Chapter 19
NINETEEN
DECLAN
It's been two weeks since Andy agreed to control her poisonous tongue and agreed to be friends. After she and Max used my room to prepare for the day, we stopped at a drive-thru to grab breakfast before going to their new apartment to pick up the keys. She signed the papers and handed over a check, and the smile that formed on her face after receiving the keys to her new apartment is one I'll never forget. I've never seen such pure joy on her face in the few days I've known her. It was much different from the constant scowl she seemed to have when it came to me.
Afterward, we went to her former apartment and loaded all their belongings into her car. Since none of the furniture had been hers, it had only taken two trips. They didn't have a lot, but over the next two weeks, Andy has been able to decorate her and Max's apartment and make it feel like a home.
We even had a repeat of the day at the thrift shop and went back to pick out furniture. I tried to buy her a new couch as a housewarming gift, but she turned me down, telling me the small gray sectional she picked out for seventy-five dollars was all she wanted. The couch had a massive stain and had been covered in animal hair. It had taken her three days to clean it before anyone could sit on it, but now it looks like a brand-new couch.
During the last two weeks, I have seen Andy every day. I go into the lobby every weekday for breakfast, and she's behind the desk. Whenever she's not with a guest, I make it a point to stop at the desk and chat with her. She helped me to find an NA meeting, which I can proudly say I've been attending twice a week at the local community center.
On the weekends, I've taken her and Max out for breakfast, and then we usually go for a walk or to the park, which leads us to get lunch and ice cream at Scoops afterward.
The weekends give me something to look forward to.
I was right about Andy. She's so fucking guarded and doesn't let people in easily. When she speaks, it's never about anything personal, and I haven't pushed her to either, in fear of how she'd react when her back is up against the wall.
So, I've been taking things slow. I am navigating our friendship at her pace. Though I can't say it's not frustrating. All I want is for her to trust me and to open up, but it's clear that's not something she does effortlessly. Especially when every day she has made it a point to bring up the fact I'll eventually be leaving. It's almost like she's reminding herself and using that as an excuse not to get too close.
It's a sad way to live. But I recognize it because it's how I've been living, too. Too damn afraid of letting someone truly in.
Even during my marriage, there were parts of me that I kept to myself, afraid to reach that depth of vulnerability.
Today is Saturday, and Andy texted me a few minutes ago to let me know she was on her way to pick me up. Seeing her name on my screen was enough to put a smile on my face and have me bouncing in anticipation, anxious to see the two girls responsible for brightening my days and making my time here bearable.
Slipping my checkered Vans on, I shove my room key and wallet into my back pocket before stepping outside the room. The heavy door slams shut behind me as I lean against the cement wall. Quickly pulling out the pack of smokes from my pocket, I place one between my lips and light it up, inhaling the smoky menthol deep into my lungs.
The familiar gray SUV pulls into the parking lot, stopping in the empty parking space in front of me. A smiling Andy sits behind the steering wheel, causing my lips to curl into a smirk.
Tossing my cigarette to the ground, I step it out before walking toward the car and climbing in, the cold AC instantly cooling my heated skin. One thing about this town I have yet to get used to is the heat. The desert heat is no joke, and constantly suffocating no matter the time of day.
"Hi, best friend!" Max shouts from the backseat, her voice filled with excitement.
Looking over my shoulder, I smile at my little buddy, reaching my arm back to partake in the special handshake she told me we needed last weekend. We'd been sitting at Scoops eating ice cream when she grabbed my hand and said, "Best friends need special super-secret handshakes." We spent the next thirty minutes trying to develop something that she deemed unique enough.
"Hi, Max. I'm happy to see you finally." Andy brought Max to work with her last week, but she's started her new daycare since then.
"I missed you so much!" Max wasn't happy about returning to daycare, but Andy told me two days ago that she was making friends and now looks forward to going each day.
"I missed you too, little buddy. Good thing we're going to spend the day together." Turning my attention toward Andy, I see her sitting back in her seat, watching Max and me interact with a smile. I love how much she smiles now. She's too beautiful to always be angry and scowling. If she's not careful, she'll end up getting premature wrinkles from doing all that shit.
Unable to help myself, I reach across and brush away the stray curl that always finds a way to fall into her eyes. "Hello to you, too. I also missed you. "
A soft blush tints her cheeks before she clears her throat and looks away, placing the car into reverse and backing out of the parking spot. "Hi," she says quickly, eyes darting forward to focus on the road.
