Return of the Bad Boy (11 page)

“
M
iss Donahue
! This brief is incomplete!”

His words hit me like gunshots fired from Fowler’s office across the hall. He’s so loud that every head in cubicleland swings in my direction. They’re all eating their bagels and cream cheese, courtesy of me, but do they show me any sympathy at all? Nope. The other interns look like they’re enjoying my crucifixion, because at least it isn’t them.

Not that it’s ever them very often.

No, Fowler has made it pretty clear I’m his number one target.

Shoving away from my desk, I wipe the cream cheese from my thumb. They didn’t save a bagel for me so I’ve managed to cobble together my breakfast by scraping out the remains of the spread container and putting them on a couple stale saltines I found in the kitchen. I take a swig of lukewarm coffee, and hurry across the hall. “Yes?” I ask.

My car drove like a dream all the way to Boston. It didn’t even protest when I gunned it to eighty on the interstate. I couldn’t stop thinking the inside smelled like my mechanic, like that heady combination of grease and soap, despite the orange-scented air freshener he’d hung from the rearview mirror.

When I finally got back to my apartment, I had nothing but a quart of spoiled milk and a few handfuls of Frosted Flakes left, so I went to bed hungry, listening to the couple in the unit next door arguing all night about something unintelligible, and likely unimportant.

But that’s what people do to each other, isn’t it?

My parents had tucked a couple hundred dollars in my purse, but I spent a good chunk of it on this bagel breakfast in attempt to make things right with my boss. And now, where is Fowler, but right up my ass again. He’s getting me back for the Dax thing, I know. But I didn’t know he’d be quite this vindictive.

“Do you have excrement between your ears, Miss Donahue?” he seethes, shoving the file across the desk toward me. “I told you that the red folders are only for the cases that are still pending.”

I take the folder. “I’m sorry.”

He takes a bite of a bagel. I watch him do so, disgusted by the way it looks being chomped by his overly whitened teeth.

He stands and starts to pile case files in front of me, slamming each one down with increasing ire. “You see?” he says, like I’m three. “Do it like this. You understand?”

I nod obediently.

Then I watch, horrified, as he tosses the rest of his barely-nibbled bagel into the trash.

As I gather the shitload of files into my arms and start to scoot away, the only thing in my mind is what Dax had said to me.
Face it. A job working for that scumbag ain’t worth it, Katydid.

No, I tell myself. This is my father’s dream for me.

But what about
my
dreams? Truthfully, I haven’t been sleeping much, but I know if I did, my dreams would only be of one person.

And he threw me away.

And what have I been thinking about ever since?

Our last few seconds together. How he’d held me there, desperately, as if wanting me to say something he couldn’t, or didn’t think I could say myself.

Maybe he wanted me to say what I should’ve said four years ago.
I’m staying.

What if I had said that? What would he have done then?

I trudge back to my desk, red-faced, trying to make sense of Fowler’s orders. But he isn’t done yet. He follows me out into the sea of cubicles and stands behind my chair as I slump into it. “Make it snappy. I need this before ten. In fact I should’ve had it an hour ago. My last intern—“

“Probably committed suicide,” I mutter under my breath.

He stops short. “What?”

I look up at him innocently. “Nothing. I’ll get it done, sir,” I say, trying to roll my chair under my desk and hoping he’ll get the hint and leave me alone.

He takes the chair and whirls it around so I’m facing him. He’s so small that I’m not much shorter than he is, sitting down in my task chair, but he must love the power of putting me in this position. “Your attitude is unacceptable, Katherine.”

The way he says my name only grates on me. Or maybe it’s just the name. It’s too formal, too professional, too . . . not me. Once again, Dax was right.

“Katie,” I murmur, my eyes drifting to the never-ending pile of work laid out upon my desk.

“What?” he snaps. “Enunciate when you speak. None of this mumbling like a child. Has no one taught you proper elocution before?”

