Текст книги "Can't Let Go"

Автор книги: Michelle Lynn

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“God, Dex. Don’t you realize,” she waits for my eyes to reach hers before she finishes, “you’ve put me first your whole life. Unconsciously, you’ve always worried about me and my needs before your own.” Thinking about her words for a second, I’m thankful that they are true and she’s sure of how far I would go for her. Somehow, some way, she’s eased my nerves with her confirmation.

Unable to hold myself back from this girl who knows me better than myself, I grab her by the neck and yank her to me. Our lips smashing together in a frenzy of heat, tongues twining, saliva mixing, and teeth knocking. Pulling her away from me, my eyes notice her red, swollen, moist lips. “God, I love you,” I mumble, “baby,” I add, and a smile begins to form on her lips.

“I love you, too,” she replies.

“And?” I coax, and she giggles, creating deep ecstasy inside of me.

“Baby,” she finishes, and I kiss her one more time before starting the truck to drive us home.

CHRISSY DID A great job at cooking dinner. Actually, everyone had some as they filtered into the kitchen and Chrissy would shove a spoon or fork to their mouth, asking them to try it. Laughing at the table, I tried to concentrate on economics when I couldn’t stop admiring her ass when she bent over. Or when I sensed her eyes on me, briefly waiting for something to finish cooking. The anticipation level increased with every glance, building to when I would spread those legs open tonight and thrust into her over and over again.

I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Because as we’re washing the dishes and loading the dishwasher, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Chrissy bumps me with her hip as payback for flicking water to her face. Pulling it out of my jeans, my dad’s name flashes across the screen.

Chrissy’s eyes glance over when she hears me answer. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?” I grab her and encase her in my arms. She rains sweet kisses over my Adam’s apple and neck, gaining a huge smile from me.

“Hey, Edge. I hate to ask, but I need you tonight. Pete started his own business, taking some of my clients. I’m trying to do some damage control with odds and things. The fucking asshole,” he yells, and Chrissy’s eyes pull back, wondering why my dad is so angry.

“All right. Give me a half hour,” I tell him and press the end button, agitated from the obligation to help him that nags at me every time he’s desperate.

“You’re leaving,” Chrissy whines, and my heart shutters with the sound of her voice.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” I guide her to the kitchen table. “My dad needs me to go to his place. Help him out,” I don’t flat out lie, but the untruths singe my tongue as the words leave my mouth.

“I’ll go with you.” She’s eagerly ready to leave with me.

“You can’t. Plus I won’t be long, I swear.”

“Okay.” Her voice low and unsure of what is really going on.

Standing up, I bring her to her feet and wrap my arms around her waist. “Be ready when I return, because I’ll be stripping my clothes off as I walk up the stairs to my room.”

She giggles, and I smile down at her. “Love you.” I bend down and kiss her. “Thank you for dinner. It was great,” I compliment her, and she nuzzles into my chest a little before I ultimately have to put an end to it.

I fist the wheel when I’m halfway to my dad’s. Chrissy’s unsure yet unwavering eyes following me the whole time as I got my wallet and keys only angered me more toward my dad. I swear she knows I just lied, but she didn’t call me out on it, and I’m wondering why she didn’t. She’s not someone to keep her feelings hidden from others. I’m pissed at myself, at my dad, and a little at Chrissy for not calling me out as the loser I am right now.

It turns out my dad needed my help more than I thought. I had to contact a couple bigger clients, promising tickets to shows, entertainment, kegs of beer to the college kids. You’d be amazed how many kids pay their college tuition by betting odds on sports.

“Edge, grab the tablet. Use those great instincts and find me some damn pearl to save us.” The fact he uses me twists my stomach, guilt slowly taking over the swarms of butterflies Chrissy ignited only a half hour ago.

