He lied to me. He said he was alone, but he was with Kidd hustling someone out of their money. Just like old Holden. Kidd’s beady eyes skitter over to me and widen before narrowing in a way that can only be described as unsettling. He licks his lips. “Didn’t realize you were leaving us for Larry.”
Asshole. His stare is making me self-conscious and I suddenly do not want to be here—especially not in my dad’s old sweater and worn out cutoffs. I realize with the length of the sweater it might look, to his drunken eye, like I don’t have any bottoms on at all. I need to be anywhere but here. I limp past him toward the door.
“You two got a little rough or what?” he asks no one in particular as he points to my knee.
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap.
“You’re a little darker than you used to be, Larry. I like it,” Kidd remarks. I ignore him and fling open the door.
“Call her Larry again and I will deck you, Kidd,” Holden says and reaches for my arm as I start down the steps totally awkwardly thanks to my throbbing, swollen knee.
I look up at him and yank my arm free, which makes me stumble and almost fall. He jumps down and grabs for me again. Damn it. “We made a mistake.”
“I didn’t.”
“I did,” I say and pull away from him. “You lied to me and you’re still hanging out with him. We both know he’s bad news.”
“No, I wasn’t,” he says with conviction.
“That would be believable if he didn’t have your phone,” I reply and pull my arm free. “Later, Holden.”
I march up the stairs and onto the porch, grabbing the wine bottle I left there before heading into the house and locking the door behind me. He hasn’t changed…at least not much. Not enough.
9
Holden
Two days go by and we walk around pretending we don’t know each other, which is bullshit and awkward as hell because we are the only two people in this house. But I let it happen because I feel like a bit of an asshole. I lied to her. I was drunk, but I knew I was doing it. I just didn’t want her to know the truth and I figured she’d never find out. She wouldn’t have hung out with me if she knew where I’d been. We wouldn’t have had that intense connection or that fucking hot-as-hell kiss. Everything about hanging out with Winnie that night was like nothing I’ve ever experienced, if I’m being honest with myself. The alcohol made us honest and that made the kiss heated and vulnerable all at the same time.
If Kidd hadn’t shown up, I had every intention of turning that kiss into much more. But he did and the expression on her face went from beautifully vulnerable to horrifically exposed. I don’t want to be the guy she knew who hung out with Kidd and so I don’t hold it against her for not wanting to kiss that guy.
I shouldn’t have gone out and gotten shit-faced after I fought with her. I was just so fucking frustrated and I felt like I couldn’t do a goddamn thing right. I needed to let off all the steam boiling inside of me. So after I picked up my truck at Bradie’s, I went to the Brunswick. I totally forgot that Kidd said he hangs out there all the time. And of course he was there with all the other guys I knew when I was young and stupid and making poor choices like it was my job. I ignored the gut feeling to turn around and leave. I bought them a round of tequila shots instead. And then they bought me a round and then Kidd somehow convinced me to play some pool and then these local punks thought they could beat me so of course I had them bet on it. It was my old self, not the totally bad self, but the one who walks a slippery slope and didn’t mind slipping off it. And I got drunk, which never has never led to great decisions. So when Kidd and the guys started talking about the old times and how cool we were and how we should hang out more often, I realize I was full-on wasted because it started to sound like a good idea. So I told them I needed to take a piss and slipped out the back door. I was in such a stupor and such a rush I didn’t realize I didn’t have my phone. At least I was smart enough to leave the truck in the parking lot and not drive.
When I got home and saw her standing there, and realized she not only turned on the lights so I didn’t kill myself on lawn furniture, but she also ordered me a pizza—my favorite childhood pizza—I felt like the universe was rewarding me for making a good decision. Finally. She looked fucking glorious in those little shorts and an oversized sweater that I realize now must belong to her dad. That kiss, it felt like a reward. Like I was finally worthy of a good girl.
But it turns out, like with everything in my life, the universe wasn’t rewarding me. It was setting me up for more punishment. Because Kidd had to fucking bring me my phone—and then ogle her like a piece of meat in a butcher shop window. I told him off and threatened to punch the attitude out of him, but she’d already disappeared into the house. And I doubt Winnie is the type of girl who’s impressed by violence.
Now it’s two days later at eight in the morning and I’m standing in the driveway, sipping my coffee and trying to figure out how I can get us back to that moment where we connected—mentally and physically. I don’t like being at odds with her. It’s easy to fight with her, it’s comfortable, which is something I haven’t felt since being back in this town. But bonding with her felt good. I liked it because I like her and easy or not I don’t want to go back to being enemies. I want to feel her touch me again. I want to kiss her again. I think that’s an impossible task and I just need to settle for getting us back to acknowledging each other’s existence. I finish my coffee, place the mug on the small patio table by the trailer door, grab my tool belt off the lawn chair and head up to the porch.
I knock, knowing that she won’t answer because she never does, and then stick my key in the door. On the porch, there are two wine bottles on the table by the rocking chairs. One is empty the other only half full. There’s still wine in a glass next to it. Same scene as yesterday and the day before. I step into the house and walk back to the kitchen. I ripped out all the counters and cabinets yesterday. Some of my coworkers from my last job have agreed to freelance for me and are coming over today to help me get rid of the appliances and take down the wall that separates the kitchen from the dining room.
I pause and listen. If she’s here, she’s still asleep. I walk over to the fridge and open it. Exact same contents as yesterday when I snuck a peek, which means she didn’t eat last night. I heard her crying again. I feel for her but I know, now that I realize she’s mourning her father, that she has to have her tears. For now.
“Winnie?” I call out and I’m not surprised when she doesn’t respond.
I walk through the house to the staircase and call out again. “Winnie! I have some crew coming over to help me with demo.”
Nothing.
I sigh in frustration and walk to the front of the house again. I don’t want to go up there and walk in on her, so I have to hope she’s gone. I pass the first-floor bedroom and something catches my eye through the half open door—a long, toned, bare calf. I step closer. She isn’t moving and judging by the position of her leg, she’s facedown on the bed. I knock on the door, which causes it to swing open more but doesn’t make Winnie stir at all. She’s out cold.
I take a step into the room. Just as I guessed, she’s splayed out across the queen bed, face mashed in a pillow. She’s wearing tiny pajama shorts and a T-shirt with what appears to be concert dates on the back but it’s hard to tell because it’s all crumpled up, leaving most of her lower back exposed. Her skin looks so supple and perfect and the bright pink dots on her pajama shorts are forcing me to look her ass and admire the full round shape of it.
She lets out the softest little groan and her left leg, which was bent, straightens slowly. I clear my throat. “Winnie. There’s a bunch of guys coming to do more demo. You probably wanna go upstairs or get out of here. It’s gonna be loud.”
“You’re loud right now,” she says, but it’s muffled by the pillow.
I smile. I’m actually talking in a softer voice than normal. I clear my throat and raise my voice a little. “Hungover just a little, huh?”
