17. Penn
Chapter 17
Penn
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
There Hugo and I are, minding our own business in Lunker as we choose a few new baits to try out at Canyon Lake tomorrow morning, when Paper Towel Duke walks in the shop. He strolls through the place without a look left or right, heading straight for the back wall. I watch him press down on a bright orange silver-dollar-sized button on the wall, then press his palm to the surface.
The wall begins to move, swinging slowly open to reveal a dimly lit space and ambient noise. I hit Hugo on the shoulder. "What the hell is that?"
Hugo glances over his shoulder. “King's Ransom, also known as a speakeasy."
Duke steps through, pausing in the open space, and I capitalize on his hesitation, rounding the end of the aisle and hustling toward the wall of trophy bass, which it turns out is a front for a speakeasy.
"Penn," Hugo forcefully whispers behind me. " Peter , whatever the fuck it is. What are you doing?"
I extend a stiff arm at the closing wall. "I want to go in there."
"We aren't dressed for it."
I look down at the two of us in our sweats, long sleeve T-shirts, and running shoes. "Is there a dress code?"
He sighs like he knows whatever it was he'd been about to say was going to put him on the losing end of this argument. "It's implicit."
"I'll follow the rules when they're explicitly stated. Until then," I push at the wall, and it slowly begins to swing open again, "we go into King's Ransom. And I don't want to hear another excuse from you about why we shouldn't, because you're on my shit list right now."
Hugo rolls his eyes. "It's not like you were keeping tabs on Daisy for the last fifteen years. How was I supposed to know I should've told you about her mom?"
"Sometimes you have to make choices when all you have is imprecise information."
Hugo lightly shoves my back, pushing me closer through the ever-widening entrance. "Don't use military thinking on me."
We spill out on the other side of what I thought was only a fishing store, but is actually a secret hipster spot with bad lighting and drinks with ironic names.
And Daisy.
Someway or another, it seems I can't go anywhere or do anything in this town without ending up around her. It's almost as if fate has planted its flag in the idea of us being together.
But this time, she's with Duke. The situation is already less than ideal, and made even worse by the fact that I slipped earlier today and told her I hate the guy. I don't know what came over me, and I definitely shouldn't have done that. She was challenging me about believing in the concept of being in love. Reality, or rather the current reality I've created for myself here, stepped in and took over my ability to form and speak words. There I was, blurting out the truth about how I feel about her fiancé. Might as well have blurted out the truth about my identity while I was at it.
"Way to go, asshole," Hugo mutters. "Looks like you're finally going to have to come face-to-face with a human paper towel."
I eye the group across the room. Duke, Daisy, and Vivi.
"Where does that rank on the list of sentences you never thought you would say?"
"Somewhere above Do you want to watch me press olives but far below I'm not a fan of deep throating ."
I cough on a laugh, patting his shoulder. "I don't know where the hell you get that sense of humor, but it's quick and unexpected."
Hugo stiffens under my hand. We both know his sense of humor came from his father.
"You know we have to go over there, right?" Hugo nods in the direction of the table at the back of the room. Vivi stares Hugo down, giving him a wide-eyed look paired with cinched eyebrows, like what the fuck are you still doing across the room?
"You'd better play nice," Hugo warns, starting over. I fall into step beside him, my hands going into my pockets.
"I'm always nice."
Hugo eyes me. "I know Duke was shitty to you before, but his dad was an asshole back then, and he's still a piece of work." He tips his head toward me, quietly saying, "It's not an excuse, just a reason."
I happen to remember far more about Duke's dad than I care to.
My eyes meet Daisy's. Now that I know about her mom, I can't stop seeing the heaviness Daisy carries. It makes me even more determined to insist she be herself around me. She's devastated, living with a broken heart, and trying like hell to be everybody's golden girl. To meet their expectations.
Her lips curl into a smile, and I feel mine unconsciously doing the same in response. She looks so damn pretty in the sage green shirt. It's overlaid in lace, and I don't know what the top with all the rigid lining is called, but it's pushing her breasts up, accentuating how round they are. I want to bury my face there, biting and licking and sucking, and possibly suffocating but dying with a smile. I want to know every part of her now, who she is, what she likes, her regrets, her triumphs, the foods she hates and the ones she cannot get enough of. I want to immerse myself in her.
But, no. I'm in a prison of my own making, shackled by manacles I designed.
