before my cell started ringing. I pulled it out of my back pocket and stared at the screen. It was a Bar Harbor number, one that I didn’t recognize.

But it was safe to answer.

Because Gerald wasn’t in Bar Harbor.

Fourteen days
.

“Hello?”

“Hi Rae. It’s Mom.”

She must have been calling from the hospital. She probably
figured calling from a number I didn’t recognize would be her best chance of
getting me to answer. It made sense; she’d been calling for the last
few days, and I hadn’t picked up or returned any of her voicemails.

“What’s up, Mom?”

“Just a few weeks until your brother’s birthday,” she continued. “You know how much I’d like for you to be here. Tell me you plan on coming.”

She already knew what my answer was going to be. It hadn’t
changed since the last time she asked and it was always the same. “I have something going on that day…I can’t.”

“That doesn’t sound like the truth to me.”

I understood why she had a hard time believing what I said.
Even
before the incident that led to my scar, I hadn’t been the best
daughter
in the world. I’d snuck out of the house and gotten shitty grades and smoked pot when I should have been doing my homework. But I was just a fucking kid, doing the things that all my friends were
doing.

It hadn’t meant I was a complete liar.

But when I’d needed her to really believe me for the most
important thing I had ever told her, she’d already made up her mind that my word couldn’t be trusted.

“Yeah, well…you don’t seem to recognize the truth much, so…” I said, knowing how biting that would be to her.

“Rae…” Instead of the hard edge she usually used with me, her
voice was becoming raspy. She was breaking down, finally showing
a bit of emotion. “I need you there. Please.”

She needed me? I’d needed
her
to be there, a long time ago. I’d
needed
her
to believe me, and she hadn’t.

I’d needed
her
to be my mom, and she couldn’t.

I felt like I should be the one begging. But I was too angry for
that. “I can’t, Mom,” I said.

I hung up without letting her say another word.

MY BELLY WAS
so full. He’d cooked me exactly what I’d asked for: macaroni with an extra big squirt of ketchup, a big tablespoon of butter and just a little pepper. Mommy wouldn’t cook that for me. She said putting
ketchup on pasta was gross. How did she know if she wouldn’t even try it?

Mommy was so silly sometimes.

I curled up in the corner of the couch and rested my arm on the side
cushion.
It would be bed time soon, but I didn’t want to go to bed. “Wanna play a
game?” I asked him. My cheek pressed into the cushion when I looked over at him. It smelled flowery, like Mommy’s perfume.

“Let’s just rest here a minute. Then I’ll play a game with you.” He
gently
tugged on the corner of the blanket that I had wrapped around me. “Share
this with me, won’t you, sweetheart?”

I only shared with Darren. I hated sharing with everyone else. But he’d cooked me macaroni and ketchup and he’d made it wicked buttery, which was my favorite way to eat it, so I unwrapped a little and let him cover
himself. Of
course, the piece he’d taken was too small to reach his super long legs. I
moved closer to give him a bit more. This new spot was the worst part of the couch because it was in between the cushions, so I sagged into the crack.

I wished I hadn’t given him any of the blanket.

“Why don’t you come sit on my lap so you’re more comfortable?” he asked.

His lap would be more comfy than the couch crack, I guess. And he had cooked me what I’d wanted so I could at least do what he asked.

Mom had defrosted venison for us to eat. Deer was just icky.

Whenever he asked me to sit on his lap, I always fell asleep early and he
carried me to my bed. Maybe he wanted me to fall asleep so he wouldn’t
have to
play a game with me. Whatever. I didn’t want to play anyway. He always
let me win, so it wasn’t all that fun.

I crawled up onto his long legs and fell back on his chest. Then he
covered us both in the blanket. The scruffiness on the side of his face poked into the top of my head.

I hated it.

I didn’t like what he was watching on TV, so I made up my own game:
I only breathed when he did, but not as loud. And when the air came
through my nose, it didn’t whistle like his. He needed to blow his nose.

But I didn’t tell him that.

Breathe, whistle, breathe.

“Raaaaaee,” Darren called from his room.

“Whaaaaat?” I yelled back.

Instead of answering, he came out into the living room to look for me.
His
eyes went wide when he saw me. Wide like my favorite cartoon. That crazy
rabbit always made me laugh with those eyes of his.

“Come hang out with me,” Darren said.

Breathe, whistle, breathe. Breathe, whistle, breathe. Breathe, whistle, breathe.

He was breathing way too fast for me. I couldn’t keep up.

“Go back to your room, Darren. Your sister needs to go to bed. So do you.”

“Can’t she hang out with me until
—
”

“No!” he yelled, cutting Darren off. “Go to your room! Now!”

Darren stormed off. My brother was always getting in trouble with him.

When it was just us again, his hand went to my cheek, the one that wasn’t resting on his chest. His skin was so rough. Sandpaper rough. He
brushed it over my cheek and into my hair, tucking the loose strands behind my ear.

Now that Darren was gone, his breathing went back to normal.

Breathe, whistle, brush, breathe.

“You’re such a good girl,” he said.

I knew I was. I mean, I didn’t do anything bad. Except for eating the
macaroni and ketchup when Mommy wanted us to have venison. She knew I hated that kind of meat, so it was really her fault that I had asked him to make me something else.

Breathe, whistle, brush, breathe.

“Such a good girl,” he repeated.

His hand stopped moving every few minutes, then started up again,
rubbing
over my cheek and straight up into my hair. Sometimes his thumb would
just draw circles over my skin. Maybe he’d gotten tired.

I knew I had.

With such a full belly and all the brushing and breathing, my eyes were heavy.

“My Rae is always such a good girl,” he said.

Breathe, whistle, rub, breathe.

***

“Rae, wake up…you’re having a bad dream.”

My eyelids shot open and widened, searching the room. There was a face so close to mine as I gasped for breath. It wasn’t
him…Gerald. It was Hart.