Chapter 12
TWELVE
DECLAN
I debated all day Friday whether to return to the lobby and talk to Andy. The sad look in her brown eyes haunted me, but I forced myself to stay away. Even though I had willingly gone to the lobby to report her bad attitude, I wasn't willing to go back in and risk causing another scene by pulling her away from her work.
Something told me that if I did, she'd hate me forever, crushing any hope I had of getting to know her. Yes, I'm being hopeful as hell that she'll allow me to explain myself and apologize for the way my words came out. Though, something about Andy tells me she's not the forgiving type.
The only time I've seen her let her guard down and look carefree is when she's with her daughter. With anyone else, even her blonde co-worker, her steel walls are back in place.
She's going to be difficult to reach, but for some strange reason, I want to try. That realization alone surprises me. I can't explain why I want to get to know this woman when every interaction we've had has been terrible, and I've never been the type to pursue a woman before. It could be that I recognize the hidden demons behind her eyes, but I can't be sure. All I know is there's something about her that makes me want to learn everything there is to know about her, to find out why she's so guarded and exactly what trauma is behind those chocolate eyes.
Who hurt her? And why do I care? Maybe I just like the fire in her eyes and arguing.
This morning, when I woke up, I went to the lobby for breakfast. I was hoping to see Andy again after having a chance to sleep on my thoughts. No such luck finding her. I asked the front desk woman, and she told me Andy was off and would return to work on Monday.
Great. Two days until I can speak to her and apologize.
I should call my former therapist and tell her that I realized what I did was wrong. I bet she wouldn't find the humor in that as I do, and I'm sure she'd give me some therapy is helping bullshit like she's done in the past. Never before have I willingly wanted to apologize for hurting someone. Sure, I've apologized to Camille many times before, but those apologies came after I severely messed up and she threatened to leave. Horrible, I know, but I don’t claim to be a good man.
After breakfast and my dashed hopes of seeing Andy, I returned to my hotel room and flipped through the few cable channels the hotel offered. I quickly grew bored and wasn't ready to talk to my best friends—the ones who plotted behind my back to dump me out here in The Hills Have Eyes County, so I called David to ask him about the town. After finding out everything was within walking distance of the hotel, I showered and headed out for the day, which brings me to where I am now.
I walk the streets of Loganville, getting side-eyed by everyone passing me. I don't miss how women clutch their purses tighter, how they grab their children's hands to pull them away, or how the men scowl at me before moving their wives out of my way. As if I want anything this city has to offer. They're clearly not used to seeing outsiders here and have no shame in staring, either. It's human nature to judge. Anyone who says they don't is lying. However, this town seems open about doing it publicly. Not that anyone has said anything to me, but I've been feeling the looks since I left the hotel property. Sure, my tattoos are on full display, but I don't know what it is that's causing people to turn their noses up at me. Is it the ink covering my skin, the fact that I'm a stranger, taller than every person I've seen, or how I'm dressed in ripped black jeans, a black T-shirt, and black boots? Yeah, I stick out like a sore thumb in this little colorful town. Living here will be fun.
Instantly, my mind races back to Andy, and I wonder what her experience has been like living here and if this small-minded town is where she grew up. I have so many questions about the curly-haired woman who seems to despise me.
By one o'clock, I find myself at one of the two restaurants in this town. Scoops is a local family-owned ice cream shop and café. The cool air soothes my heated skin the moment I walk in, and the sweet ice cream scent fills my nostrils. White walls surround me, each covered with family photos, some so old that they're in black and white. To the left is a massive display of all the ice cream flavors, signs for the flavors, and a display case showing the different types of waffle bowls and cones they offer. I've never had much of a sweet tooth, but seeing the different flavors displayed suddenly makes me crave the sweet, cold treat.