Scanning, I try to turn off the pressure. Allowing myself to feel it, opening myself to the one odds that flash out in front of the others. I attempt to push Chrissy out of it and do this one thing for my dad. The sooner I figure one out, the faster I’ll be in her arms. The problem is I’ll be lying to her while I’m there, separating us by omissions, cheating us of a real chance to a future. Guilt from her words a few hours earlier, her confirmation I wouldn’t ruin this, but it’s only been seventy-two hours, and I’ve already screwed with us.

Like someone was shining down, a simple game listed, and the anchorman’s voice from two nights ago resonate in my head. An underdog hockey team that may just be able to pull off a win because of injuries on the other team. My gut signals me this is the one, so I tell my dad, and he wearily grips his neck with his locked fingers. “This is aggressive, Edge. You sure?” he questions, and I nod my head feverishly.

“It’s the one, Dad.” I divulge the inside scoop I heard on ESPN, and he agrees. The game starts in an hour, and my dad makes the call into Vegas to his own bookie.

Me: Sorry, baby. I’m caught up. Go to bed and I’ll be back soon.

I text Chrissy, two hours later when I’m still stuck in the family room, watching the game with my dad.

Chrissy: Okay. Miss you

Guilt … fucking guilt

Me: You too. I love you.

Chrissy: Love you. Hurry up.

Me: I promise

How on earth can I promise her anything at this point? Look what I’m fucking doing here.

An hour or so later, my dad’s screaming at the television and my knee is bouncing up and down out of control, distressed that maybe I made the wrong choice. Shit, maybe it was another calling out to me from that damn tablet. I’m glued to my dad’s leather chair, watching a small black puck shoot from one side to the other. The two teams tied with only twenty seconds to go. I bite at my fingernails, my heart races, and this is the part I hate most. The uncertainty if you’ll win. Taking big chances that could bankrupt you. If I’m wrong and this team doesn’t pull it off, that’s exactly what I’ve done to my dad, ruined him. He’s worked years to get his client list and this betting ring going, and one game is his deciding fate.

Finally, a player swings around the goal and sneaks the puck into the net, and my dad roars so loud, I swear the walls shake. “Shit, Edge. You did it again.” He grabs my hand, yanking to my feet, and they stumble before going steady. “Gotta love that adrenaline rush,” he says, and I silence my disagreement. “Come with me.” He motions with his hand, and I follow him back to the basement.

He opens a door that I’ve been forbidden from touching, and there stands two safes side by side. Turning the knobs and pressing his hand under an illuminated light, it clicks. Piles of green fill it, the smell of filth filtering out. My dad always said there was nothing better than the smell of money, but it’s another thing I completely disagree with. Thumbing up the piles he hands me three stacks of money. “College tuition,” He smiles, and I add the amount in my head.

“Dad, this is thirty grand.” I hold it up and shake my head.

“You have no idea how much money you just made me, do you? It’s your cut.” He shuts the safe, ushers me out of the room, and then shuts and locks the door.

Debating in my head what the hell to do, the money just confirms the guilt of what I’ve done. “I’m not sure I can do much more of this,” I honestly say, and he clasps his hand on my back. That affirmation, he’s proud of me. The sole reason I’ve done it this long—getting praise from him.

“Oh, Edge, when you’re out of college, you can just dabble into it. I’m not asking you to take over the business.” He laughs, and I hang my head down; the money in my hand burning my flesh.

When I arrive at the door that I unconsciously walked to, I turn around to find a very satisfied dad. He’s on his high—high of winning. “You did good tonight, kid,” he says, and my stomach churns. “Now go find some girl to celebrate with.” Chrissy’s face floats to mind, weighing my stomach down. He opens his door, an invitation to leave.

“See ya, Dad,” I say, leaving the house I spent two weekends a month in for so many years. The place I witnessed men lose everything and temporarily gain something from poker parties my dad threw. Here I was leaving with a temporary gain, and I’m not elated like the usual men, instead I’m disheartened at my own actions. I’ve betrayed the one I love, the one I promised I wouldn’t fuck this up.