Duke's dumb head with his perfect hair weaves into my line of sight. Of all the places we could have gone tonight, we wound up here (my fault, I'll admit), preparing to make chitchat with someone I would most definitely piss on if he were on fire, but then I'd walk away immediately after.
He stands as we approach, straightening his shoulders and bringing himself to full height, while also making sure we know this is his territory. Daisy is his.
I hate this guy. I hate him so fucking much. He is nearly the same height as me and Hugo, but he is dressed for the occasion in navy blue slacks, and a white button-up collared shirt. The fabric of the shirt looks expensive, some kind of thick weave. I have the oddest and most intrusive memory of his asshole father telling him one of the most important pieces in a man's wardrobe is a good, white shirt. His dad threw away a handful of Duke's favorite shirts after that, and me, as the cleaning boy as Duke liked to call me, found them in the trash. I already hated Duke by then, but that didn't keep me from feeling bad for him, especially because I heard him crying from behind his closed bedroom door. Shirts in hand, I opened up his door, tossed them inside without looking, and slammed it closed. The next week when I was cleaning Duke's room, the shirts were in his trash.
Why the fuck did my brain decide to serve me that useless and unnecessary memory? The last thing I want to remember is standing in Duke's monstrous house, doing my mother's job because she was unable to get off our couch and go to work.
"Hugo," Duke booms, a wide, white-toothed smile breaking across his face. He leans in for a bro hug back slap, wrapping up my best friend. "Missed ya, man." He pulls aways, but keeps an arm on Hugo's shoulder. "Sorry I had to skip our last meeting. I won't miss the next one. I blocked it off on the work calendar."
Um. What?
"No worries," Hugo replies. "It was mostly more discussion around The Iliad, and what motivated the heroes to fight."
Duke grins, pleasant and good-natured. "Let me guess, Ambrose went into detail about Hector versus Achilles?"
What in the actual fuck is happening here?
Hugo does a head shake half eye roll thing that leaves me even more perplexed. "Of course he did. He's obsessed with how they presented themselves as warriors."
Vivi interrupts by smacking her brother on the arm. "You didn't tell me Ambrose was in town."
"He joined on FaceTime." Hugo shifts his focus back to Duke. "Duke, I don't think you've met Peter yet. He's"—Hugo glances at me—"a friend of a friend." I wonder if anybody else picks up on the hardness in his tone, the irritation simmering below the surface.
I welcome Hugo's irritation right now, because I have some of my own to direct his way. Is he really friends with Duke?
"Peter," Duke extends a hand. "Good to meet you."
I have to shake his hand or else I'll look like an asshole. So I do what is expected of me, shaking his outstretched hand and telling him likewise when what I really mean is fuck you very much .
"Have you already met the ladies?" Duke asks, gesturing to the two women sitting across from him.
"Peter is one of my physical therapy clients," Daisy says, and I drag my gaze to her for the first time since we arrived at their table. Not only was I trying to keep from having a meltdown over how fucking beautiful she looks tonight, but I was thrown sideways by my best friend cheating on me with a human paper towel.
"That's right," I nod, tucking away observations about Daisy's appearance as fast as I can before I reach the point of staring, and it becomes awkward.
Her lips, already so plump and perfect, are outlined and shaded in a pink that gives her a deeper pout. Her eyelashes are thick, and darker than usual. And though the lighting in here is shit, her cheeks are flushed. Is that from makeup, or our current situation?
"I haven't formally met you, Peter, but I have heard a lot about you." Vivi puts emphasis on the words a lot , making it plain she has information on me. Knowledge. What has Hugo told her? He made it clear to me before I came back that although he didn't approve of my decision not to reveal who I really am, he would keep his trap shut for me. I can't imagine Hugo going back on his promise, so that leaves… Daisy. And my slip today. Already coming back to bite me in the ass.
"That sounds ominous," I joke. The reactions from the people around me are varied. Vivi grins wickedly. Duke laughs because he's clueless. Hugo forces a laugh. Daisy blinks nervously.
"Anyway," Hugo says, delivering a small smack on the table. "We'd better get going. Early morning fishing."
"You should stay for a drink," Duke says, eyebrows raised and looking genuinely hopeful.
I don't know what this guy's game is, but he's good. Acting nice? What the fuck is that? I dare a look at Daisy, and damn if I don't see hope twinkling in her brown eyes.