"So, what are we doing today, ladies?"
"Mommy said we're going to the fruit festival," Max chimes in from the backseat, her tablet long abandoned and her focus fully engaged in whatever conversation is going to happen.
"The Cherry Festival," Andy corrects, looking at me from the corner of her eye. "It's something this town does every summer. They have a lot of vendors, food trucks, face painting, dancing, and live entertainment." She pauses, an amused look coming over her. "Although, I doubt the entertainment would be anything compared to you. It's mostly local bands. Usually garage bands with teenagers, and middle-aged dads."
"So, a farmers market?" I clarify. She shrugs.
"Eh, I guess. But several stands sell cherry everything from cherry pie to cherry jam and cherry-infused lip balm. You'll find it there if you can use cherries to make it. Max loves all the cherry candy." she pauses, a soft smile spreading along her plump lips, "It’s a town tradition. I've been coming with my grandparents since I was a baby. When they died, I continued going, and after Max was born, I started taking her every year." I sit silently while Andy speaks, appreciating that she's opening up to me when it's rare for her to do so. Until now, I had no idea her grandparents had passed away. She's never said anything about her family, but I've been curious. About where her family and Max's dad are, but I've never asked. I've been keeping my questions to myself.
Before I could ask her any other questions, we stopped on a dirt path beside several cars.
"Don't know why, but people come from out of town to attend the cherry festival." She laughs, shaking her head as if she doesn't understand why people would travel to some small-town cherry-themed farmers' market .
Fucking strange. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate small towns?
Hand in hand, Max and I follow Andy to the entrance of the Cherry Festival, which is located inside an art museum. That makes it even stranger, but I can't deny that I'm amused by this quirky little town.
With my phone in hand, I snap pictures of the inside of the gallery and remind myself to send them to Spencer, my ex-sister-in-law, later, knowing that she'll be horrified about seeing all the vendor booths set up inside the museum.
Spencer owns an art gallery in Seattle, and her love of art is something I'll never understand. After Camille and I got married, she quickly became one of my best friends. After the divorce, we've continued to keep in contact. In fact, I stay in contact with both of Cam's parents, too. The dynamic isn't typical, but it works for us. Apart from my bandmates, they're the only family I have.
Spencer has often tried to teach me about art and share what she sees in it, but I will never understand how a canvas of shapes and random brush strokes can have a deeper meaning.
"Come on, let's start outside, and then we'll come back," Andy says, leading us through the building until we reach the back doors that are propped open, people coming in and out.
Before we step outside, Andy points down a long hallway, a smile on her lips. "Down that hall is a dance studio. I took ballet when I was a kid." A ballet studio in an art museum? Oh, God. There's something really weird about this town.
As we walk through the building, I take in all the booths, promising myself to return to check them out despite how weird I think this whole thing is.
We make it outside, and Max instantly starts cheering when she sees the bouncy house, begging Andy to let her go and play.
To my surprise, Andy agrees. Not needing to be told twice, Max drops my hand and runs toward the bouncy house. From where we stand, I watch as she climbs inside and starts jumping around, instantly falling into giggles as the other kids jump with her.
Andy watches her daughter with a content smile, genuine happiness, and calm coming over her.
While we walked around, exploring more of the outdoor activities and even more booths, I wanted to learn more about what she said in the car.
Feeling hopeful that Andy might be willing to continue opening up and giving me pieces of herself like she did in the car, I ask, "Did you come here with your parents, too?"
The question catches her off guard. She stares at me, blinking, and just when I think she's about to shut down and push me away, she shakes her head. "My grandparents were my parents. They raised me." She turns away and walks in front of me. Her shoulders are tight with tension, her face set in an unreadable expression as if she's having an internal battle with herself.
I fall into step behind her, allowing her to set our pace and work out the thoughts in her pretty head before speaking or pushing for anything further.
Finally, she slows her pace until I'm beside her, then shares more of her story with me, "My dad left when my mom was pregnant. He didn't raise me or want me."
"Have you ever met him?"
She nods. "Once. When I was pregnant. Found him online. He lives in Vegas." She scoffs, her brown eyes rolling. "An hour away. Can you fucking believe that?" she laughs a humorless laugh.
