6. Obsessed, Obsessed, and Obsessed
CHAPTER SIX
OBSESSED, OBSESSED, AND OBSESSED
Payne
Ishould’ve flown across the country to go to Sam’s wedding, dammit. Ruby would still be here next week when I got home, but I would’ve had one more week of peace, even though my peace before now was meager at best.
Now I’m in hell.
She’s back, she’s pissed—even though I have no fucking idea what she has to be pissed about—and she’s clearly not going anywhere fast. If there was one thing Ruby was always passionate about, it was her family. She adores her grandmother, and her brother is the most happy-go-lucky kid in town.
It's not like I have a big family. I’m an only child, and if it can be believed, my extended family is more toxic than my immediate one.
And since my father is rotting away in prison, that’s a statement for the ages.
But I remember when it wasn’t just Ruby, Blake, and Grandma Alice.
Ruby’s mom was in the picture until right after Blake was born.
Before Dean Moretti became my ride or die, there was Ruby. I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t in my life.
Until she wasn’t.
I was five years old when my parents hired Bess Sinclair to clean our house five days a week.
Finding someone in Winslet to commit to that wasn’t easy.
Bess agreed to take the job only if she could bring her kid with her since she had no childcare.
And since a housekeeper was more important than a nanny to my dear old mom, they made an agreement that Bess would make sure I was alive at the end of the day if her kid kept me busy and out of my parents’ hair.
And the Mother Of The Year Award goes to Tallie Deacon, who found a way to have a fulltime housekeeper with a built-in five-year-old babysitter for her son since she’d rather drive to the next largest city for martini lunches and shopping than raise her son.
I was ecstatic. I had a built-in friend, even if it was a girl. Little did I know, she had no choice but to like me since her mom worked for my family.
Mom was too good to befriend the other women in Winslet.
So, not only was Ruby my friend, she was my only friend if you didn’t count Sadie.
When we were old enough to start school, Ruby and I were inseparable.
At least that’s what our teacher told my parents at conferences, because my father had an epic come apart that my only friend was the maid’s kid and a girl.
He tasked my mom to find me friends who would toughen me up, teach me how to take a hit to the gut in dodgeball, and make me a man, since he sure wasn’t doing the job then or any time after.
That’s when Dean Moretti entered the picture. But instead of dumping my best friend, Ruby, she and I adopted Dean into our club.
Dean’s great. He always has been. There are times in your life when a guy needs a guy friend.
Like when you fall in love with your girl best friend, start with kissing and eventually move onto sex, only to end up with a broken heart the size of Alaska.
Yeah, it’s important to have friends like Dean.
But really, it was always Ruby.
I hate her and love her and will forever be obsessed with her. Obsessed with the way she used to look at me. Obsessed with the way she moved, the sound of her voice, and the way she felt in my arms. And really obsessed with the way she felt when I was inside her and made her come.
When she broke up with me for one week our senior year, I thought that was the lowest point in my life, but it wasn’t. It was when she left me for good without a word, a breakup note, or even one last secret handshake as a final goodbye.
So the fact that she turned into a bitch and for some reason is pissed at me when I’m the scorned one in this fucked-up scenario, really chaps my ass.
What can I say? I’m fucking smart. I tested as gifted in school. Graduated college in three years. Passed the bar exam with minimal prep on the first try. And I was on my way to being the youngest partner of my firm when shit went down at home.
Obsessing over every detail of my life is normal for me. My list is long, and I don’t need anything added to it.
Which brings me full circle to my current place in hell. Who knew there was another depth in the fiery pits than where I already was? In hindsight, shallow hell is way better than this.
It’s all relative.
And it’s Friday. I’m a thirty-two-year-old single man with nothing to do.
My cell vibrates on the desk for the umpteenth time. I just finished conference calls with my last clients of the week, so I give in and answer.
“What?”
“What?” Dean bites, half out of breath. “That’s all you have to say to me after what went down at lunch?”
I swivel in my chair to look out the windows. It’s perfect and sunny. We’ve had enough spring false alarms in the last month. If warmer weather isn’t here to stay, then put me out of my misery now. “Are criminals on the loose? Are you in a foot chase?”
“Hardly.” Dean’s tone and breaths are rhythmic. “I’m running the trails. After you left, I had the good old Payne special—double cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke. I thought I was going to be sick.”
