Chapter 14
fourteen
I waited for Ryan to text me or call or best of all, come and visit me. But he didn’t. Not that night, while I was bruised and still scared. Not the next day, when I comfortably ensconced on the sofa in the living room of Mickey’s condo, staring out at the ocean through his wall-to-wall glass windows. There was nothing broken on me. Except for my heart. I felt morose and idiotic even thinking that but it was the truth.
It was also my fault.
I had ignored all the red flags and allowed myself to wish for more from Ryan, even after he expressly told me he had nothing else to offer. My mom had tried to warn me and I had ignored her. So I had to accept responsibility for my insistence on going forward with an involvement with Ryan. I thought I could handle the casual and I couldn’t. Not with him.
“Honey, I’m worried about you,” my mom said. She sat down on the sofa next to my waist and leaned over and brushed hair off my forehead. “You haven’t even eaten.”
“I’m fine, Mom. I’m just not hungry.” In fact, I felt kind of perpetually nauseous. “Please don’t hover.”
“I can’t help it.” She adjusted my blanket. “We can’t go back to that house, you know. I’d never be able to stay there without thinking about that man hurting you. Mickey said he’s going to put it up for sale. I want you to stay here with us.”
I studied her face. “Are you back together?”
“We’re talking.” My mother, bless her heart, actually blushed. “We always did have fun.”
“That’s great.” I meant it. I had thought it was dumb when they broke up. It had just seemed like they had thrown up roadblocks to their relationship that didn’t need to be there. Like Ryan was doing to me. “But I don’t want to live with you guys any longer than necessary. Honestly, I think it’s time for me to get an apartment on my own or live with Brandy or something.”
It wasn’t something I’d given a lot of thought to. Living with my mother had been convenient and cost-effective but I was almost twenty-two and I had never been on my own. Part of me wondered if my growth had been a little stunted. I’d never been broke, never dated a whole lot, never fucked up so egregiously you wondered if you could recover.
Until now.
This was a Grade A fuck up.
I might recover but it was going to take some time.
I also sincerely hoped Juan Carlos rotted in prison for the next ten years or so. But that was bad karma so I tried to dismiss the negative thoughts. Instead, I just dug my fingers into Buster’s fur and bent my head over to kiss him. At least he loved me. Buster licked my face.
Whoever said diamonds were a girl’s best friend had never had a dog.
“If you are going to move out I want Ryan to get you a gun,” my mother said.
I stared at her, incredulous. “Are you nuts? I’m not touching a gun. That’s what got me knocked on the head and kicked in the ribs.”
My mother gasped.
“And if I did decide I wanted a gun, I wouldn’t ask Ryan. He wants nothing to do with me.”
My mother pursed her lips.
I sighed. “What does that look mean?”
“Nothing.”
Exactly. Nothing. That’s what me and Ryan were.
I was so close to the man pointing a gun at our client I could see that he needed to trim the hair on the back of his neck. He didn’t know I was there, watching him through the blinds, on the other side of the exterior wall. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I felt a rush of adrenaline. I wasn’t scared. I liked this- that rush of danger, the realization that I was protecting someone. I didn’t care about my own safety.
My father hadn’t wanted me to take this assignment. He was worried about me. He thought I was taking too many risks. Which I was. But it was a form of punishment and I knew it. I was punishing myself for putting Isabel in danger. For leaving her alone in that hotel room, like the world’s biggest prick.
It was with a certain sense of fucking glee that I went back down in a crouch and maneuvered around the side of the building. Our client was one of my dad’s sketchier acquaintances, involved in illegal off-short gambling and a little side racketeering. This wasn’t normally the type of job I liked, but now I was getting a rush out of walking straight into danger. It was like I was trying to prove that my job was so shady I was right to leave Isabel in that hotel room like that.
But I wasn’t right to do that. And I knew it. So I was doing stupid shit in order to avoid facing that. I had been punishing myself over and over every day for the last two months and it was getting worse, not better.
This guy had gotten inside the house from a back door that was being guarded by a co-worker of mine, who wasn’t willing to risk his life. He would be better off on assignments that involved escorting celebrities to events inside of something like this. But whatever. I would handle it. I relished the idea.
I didn’t know who the intruder was, only that he clearly wasn’t wanted as my client had his hands up. It clearly wasn’t law enforcement either, which was all I needed to know. I came in through the kitchen door, making sure I didn’t click the lock back in place. Stealthy isn’t easy when you’re six foot five but I was actually pretty light on my feet from boxing at the gym. I had the guy on the floor and contained before he even knew what the hell hit him.
He was still holding his gun, I yanked his arms hard, rolling him on to his back. The curse was cursing me and I had no idea if there were bullets in that gun or not. I wasn’t sure I cared. A red haze of anger seemed to have settled over my eyes, my nostrils flaring as I grinned down at him, my knee in his gut. “What?” I said. “You want to shot me? Go for it, motherfucker.”