"Nah, we?—"
I interrupt Hugo. "One drink."
Reluctance colors his face when he looks sideways at me. "We were buying bait. And we didn't even manage to do that."
"Go buy bait, and I'll grab our drinks. We'll be out of here in forty-five minutes, tops."
The questions rage in his eyes, but I pretend like I can't see them. I have some questions of my own for him, starting with why are you friends with a paper towel?
He lopes off, annoyed that I've bogarted our great big plans to do nothing for the rest of the night.
"I'll be right back," I say, pushing back from the table.
"I'll go with you," Daisy's voice melodically rings out, and I turn my body toward the bar, trying to push away the wave of excitement this sets off inside me.
So stupid. It's a walk across a small room, not a trip down the wedding aisle. Plus, the man who's actually meeting her at the end of the aisle will undoubtedly have his eyes on her while she stands at the bar with me. I know I would, if the roles were reversed.
We walk side by side, saying nothing, and before I can think of what to say to the beautiful woman beside me, we arrive at the bar.
"A beer, please," Daisy says to the bartender. "Whatever you have that's dark."
"Make that three," I add.
He steps away to fill the order, and now it's just the two of us. Daisy drums her fingers on the bar top. "So," she says, not looking up. "You hate my fiancé."
I sigh, low and slow and gravelly. "I shouldn't have said that."
Now she turns to me, propping an elbow on the bar. Her breasts tilt slightly sideways with the sway of her body. Her hair falls, too, revealing an earlobe with an earring in the shape of an ivory bow.
"But you meant it."
I look into her eyes, which is a feat, because every inch of her is a sight to behold. My eyes are not done feasting on her slender ankles, her shapely calves, the slope of her hips, the cute little straps tied at her shoulders, the curve of her collarbone, the hollow of her throat.
I'll have to remain hungry, because Daisy wants eye contact. And an answer. "Yes," I admit. "I meant it."
She's quiet for a beat, then asks, "What did Penn tell you?"
This is tricky territory. I want to tell her the truth, because despite what I'm doing here in Olive Township, I don't actually care for lying. So I opt for skating around the truth, taking a morsel here and leaving a chunk there.
"Penn said Duke was arrogant. Mean. A typical rich bully."
"Is that it?"
"You don't think that's enough?" She must not, if she's marrying the guy.
"It's not enough for him to dislike Duke this much all these years later." She fingers the bow earring. "Truthfully, Duke was a jerk when we were young. But he had his reasons." She shrugs a delicate shoulder. "Penn didn't stick around long enough to learn them." She glares at me, daring me to tell her otherwise. To defend Penn , because to her, I represent him. I am his proxy.
It's me, Penn.
Damn, I want to tell her. I want to spill my secret, gather her in my arms, and kiss her again. Not the way I did back when it was our first kiss, but better this time. As a man. My palm warm on her neck, guiding her into my mouth. Gentle, and then urgent, a tangle of tongues. The nip of a lip, hot breath on her pulse, soft kisses strewn over her throat. I want her on me, under me. I want inside her.
Body and heart, I'm needy for her.
But she's someone else's, and the thought rips me apart. It shreds every thought and feeling I have, leaving me desolate.
"I'm sure he regrets leaving," I say, my voice hoarse, raw.
The space between her eyebrows pleats. "And you would know that how?"
We hold one another's gaze for a long second, and then I shrug. "It's just a feeling I have."
"A feeling?" She steps in closer, her jaw taut. "Well, well, if that doesn't smell like utter bullshit, I don't know what does."
I tear myself away from her hypnotizing gaze. This woman is going to dismantle me, and fuck if I'm not ready to hand myself over to be shredded. My heart didn't stand a chance against her when I was a kid, what was I doing thinking I could come back here and stay strong a second time?
"Hey, you two," Hugo cuts in. I didn't notice him approach, but suddenly he's right there, elbowing his way between us. "Those beers won't stay cold forever. Can we wrap this up and get back to the table?"
Beers? I glance at the bar top. When did those get there?
Daisy grabs one beer and scurries away as fast as a person can while holding a full drink.
"You dumbass motherfucker," Hugo hisses under his breath.
I lay down enough cash to cover the beers and a tip, leaning my elbows on the edge of the bar and stopping just short of hanging my head in my hands. "Whatever you're about to say, Hugo, I don't want to hear it right now."
