Chapter 12
Ryan
Maker’s Mark is smooth going down but drinking as much as I did last night will make you feel rough as hell the next day.
After a hot shower, two Tylenol, and three cups of strong-as-hell coffee, I felt somewhat human again as I roamed the house searching for something to do to keep my mind off the dumpster fire I’d made of my life. I meant that almost literally.
I hadn’t started a fire in a dumpster, but I had started a fire in our backyard firepit last night.
It hadn’t been easy, but a splash or three of bourbon on the wood had helped the flames catch, and I’d been able to burn that fucking thong until there was nothing left but guilt and horrible memories.
Deciding to start on the home repairs I’d been putting off, I consulted the list I’d made on my phone, but every single thing I’d added to “Mel’s Never-Ending To-Do List” had already been done. By whom, I wasn’t sure, but I had a sneaking suspicion that most of it had been done by Melanie herself.
The laundry room door didn’t stick anymore.
The toilet handle in the boys’ bathroom no longer had to be jiggled.
There was a shiny, brand new garbage disposal under the kitchen sink – that I could only hope an actual plumber had installed – and I couldn’t find a single knob or handle loose anywhere in the whole damned house.
The bulb in the entryway had been replaced, too, even though the ceiling was a two-story vault in that area which meant that the light fixture was over eighteen feet in the air.
The thought of Melanie hauling the extension ladder in from the garage, climbing it, and changing that damned bulb made me want to punch a hole in the wall.
I almost did it, just so I’d have something to fix.
The laundry was already done. The house was already cleaned. The grocery shopping had been completed, judging by the full shelves in the pantry and refrigerator. Even the trash had been taken out. There was nothing to do to keep my mind occupied.
I considered going into the office even though I’d sent an email to Dave just before midnight, telling him I needed a few days off for a family emergency.
I knew, though, that I was in no frame of mind to do any kind of detailed work, especially something that involved precise calculations and the meticulous review of blueprints.
Trying to do that kind of work as distracted as I was would be a safety hazard as far as I was concerned.
I shoveled the rest of the driveway, only to have Justin come over from next door to talk to me about my Vegas trip and seeing Landon Brown.
I made up an excuse that I was supposed to be working from home and had to get inside for a conference call, just to avoid the conversation.
I didn’t want to hear the words “Las Vegas” ever again.
In fact, the entire state of Nevada could disappear from the map, and I wouldn’t object.
I stomped back inside, cursing myself and my absolute stupidity as I stowed my winter gear in the closet, then flopped down on the couch. I stared at the flowers the boys had sent, wishing for the hundredth time that I’d had even an ounce of the sense that they had.
My heart sank at the thought of them finding out that their mom had left. They would hate me, probably as much as she did.
I was crawling out of my skin with the need to do something to fix things with Melanie, but how the fuck was I supposed to do that if she wouldn’t even talk to me?
When the doorbell rang a little before two, I jumped up and almost ran for the door, eager for the distraction. When I opened it to find Mark standing there, looking every inch the pissed off big brother ready to avenge his little sister, I wasn’t nearly so eager.
He took a step forward and grabbed me by the shirt collar, getting right up in my face. It wasn’t an easy feat considering I was at least three inches taller than him, but fury will do that to a man.
“I ought to kick your goddamned sorry ass, motherfucker,” he snarled, then gave me a shove that almost knocked me off my feet. Again, not an easy thing to do since Mark didn’t have nearly the muscle mass that I did, but he wasn’t letting that stop him.
“Look, I know –“
“You don’t fucking know anything,” he shouted, stepping fully inside the house and slamming the front door shut behind him.
I stood my ground as he shoulder-checked me when he stomped into the living room, then yanked his coat off and tossed it over the back of the chair.
He whirled around to face me, a look of fury on his face that I’d never have believed he was capable of. Mark was probably the most laid-back guy I knew, until you fucked up and hurt his little sister, apparently.
“Jen just picked Melanie up, because she was too upset to drive.”
My gut clenched at his words, but before I could respond, he got in my face again. “Do you know where she picked her up at?”
He didn’t wait for an answer to what was clearly a rhetorical question.