DEX SNUGGLES INTO me, his cold hands brushing against my shoulder when he pulls the blanket over us. It’s been two days, and, although I’m happy, something shifted that night I made him dinner, and I’m not sure what it was. He’s still attentive, driving me to work on the days he has late class. It’s hard to describe, but there’s this little wedge between us that wasn’t there before that night.

I felt it when he returned to his room. Just like tonight, his cold body slid against mine, nuzzling into my neck. I heard his inhales and sighs. The only difference between that night and this one is I had turned around. I had asked him what was wrong, what had happened at his dad’s. He just shook his head and said nothing, but there in those eyes that shined so bright the two days earlier, were a little dimmer, a little removed from us. He distracted me with his roaming hands, and his lips maneuvering over my body. I allowed him to lie to me, deceive me from whatever it was he felt he had to hide. Although it scared me to my core, somehow I believed he’d divulge it to me. I was sure in time, Dex would come clean, and my only fear was it could be something we couldn’t get through together.

The charade hasn’t stopped, but instead of asking or demanding he share, I act as though I’m asleep when he slips into bed with me tonight. Forcing my body to stay limp and my eyes to remain shut while the despair of what we are slowly becoming stays constant under my skin with every touch of his hand. As always, he nuzzles and inhales. Sighing. This time, however, he speaks. “Please don’t hate me,” he whispers. That’s when I know, I can’t let this go on further.

I gradually turn around, wiggling my body out of his embrace. Then repositioning myself to lie facing him, I allow his hand to cup my face and his thumb to mindlessly glide back and forth along my cheek. “Why would I hate you?” I ask him, and his eyes never leave mine.

I watch him swallow a huge gulp and then maintaining eye contact, he reveals the big secret. “I made a bet.” I bite my lower lip, waiting for more because I can guarantee there is. “I still gamble, Chris,” he admits, and hearing the truth, my heart sinks with what I had already suspected.

“Why?” I ask, trying to remain calmer than I did all those years back.

He shrugs his one shoulder. “It’s easy money to me. Makes my dad happy.”

“Does it make you happy?”

“I’m not going to lie, it did at one time, but now—with you, it just feels wrong.” He moves his hand to my hip and tugs me a little closer. “I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner, but I’m done.”

“Is that where you went on Monday night?” I clarify.

“Yeah. My dad dug into sports betting when he got laid off back when I was in high school. It wasn’t until my sophomore year of college that he told me about it and asked for my help with clients.”

“Oh, Dex,” I sigh. I had always thought Mr. Prescott was so much better of a father than to get his kid mixed up in the twisted life of gambling. Fear rises that Dex is like my father, but I have to remind myself how much more Dex has ever done for me than my father.

“At first, I loved it. Kids were eager to make a quick buck, and I was some big man around the house. My dad was always praising me and telling me how much he loved me.” His eyes shift down and then back up. Now they’re filled with sorrow and sadness. “By junior year of college, the pressure increased. I told him I had to take a step back and concentrate on my classes. It was going pretty good so he said okay. He got this Pete guy to take over. I did still bet but only on the games I wanted to and I was fairly positive I would win. It was nice being a college student, playing in the band and just having a good time.”

“So, how come you’re back helping your dad?”

“Because Pete left and confiscated a ton of clients. My dad called me over to woo them back. Then he asked for the first time in two years to pick a bet.” His shoulder falls into the pillow, and my pulse beats fast with the expectation he’s going to tell me he lost all of his money. “We won, but I’ve never not enjoyed a win or even the game like this time. This whole betrayal to you made me feel guilty.”

“Oh, sorry to be the party pooper,” I tease and a small smile begins to form.

“That’s not what I meant—” he argues.

“Dex?”

“Yeah?” I tuck my hands under my head and admire him for being so honest with me. It’s refreshing to anything previous I’ve experienced with my dad.