Hugo ignores me, plowing right through my plea for his silence. "You had your chance to tell her the truth that first night. You didn't. And now here you are, Peter , standing in public with Daisy staring at her mouth like you're going to come unglued if you don't kiss her." He gives me a hard look. "Are you trying to make everything you came back to accomplish even harder for yourself? Her fiancé is twenty feet away from you."
It's a hell of a lot easier to point out his transgressions than my own, so I say, "Speaking of Duke, I guess you're cheating on me." I pick up a beer and take a deep drink. "I turned the other cheek when it was Ambrose, but this? Hugo, I don't know. This might be unforgivable."
Hugo reaches for his beer. "It's a men's group. We get together once a month and shoot the shit."
"About The Iliad? That's called a book club."
"Books are one of the topics we cover." He sighs, gathers a deep breath, and slowly lets it go. "It's important for men to have other men to talk to."
I happen to know exactly how imperative it is to have other men to talk to. Some of the deepest friendships formed are that of men in combat together. We literally hold one another's lives in our hands.
I don't say that, though, because I'm feeling about as prickly as the teddy bear cholla we passed walking into what I thought was a fishing shop. "Aww. How cute." My lower lip forms a pout. "Do you sit in a circle and sing Kumbaya? Play that game where you slap your neighbor's hand and sing about a bullfrog?"
"Very funny," he deadpans.
I snap my fingers and point at him in an I've got it! way. "It's a circle jerk. That's why you like it so much."
Hugo rubs a hand over his forehead. "You're unbelievable."
"Hey, I get it." I point back at myself. "I like a good hand job as much as the next guy. I just don't like it from the guy next to me. But," I slap his back once, "you do you, buddy."
"Fuck you," Hugo mutters, grabbing his beer. "Let's go make small talk, finish your stupid beer, and go. I'm done watching you eye fuck Daisy in front of her fiancé."
That is not what I'm doing. I would never put her in that position. But, just in case Hugo's right, and I don't realize I have hearts popping out of my eyes when I look at her, I make it a point to take the empty space beside her, not across from her. And then, even better, I turn to my left to talk, making it so I couldn't look at Daisy if I wanted to.
On my left is Duke, unfortunately.
"So, Peter," he starts, appraising me with cool eyes. "Tell me about your background."
I shrug, appearing nonchalant, but on the inside I'm racing to figure out what this asshole's game is. "Not much to tell. I was in the military for ten years, and I was sent home for an injury."
"A bad injury," Daisy adds, lightly elbowing me in the side.
"Pretty bad," I concede, still keeping my gaze trained away from her. "Some surgery. A lot of physical therapy."
"Which is where Daisy comes in," Vivi says, sandwiched between her brother and Duke. I look at her, nodding politely. Vivi's eyes are hard, aimed at me with speculation and suspicion.
"I'm very grateful to be able to continue my physical therapy while away from home." It sounds canned, a politician's response.
"I'll bet," Vivi says smoothly, shrewd eyes squinting with a mostly fake smile.
Duke brings us back to the topic of the military when he asks, "Which branch of the military were you in?"
"The Navy." I never brag about being a SEAL, even though I know it's pretty fuckin' cool.
"What was your job?"
"SEAL."
He nods and whistles. "Damn. I bet you have some stories."
Sure do. None of which I'll be sharing with this guy.
Vivi leans across Hugo, her forearm against his chest like she's pushing him out of the way. She asks Daisy a question I can't hear, but as Daisy leans closer to answer her, it causes the outer edge of her leg to move the opposite direction, seeking balance. And that means it's pressed up against my leg. I'd really like some Plexiglass right about now to wedge between me and the woman beside me I'm trying desperately not to see, touch, or feel.
Duke follows up with another question about the SEALs, followed by several more. His thoughtfulness and knowledge takes me by surprise.
"I watch a lot of documentaries," he explains, when I ask him how he knows so much.
He comes off as earnest. Even, dare I say it, likable . I would really appreciate it if he could be a giant dick so I can continue assuming everything I used to think about him still holds true. People change, evolve, adapt, but that wasn't supposed to apply to Duke. He's supposed to remain that arrogant son of a bitch who called me cleaning boy .
Everyone finishes their drinks at roughly the same time, and since Hugo made it clear we had an early morning by brandishing the small bag holding his purchase from Lunker, they all decide to call it a night, too.