“The clinic, asshole. She went to the goddamned clinic to get tested for STIs because of you and your wandering dick!”
I could feel the blood draining from my face as I blanched at this bit of news.
I remembered Melanie confiding in me years ago about getting tested repeatedly after her bastard ex had cheated, and how humiliating the entire experience had been for her.
The idea that I’d caused her to go through that again was yet another sin to add to my list.
“How many times have you cheated?”
I shook my head mutely, unable to form a coherent sentence.
“How many, Ryan? Was this weekend really the first time?”
“No,” I choked, “I…”
Mark’s rage was almost a living, breathing entity, vibrating with energy and ready to explode as he clearly misunderstood what I was trying to say.
He stormed across the room and pulled back his arm, ready to let his fist fly when I grabbed it and stopped him.
“Let me finish,” I demanded, finally finding my words. “I was trying to say, no, I didn’t cheat. This weekend or any other time. I haven’t touched another woman since before I met Mel.”
Mark jerked his fist out of my grasp and took a step back, eyeing me warily, as if unsure whether to believe me.
“I swear it, Mark. I love her, and I would never do that to her. Mitch put that fucking thong in my suitcase as a joke. He hooked up with a stripper, and she left it in his room at the hotel. I didn’t cheat,” I repeated.
He must have heard the sincerity in my voice, or maybe it was the tears pricking the corners of my eyes that convinced him. He dropped his aggressive stance as some of the fight left him, then slowly turned and sank down into the chair as if he’d aged ten years in the last few minutes.
I understood that feeling.
I took a seat on the couch, sitting forward to rest my forearms on my knees.
“Explain it to me, man. The jeans that were covered in beer, the shirt with the makeup and shit on it, the strip club. Make it make sense for me, because from what Melanie said, all signs point to you fucking a stripper.”
I sighed heavily and hung my head in shame.
“I know it looks bad,” I admitted quietly.
He scoffed angrily. “Did you go to a strip club and get a lap dance?”
I hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.
“Then it doesn’t just look bad, it is bad. You know how Melanie feels about that scene, and with good cause, I might add.”
I nodded, staring at the floor because I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. Mark and I had always gotten along great. Hell, I was closer to him than I was to my own brother. Our relationship was yet one more casualty of this weekend’s colossal stupidity.
I slowly started to explain what had happened. Mark let me speak without interrupting except for the occasional muttered curse under his breath.
“Then I started to get up to leave, and this woman – the dancer Mitch hooked up with – slid onto my lap and started grinding on me. He’d apparently paid her for a lap dance. Told her that I was depressed and needed some cheering up.”
I stopped then, unwilling to share quite everything. There were some things I was still too ashamed to admit, especially to Melanie’s brother.
“So you just sat there and thought you’d enjoy a free lap dance and to hell with how that would hurt my sister?” Mark prompted me when I didn’t say anything else.
My gut twisted at the images that flooded my mind and I literally shook my head in an attempt to dislodge the memories.
“No, what?” He demanded. “No, you didn’t get a lap dance? Or no, you didn’t think about my sister? Yeah, that part is pretty damned obvious, asshole.”
“No, I didn’t get a lap dance,” I replied through gritted teeth. “She started it, but I stopped her, and I left.” Not soon enough, my conscience reminded me.
“I jumped up and she almost fell off my lap. I knocked my beer over trying to catch her, so she didn’t get hurt, and it got all over my jeans.
The makeup and perfume on my shirt was from when she climbed on my lap, I guess.
I didn’t even realize it was there until Melanie told me about it,” I confessed, leaning back until my head rested on the back of the couch and I was staring blankly at the ceiling.
Mark didn’t say anything for several long moments, then asked, “Did you explain all this to Mel?”
I shook my head without looking his way. “No. I started to, but the second I said the word ‘stripper’ it was over. She was done listening.”
“Given her past, do you blame her? You know what that fucker put her through. You always said you understood why it bothered her so much.”
“I do understand. I just didn’t think…,” I trailed off, not sure how to explain it.
Mark laughed grimly. “You didn’t think. That’s exactly right. You didn’t think…about anything other than yourself. That’s pretty par for the course for you these days, isn’t it?”
My head snapped up and I stared at him in confusion.