8. Penn
Chapter 8
Penn
"Well, that didn't take long." Hugo shakes his head. He peels off his dirty shirt, reaching into his car for a clean tee.
He has row upon row of ab muscles, his arms nearly as well-defined as mine. The sport of fencing might not call to mind buff specimens, but Hugo has a gym at Summerhill. The Olympics are in his rearview now, but exercise has remained a part of his daily routine.
"Alright, alright," I say, delivering my best Matthew McConaughey impression as Hugo stretches his hands above his head, bare muscles flexing. "How much is my ticket to Thunder Down Under?"
"First show is free." Hugo threads his arms through his clean shirt. "Next show is even better, and I charge."
I look down at my own dirty shirt. We worked for two hours, making lists and picking through dusty detritus. Unlike him, I do not have a fresh T-shirt to change into. I'm sure people at the grocery store I'm stopping by on the way back to his rental won't be afraid to look askance at my filthy shirt.
"What didn't take long?" I ask, moving past the joke and referring back to his comment from before his strip show.
Hugo twists the top off a water bottle flavored with lemon-lime electrolytes. "Olive Township rumor mill."
"Margaret," I say matter-of-factly.
"Yep." Hugo stares in the direction of Daisy's long-gone car. "You feel like telling me why Daisy drove up to your old house?"
I scratch my jaw with the edge of my thumbnail. That was my first question, too, as soon as I got over the shock of seeing her in her car. Shrugging, I answer, "She must've been one of Margaret's first recipients of fresh gossip and decided to come see for herself."
"It's possible. She was cake tasting with my sister today."
"What the actual fuck is cake tasting?"
"Tasting cake."
"Yes, thank you. But what else is it? Does it have a special meaning? Is this some new Olive Township tradition?"
Hugo eyes me warily, making it clear he doesn't want to say what he's about to say. He forges ahead. " Wedding cake tasting."
Ah. He left out a word. Because... why ?
"Why didn't you just say that?" I whistle for Slim Jim, and a few seconds later he comes bounding from the back of the house.
"Because you make the worst face when Daisy's name comes up. Like you smelled something disgusting, but also like your dog died."
I shake my head at him in a what the fuck way. He lifts his hands, proclaiming his innocence. "Don't shoot the messenger. Get a mirror. You'll see."
I open up the passenger door for Slim Jim, making a motion with my finger. He hops up and I close the door.
I turn back around to say goodbye and thank you to my best friend, but the apprehension in his eyes stops me. "Out with it, Hugo."
Hugo sighs, hands tucking into his pockets. It's obvious he's taking great care to keep his face devoid of emotion. "Are you sure you're making the right decision not telling Daisy? If she finds out you were here and didn't call her, she's?—"
"Doesn't matter, because I'll already be gone." Just because I ran into her last night doesn't mean anything. It was a chance encounter, and nothing more. I'll be more careful from now on. Olive Township might be a small town, but it's not that small.
"Thanks for thinking about the rest of us. We have to live with her."
"She's about as ferocious as a doe." At least, that's the impression I'm getting. The old Daisy St. James has been smothered.
Hugo snorts. "Given the right motivation, even cool tempered, sweet as honey Daisy will grow claws. Especially"—he slams a stiff pointer finger to my chest—"where it concerns you."
I scoff, batting away his finger. "You're above appealing to my ego, De la Vega."
"You've never believed in how much Daisy cared about you. Always wrote it off, called it something else."
I'm getting tired of this conversation. Of insisting Daisy doesn't care about me. Mostly because it hurts.
"Hugo, has Daisy ever asked about me?"
He knows I have him there. From his own mouth he once told me she stopped years ago.
But the way he's eyeing me now, almost like he pities me, is not what I was expecting from him. It gives me the feeling of being intruded upon, and I turn away slightly, angling my body toward that fucking house that brought me back here.
Stupid, dilapidated house. Except for the front yard. Quite the conundrum.
"Not in a long time," Hugo admits.
