dibs (27 page)

“Ok,” I muttered.

The ding of my phone was freaking loud, and I bolted off the bed—excruciating pain accompanied every move.

“Is it her?” he asked.

“No.”

It was Jake. What the hell? I couldn’t open my phone fast enough.

Hey Mac this is Jake Have you talked to mom

I texted back with my good hand.

Hey buddy. Not today. What’s up?

I swallowed, watching the little bubble on the phone indicating he was typing.

I’m with dad tonight but mom sent me a text and it didn’t make sense. I just didn’t know if you’d talked to her

So, he didn’t know that we weren’t talking. That was a good thing in my book.

What didn’t make sense? Where is she?

She went to Paco’s with some girls at work. Everything was just misspelled it’s probably fine

I googled Paco’s. Mexican restaurant. That meant margaritas.

Jake, I’ll text her and make sure everything is ok. I’ll text you later, ok? Where is Peyton?

She is at a slumber party at McKennas

OK. Good. I’m sure your mom is fine. Just having fun. I’ll text you after I talk to her.

K thanks mac.

“What’s wrong?” Blake asked as I grabbed my keys.

“Jake needs me. I gotta go.”

“Jake, the son?”

“Yep.”

“Need help?” he asked, following me out the door.

I shook my head. “Nah. I got it. Thanks, though.”

I held out my hand as he walked past me and we bumped fists like a thousand times in the past.

“Be safe, man,” he said, and I nodded.

After I put Paco’s in my map, it only took me about forty-five minutes to get there. She was easy to spot—beautiful curly, red hair blowing in the wind as they sat out on the patio. Now that I at least had a visual, I texted Jake.

Hey Jake. Mom is fine.

Did she drink too much with her friends

I smiled to myself inside the car, still keeping an eye on Sam. It looked like the place was closing down. Trying to keep in mind that Jake was 15, I answered.

Let’s just say, she could have used more chips and salsa and less adult beverages. I may be in trouble for telling you that.

Then dont tell her you told me that :)

Our secret. Goodnight buddy. Thanks for texting me. And text me tonight if you need something. Ok?

K.

My car sat four stalls away from hers, though I hadn’t thought how I was going to get her in mine—yet. I rolled my windows down deciding to wait.

There were times, as I sat watching from my car, that her laughter floated through the breeze and fed my soul. Two synchronized souls that somehow through a cruel fated hand were lost at sea once again. I needed her laughter in my life.

“Sam. You shouldn’t drive. Ride with us. Tim can run you home.”

I glanced up to see Sam stumble over a curb. Tim was NOT taking her home.

“I know. I’m gonna text Wendy. It was fun. Thank you girls.”

The dark headed girl hugged her. “We don’t like seeing you down in the dumps. You have a beautiful smile. Show it.”

Amen.

The two other girls got in the car with a man, who I assumed must be Tim, and drove away. Sam leaned against her hood and messed with her phone.

I pulled my phone out.

I’d like to talk to you

I heard her phone chime.

“Ha!” she shouted to no one. “I bet you would.”

I was banking on her being drunk enough to text back. Besides, the Sam I knew wouldn’t back away from a fight, and so far, she hadn’t engaged in this one. So I waited. Literally.

Please Sam. Talk to me

Her phone chimed again. She stared down at her hands.

What’s to talk about?

Finally! A response.

Tell me why you went to the club.

The chime seemed quieter.

A girl’s gotta eat.

Of course she had to be witty. I grimaced when I fisted my broken hand.

Maybe we could just talk. Maybe you don’t have to come out swinging.

I watched as she stood, pulled her keys out from her purse and stumbled toward her car. Oh hell no… Immediately, I got out and hustled toward her. She cast a quick glance directly at me, looked away, and then suddenly, her head snapped in my direction. She wobbled a bit. Instinctively, I steadied her.

“Oh my God, you’re like stalking me,” she whispered, somewhat beneath her breath.

“Oh pipe down. If I was stalking you, you wouldn’t know it.”

I began steering her toward my car. She surprisingly didn’t fight me.