Whatever he saw in my eyes made him stop swearing. Though when I grabbed his wrist and jerked it to knock the gun away, he did spit at me. The wet spray hit my chin and neck and I pushed harder on his gut, swearing some of my own choice words. Quickly I made sure the safety was still on his gun, which it was, and I tucked it in my waistband. “Get up.”
“Make me.”
“My pleasure.” I stood and yanked him to his feet. Then I pointed my own gun in his face. “What are you doing here? What the fuck do you want?”
“None of your business.”
“It’s okay,” my client said from several feet away where he was straightening his suit jacket. “This is my cousin.”
“For real?” I eyed the client, trying to gauge if he was playing a game or telling the truth.
But he just nodded and he looked sincere.
What terrified me is that I was actually disappointed. I lowered my gun.
When I went home that home I waved to my neighbor, went inside my lonely apartment and stared at the refrigerator. I had beer in there, but I wanted something stronger. I decided to walk to the store for a bottle of whiskey. The streets were getting more and more crowded by the day as we inched our way towards spring break and the peak of high season. In North Beach, a lot of the tourists were South American, and for once, I actually appreciated that I didn’t understand Spanish. There were no conversations to snag my attention, just private moments between strangers I couldn’t understand as I walked, angry and appalled with myself.
This wasn’t good. I wasn’t on a good path. Self-loathing wasn’t going to fix shit. The irony was that I didn’t want to be my dad or my mom and yet, I had freaked the fuck out over staying a night in a bed with Isabel and had abandoned her. Just like I had been abandoned. I had done it a second time by not calling or visiting her after she got knocked out by Juan because I couldn’t deal with the fact that I had let her down.
I needed to set myself straight. It wasn’t something I wanted to do, but I called my father. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he said, sounding surprised. “What’s up?”
Without preamble, I asked a question I never had before. “Do you know where my mother is, or a contact number for her or anything?” I had been planning to go to the liquor store but I decided to actually go inside a bar and order a drink instead of buying a whole bottle. I pulled open the door to one of those crappy bars that didn’t try because tourists will pay no matter what the décor or service was because of the convenience to the hotels and beach. I took a stool by the door.
There was a huge pause where my father said nothing. Then he cleared his throat. “Why do you want that information? I mean, I don’t have it, but I can get it. But why?”
Maybe he thought I was going to lose my shit on her or something. “I just want to ask her why she left. That’s all. I feel like because of that, because of her, I can’t be in a relationship. I’m a dick to women because I’m afraid.” I hated admitting that to Mickey but he probably already knew anyway. And I needed to be honest with myself and with him. Maybe my parents needed to know they had their share in fucking me up. What I did now was my responsibility, but it would be nice to have them acknowledge they weren’t parents of the year. Then I could move forward, get on with my life.
“Look, kid, your mother won’t have the answers you want to hear. There is no reason good enough to justify what she did to you, do you hear me?”
“I know. But she has to have some explanation, right?”
“Yeah, that she was selfish. You deserved better. Hell, I deserved better. But if you want to talk to her, I’ll find a number.”
“Thanks, Mickey.”
“Sure. And I know I sucked at being a father, but the thing is, I was hurt too, and I didn’t deal well with it. I got caught up in my own grief, ya know? I’m sorry for that. It’s my biggest regret in life, I hope you know that.”
It was more than I was expecting. It did touch me. “Thanks, Pops. I appreciate you saying that.”
Then because he was my father and there was no way he was going to let a tender moment linger without ruining it, he added, “Now stop being a pussy and call Isabel and apologize. That kid is moping around like you broke her damn heart.”
“What am I apologizing for?” I asked wryly, annoyed but curious what he might know.
“For existing. That’s my advice to you regarding women. Just apologize whether you get why you need to or not.”
“Says the guy who has been married three times.” But I wasn’t actually angry with him. He had just given me more in three minutes than he had in three years, whether he realized it or not.
“At least I can get ‘em. Maybe I can’t keep them but I can get them.”
That made me roll my eyes. “I’ll put that on your headstone some day.”
He laughed. “And yours should say, “He was a good kid, but he needed to lighten up.”
That actually made me laugh. “Maybe so.”
After we ended the call I ordered the whiskey I had been craving and leaned against the wall next to the table. The question wasn’t about me. The question was about Isabel. How did I feel about her?
I pictured her smile. The way she talked about her dog. The way she looked at me. I didn’t feel worthy of her. But I couldn’t help but think that if there was such a thing as a soul mate, as in someone you looked at and recognized the other half of yourself, that was how I felt when I looked at Isabel.
If I was going to take a giant leap of faith and see if I could be a better man for Isabel, I had to be confident in what I was doing. I had to be ready. Like a dangerous assignment. Be prepared.
I wasn’t there yet.
But for the first time I thought maybe I could be.