“My name is Katie.” I stand up so that in my heels, I’m towering over him. I stare him down so that he has no choice to take a step backwards. Then I say, “You want me to enunciate properly? THIS. JOB. IS. BULLSHIT,” I shout into his face, making his hair blow back from his face and so loud people in other offices can hear.

Heads swing towards me. Fowler is staring at me too, ready to spit out something about my being out of a job, but I don’t give him the satisfaction. I shove the offending brief into his arms and say, “Find another person to treat like garbage. I’m done here.”

I pull my badge from the lapel of my dress and toss it so that it hits him square in the forehead. He grabs it, blubbering, and says, “You can forget ever getting a job with a decent law firm in this city, state, or country. This is a smaller industry than you might imagine.”

“If you think that you have any power over my life or career from this point forward, you must be as delusional as you are short and rude,” I sneer at him. I gather my things, then I stalk into his office, grabbing a sesame bagel for good measure.

Every eye is on me as I come out, holding it in front of me in victory, like a trophy. “And another thing,” I shout at him. “You never fucking paid me for the Thai food, asshole.”

The last thing I see is his bewildered expression before I hurry out of the building and into the street.

The second I do, it’s like a massive burden slides off my shoulders and into the gutter. The sun is shining, and birds are singing overhead, as if approving of my latest act of insanity.

By the time I get back to my apartment, my stomach is full of bagel and I’m determined. I kick off my shoes and my silk dress and throw them in the trash. Then I change into my cut-off jean shorts and tank top, take my still-unpacked duffel bag, and shove it into the back of my VW.

I drive straight through, without stopping except for a little rush hour traffic in Worcester. By the time I get into Friesville, the sun is setting. Since Dax has always put in 12-hour workdays, I head straight for the garage. I’m surprised not to see his Mustang parked out front. I pull up and see Tom stepping out of the office, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. “Hey,” he grunts.

“Hi. Is Dax here?” I ask hopefully.

He shakes his head. “Nope. He called it a day early and went to Murphy’s.”

He called it a day early?
The boy gets his lifeblood from cars. He doesn’t simply call it a day early for any reason.

I get back in my car and drive across town, my palms sweating when I pull into the Murphy’s parking lot and see his Mustang. I get out of the car and walk into the dim, dark cave of a bar.

It’s just as scary as I expected. The second I set foot inside, a bell overhead jingles, announcing my presence, and a dozen grizzled, time-worn faces much like Mr. Harding’s glare back at me. I suck in a breath, searching through the haze of cigarette smoke for Dax.

My heart does a little flip in my chest when I spot him, slumped over his beer, unruly hair tumbling into his face. I take a step in his direction, and freeze.

His broad shouldered body was hiding a slight girl with bleached blonde hair and a halter-top exposing the tattoos on her shoulders. The girl is hot, definitely, and just the type of girl someone like Dax ought to go for.

Someone who fits with him.

I steel myself and crane my neck around the bartender to get a better look. Upon second glance, they
don’t
fit. She’s hanging onto him for dear life and giggling at something he said, but his mouth is a straight line.

He isn’t enjoying himself. As much as he wants to think that this is his life, that screwing girls with no attachments makes him happy . . . it doesn’t.

And for the first time ever, I really know it. I know what makes him happy.

Every eye except his is on me as I move into the bar. Past the pool table, where a man setting up his shot suddenly looks up and scratches. Past the jukebox belting out lonely country songs. Past the drunks arm-wrestling in the corner. By the time I am close enough to reach out and touch him, he still hasn’t noticed me. I take another deep breath. “Dax,” I say, over the twang of the music.

He straightens on his barstool. He turns around, and his bleary eyes focus on me. For a split second, I get what I drove eighty all the way home for—a bewildered smile. He’s happy to see me. For a split second, I know everything will be okay. I know I made the right decision in coming back.

Suddenly, the corners of his mouth turn down. He twists back to his beer, hanging his head in it once again. “Go away.”

Everything inside me crumbles. I look at the blonde on his arm, who’s giving me a triumphant sneer. I step closer. “You’re not happy to see me?”

