The Wild Ones (29 page)

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After having to chase Brent off when I get home, all I can think about is what was, what is and what will never be. 

The selfish mistakes of my mother.  The cold reaction of my father.  The things they hid from me and how it ruined my life with Trick.  The time I’ve wasted listening to the people I thought I could trust, people I didn’t really know at all.  And, of course, the future I’ll never have with the man I love.

That eats at me more than anything—the loss of Trick.  The rest I can forgive. Forget.  Move on from.  But not that.  Not Trick.  He’s my sticking point. 

I roam aimlessly, restlessly through the house. Drogheda must be out and Mom is still at the club.  Or somewhere.  Maybe hitting up another hottie for some afternoon delight.  Who knows? So it’s just me. And my thoughts.  And all the things I can’t fix and can’t get rid of.

On my way out of my father’s office, I pass the small bar stuffed in the corner of the room.  There is a half full bottle of Patron on the first lacquered shelf.  Trick’s favorite. 

I wonder if that would count as some of the hair of the dog that bit me?

Taking down the bottle and a lead crystal tumbler, I pour myself a drink.  Just tequila.  Nothing else.  I take a sip. It burns all the way down.  Just like I want it to. I hope it burns away thought and hope and pain and regret and…everything.  And leaves nothing behind but impenetrable scars.

I finish the glass and have another.  And another.  Until my head is too fuzzy to think straight.  But even still, it’s not too fuzzy to think of Trick.

I’m sitting in the chair behind his desk, on my fourth or possibly fifth glass of tequila, when my father walks in.

“There’s the asshole who’s tried to control my entire life.  And then ended up ruining it.  Happy to see you,
Daddy!”

He stops in the doorway and narrows his eyes on me. I struggle to my feet and sway so much I have to grab on to the edge of the desk to remain upright.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks.

“Having a drink.  Because I can.  And there’s nothing you can do about it.  I’m old enough to make my own decisions. I don’t have to listen to the great Jack Hines anymore.”

Although he controls it perfectly, I see his temper flare.  Only those who know him well would be able to tell he’s getting angry.  “As long as you live under my roof, young lady—”

 “Oh, stop! I don’t want to hear your threats.  You’ve done enough damage already.  You’re so cold and heartless, you ran your wife into another man’s arms.  Isn’t that enough?  Can’t you just leave me alone?  Let me find happiness?  Does everything have to be your way?  Under your control?  Live up to your specifications, your expectations?  Because that will never happen, Daddy. No one in your life will ever be good enough.  But that’s not true for the rest of us.”

“Cami, what are you talking about?”

It infuriates me that my eyes start to water.  Tears are always just beneath the surface. At least they have been since Trick left.  “Trick, Daddy.  You are the one who ran him off.  First because you were so hard on him and then because you kept something so important from me.  I made the terrible mistake of defending you and Mom.  I never thought in a million years something like that could be true and me not know about it.  I blamed him, Daddy!  I blamed
him! 
I practically called him a liar!  And now he’s gone and he’s never coming back.”

Saying the words out loud is like throwing gasoline on a match.  Every delusion I’d had, every last bit of hope I’d harbored goes up in flames.  And I’m on fire.  My chest, my head, my soul—everything hurts from my skin in.  I can’t stand to be inside my own head for one more second.

I run from the room, desperate to get away—from memories, from people, from the inevitable.  I pull out my cell phone and dial Jenna’s number.  She answers on the first ring.  She’s laughing.

“Cami!” she says exuberantly.

“Come and get me.”

“What?”

“Come and get me.”

She giggles. “I can’t do that.  Why don’t you come here?”

“I can’t drive, Jenna. Now come and get me.”

She sobers somewhat.  At least her voice does.  “Seriously, Cam, I can’t drive either. I’ve been drinking all day.  Is something wrong?”

I start crying. I can’t help it.  It’s like my last bastion of hope for sympathy and distraction just disappeared.  “I…I…”  I’m crying so hard now I can’t get the words out.

“Sit tight, Cami.  We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I don’t ask questions.  I’m just relieved that she’s working out something.  “Okay.”

She hangs up and I go out to sit by the pool and wait.  I see Trick there, grinning at me as he takes off his clothes.  So I get up and walk. Toward the stable.  I tell myself on the way down there not to go, that it will only make things worse.  But I’m a glutton for punishment, apparently.  If I’m going to wallow in Trick, I might as well do it up right.

I go straight to Lucky’s stall.  His head is just tall enough to clear the top rail.  I stroke his velvety nose.  And I bawl.

My breath is coming in hiccups and I can barely see.  I’m letting it all pour out, everything I have left. 

My body is shaking so badly I can’t stand, so I let my knees fold and I crumble at the foot of the stall.  It’s there that Sooty finds me.

He puts one leathery hand on my shoulder and asks, “What’s wrong, darlin’?”

I shake my head. I’m crying too hard to talk. He squats down beside me and puts his arm around me.  I lean over against him and cry all the harder.  If only I had a father who acted like this, who cared like this and who showed it like this, maybe I wouldn’t be in this position.

I’m sitting in the dirty stable floor soaking Sooty’s shirt when Jenna finds me.  She rushes to my side.

“Ohmigod, Cami, are you okay?”

Her eyes are darting back and forth between Sooty and me.  It would have been laughable if I weren’t so miserable.

“Please just get me out of here,” I plead.

She helps me up and I dust off my butt.  Sooty stands, too, and I see the enormous wet spot on his shoulder.

I look him in the eye. I want to thank him and apologize, but the tears come again.  Sooty smiles in that sweet way he has and he pinches my chin.

“Don’t let anything get in the way of what you want. Not even pride.”

I want to take exception and explain to him that I’m not standing in the way of what I want, that what I want simply doesn’t want me, but Jenna starts tugging at my arm.

