Scars from a Memoir (8 page)

His face turned a little red, and he took a sip of the light brown liquid.

I pointed at my glass, which was filled with the same. “Iced tea?”

“That's always what's in your to-go cup when you leave the café.”

I scooped the first bite into my mouth. “This might be the best lasagna I've ever had.”

“You're being kind,” he said. “I know it's missing something.”

It was missing more than one thing. The sauce tasted like watery tomatoes.

“It's a hell of a lot better than what I could make. I should have brought dessert from the café.”

“Got it covered.”

“You made dessert, too?”

“I know how much you love chocolate, so I made something with fruit.” He winked.

The knob on the front door rattled as it unlocked, and Nadal came in with his arm around a girl I assumed was Tyme.

“Shit, I forgot you said you were going to be home tonight,” Nadal said with a smirk.

Asher shook his head. “You didn't forget.”

Tyme walked over and stuck her hand out. “You must be Cole.”

I felt all the color drain from my face. That was the nickname my family had given to me when I was kid. No one called me Cole except them.

“Nicole…” I took a deep breath. “My name is Nicole.”

“Oh, I thought Nadal said—”

“Her brother used to call her Cole.” Nadal glared at me as though I were a mosquito. “That was, until she got him killed.”

The lasagna and garlic bread rose in my throat.

“That was low, Nadal,” Asher said.

“Michael was my friend, and he died because of her. What else did you expect from me?”

I pushed my chair away from the table and moved for my purse on the back of the couch. When I turned around, Asher was in front of me.

“Please don't go.”

If I opened my mouth, something other than words was going to come out. I shook my head and tried to move around him.

He put his hands on my sides and shielded me with his back. “You're an asshole,” he told his brother. “She's suffered enough.”

“No, she hasn't. And I don't understand you.”

“What's going on?” Tyme asked.

“You don't have to understand me, but you have to respect her,” Asher said.

“Respect her?” Nadal laughed. “She's nothing but a junkie and a murderer.”

I wiggled out of Asher's hold, yanked the door open, and ran until I got to the end of the block. My chest was so tight I could hardly breathe.

I was sober, but life wasn't suddenly all better. I was still in Boston, the city I'd screwed for drugs. And now Dustin was threatening me. In the past, he'd killed people for hurting me. What would he do to someone who was hurting him?

My knees felt weak. I reached for the stop sign, but my fingers missed the pole. My butt hit the pavement, and the movement sent all the food to my throat. I dug my nails into the ground and leaned over, throwing up Asher's dinner and the coffee I'd had for breakfast.

“I'm sorry,” Asher said. He was out of breath and kneeled beside me. “Nicole, I'm so sorry.”

I didn't want him to see my tears, the mascara that was probably streaking down my cheeks, and the bile on my lips. I covered my face with my hands and rested my forehead on the pole.

“You didn't deserve that.”

My hands dropped, revealing the mess underneath.

“I deserved everything he said. Nadal's not the only one who doesn't understand you. I don't either. I'm—”

“Do you feel this?” He took my hands and placed them on his chest. His heart was beating so fast. “This is the way I feel whenever I'm with you. I felt it the first night we met, and I've been feeling it ever since.”

“But—”

“You need to stop blaming yourself. You didn't kill Michael.”

“Yes, I did! He fought my pimp because he was trying to save me. I didn't pull the trigger, but I might as well have.”

“Stop.” He stood and helped me to my feet. “I—”

“Nadal's right. I'm nothing but a junkie and a murderer.”

“Don't ever say that. You deserve better.”

“Don't you see my scars?” I tore off my sweater and threw it to the ground. “They're all over my goddamn body!”

He held one of his hands up in front of my face. “Do you see this?” There was a thick white line that ran across his wrist. “I have them too. Every day they remind me of the place I was in. I'm not there anymore, but that doesn't mean I've forgotten.”

I pulled his hand toward me and pressed my lips against his skin, kissing the length of the scar.

“The person I care about is the one standing in front of me,” he said.

I fell into his arms. My fingers clutched the back of his shirt, and he gripped my hair.