“Do you want to quit?”

“Chris—” he begins to plead his case, but I hold my hand up for him to stop.

“Hear me out, Dex. Take me out of the equation. Do you really want to stop the betting?” I scoot to the headboard, and he follows my movement, but sits up in front of me.

“That’s impossible. I can’t take you out. You’re the reason I want to quit.”

“Then I don’t want you to,” I say, and his forehead scrunches, and he cocks his head to the side.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

I shake my head. “I don’t want you to resent me someday, but I’m not sure I can stick around if you continue to gamble either.”

Inching forward, he grabs my hands. “That’s what you aren’t hearing. Maybe I would have continued if you wouldn’t have come back. I don’t know. But, because you did, you make me want to stop. It’s an easy choice, Chrissy. You’re an easy choice.” He smiles, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

My heart flutters because no one has ever chosen me over something else. “Dex, I don’t know.”

“Chris, I would never resent you. As long as you’re in my life, I don’t need anything else.” Tears prick my eyes, because no one has ever said they needed me, let alone felt that way about me. “Why are you crying?” He comes closer, but I scoot back, my head hitting the headboard.

“Don’t say anything else.” I wave my hand in front of my face to dry the tears.

“Why? Chris?” he continues pushing for me to confess.

I sit there trying to collect my thoughts as the world around me shifts. As though I feel the axis positioning me on a better course. That course being Dex. I wish I could leap on to it and allow it to take me where I want to go, but what if it doesn’t? What if I end up crushed?

“You’re words scare me,” I admit, and this time he doesn’t accept the distance. Grabbing me by my hips, he raises me up and then seats me on his lap.

“They’re supposed to make you happy. I’m supposed to make you happy,” he says.

“You do. But what—”

“Stop it, Chrissy. I’ve done enough ‘what if’s’ to last us until our dying days. We’re done with that shit. Now it’s I love you, kiss me, hug me, and your mine time. Got it?” He winks, his eyes void of the guilt from the past two days, being replaced with the love he’s so willing to give me.

I smile, and he takes his fingers pushing my lips further. Once I’m almost laughing, he smiles. “Better,” he remarks. “So what will it be first?”

I tilt my head to the side. “Kiss me, hug me, f—” he begins suggesting.

“Let’s start with hug,” I direct him, and he wraps his arms around my waist, tugging me close, securing me into the warmth of my home.

His head nuzzles in the crook of my neck, exactly where he likes it. “Come with me tomorrow?” he murmurs in such a low voice, I barely hear him.

Pulling back from him, I keep my arms linked around his neck. “My dad’s. I have to tell him.” His body deflates, and I massage the back of his head.

“Always, Dex … I’ll always be here for you.”

“Thank you for not blowing a gasket. I was terrified you were going to go all ballistic and leave me.” He kisses the corner of my mouth.

“Well …” I joke, and he shakes his head.

“No, Chrissy. I seriously thought I was going to lose you.” He pulls me into him again, a little tighter this time. “The thought of losing you again was gut-wrenching.”

“You’ll never lose me, Dex.” I grip him tighter, because his honesty and my acceptance to his secret shows how deeply we do care about one another.

THE NEXT MORNING, Dex drops me off, a little quieter than previous mornings. I don’t say much, because I know he’s struggling with telling his dad. Like a robot, he opens my door, I slide in, and he walks to his side. He leans over, and his lips peck mine, but I grab his head, holding it there. I sneak my tongue into his mouth, and, for a while, he doesn’t reciprocate. A minute later, it’s his hand on my neck, claiming my mouth, and, as always, he makes me feel utterly and completely wanted.

Tearing away, he kisses my forehead. “Have a good day. We’ll continue that tonight.” He winks, but there’s not as much of a punch as before. He’s hurting, so I’m hurting.

Ryland’s been in his studio for the past week, working on some new pieces, which leaves me alone with myself. Locking up the door, I walk down the block to grab some lunch. Lily’s in the window of her florist shop, putting together a display, so I decide I need some cheer in my life and walk in.

