40. Christopher
forty
It’s Game Night, which means Alexandra is with Grace and the girls, and Skye and me are having an early night at Justin’s. Skye plops herself on a bar stool next to me and declares, “I don’t like it when Alex-zandra is not with us. And I don’t understand why I can’t go to Game Night.”
“It’s for grown-up women.”
“Well, that stinks.” She punctuates her expletive with a kick on the bar.
I grunt.
I’ve been doing a lot of grunting lately.
“Daddy.”
“Yes, little bug.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“I’m doing what.”
“You’re being a bear.”
“A what?”
“A bear. Grr. Hon. Mph. You’re almost a grizzly.”
“I’m sorry. Come here.”
She slides onto my lap and pulls a deck of cards from the front pocket of her hoodie. She deals five cards on the bar, face up, and gives each of us two, face down.
I guess we’re playing Texas Hold Em tonight.
“That legal?” A big voice booms next to us.
“Hey, Declan,” I say. Declan Campbell is half of Emerald Creek’s police force. “Busted,” I whisper-shout to Skye, who giggles and slaps down her cards. “Two pairs! Woo-hoo! Partay!” Then she turns to Declan. “Did you put any bad people in jail today?”
“Matter of fact, yes, I did.”
That’s interesting. Nothing ever happens in Emerald Creek.
“Are you celebrating?” Skye asks, undeterred by the news.
Declan laughs. “I don’t celebrate putting bad people away, no.”
“Why not? It’s your job. Alek-zandra says we should celebrate every win.” She stacks the cards together in her little hands. Maybe she’s spending too much time with adults.
“Maybe I will, then. Justin, Diet Coke for me. We’re celebrating tonight, it seems.”
Justin eyes Skye, holding his tongue for now. “Here you go, Officer. On the house. Thanks for keeping us safe.”
Declan shuffles his feet, glancing at me.
Skye slides off the barstool. She knows when adults need to talk. She’s a good kid like that. Too good, I sometimes feel. Too perceptive. “Justin, can I take Moose for a walk?”
He hands her the dog’s leash. “Stay on The Green,” I tell her. Where I can see you.”
“And take poop bags,” Justin adds.
“Eww. Okay.” Skye stuffs the bags in her coat pocket and heads out. The dog is so tall, he reaches above her midsection.
“I’m wondering who’s walking who,” Justin says.
“Something on your mind, Declan?” I ask. He never comes into Justin’s bar, and he’s in uniform. Something’s on his mind.
“Old Man Fletcher’s not going to be trouble for a while,” he says under his breath. “Just thought you should know, seeing how you’ve been helping Isaac out.”
Shit. That can only mean one thing. The person behind bars is Isaac’s dad. I’m not surprised. The guy was an asshole. He probably got into it with the wrong person. “How long?”
He takes a long pull on his coke, and says, almost too softly for me to hear, “Depends if the other guy makes it or not.”
“Shit,” I say under my breath.
“Yup. Thought you’d like a heads up.”
That means two things, one good and one bad. The good news is, Isaac’s father is no longer an issue as far as using his son as a punching ball. At least for now, and maybe for a very long time. The bad news is, the family lost its primary breadwinner. I’m not sure what his mom does for a living, but I know the dad is—was—a manager at a meatpacking facility, and those jobs pay good money. “Appreciate it,” I say.
“No problem,” Declan says, and with that, he leaves.
“Tough,” Justin says, sliding me a refill. “How old is Isaac?”
“Going on eighteen. He’s graduating high school this year.”
“He’s going to grow up fast.”
“Yup. I’m gonna make him an offer.”
“How about your other apprentice?”
“What about her.”
“Are you making her an offer?”
“She doesn’t want to be a baker.”
“I wasn’t talking about a job offer.”
I shoot him an angry glare.
“Told you to stay away from her,” he says.
Did not. Told me the exact opposite.
“Should have told you,” he says, reading my mind. “But then, I didn’t know you were such a pussy.”
I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, and I don’t care. I take a long draw on the cold IPA.
“I want you to want me.”
I do want her. Way more than she can imagine. I spend my nights with her, sleeping or making love to her. I spend my days with her, working or just… doing life shit. And yet I can’t get enough of her. I want more of her.
But how much does she want me to want her?
And what did she even mean by that? What she said stuck with me, but maybe I’m reading too much into it. She said it after I’d been to dinner at Emma’s, and maybe it was just jealousy. It was also right in the middle of fucking awesome make up sex we were having, so maybe that’s how she meant it.