To the right, several wooden tables and chairs occupy the space, nearly full of patrons who all seemed to abandon their plates of food to fixate on me the moment I walked in. Their eyes on me make my skin crawl, and the urge to run causes my legs to twitch. I despise having attention focused on me; it makes me feel like I'm under a microscope. If these people scrutinize me too closely, they'll uncover the truth about me that I'm trying to keep hidden. This town is small enough that I don't need everyone to know who I am, because, so far, it's clear that no one does. Here, I can be a stranger. I can just be Declan—whoever he is. Maybe I can find out who he is while I'm here for the next two months.
Straight ahead, I notice the sign that says Order Here and a menu hanging on the wall behind the teenage girl working the cash register. Ignoring the nosy people staring and whispering at my expense, I plaster on a broad smile and approach the counter.
The teenage girl pops her gum, one finger twirling her brown hair. "Good afternoon, what can I get for you?"
My eyes quickly scan the menu and find mostly soups and sandwiches. I'm hungry, so I should order something, but I can't stop drooling over the ice cream since walking in.
"Can I get a banana split minus the bananas?"
She looks at me like I suddenly grew two heads. "You want"—she looks down at the register, then back to me—"a banana split. But without bananas…on the banana split?" she questions, her face scrunching in confusion.
Was my request that hard to understand? I'm not too fond of bananas, but I want the triple scoop of ice cream packed with all the toppings. "Yes, that's exactly what I want."
Rolling her lips, she punches some buttons on the machine and tells me the total. I hand her a twenty, telling her to keep the change.
"Come over here and tell me which flavors you want." She walks behind the ice cream case, and I stand before the display, carefully looking over each flavor.
“Cookies n’ cream, please.”
She nods, then scoops the ice cream into the bowl. "What else?"
“Just cookies n cream.” Mumbling something under her breath, she places two more large scoops into the bowl, then piles it up with hot caramel, fudge, whipped cream, and sprinkles.
I haven't had one of these since I was a kid. The last day I spent with my mother before she abandoned me and I was placed into foster care. She'd taken me to a local ice cream shop and bought me a banana split—minus the bananas, because even as a child, I hated them, and we sat outside while I ate the frozen treat .
"Be a good boy, and stay right here, Declan," Mom says, her brown eyes glossy with unshed tears.
"Mommy, what's wrong?" I ask, getting an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. She's been acting strange the past few days, and I don’t understand why.
Taking a napkin, she wipes away the whipped cream from my mouth. "Nothing, baby. Promise me you'll be a good boy and remember that I love you." She hugs me tightly as a sob rips from her chest. "I'm sorry, Declan. I'm so sorry." My hands cling to her tank top, desperate to keep her arms around me. Hugs from my mother are rare. Her remembering me and taking me out for treats is rare, so I want to savor the day. Savor the feeling of my mother’s arms around me and hearing her tell me she loves me.
This morning, she woke me up and told me we could have ice cream for breakfast. I shouted with glee, thrilled to spend one of Mom's good days with her. It wasn't often she had good days.
When she didn't have her needle or glass pipe, she was sick in bed for days.
"Stay here, it'll be okay." Before I can ask her anything else, she rushes off, leaving her eight-year-old son alone.
My mother often forgets me, but she always returns. So I stay there like she said and finish eating my ice cream.
By the time the sun goes down, she still hasn’t returned, and the ice cream shop has closed. The owner called the police when he noticed me still sitting outside.
A red-headed officer approaches me, asking where my mother is, and my response is, "Mom said to stay here. She'll be right back."
"How long has she been gone?" he asks, and I carefully shrug, not wanting to get Mom in trouble for leaving me outside, but I don’t want to be out here anymore. I’m hungry and have to pee badly.
When the officer doesn’t get the answer he wanted, he asks, "Do you know what time you came here?"
That was a question I could answer.
"We came here for breakfast."
A look of shock flashes over his face, and then a moment later, he’s speaking in code into the radio strapped to his shoulder. I don’t understand what he’s saying, but the next thing I know, I’m sitting in the front seat of a police car heading back to the police station.