Bleached girl drapes her arm tighter around his back. “He said go—“

He shakes the girl’s arm off of him and stands up. “Brenda. Order me another beer, would you, please?” he drawls, clamping a hand around my wrist.

I try to shake him away but he holds tight to my hand like I’m a recalcitrant child. He leads me past the gawking patrons, out to the corridor in the back, by the pay phone and the restrooms, where it smells like a nauseating combination of pee and ammonia.

Finally, he throws down my wrist and raises his hands in exasperation. “What the fuck are you doing here, Katie? This isn’t the place for you.”

“It is,” I tell him feverishly. “I realized something today. Wherever you are,
that’s
the place for me.”

“What?” He’s looking at me as if I’m speaking Swahili. I start to say it again, but he rakes a hand through his hair, annoyed. “Naw. You’re wrong. Boston—“

“Screw Boston,” I tell him, talking a mile a minute. “I hate it there. I only liked being there when I was with you, to tell you the truth. So I quit my job, and—“

“Wait, wait, wait. Back up,” he says, holding out his hands and blinking hard. I can tell he’s drunk, or close to it, because he’s wavering a little on his feet. “You quit?”

I nod. “It’s like you said. It’s not for me. I was wasting my time there.”

He frowns. He doesn’t look happy for me. In fact, he looks downright disappointed. “You belong there. Not here.”

The smile on my face starts to crack. “But—“

“You think you’re going to find your passion here? In this nothing town?” he growls, crossing his arms. “Get your ass back to Boston.”

“You said you only wanted me to be happy, Dax. Why can’t you accept that
you
are what makes me happy?”

He studies me for a moment, his expression hard. My words don’t penetrate that thick armor he has built around himself. “It was okay when I was younger. But I see the way your parents look at me,” he says earnestly. “It’s the same way your boss looked at me. You’re too good for this place. It’s like they constantly need me to prove I’m worthy of you,” he mumbles, pushing off the wall and having to brace himself with his shoulder against the other wall. He’s not just drunk, he’s sloppy drunk. He can barely walk. I try to grab his hand but he shrugs me off. “I’ll never be worthy,” he says, and then moves slowly away and back to the bar once more.

I stand there, alone, listening to an old Johnny Cash song drifting from the jukebox, then step outside to the eyes of everyone in the bar. Dax is at his barstool, with his back to me. He doesn’t even look at me as I pass.

The blonde’s still standing next to him though, and now she’s whispering something in her ear. Apparently, she’s bad enough for him. He’ll probably just take her home and fuck her senseless and leave her in the morning.

So why do I feel jealous of her?

I
have nowhere to go
, so I get into my VW and drive home. As I pull into the driveway, my headlights illuminate the white Re/Max sign on the lawn. When I cut the engine, I sit in the car for what might be minutes or hours.

Then I climb out, use my key, and go inside.

My father is standing in the foyer as I come in. He’s holding his sheet, ready to turn in for the night. “Katherine?” he asks, bewildered. “Why aren’t you at your job, honey?”

My eyes flood with tears. “I don’t have a job anymore.”

“What?” My dad wraps an arm around me and leads me to the sofa. “What happened, kiddo?”

“I quit the job, Dad,” I take a deep breath. “I don’t think I want to be a lawyer anymore.”

He’s already shaking his head. “What? What made you make such a rash decision?’

“It wasn’t rash. I’ve thought long and hard about it.”

He stares at the ground for a while. “If law school is out, what do you want to do, then?” he asks me. “Have you thought about that?”

“I have, and I don’t know.” He starts to shake his head again, and I say, “But I know it’s not in Boston. I’m miserable there. I’m sorry. I know you’re disappointed but I just can’t lie about this anymore.”

I start to sob some more. He puts an arm around me. “Okay, okay, Katie. Just calm down. It’s okay.”

“I thought . . . “ I say between sniffles. “I know you are both leaving, but maybe I can stay here until I figure out what to do?”

He lets out a sigh. “Well, that’s a problem. We sold the house. We’re closing at the end of the summer.”