I double down on my scoff, this time adding a derisive sound in my throat. "No matter what you think is true from before, let me remind you that Daisy is engaged?—"
"—to a wet paper towel."
I smirk. "Exactly. And she does not give two shits about little old me."
"Sure, yeah." Hugo claps my back and walks backward to his car. "If that were true, there'd be no reason to keep your presence a secret."
I open my mouth to argue, but I have nothing to say. He's wrong. I don't know how, but he is. I just need a few more minutes to figure it out.
Hugo smiles smugly, wearing his conversational win like a beauty queen's sash. "Forgot to mention, trash pick-up day is Thursday, and you can't keep the empty can on the curb longer than twenty-four hours or the HOA will fine you."
"Ask me if I care." I used to fight real bad guys, and now an HOA is going to tell me what I can do with my trash can? No fucking way.
He ignores me, driving off with a parting wave, and in lieu of returning his wave I offer a friendly middle finger.
I didn't tell him I ran into Daisy last night, because I got the feeling she didn't want anybody to know where she was. Maybe it was the panic in her eyes, maybe it was the way she kept looking over her shoulder, but she looked like a woman who wanted to go . Somewhere. Anywhere.
Daisy's body screams to the front of my mind. She is all woman now. Filled out, and gorgeous. Honestly, I don't know how anybody in this town gets anything done with her walking around.
If I end up in her presence again, which I won't, it's possible I'll pass out. I hope Hugo is there to catch me because people die from that shit.
Up close or from a distance, Daisy is a sight to behold. A beautiful woman God created just to test my mettle. If I can withstand a life where Daisy is not mine, I can withstand anything.
Something about the way she looked when she drove by earlier is bothering me. That expression on her face, framed perfectly by her car window, really threw me. Why did she look wounded?
The question torments me while I swing by the grocery store and pick up a few items. Am I making a mistake by not telling Daisy I'm here? By concealing my identity, like I did earlier with Margaret at the sandwich shop? Like I did last night, with Daisy?
For the briefest moment I allow myself to get carried away with an alternate reality, one where I tell Daisy it's me. She throws her arms around me, chucking Duke's engagement ring out into a desert filled with prickly pear. Daisy and I live happily ever after, and Duke disappears into a puff of smoke.
But then I catch my reflection in a door on my way down the freezer aisle, and the fantasy disintegrates. That scar running down the side of my face, raised and waiting to one day turn flesh-colored. The pink skin needs time, I'm told, but that's not the worst part. What's hidden from view on my body is worse. I've been put through hell, mentally and physically. I am a former Navy SEAL with scars, both visible and invisible.
I'm an idiot for allowing myself to dream of a happy ending with Daisy. There won't be one now, and it was never an option before. I did not return to Olive Township to introduce difficulty into Daisy's life. From now on, I'll treat this like a mission. I'm here to gather information, execute on what I find, and extract myself.
In civilian terms, do what I need to do and get the fuck out .
The universe has jokes.
Why else, on my way to the rental property from the grocery store, would I be sitting at a streetlight watching Daisy and Duke take their seats on the outdoor patio at a corner restaurant? The corner table, naturally. I'm sure Duke asked for it, so everybody could see him. Always showing off, always posturing, preenin g.
Fucking peacock.
The light turns green and I switch the brake for the gas pedal. Just to be a real dick, I lean on the pedal a little heavier than necessary, gunning the engine. Daisy glances over, gaze landing directly on me through the windshield. Recognition lights in her eyes. Surprise races through me for the shortest second until I remember she's not really recognizing me, or at least not who I really am.
The moment passes and then they are gone, growing smaller and smaller in my rearview. My resolve strengthens, growing and stretching. I will leave Daisy alone.
When I get home, a glance at my phone tells me I have a message from my old squad leader, Plato.
Don't forget you promised to continue your physical therapy while you're gone.
Did I promise that?
Literally. You literally said the words.
Was I under the influence?
Get your ass to PT while you're there. That's an order.