“How’s did you…” she shook her head trying to make her words right in her head. “How did you find me then?”

When I opened the car door for her, she stood and stared at me. God, those damn green eyes.

“How’d you find me, Mac?”

She intentionally spoke slowly to better articulate. She was so cute.

“I put GPS on your car three weeks ago?” I teased. I certainly wasn’t throwing Jake under the bus.

When her mouth fell open in a muted gasp, I chuckled.

“You did not!”

“Get in the car,” I said, laughing.

“Don’t laugh at me, Mac.”

That made me laugh harder. “It’s hard not to. You’re adorable. You always have been.”

Exasperated, she threw her head back, consequently falling into the car, which is exactly where I wanted her. Perfect. I closed the door.

Once in the car, I headed toward her house.

“How many woman have there been?”

Why is that always the question women ask…

“Sam…”

“How many, Big Mac?” She threw up air quotes when she said my name.

“A lot.”

She steepled her fingers, resting them against her nose.

I stretched to the back seat, grabbed the manila envelope and handed it to her.

“What is this?”

“Well, I know you pretty well. I’m guessing the first thought in your head after you left the club was that I was inside you without a condom. It’s my test results.”

Laying the envelope in her lap, she shook her head. I assumed in disgust.

“I thought you said you never went without a condom.”

As we turned onto her street, I stopped the car just so I could look at her.

“I haven’t. I hadn’t. Once when I was 15. Then not again—until you.”

She scowled. “You’re lying! No one goes his or her entire life without using a condom. No matter how old you are. You lie about everything.”

Once in her driveway, I slammed the gearshift into park and flew around to her door. She struggled getting out, so I helped her, my hand throbbing. I fought to maintain composure.

“What are you even doing here?” she asked, flipping her shoes off.

Using perfect caveman tactical skills, I bent down and heaved her ass up and over my shoulder with my good hand.

“Put me down,” she screeched. I mentally noted we would have to discuss that sound and her never using it in the future. Now was not the time, however.

“I’m going to vomit straight tequila if you don’t put me down,” she threatened.

Up the staircase, through her door and right to her bed, I plopped her onto the mattress. I quickly snagged her wrist, cuffed it with the steel handcuff that I’d brought, and then cuffed the wrought iron bedpost with the other.

“Oh. My. God. Mac! Unlock me, now!” she gritted. Her entire face contorted into an angry mess. “You seriously think I’m going to fuck you, right now?”

I sat across from her in the wicker chair and hoped my silence answered her request and question.

“Are you serious? Do you not remember the last time you did this?”

Somehow I knew that was coming. Predictable.

“Oh, sweetheart, I remember it clearly. Trust me, nothing like that will ever happen again. We are in the safety of your home.”

The steel clanged against the iron when she jerked her arm repeatedly. “Seriously, why? Why lock me up?”

As I stretched my legs out and crossed my feet, I casually laced my fingers behind my head and rested my head against the wall. After a deep breath, I said, “When things didn’t go your way on the cruise, you bolted. You fled the damn ship. Who does that? When things didn’t go your way the other day, you ran away again. I’m not sure if things are going to go your way or not tonight, but I’m thinkin’ you can’t David Copperfield your ass out of this.”

She rolled her eyes. “I see you took your funny pill today.”

“I’m a lot of things, Sam. But I’m not a liar. I never lied to you.”

Her wide-eyed, shocked looked changed quickly to a narrowed-eyed skeptical look. “Really, Mac? How so?”

“I’m glad you asked, Dr. Casey…I mean, Samantha Williams. Tell me one thing I lied about.”

“My name is Samantha Williams, Mac. Casey is Bryan’s last name. When I gwadu…graduated,” she corrected her slur of words. “From med school, I got my license and set up my practice with that name.”

I fixed my gaze on her—her beauty captivated me, making it difficult to put my words together.

“How should I have told you, Sam?”

“You told me you were a stripper, Mac!” Her voice was hard and echoed across the room.