I swallow. “Really? So fast?”

Then my father says the most unhelpful thing ever: “Did you say anything that would make it impossible for your company to take you back?”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Dad. No. I told my boss off. He’d never consider taking me back, and anyway, I don’t want to. I—“

“Well, rule one of the business world. Sometimes you have to learn how to swallow your pride and eat crow,” he says gently. “Besides, you want to stay here for good? In this one-horse town?”

I nod. “I do. I don’t mind it so much anymore.”

He studies me, something dawning in his eyes. “Oh, I see. Dax, right?” He stands up and distances himself from me. “Dax put you up to it.”

“No, I—“

His eyes scrape the ceiling. “I should’ve known. Even in high school it was the same thing. You started staying out past curfew, acting out, become a different person when you were seeing him. He’s always had that hold on you. But you’ve got to realize, you can do so much better—”

“I know, I know. I can do so much better than him. You tell me that all the time. But did you really even get a chance to know him?” He starts to speak, but I cut him off. “The real him, not the rumors. Because dad, I’m telling you, I have and . . . there’s no one better for me. No one. There can’t be.”

By the time I finish, tears are streaming down my cheeks.

“That’s just wonderful. So you’re going to stay here and . . . do what? You have so many opportunities, Katie, and you’re throwing them all away because some guy tells you to.”

I shake my head. “No, dad, you don’t get it. Do you know what he did? He told me to go back to Boston.”

My father snorts. “That’s the first intelligent thing I’ve ever heard him say.”

I throw up my hands. “That’s right, he is intelligent! You won’t give him the time of day!” I say, shocked to find myself still defending Dax, even as he walked away from me and rejected me yet again.

But I still continue, because my father needs to hear the truth. “He told me to go because he knows what you and everyone think of him. He thinks he can never measure up or be good enough for me. But he is good enough, Dad. He really is. I just need to make him see that.”

He sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly. “No. No, Katie. That Dax Harding is a dead end, and hell if I’m going to let me only daughter ruin her life by running off with him!”

He’d said nearly the exact same thing to me four years ago. But this time he’s not going to scare me away, because I’ve seen more of the world now, and I know better.

“Dad,” I say gently. “You don’t have any say. I’m an adult now. And you have to let me do this.”

He won’t look at me. His face is rigid as I plant a kiss on his cheek. I grab my things and climb the stairs to my empty bedroom.

Lying on my bare mattress that morning, I’m both thrilled and scared to death at the prospects. Even in this one-horse town, I’m more excited about the future than I ever was in Boston. I throw a plan together in my head. I’ll go through the online want ads and see what places nearby are hiring. Then I’ll look for an apartment in the center of town—the ones across the street from Murphy’s looked cheap. Maybe my parents will front me the money for a security deposit.

I’ll show Dax I’m not going to leave again.

Am I crazy for planning all of this when Dax himself has basically told me that he doesn’t want to do this? That he doesn’t believe we’re right for each other?

I don’t know, but I do know that I’m finally willing to fight for him, and then we’ll see if he will step up for me in return…

My phone starts to ring on the floor near my mattress. I inspect the display and my heart lodges in my throat. Speak of the devil.

I pick up. “Katie,” he drawls. He doesn’t have to say more. I know he’s drunk. I just hope he didn’t end up screwing that blonde before calling me. I pray he’s better than that.

“You didn’t go back to Boston,” he says, after a bit of silence. He just knows, he didn’t even need to ask.

“I told you, I’m not going back,” I tell him. “With or without you, I’m done with Boston. I’m staying here for good.”

“You’re fucking up your life. You know that, right?”

“Everyone keeps telling me that. But I don’t care. I told you, I don’t care anymore what people say. Even you. Maybe I won’t be a douchebag lawyer like my boss, but I’ll get over it.”

A pause. “Katydid?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to show you something tomorrow. Will you be around?”

My heart skips. “I said I’m not going anywhere.”

His voice is uncharacteristically excited. “That’s good, because I think you’re going to want to see this.”