"He has a wife and son. I have a half-brother I've never met, and he doesn't know about me. I was seven months pregnant but drove to Vegas to meet him. He couldn't even be bothered to meet me halfway or come to me." The way she speaks is as if she doesn't give a fuck, but the look on her face, the hurt in her eyes, tells me otherwise. She feels the rejection of her father, and it makes me angry for her. Furious that the piece of shit was able to produce such a beautiful daughter but wasn't man enough to stay and raise her or even get to know her when she reached out to him. Fuck him. He doesn't deserve her.
"We met at some run-down diner off the freeway. You should've seen the way he was dressed. Way too overdressed for that shitty diner. Some fancy designer suit. When it was time for the check, he requested two. I mean, really, he wore a fucking Rolex and drove a Mercedes but couldn't buy me a twelve dollar meal." She shakes her head, hurt shining in her eyes. "He showed me pictures of his son and talked about him and his wife. Never asked me any questions about myself. When he noticed I was pregnant, all he said was, "Oh, wow. I'm going to be a grandpa." As if he has any right to claim that title. A tear that she'd been trying so hard to hold back escapes, rolling down her cheek.
Andy angrily wipes that tear away, continuing her story, "He didn't even know my name. He called me Andrea, and when I told him it's Andy, he laughed and said he was using my full name." Her dark eyebrows pull together. "Andy is my real name. I know it's usually a nickname for people, but it's not for me. I told him that, but he didn't care and quickly started talking about his son." She wipes another tear away.
"I realized that it wasn't that he was incapable of being a father. It was that he didn't want to be my father. He chose not to be my dad. Meanwhile, some other kid got to grow up in a normal two-parent household with a dad who loves them. A dad who can fucking be there. Who wants to be there." Tears stream down her face, but she doesn't wipe them away. She looks me in the eye, and for the first time, I see hurt and vulnerability staring back at me. The walls she keeps around her heart crumble one by one, just enough for me to be able to climb over the wall.
"Why didn't he want me, Declan? Why does he want to be a dad to someone else but not to me?" Her bottom lip quivers, and my heart fucking breaks for this girl. The girl is wearing her heart on her sleeve for the first time. The girl who is allowing me to see an unhealed piece of herself that will never recover from that childhood trauma.
Stepping closer to her, our toes bump together, her breasts brushing against my chest as we stand so fucking close, sharing the same breath. "Fuck him. It's his fucking loss." Brushing her hair behind her ears, I place my hands on the sides of her face, tilting it back so she's staring directly into my eyes. "He doesn't deserve you. You didn't do anything to deserve an absent father, and I'm so fucking sorry. But don't you dare think you did anything wrong." Her lips parted as her breathing quickened, minty breath fanning across my lips.
"Tell me, baby. Say it's not your fault." Using my thumbs, I wipe her tears away, hating that she's crying over how unworthy she feels because of the weak man who is nothing more than a sperm donor.
"It's not my fault," she whispers, eyes never leaving mine. Her body steps closer, her hands fisting the sides of my T-shirt at my waist. We're so close that I can feel her heart beating against my chest.
"Louder."
"It's not my fault." She raises her voice, brown eyes shining. "Fuck him." She smiles, her nose inches away from mine.
"That's my girl."
"Declan," she whispers my name in a desperate plea, her nose rubbing against mine, her eyelids slowly closing as she presses herself against me, lips parting as she approaches.
With a racing heart, I fight the urge to strip her bare in front of all these people and bury my cock in her warm pussy, pounding into her until her eyes roll back into her head and I'm the name she's screaming.
I want to fuck her so hard that twenty years from now, when she's having mediocre sex with her husband and using her vibrator after he falls asleep, I'm the one she's thinking about.
I want to implant myself so fucking deep under her skin that I'll leave my mark on her and make sure there's no possible way she could ever forget me.
But I can't do that, because she's too good for me. So, instead of giving in to what I want, I clear my throat and pull away.
"We should go find Max." I don't miss the hurt and rejection that flashes in her eyes.
I feel like a piece of shit instantly, but I'd feel like an even bigger one if I were to lead her on and am unable to give her what she wants. She's vulnerable, and I was there, which is why she tried to kiss me. It's not because I'm special. It's because I was there.
She'll realize I was doing her a favor. Had I allowed our lips to connect, there's no fucking way that would've been enough for me. I would take from her until there's nothing left, and I can't do that to her.
She doesn't deserve to have another man break her.