I sat upright. “Bullshit. You are the one who said that. I never confirmed or denied. Hell, I was in shock that you thought I was a stripper and were still talking to me. That gave me hope to think maybe…”

“Maybe what? If I was ok with you being a stripper…I’d be ok with…” her words trailed off as she clenched her eyes shut.

“With me being a whore? Say it, Sam. We may as well get it out there.”

Her eyes slammed into mine, a strained expression crept over her face.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

“Don’t what, Sam? Spit the truth…”

She pursed her lips. “Spit the truth?

I grinned. “I’m way younger than you. You can’t expect to understand my generational slang. But I’ll teach you if you want.”

Her icy glare made me chuckle.

“Word to your mother, M-dawg,” she said drily.

I readjusted my posture, staring at her.

“What’s your real name?” she asked quietly.

I sat at the foot of the bed. I needed to be closer to her.

“Don’t laugh,” I ordered. “Sherman Herbert McAllister.”

She rolled her lips inward, fighting the smile that bit at her mouth.

“Do you understand why I go by Mac?”

“Yes.”

We both sat for a moment; silence hung in the air between us…unnecessary questions in her eyes.

“How did it happen?” she whispered, straightening her leg until her shoe touched my leg.

Here it was. The moment I’d dreaded since the moment we’d met.

I inhaled the deepest breath I could get.

“I…am…going to need to say it all at once. Please, don’t interrupt me, ok?”

“Ok.”

As buzzed as my head was with alcohol, my full attention was on the beautiful man in front of me.

He stood with rounded shoulders and slowly strolled toward the window.

“It’s complicated.” He took another deep breath. “When I was 12, my father was killed in a car accident. He had money. A lot. My
mother
,” he threw up air quotes when he said her name, disgust dripping from his tone, “or should I say step monster, didn’t really want us. Even though she had played the
maternal
role for seven years, she had no love for me or my little sister. She had signed a pre-nup, so when my dad died, she got nothing. But by taking care of us, she got to stay in the home and became the payee of our death benefits.”

He stared into the darkness out the window. Suddenly, a heavy sensation settled over my entire heart.

“My real mother left when I was four. I never saw her again. My step-mother, however, took great pleasure in making us pay for my father not leaving her anything.”

An involuntary gasp tore up my throat. He spun around; his eyes crashed into me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Finish, please. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He twisted his head to the side. “No. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I shook my head, trying to free my brain from the alcohol. “I just find it ironic that he didn’t want her to have his money, but she could have his kids.” My voice broke. I hated that I sounded weak when I said that. “She hurt you?”

A puff of air shot out of his mouth as he turned back to the window. I wasn’t sure what that meant.

“Did she hurt me?” he repeated. “Well, when I was 14 she took my virginity.”

“Oh, Mac!” I tried to hide the shock in my voice, but I simply couldn’t.

His head was down; he covered his face with his hands.

“Please let me finish, Sam.” The hurt, embarrassment, was evident in his voice. I quieted, but my eyes flooded. Jake was 15 now, and I’d kill someone who did that.

“I remember the first time she offered me—my body—to a friend of hers. I was already six feet tall, mature for my age. She’d taught me…a lot.” The darkness outside seemed to hold his attention. “She’d taught me how to please a woman.”

The tears spilled over the dams of my lids. The emotional, drunken roller coaster I was on made my stomach turn. I felt the vomit inch up my esophagus.

“She threatened to use my sister if I didn’t fuck her friends. Her friends even paid her. It was crazy. But hell, I was a 15-year-old getting laid daily. What did I have to bitch about?”

When I squeezed my eyes closed, the tears ran faster down my face.

“I remember it all so clearly. Nobody knew. Some of the women were my friends’ mothers. It was my secret. Until I was 16. Somehow my sister found out. Without knowing the threats made against her, she told the counselor at our prep school. My sister was so upset. Hurt for me. Embarrassed too.” He paused, shaking his head.

“I was seen as the problem in a way. I was having sex for money. That’s the day the police took us. A social worker from the department of children and families stood with me next to a police car. The only thing my mother handed me was a trash sack to throw some clothes in.”