“Good afternoon,” Lily’s voice rings out from the display window area.

“Hi, Lily. How are things?” I ask her, bending down to smell the different scents of flowers.

“Busy. The holidays always increase business, and then I have to prepare for Valentine’s Day.” Her hands reaching for flowers out of big buckets to position in other arrangements for display.

“How do you know what looks good with what?” I ask her, because her arrangements are so beautiful, I wonder where she finds her inspiration.

“Hmm … I’m not sure.” She shrugs. “Years of experience, I suppose.” She giggles.

“I love them—” I look around the small store, “all,” I finish, and she turns around, smiling with gratitude.

“Come here,” she says, motioning me toward the counter with long green stems that have been cut from their beauty.

Following her, she pulls a few buckets up from below the table and sets them on top. “Pick the flower you like the most,” she prompts me.

Bending down and inhaling the different fragrances each emits. Picking a Dahlia pom pom, I offer it to Lily, who shakes her head and hands me a pair of scissors. Demonstrating how to cut the stem, I snap the excess green and place it in a vase. “Now, you go ahead and finish it up,” she instructs. “Use anything you want.” I check my watch, finding I have a half hour left for lunch.

Taking flowers out and comparing to those already in the vase, I go back and forth, indecisive to my core showing its mark in this task. Once I’m done, I can’t stop fixating on it. To me, it’s beautiful, and I can almost see a little of myself in it. Deep pink Dahlia pom poms, white daisies, purple gallants, and a couple light pink roses sprinkled around. A few green sprigs fill the voids. Lily ventures back my way when she hears the clap of my hands when I’m finished.

“See, it’s beautiful, Chrissy,” she compliments my mediocre, compared to hers, arrangement.

“Thank you, Lily, it was a lot of fun.” I appreciate her allowing me to explore a little creativity during my break, and I wish I could stay to do ten more.

“You’re welcome. Why don’t you take it with you,” she offers, but I immediately shake my head. I’ve never even bought a single stemmed rose for myself. For some silly reason, I’m holding out on one day a delivery man shows up at my door.

“Okay, well, I’ll let you know when it sells because I’m positive it will.” She places her hand on my shoulder, and warmth, like a mother’s touch vibrates through my fabric.

“You’re very optimistic,” I say, beginning to make my exit from the heaven a few doors down from where I work.

“I only speak the truth, sweetie.” She remarks and I laugh as the door chime rings above my head, announcing my departure.

THE REST OF the afternoon, I research flowers and their meanings. Finding such an array of beauty in each one of them. I get nothing done, not that Ryland has much for me to do these days. Just the scheduling of shows and arranging drivers for delivery of purchased pieces. Ryland recently opened a small area in the back of the gallery for up and coming artists. Many having small shows on Friday or Saturday nights.

Dex arrives right at five o’clock. I’m surprised he actually comes in to get me. “Hey. I’ll just be a second.” I raise my finger in the air and finish shutting my computer down.

“Okay,” he says, walking around the room. “The guy’s pretty talented, huh?” he remarks, staring at the same piece I did the first time I came here. The Unfixable one that always has me pondering what Ryland’s inspiration was for that specific piece.

Walking up beside him, I shrug my purse over my shoulder and he takes my hand in his immediately. Even with his quiet demeanor, and occupied mind, Dex still shows me affection. “Isn’t this one amazing?” I comment, and his head swivels to me.

“What do you think it means? The woman’s face is so—”

“Sad,” I finish, and he nods his head. “Lost,” I continue. “I know.”

“It’s a little hard to look at actually.”

“Maybe that’s why it hasn’t sold,” I say, debating those words in my head. As though the painting scares people because the woman portrayed is a little too close to their comfort level.

He shrugs and turns my way. “You ready to hit it?” he asks, and I nod my head.