I’d lived with the reality of what happened when a marriage fell apart. When it was clear two people wanted different things in life. I have no interest in watching my future implode as my parents’ marriage had. And I refuse to put an innocent child through that. Not to mention, there was a healthy degree of fear that I was more like my father than I wanted to admit. Sure, I had integrity where it was clearhis was lacking. Yet, I hadn’t ruled out his behavior may be related to a bigger issue. An addictive personality disorder of some type. The ever-present need to feed either his sexual appetite or his ego.
My father had been focused on prestige and power. Along with it, growing his portfolio. My paternal grandfather had been an extremely successful businessman but still managed to devote time to his family. Where my father, on the other hand, was like one of those Rolex watches you buy off a guy in the street at Times Square, an inferior copycat.
I have fond memories of spending time with my grandparents. Participating in little league baseball. But not once did dear old Dad make it to a game. Even when we made it to the playoffs, it wasn’t worthy of his time. My mother tried her best to attend as many practices and games as possible. Yet, my father held certain expectations of her. And looking back, I believe she was afraid to push back. To fight for what she felt was most important.
Not that it would’ve mattered. My father eventually tired of my mother and traded her in for a younger model. He had belittled her for years, so Mom blamed herself for the destruction of her marriage. If she’d only looked or behaved a certain way, perhaps he would’ve stayed.
But my dad’s as shallow as they come. His only interactions with me over the years have been to remind me there’s no financial future in a career in the fire service. He’s held my trust fund over my head in an attempt to lure me into the family business, calling every few months to drive the point home.
No, thank you.
While I’m quite fortunate to have a sizeable nest egg, I have no plans to live that type of ostentatious lifestyle. I’m more interested in a quiet existence with good friends. One where I can give back to the community I live. And when the time is right, I’ll find a way to use my inheritance to benefit those who need it most. For now, the only real portion of it I access is to help my mother.
Mom fell into a deep hopelessness after the fall out with my father. Despite multiple attempts at inpatient and outpatient therapy,she’s never recovered. Looking back, I tend to think she may have struggled with sadness and anxiety before my dad walked away so dismissively. But nothing to the point she is now. She’s a shell of the vivacious woman I remember.
Don’t get me wrong. I know relationships aren’t easy. The best of marriages can fail for any number of reasons. However, this was insidious. My father had been laying the groundwork to leave her with as little as possible for years before he dropped the gauntlet. And once he delivered the blow, it was in the most humiliating way possible. From what I gather, he made it clear he was moving on because a man of his standing deserved a more voluptuous, charming woman on his arm. Someone who went above and beyond to share her gratitude for all he provided. No wonder she was clinically depressed. One day karma is going to come calling for that asshole, and I plan to have buttered popcorn and a cold one ready.
I haven’t given up on Mom. Hopefully, someday soon, there’ll be some sort of breakthrough for her. I’ve tried to convince my mother to move to Sycamore Mountain with me. Yet, she’s most comfortable back in New Jersey. For now, I use a portion of my savings to pay for her to reside in an assisted living facility. Her apartment is clean and safe and has nurses and therapists on staff. They attempt to engage her in activities. Or if nothing else, ensure she leaves her apartment for a short while each day.
My gaze flicks longingly over to Char. She’s dancing with an older gentleman, engaging him in conversation as they stiffly sway back and forth. He looks like more of a Frank Sinatra dude than a Jonas brother. Her gorgeous eyes are shining with mirth at something he’s saying.
“Are you seeing anyone?”Jesus.Brooke’s question catches me off guard. Not at the direction the conversation is headed, but more so the fact I’d completely forgotten we were still dancing. My attention has been so focused on this newcomer, who has me under her spell.
“No.” I exhale uncomfortably. “You know me, Brooke. I’m only focused on my job.” We’ve been over this too many times to count. Whether she has dollar signs in her eyes or merely marching to thebeat of her biological clock, we aren’t ever going to be more than casual.
“That’s too bad. I thought we had a really good time together.”
Part of me wants to reassure her. I don’t want any woman to feel as dejected as my mother had when my father walked away. The realization that his blood runs through my veins isn’t lost on me. But I’ve never promised Brooke, or any woman, anything.
The song comes to an end, and I immediately step back, allowing her hands to fall from my chest as I put distance between us. Spending any more time with her is only going to send her mixed signals. “It was nice to see you, Brooke.” I give her a forced smile before heading toward the bar.
Yet as I make it halfway there, Michael Bublé begins to sing “Save the Last Dance For Me.” It’s as if the universe is aware of this woman’s unyielding pull and gave me the in I’ve been waiting for. Striding to her side, feeling like a puppy who’s been waiting all day for his owner to return home, I pause until Char makes eye contact with me. “It appears they’re playing our song.”
She rotates to face me. The delight dancing in her green depths is almost too much to absorb all at once. Has she been looking forward to this moment too? Or is this wishful thinking?
“Why, yes. It appears they are.” She leans in to thank her older dance partner with a peck on the cheek before sending him off.
“Took you long enough.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DAVE
“Didyou slide the DJ some cash to play this song?” Char teases.
Damn. Should’ve thought of that an hour ago.
“No.” I chuckle. “But once I heard it start playing, I may or may not have sprinted over here to prevent numbnuts from getting here first.” We simultaneously turn to look at Brecken, who’s dancing with Janet. He has his fingers dug firmly into each of her ass cheeks, grinding against her like she’s a dog in heat. She’s staring all goo-goo eyed at him, while his eyes are fixated on her tits.
“Real smooth.”
“Guess Shotgun Sam is on his own tonight.” She giggles.
“Doubt that. That guy always seems to know how to score.” Once the words are out of my mouth, I instantly regret them. I would never want her to feel that I was crass, referring to her in the same vein.
Whatever my thoughts were about being open to one night of fun with a flirty out of towner have changed. It’s unsettling, feeling this way. I can’t explain it. Not only because I barely know this girl. I never feel this way about anyone. But as attracted to her as I am, this pull to her seems beyond any wedding reception hookup. Yet there’s no reason to think she feels the same.
Face it, Dave. She’s a pretty, charismatic girl visiting from states away. She’s safe. There’s no chance she’s looking for long term, any more than you are. Cool your jets. That’s all this is.