“Talk to me, bro.”
I huff. Talking is not something Justin and I do.
“C’mon. Spit it out.”
“You talk about your shit, Tinman?”
“What shit?
“Right,” I say. Been years since Justin’s had a girlfriend. Oh, he sees plenty of action, except he goes away for that. Never talks about whatever girl he’s had that time. Mentions the pussy, occasionally. “Right,” I say again, drawing out the word.
“Come on, I wanna hear it.”
“How come you haven’t had a girl since high school?”
“I’m talking about you.” He wipes the counter, like he’s prepping to lay something on it.
“I’m not.”
He grunts. “Course not.” He grabs a mop and sweeps the entrance to the pub. With the snow almost entirely melted, the ground sloshing and sticking to boots, there are shoe tracks everywhere. It’s a full-time job to keep any place clean during mud season.
I follow him, beer in hand, and look at Skye on The Green, talking to Moose. “The baking show is coming up. Couple of months now,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“Might need a driver.”
He pauses.
“Someone to drive me back.” The show lasts three days, and there’s little to no sleeping involved.
“Might as well drive you both ways. When is it?”
“Few weeks.” I look up the date on my phone as we make our way back to the bar.
“You’re a pussy,” he repeats after he’s entered it into his calendar.
He might as well have punched me with his fists.
I could have punched back.
Maybe I am a pussy. I wasn’t always like that. I fought for Skye. God did I fight to have her. And to keep her. She was my flesh and blood. It was instinct.
But I never fought for a woman.
I didn’t fight for Skye’s birth mother. The minute she turned her back on me, I was done.
Didn’t care.
Never missed her.
All I wanted was Skye, and I got her.
But now?
All I want is Alexandra, and I don’t know how to fight for her.
“Women want us to fight for them,” Justin says. The fucker reads my mind all the goddamn time. “Alex is no different. What’s the deal with her, anyway? Looks like she likes it here. Not like that snob,” he adds, referring to Skye’s mother. “I heard she was looking pretty hot for you the other night when you went all knight in shining armor at The Growler. You bang her after that?”
My jaw clenches and I scowl.
He chuckles. “D’you propose? Did she say no?”
I take my time slugging my beer.
“I don’t know, man,” he pushes. “Seems to me, you did the manly thing, saved her from the bad guy, got her home, nailed her. At that point she must have been putty in your hands. I’d thought I’d be seeing you two walk in here the next day holding hands and making out in a booth. So. What gives?”
I signal him for a refill on my beer, but instead, he pushes a tall glass of water in front of me. When I don’t say anything, he continues, “I heard the most stupid rumor. This one’s gonna make you laugh.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Supposedly, you were having dinner at Emma’s that night. Doing dishes together, necking in front of the fire with after-dinner drinks. Took her queen-size bed for a trial run. All while the girls were sound asleep upstairs.”
My blood boils. The problem with rumors, everyone knows it’s gossip. But the truth is, I wasn’t paying enough attention to what me having dinner at Emma’s would do to Alexandra. Barbara told me, yet I didn’t really understand how much Alexandra was closed off about expressing her feelings. Until I had her in my arms that night. Until I saw the devastation on her face, for that one little thing.
I know my apology could never be enough.
“Now were you at The Growler rescuing Alex or were you nailing Emma?” Justin continues, pushing.
“Shut the fuck up,” I hiss. Alexandra is so protective of her own self that I ended up hurting her.
He rounds the bar and sits on a stool next to me. “Look, man. I know what went down with Skye’s birth mother. I was there.”
I raise a hand. He doesn’t know the hurt. The humiliation. The loneliness. “Don’t.” Plus, her and Alexandra? Entirely different.
Different women.
Different stories.
Worlds apart.
No comparison.
He ignores me. “I don’t know what went on in your head, back then, and I wasn’t there to help you through the shit that went down with Skye.” He pauses and strokes his bicep. “But I saw you then. And I see you now. Totally different.”
Yup.
“She gets you. She’s there for you. She’s good for you.”
Fuck. Don’t you think I know that?
“Don’t let her go.”
I stare at him.
“You’re fucking scared, aren’t you?” he says.
Scared? “Of what?”
“Of putting yourself out there. Telling her that you need her. That you want her. It’s easier to just blame it on her and let her go.”
Easier than what? Than being alone, without her, for the rest of my life?
“Look who’s talking,” I say.
“I’m very happy being single, man. You, clearly, are not.”