“Better you than me,” I mutter.
“I had to if I wanted Ruby to talk to me. I feel like I have a brick in my gut. Now tell me, what the hell’s going on between you two?”
“What did you expect to go down? I haven’t seen her in over a decade. I’m surprised it didn’t turn into a Jerry Springer special.”
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit. I’ve seen the video. It’s already circulating on Winslet Uncut.”
I stand and pour myself another glass of water from the crystal pitcher Sadie fills every morning before I come down for work. “Ah, the rogue Facebook group that no one polices—not even you. It really is the best source for online gossip. I’m not sure if I’m pissed or proud I made Uncut.”
Dean keeps talking. “It’s not a good look.”
“Well, lucky for me, I don’t give a shit what I look like.
I’m not you, thank fuck. Honest to God, being you has to be exhausting.
If you’re not wrangling cows, you’re airing up old ladies’ tires who nine-one-one you because they think it’s a legit emergency.
You have the most thankless job ever. Maybe I should teach you about investments and trading. I’ll give you my C-List clients.”
“I’m me for a reason. No amount of money in the world would convince me to stare at numbers all day.
And quit deflecting. We’re talking about you.
You really need to get your shit together.
I stayed and talked to Ruby for another hour.
She’s not going anywhere, man. You two are going to have to get used to seeing one another without blowing your fucking lids. ”
Speaking of blowing, I reach down and adjust my junk. I need to hit the gym and follow it up with a cold shower. The desire to jerk off to the love-of-my-life-turned-bitch is strong, but I refuse to give in to her superpowers.
Mind over dick, Payne. Mind. Over. Dick. We can do hard things, buddy.
“No one’s flipping a lid. At least not anymore.
If Ruby chooses to be a martyr for some un-fucking-known reason, then so be it.
She caught me by surprise, but I’m over it.
Onward and upward, as they say. Well, for everyone but Ruby.
She’s the one still waiting tables at the Combover and singing covers in the dark corner of a seedy bar. ”
“Have you been to The Speakeasy? There’s not one seedy thing about it.”
“I have not,” I lie. “You forget who I am. There’s no reason for me to go to a bar when I rarely drink, and I sure don’t go out and drink. That’s a boundary I refuse to cross. There’s no Uber in this place. I’d have to call nine-one-one like the old ladies and beg you to deliver my ass home.”
I hear feet hit gravel in the background. “Look, if you need a night out, I’m here for you. I’m just putting it out there.”
“If I needed a night out, that would mean that I’m on the pathetic, cry-myself-to-sleep bus, which I am not. I’m fine. I’m more than fine. I’m fucking fantastic.”
Dean has always been able to carry on a conversation while running. “Whatever. Maybe I need a night out. You can cart my ass around, Mister I’m not still in love with Ruby Sinclair.”
“Did today look like love to you? I fell out of love a long time ago, asshole.”
All of a sudden, Dean’s feet pounding the gravel comes to a stop.
I can’t tell if he’s laughing at me or about to hyperventilate.
“Yeah, that’s what you said when you canceled your wedding on the night of the most epic bachelor party I worked fucking hard on.
All your buddies from law school were living it up while we were stone cold sober and I acted as your therapist.”
“That wasn’t because of Ruby.” Again, a total fucking lie.
I’d be married right now if it weren’t for the ghost of my first and only true love who haunts my heart.
Carly might’ve loved me, but I never loved her.
As much as I tried to talk myself into it, it just didn’t happen.
I’m not even sure how I ended up as far along as I did, but I had to end it.
The last I heard, she moved to Arizona. She’s better off without me.
“And you saved me from a bad marriage, future divorce, and probably a broken family. Also, I’ve never had a therapist.”
Dean catches his breath, and I hear a door slam.
He must be home. “If anyone could benefit from a therapist, it’s you.
The proof is on Winslet Uncut. It’s been played”—the line goes silent for a moment—“one thousand, five hundred, and ninety-six times. I’m sure half of them are the Bible study group. They’re savage.”
“Great.”
“Wait—you just hit two thousand. That’s over a quarter of the population of Winslet.”
“I’ll let you monitor that on your own. Feel free to keep that shit to yourself,” I mutter.