“The past is behind you,” he said. “It doesn't change the way I feel about you. Nothing will, especially not Nadal.”

The past was supposed to be behind you. Mine wasn't. It was swirling around me and closing in. I wasn't sure if it would ever be behind me.

-8-

THE WAY ASHER HAD STOOD UP FOR ME in front of Nadal was a lot to process. So was the dinner he cooked, the way he had paid close attention to everything I liked, and how I felt when I was around him. He was slowly peeling back my layers, getting to know what made me tick and how to make me smile. For some reason, I wasn't stopping him.

I thought I'd memorized every part of his body that wasn't hidden behind clothes, but I had missed his scar. He might have seen more of mine if Nadal and Tyme hadn't busted in. That wouldn't happen now. I wasn't going over to his apartment again. After that night, things weren't the same between the twins. I told Asher I didn't want him to fight with his brother; if he had to choose a side, he should choose Nadal's. He wouldn't listen. He didn't care that Nadal didn't agree with him; he was pissed at the way his brother had treated me.

Because Nadal had voiced his opinion in front of Tyme, Sada now knew about my past. I could tell by the look on her face when she came through the door and the way she walked toward me. It was a march, unlike her usual prance, and she grabbed my arm on her way to the backroom.

I was a junkie and a murderer, but did Nadal have to say that in front of Tyme—who couldn't wait to tell Sada? Knowing Sada, she would probably run her mouth to everyone who worked here. This had been a place where no one knew anything about my past, other than Al. Once Jami, the girl I worked the counter with, and the guys in the kitchen found out, that would all change. Their looks alone would make me want to quit.

Once we reached the back, Sada blurted out, “Why didn't you tell me you were a junkie?”

“Would it have made a difference?”

Her stare hardened and her lip curled.

“I didn't tell you because I didn't want to see that look on your face—the one you're showing right now.” I stood up straight and clenched my fists in a ball. “Plus, it's none of your business.”

“It isn't my business? I invited you over to my apartment and brought you around my friends. I trusted that you were normal. That you wouldn't…you know, steal from them like all you junkies do.”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My ears literally burned from her stupidity.

“Have I ever done anything to make you believe I'm not trustworthy? I'm dating one of your friends, and he thinks I'm good enough.”

“Asher's an idiot to be dating someone like you. I thought he was better than that. I guess I was wrong.”

“Better than what? You? I saw you snorting coke that night at his apartment, you goddamn hypocrite. How dare you stand here and judge me.”

She grabbed my arm and pushed up my sleeve. I could have pulled away. I didn't. I wasn't proud of my scars, but I sure as hell wasn't going to let her make me feel bad about them.

Her stare traveled over my forearm, up my chest, and penetrated my eyes. “Just like I thought. Track marks everywhere. With all the men you've screwed for drugs, you're probably loaded with diseases. Stay the hell away from me, you junkie whore.”

I wasn't going to fight with her or bother separating the lies she said from the truth. I didn't trust my voice. I knew if I opened my mouth, my tone would turn high-pitched and my lips would quiver.

She tied her apron around her waist and pushed up her padded bra. “Don't worry, I won't tell all our coworkers that you're a slut. I'll just tell them you're a heroin addict who got your brother murdered.” She pranced down the hallway toward the front.

I went into Al's office and asked if we could talk. He was going to find out soon enough; he might as well hear it from me. Mark had already told him about my brother and how he'd died, so I filled him in on what he didn't know: how Sada had introduced me to the twins,
their connection to Michael, and the fight I'd just had with her. “I'm sure Sada's telling everyone right now,” I said. “I don't want them to look down on you for hiring me.”

He leaned forward in his chair, closing the space between us. “I met Jami at AA, and the guys who work in the kitchen were in rehab with me. Trust me, none of them will look down on either of us.”

The knot in my stomach started to settle.

“If she says a word to anyone, she'll be gone,” he said.

“I didn't come in here to get her fired,” I said, gripping the edge of his desk.

“I know you didn't, but she's constantly late and always has an attitude. When she starts talking about other people's business, that's the final straw.” He briefly checked his watch. “There's an AA meeting going on just a few blocks up the street. If you leave right now, you'll have time to share. I don't want you to come back until your head is clear.”