Standing in the living room of my new apartment, I surveyed the room with satisfaction. My mother had just left, after insisting on putting shelf paper down in the kitchen– did everyone’s mother do that?– and I had boxes stacked all around. I was tired from hauling furniture and boxes all day, but I wasn’t going to go to bed any time soon. I was excited to unpack and get settled in. I had opted not to have a roommate. Just me and Buster.
The only thing missing was a sofa, but Mickey had told me he was sending over the set from the house in Coral Gables, which had sold but hadn’t closed in escrow yet.
“What do you think, Buster?” I asked, rubbing behind his ears.
He looked like he approved, but that could have been for the attention I was giving him.
There was a knock on my door and I frowned. “Who is that, buddy? Did Mom forget something?”
But when I looked through the peephole I saw Ryan standing there with Alejandro. Damn it. I didn’t want to see him. We hadn’t spoke in two months and I was good with that. After the initial heart-wrenching realization that Ryan wasn’t going to be bothered to check up on me, I had gotten pissed. If he was that much of a commitment-phobe and incapable of basic human compassion than screw him. I didn’t need that in my life. I was done spinning fantasies.
I was also done doubting myself. I had just joined a dating app and was determined to get over my stupid insecurities that I would never be the hottie my mother had been in her twenties. My appeal was different, but no less sexy. To the right guy.
So I was going to wait for the right guy.
And in the meantime, I was working on merging Isabel and Julia into one person- the real me. I was taking pole classes and reading every erotic romance novel I could get my hands on. After all, my greatest strength was my ability to study and learn.
I opened the door. “Hi, what’s up?” I was so casual. A study in casual. Unconcerned.
Ryan’s eyes swept over me, head to toe. I was wearing high waisted denim shorts and a crop top. It was hot and I had been hauling boxes all day. I was wearing hot pink Converse. I looked cute, though I would have prepared a little makeup on seeing him for the first time in months. He didn’t look like he minded though. His eyes darkened with lust and his nostrils flared.
Good. Let him want what he could have had. Again and again.
“I have a special delivery for Isabel. One sofa bed and matching love seat.”
“Hi, Alejandro,” I said, waving to him standing behind Ryan. “Thanks for bringing my furniture, guys.”
“Yo.” Alejandro waved. “No problem.”
“Where should I put it?” Ryan asked.
I heard the double meaning and knew it was intentional. Anger rose up in me. “Do you really want the answer to that? Should I tell you where to put it?”
Alejandro’s eyebrows shot up as they came into the apartment, glancing around.
Ryan wasn’t checking out the apartment. He was staring at me, like he was trying to assess my reaction. “Yeah. Tell me where to put it.”
I wanted to tell him he should shove it up his ass for being such a jerk but I didn’t. Instead I bent over to shift some boxes. I heard him make a sound in the back of his throat. “Let me make some space,” I murmured. “So you can put it here.” My ass was still in the air and I knew my shorts were allowing one hell of a view.
Ryan moved into my space. I felt his presence. “Why are you doing this to me?” he asked, his voice gruff.
That had me standing and whirling on him. “Because you’re an asshole, that’s why.”
He looked shocked. Alejandro choked back a laugh.
“Dude, she knows you pretty well.”
“Shut up,” Ryan shot over his shoulder. “And go away.”
“Don’t go away, Alejandro. There is no reason to.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Put the couch here. And the love-seat on that wall over there.” I stepped a foot closer to Ryan so I could point to the far wall. My elbow knocked into his arm. “Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry.” He took my elbow and held me next to him. “Very sorry.”
It wasn’t specific enough for me. It meant only that he felt guilty for having hurt me. Not that he regretted it. It just wasn’t worthy of him. I thought Ryan was a good man, who cared about other people. But maybe I was wrong. “Sorry for what?”
“For not checking up on you. I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”
“That’s a lie and you know it.”
He glanced away. And straight down at my chest. “You’re right. What can I say?”
“When you figure it out talk to me. Otherwise, keep your eyes off my tits.” I leaned closer, letting my arms drop, staring up at him. He hadn’t shaved. There were dark circles under his eyes. I felt a wave of tenderness for him. It looked had sleep had been eluding him recently. Damn it, I wanted him. I still had the vision of us. No longer a fantasy, but a realistic view of the future, and he could fit into it. I knew it. We were a great fit, in personality and in bed.
“And if you do figure out what to say,” I whispered seductively, “you can do a whole lot more than look.”
“Julia?” he asked, looking confused.
I shook my head. “Nope. It’s all me, Isabel. You’re a smart guy, Ryan. Figure out what that means.”
He bent over, way down to my level, and shifted my hair off of my ear. He murmured, breath tickling me. “If you were mine, I would push you back against that wall and make you scream.”
I shivered. “Your loss.” I ran my finger over his lip, unable to resist. “Unless you know what to say.”
But he just shook his head. “I wish I did.”
I stepped away, disappointed. “I’ll be unpacking in the kitchen. Thanks for bringing the couch.”