Daisy has been quiet since walking away from me at the bar. The conversation was mostly me answering Duke's questions, or Vivi peppering Hugo with questions about the podcaster who emailed him.
We walk out as a group, waving goodbye to the bartender who tells us to have a good night. Vivi teases Daisy about something in a friendly way while we wait for the wall to swing open, and Duke tells Hugo about a new boutique hotel concept his family's company is thinking of acquiring. I listen to the thrum of their voices, the baritone and soprano, the clink of glasses, the smell of sugar and alcohol. Is this what it would've been like if I'd stayed? Would I have grown up with this group of friends? Cheered for Hugo in-person as he won matches, instead of raising a fist in the air from afar? Watched Ambrose on the Olive Township High School football field, sat on the couch beside him at the draft party I'm sure they had?
Every time I think of this place, I think of Daisy first. How I left, thereby taking myself away from her. Ultimately, it was my mother who made the final decision, but I saw the wisdom in the offer, and encouraged her to agree. This is the first time I've stopped to consider what I took away from myself when I left.
It's an uncomfortable thought, one I need to spend more time on later, when I'm alone.
Hugo swings a friendly arm around my shoulders. "I like that you're the same height as me. There's no putting an arm around Ambrose's shoulder. The guy is a giant."
"A gentle giant," Vivi adds.
The wall swings open, and we step through. Lunker is quiet and mostly dark, except for a light near the back where an employee sits on his phone.
"King's Ransom gives Lunker ten percent of its Friday and Saturday night earnings to stay open late and let people through," Duke says, like he's reading the question in my mind.
Daisy walks in front of me, hair cascading over her back. Duke reaches over her head, palm flattening against the exit door and pushing it open for her. Jealousy has me grating my teeth. I want to do that for her. I want to be the gallant, chivalrous man who gets her doors, washes her car, places blankets over her when she falls asleep on the couch.
The group pauses outside the store to say goodbye. Duke shakes hands with me first, then Hugo. Vivi wraps Daisy in a hug, her dark hair in extreme contrast with Daisy's burnished tresses. Daisy peeks at me over Vivi's shoulder, and my heart leaps of its own volition. She looks away quickly, but that brief glance has me floating. In an effort not to give away my thoughts, I look away from Daisy and find my gaze aimed at Duke. A perplexed expression has his eyes squinting as he takes me in. He lays a hand on Daisy's back, a territorial move if there ever was one. Has he picked up on my thoughts? Have I been that transparent?
"See you at your next appointment, Peter," Daisy says, flicking a final glance my way. I dip my chin, and she floats away with Duke.
I force my gaze to focus on anything but the golden couple walking down the street. We reach Hugo's car, and I climb into the vehicle that is so low to the ground I feel like I'm crouching. "This car is fit for toddlers," I complain into the plush leather and rarified air.
"Quit bitching," is Hugo's response. He's still standing outside the car, but I can't tell what he's doing. Looking at his phone, I think.
Down the street, Vivi splits off from Duke and Daisy.
Bile rises in my throat. Just because Duke might not be the worst person ever like I thought, doesn't mean I can stomach the sight of him kissing Daisy goodnight. But, like every rubbernecker passing a car accident, I look anyway.
He walks her to her car. Pauses at the trunk. She walks on to the driver's side, never breaking her stride. She tosses him a smile. It's genuine. She looks happy. Her wave is perfectly warm.
My memory rewinds the last ten seconds, playing it over in my mind.
Their body language as they walked was friendly.
Her grin was friendly.
So was that wave.
Duke walks to the luxury SUV with custom rims and drives off. Daisy follows a few moments later.
But me? I'm stuck right here, breathing leather-scented air in Hugo's expensive car that we most definitely cannot drive to the lake in the morning, trying to understand the dynamic I witnessed between Daisy and Duke.
If Daisy were mine, I'd arch her back against the side of her car, kissing her senseless. I'd open her car door and wait for her to get herself situated. I'd stand back and make sure she drove away safely, then I'd get in my truck.
But all those scenarios wouldn't have to happen, because it's a Saturday night, so I'd have Daisy out at dinner, and then drinks, and whatever else her heart desired. I'd take her home, strip her clothes from her body, worship every inch of her, then tuck her into my chest and fall asleep beside her.
Duke didn't appear to desire any of that. Neither did Daisy.
This is none of my business. I know that.
But I made the wrong choice before when it came to Daisy, and I won't make that mistake a second time.