“I’ve got to shower. I’ve got a table I’m working on unless you change your mind or there’s an emergency. Did you remember you’re on-call this weekend?”
I slam my laptop shut and flip the lights out on my way out of the office.
I’ll be in here most of the day tomorrow researching and catching up.
This is a one-horse town. We might have a police chief and five officers, but the fire department is volunteer, as are the medics.
My life was just that depressing, that I agreed to the two-hundred-plus hours of training.
But here I am, on call most of the time.
“I remember. If there’s an emergency, I’m your man. ”
“Since you refuse to hit The Bar, The Other Bar, or the manor, I hope I don’t see you all weekend.”
“Touché. And I don’t want to end up on Uncut again. No more drama from me,” I promise. “I’m back to my monotonous life.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Dean mutters. “Stay out of trouble and off the internet. I’m embarrassed for you.”
By the time we disconnect, I’m back in my room holding the same workout clothes I was going to wear last night when I decided to sneak into the manor to see Ruby for myself.
She’s singing again tonight. I looked it up online during a weak moment after lunch.
But I refuse to do it again. If this is my new normal, I will not subject myself to the torture of Ruby Sinclair.
Gym, cold plunge, sauna. I’ve spent every waking minute that I’m not working since I moved home to do everything the opposite of my parents.
My father is currently sitting in prison.
Fucking finally. It only took hitting a tour bus near the coast in Seattle.
He was there on business, but for my father, that meant binge drinking with his buddies while he was away and fucking his way through his female Rolodex.
Luckily no one died, though that didn’t mean no one was hurt.
Each victim sued him individually. And every single person won big.
That lawsuit ate through every insurance policy, all of his investments, and his cash.
It drained him. The only reason they couldn’t touch the house was because it was in a trust with my name on it.
Why he did that years ago, I have no idea.
He lost his wealth and couldn’t buy his way out of prison. He got the maximum sentence. By the time he’s eligible for parole, odds are in my favor that he could be dead.
I can only hope.
It sent my mother into a tailspin. I’m waiting on her to crash and burn so she’ll agree to finally go to treatment. I tried to force it the first few months I was back, but she fought me tooth and nail.
Speaking of, I go to look for her. She rarely comes to the kitchen and never to the dining room. Sadie delivers her meals to make sure she eats.
I make my way across the second floor to the primary suite that she rarely leaves. The door pushes open when I knock. I brace, because there’s never a moment I don’t wonder what I’ll find on the other side.
The king-size bed is a mess, clothes are littered all over the floor, and the lights are dim. The TV over the fireplace is set to some movie from the seventies, but the sound is so low, there’s no way she can hear it.
It’s depressing as fuck in here.
“Mom, you awake?”
I get nothing.
I raise my voice. “Mom.”
“Hmm?” A hand appears over the back of the sofa, and she waves me off. “Go away. Taking a nap.”
I let out a sigh of relief. She’s alive.
I gave up on interventions a long time ago.
I even forced her into treatment, but nothing helped.
When I cut off her source of pills and liquor, she found another one.
She’d tear the house apart and come at me for taking away her booze and prescriptions.
It got to the point of violence. Then she’d demand her keys when she was high and drunk. But there was no way.
I’d just turned thirty. My mom was a raging addict of so many things and had no desire to be sober.
Nothing has changed.
I gave up.
I can’t make her want to get better. If she wants to numb herself into an early grave, I can’t do anything about it. I have managed to keep her in the house, so she doesn’t hurt anyone else. It’s all I can do.
I pick up a medicine bottle on the end table that sits next to an empty bottle of pineapple rum. She drinks the weirdest shit. At least the pills are over the counter. I have no clue where she orders this stuff from, but the moment she starts to sober up, she has half a brain to order more.
A tray of food sits cold on the coffee table. I lean down to give her shoulder a shake. “Mom, you need to eat.”
She presses the side of her face into a pillow. Dark rings hang below her eyes, and her hair is matted to her head. From the smell of the room, I doubt she’s showered in days.
I raise my voice to wake her up. “Mom, get up and eat.”
She doesn’t open her eyes to look up at me. “Mm-kay.”
I stand up straight and stare down at her. “You’re a mess.”
She doesn’t hear me. “See ya later.”
I turn to leave and slam her door behind me.
Fuck my life.