“Thanks for looking out for her until I could get here,” she says and starts leading me toward the back bay doors.

I look around for her car, but don’t see it.  “How did you get here?”

She nods to a place halfway between the house and the stable. There sits Rusty’s car, idling, with Rusty watching us curiously through the windshield.

“I’m so sorry, Jenna!  I know you wanted to stay out of this, you and Rusty.  I’m so sorry.”

The tears start to fall again. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” she whispers comfortingly.  “No guy is gonna keep me from my bestie when she needs me.  But he didn’t even try.  Not this time. He knew it was serious.”

“He won’t tell Trick, will he?”

“No.  He doesn’t talk to Trick about much of anything these days.  Today’s the first time they’ve really hung out in forever.”

I stop. “He was with Trick today?  At the race?”

Jenna nods.  “Yeah, they came back early and Rusty surprised me.”

“But he’s…”

“No.  You’re fine. Come on.  He’s taking us to his garage for a while.  Once I sober up, we can go to my house and you can spend the night.”

“O-okay.”

When we get to Rusty’s car, this time something I think might be a GTO, Jenna opens the passenger door.  She pushes the seat up and I crawl into the back.  Jenna flops down in the front seat and slams the door shut.  When we don’t move immediately, I start to wonder why, but then Rusty turns around in his seat.

The outdoor lights that surround the stable illuminate the car enough that I can see half his face.  It lacks its normal fun-loving grin and relaxed brow.  Now, it’s wrinkled in concern.

He reaches back and palms my knee, wiggling my leg back and forth.  “You okay, girl?”

Rusty’s touch is in no way inappropriate or slimy; it’s the equivalent of a gentle pat on the back.  I have no doubt whatsoever that he’s actually concerned about me.  I know from this second on, he’ll be permanently endeared to me.  The brother I never had.  And Jenna the sister.

I give him a watery smile and nod.  My assurance is a total lie, but if I start talking to him about Trick, I’ll lose it.

He sort of slaps my knee a couple times, nods and turns back around to shift into reverse.  No one talks on the way to the garage.  The silence plus motion of the car and the soothing road noises are more than enough to put me straight to sleep.

Hushed voices stir me, but between the tequila and the emotional exhaustion, I don’t even bother to open my eyes. I much prefer the peace and solitude of sleep.  I prefer oblivion.

I can’t tell if it’s a few seconds, a few minutes or a few hours later when I hear the voices again.  This time they’re followed by a click and a bright light shining in my eyes.  I squeeze my lids shut and turn my face away.  I want to cuss and fuss and scream that I want to be left alone, but I just don’t have the energy. I’d much rather sleep.

That becomes practically impossible, however, when I feel fingers wiggling their way beneath my shoulders and knees.  Then someone is folding me up like a napkin and dragging me from the back seat.  Just when I’m about to make my displeasure known, in a very nasty way, I’m cradled in strong arms against a hard chest.  Something in the back of my mind niggles for me to wake up and take notice.  I ignore it to snuggle in deeper. 

But then I smell his soap.  It’s unmistakable.  Clean and lightly scented.  It’s Trick.

I open my bleary eyes and squint against the light. It’s not bright light, but it’s offensive nonetheless.  I blink a couple times until I can focus.  We stop moving when he looks down at me.  His expression is blank.  I can’t decide if it hurts or not. Right now, I’m just too happy to be looking at him again, so close, and to be held by him.  I never thought I’d feel his arms again.

“Trick,” I say hoarsely.

“Shhh,” he whispers as he starts walking again.

Regardless of everything else—all the pain, the disappointment, the doubt, the loss—I’m content to be with Trick, even in this situation.  I don’t think the circumstances would matter.  I just want Trick.  Period.

I wind my arms around his neck and lay my head against his shoulder.  He pulls me in tighter for just a second.  Like a hug. 

Did that just happen?  Or am I imagining things?  Maybe he was just getting a better grip. 

I like the next thought much better.

Or maybe he wasn’t.

Drink makes me brave.  It always has.  So it’s no surprise that I find the courage to pull my arms tighter around him and bury my face in his neck.  I hear a noise.  Like a hiss.  Could be one of disgust.  Or frustration.  But it could also be one of something else.  There’s only one way to find out, so I press my lips to his skin.

“Where did you come from?”  I ask, but I don’t really care.  I just think there’s a part of me that believes this is a dream.

“I was at home. I came to get Rusty to look at my truck.”

My head is still swimmy, but I notice when the light disappears. It’s much quieter now and I smell some kind of citrusy cleaner. 

“Your truck?”

“Yeah.  I got a truck.  Go back to sleep, Cami.”

I open my eyes as Trick lowers me onto something soft.  A couch or a cot of some sort.  I can see his face in the low light, but just barely.

“Why did you carry me?”

“Because you can’t sleep in the car.”

That’s not the answer I was hoping for.

“Why are you here?”

“I told you. I was looking for Rusty.”

“Trick, I—”

He cuts me off.  “Good night, Cami.”

And with that, he walks out of the room and closes the door behind him.

CHAPTER FIFTY- Trick

I stand outside the closed door for a few seconds.  As bad as it sounds, part of me wants to go back in there and take advantage of Cami’s sweetly drunken state.  Just to hold her one more time, to feel that warm body against mine. 

“Dammit,” I curse under my breath, pushing myself away from the door.

“What’s the matter?” Rusty asks.

“Nothing.  She’ll go back to sleep.  Thanks for letting her crash back there, man.”

“It’s no problem.  You know that.”

“I’m sure you had…other plans for the night,” I say, eyeing Jenna where she’s sitting on the hood of an old Ford, drinking a beer.

Rusty grins.  “Hell yeah I did, but nothing I can’t relocate.  Are you sure she’s gonna be all right?”