He gave me the address, and just as I got to the door, he said my name. I turned around.

“All of us here have worked too damn hard to stay sober; we don't deserve to be judged.”

*   *   *

When I got back to the café, Jami ran out from behind the counter and pulled me into her arms. She was even taller than Asher, so I had to turn my head so my face wouldn't land in her chest.

“That bitch is gone,” she said. “She started talking crap about you, so I went into Al's office and had her taken care of.”

Jami must not have known I'd spoken to Al. I was sure her push had helped, but he'd sounded like he was looking for any reason to get rid of Sada.

“Welcome to the family, girl,” she said. “I know we go to different meetings, me being in AA and all, but if you ever want to come with me, you just tell me, OK?”

I squeezed her a little tighter.

“I will.”

“Don't you let girls like Sada get to you. We here understand you.” She kissed the top of my head and went back to the counter.

On my way to the backroom, I thought about what Jami had said. Al and his employees weren't the only ones who understood me. There were new people attending my NA meetings every day. I'd graduated from rehab with over thirty addicts, and more had come in to take our beds. There were so many other rehab centers around Boston, and NA groups in various parts of the city. In my world, Sada and Nadal were minorities. Despite what they thought about me, I would never be alone.

Support came in many forms—Ashley and Kathy worrying about me relapsing, Tiffany giving me a hug before bed, my parents calling a few times a week, Asher cooking my favorite dinner, or the people at my job sharing a similar past. Everyone in my life was there for a reason.

*   *   *

I'd already gone to a meeting in the morning, so I sent Asher a text to let him know I could meet earlier. I went into the kitchen to say good-bye to the guys, and the baker and busboy stopped to give me a hug. They were just as sweet as Jami, inviting me to their meetings and out for coffee if I ever needed to talk.

“That goes both ways,” I said.

“I appreciate that,” they replied.

I grabbed my purse and stopped by Al's office. He was on the phone, so I waved and headed outside. Sada and her boyfriend, Roger, were standing on the sidewalk between the café and alley. They looked like they were waiting for me. As I walked toward them, Sada looked down and reached for a piece of her hair. Roger stood like a bodyguard: arms crossed, back straight, feet grounded.

“Nicole,” someone said from behind me.

It was Mark. I didn't know what he was doing here, but I let him catch up.

“Al told me what happened. Are you all right?”

“He made me go to a meeting, and I feel much better.”

“What's she still doing here?” he asked, using his head to point to the alley.

I shrugged.

“Let's go find out.”

“You don't have to—”

He put his arm around my shoulders. “You're crazy if you think I'm going to let you deal with this on your own.”

Mark led me to the corner, and we stopped just in front of them. Roger was the size of a professional wrestler, with lots of tats and long hair.

“Who are you?” Roger said to Mark.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” Mark asked, ignoring Roger's question.

I suddenly had a flashback of when I'd worked at Mark's bar. A college boy was being too flirty and grabbed my ass. When Mark told him to apologize, the guy called me a whore. Mark punched him in the face. Roger was bigger than the college boy, but Mark didn't seem like a guy who got intimidated by size.

“He's my boss’ brother,” Sada said. “My old boss, anyway.”

“What's the problem here?” Mark asked.

Roger pointed at me. “That junkie got my girl fired.”

“She got herself fired,” Mark said. “She should have kept her mouth shut instead of gossiping about business that wasn't hers to tell.”

Sada finally looked up. A bruise had formed around her left eye. It was swollen and she could hardly open it, but she tried to cover it with her hair. She had mentioned that Roger got a little rough sometimes. He must have punished her for losing her job.

“So what.” Roger took a step forward. “Gossiping ain't a reason to fire someone.”

“No, but decreasing employee morale, breaking the dress code, and being consistently late for every shift are,” Mark said. His hand tightened on my shoulder. “You got anything else to say?”

“I'm going to convince Asher to break up with you,” Sada said, “and when he does, Nadal and I are going to laugh behind your back.”