For a moment, I panic, thinking I’m being arrested, but then Officer Griffin lets me push the buttons for the siren and gives me a shiny police badge sticker. When I hesitate, he assures me I’m not in trouble and promises to help me find my mother and get me back home.
He lied.
I never returned home.
Three days later, my mother was located, and I learned she signed away her parental rights. She didn't want me anymore. It was as simple as that.
All it took to give your child away was a signature.
A piece of paper.
Snapping out of the unwanted memory that assaulted me, I blink back into reality to find myself sitting on a bench outside the café. One hand holding the banana-less banana split while the other is closed tightly in a white-knuckle fist.
Fuck.
I hate thinking of my childhood. Of my mother.
After she abandoned me, I was placed into one foster home after the other until I was fourteen. Then I was transferred to a group home after getting kicked out of my final foster home for assaulting my foster father. That fat fucker deserved worse than a broken nose.
The group home was where I met Adam when we were sixteen. We ran away together, started playing music, then two years later met Damon and Cole and formed Riot. Now the rest is history.
Years later, when Riot became popular, my mother found me. She'd shown up at one of our shows, apologizing for leaving me, begging for money.
She was so thin and frail that I hardly recognized her. I hated her, but I also hated seeing her like that. I'd given her all the cash in my wallet, and afterward, she thanked me, promising she'd come to meet me for coffee the next day.
I should've known better, but foolishly, I showed up at the coffee shop we agreed to meet at. I'd spent all day waiting for her, hoping she felt guilt for leaving her child, but I was wrong. That way of thinking gave her too much credit because she wasn't sorry. All that I was suitable for was an ATM.
I never made that mistake again.
Even as she tried to contact me through the years, I ignored her until the day I learned she died.
Camille thought it was harsh that I hadn't attended the funeral, but I didn't care. She may have given birth to me, but she was never a mother.
The ice cream in my bowl is now melted, thanks to the hot Nevada sun and the unwanted trip down memory lane.
Being sober, I don't have the drugs or alcohol to numb me and suppress the memories and emotions I've had tucked away for so long. Everything I'd rather forget and keep buried deep rises to the surface, forcing its way out, and trauma has a weird way of sneaking in and triggering you when you least expect it.
Thinking about my childhood will not do me, or anyone else, any good. If anything, it'll only lead me to drinking again. Which will inevitably end with me hitting rock bottom in an endless supply of coke and pussy. And I can't be that person ever again.
Tossing the untouched, melted ice cream into the trash, I wipe my hands along my jeans before shoving them into my front pockets and walk along the sidewalk, my feet taking me farther and farther into the dreadful city that is my home for the next few months.
I walk until I run out of the sidewalk and find myself standing in front of a white and blue thrift shop.
I'm ready to turn around and begin my walk back to the hotel when a dark head of curly hair catches my attention. A slow smirk spreads across my lips at the sight of Andy.
She's dressed casually in black leggings and a faded crop top displaying her legging-covered belly. It's short enough to reveal her lower belly but insufficient to show soft skin. Her curls are wild and frizzy but still appear smooth and in perfect ringlets. This version of her is much different from her at work—hidden beneath a baggy cardigan.
Despite wearing a crop top, I can see the way she sucks in her stomach, visibly uncomfortable by the short shirt.
She looks hot as fuck and doesn't even know it.
My feet decide for me. My brain takes a minute to catch up, but I realize I'm walking in her direction once I do. We're only feet away when her big eyes look up and notice me walking straight toward her.
Andy's eyes widen, and I can practically see the wheels spinning in her head. The debate between whether she should run away from me or face me is evident in her stare.
Despite her scowl, a smile spreads across my face. It's unclear why she wants to hate me so desperately, but little does she know that I already hate myself, so her hatred doesn't bother me.
Lies.
I'll change her mind. I don't know why I want to, but I will.