I smile. Anything Dax wants to show me, I want to see.

* * *

I
sneak
downstairs and out the door before my parents can even know I’m gone. Dax only says “hey” when I get inside the car, his eyes running the length of my body, catching on my bare thighs beneath my frayed denim skirt. He’s done that every time, but this time, it’s even more noticeable as I grab hold of the handle and hoist myself in.

“What?” I ask him.

“Nothing,” he says, pulling out of my driveway. But it’s definitely something weighing on his mind. The ride to wherever we’re going is quiet, almost icy. He makes a series of turns that get us to the center of town, but keeps driving once we hit Murphy’s on Main Street. We end up almost near the interstate.

I can tell he’s fidgety, maybe even nervous about wherever it is that he’s taking me.

Where the hell are we going?

Without warning, he hooks a right and pulls into a large parking lot. There’s a large, gleaming white building there, but the windows are boarded up. The lawn in the front is overgrown, and the sign on the front is covered with graffiti. He pulls into the first parking spot and cuts the engine. “What do you think of it?”

“Uh. Wow. It’s a lovely abandoned building in the middle of nowhere. Why are we here?” I ask him, sliding off my seatbelt and pushing open the door.

He grins. “Come on.”

I join him on the sidewalk in front of the building and it’s then that I notice the Available sign in one of the windows. Suddenly it hits me. I whirl around to look at him.

Dax starts talking. “The guy who built this place misjudged how much space he was going to need to house his automotive business. Upkeep killed him. He was looking for something a lot smaller,” he says, kicking the curb with the toe of his boot. “And it just so happens that I’m looking for something bigger to house my business.”

It sounds almost too good to be true. “You’re going to buy this place? But how?”

“I’m tossing the idea around. My mom put money in trust for us before she died. Money she wouldn’t let my dad touch. A lawyer contacted me last month and told me how much it was, and I nearly fell off my chair, Katydid. Sixty-thousand dollars.”

My jaw drops.

“I’m sending Vincent to college with half of it. But the other half is going to be my down payment,” he says. “At least, that’s where my head is right now. I’m putting the offer in today. You’re the first person to hear it, so let me have it. What do you think? Stupid?”

He takes my hand and guides me through the broken parking lot, toward the arched entrance. The building is probably three times the size of Harding’s garage, and even boarded up, in much better condition. I shake my head. “No, not even remotely stupid. More like perfect.”

He rubs the back of his neck anxiously as he leads me to the side, where there are six garage bays. One of the garage doors is slightly open. “My dad would say stupid.”

“This isn’t your dad’s money,” I tell him. “It’s yours.”

“It’s my brothers’ too. I want to do right by them. I think they’ll be into this. And besides, I have to move on with my life. You know, be a real adult and shit.” He grins at me, and his grip on my hand tightens. “Embrace change.”

I stare at him, hardly daring to believe what he’s saying. “Really?”

He tries to lift the half-open garage door, but it seems permanently stuck in place. He bows in half and ducks underneath, motioning me to follow. When I do, we’re in an enormous garage that easily dwarves his old one. Despite being abandoned, it’s already cleaner and brighter, too. The walls are painted white and a covered with framed photographs of fancy sports cars. He guides me over some equipment and into an office and waiting room area that’s already full equipped with all the necessary furniture. Sure, it’s musty and covered in layers of dust right now, but I have no trouble picturing him at the front desk, or working on cars here. I have no trouble seeing the waiting room full of customers.

“Come with me. I haven’t showed you the best part,” he says, his voice echoing slightly in the space.

He leads me out of that area to a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. When he opens it, he flips on the lights and I find that we’re in a little apartment. I walk down the narrow hall, peering at the kitchen with the gas stove, the small bathroom with the outdated pink tile, and a small living room with a misshapen, rust-colored couch, and something sticks in my brain.

It’s the thought of us sharing this place together. Of me making him coffee in the morning. Of us elbowing each other out of the way, trying to brush our teeth before bed. It’s stupid, because I doubt Dax wants that right now, but it makes me smile anyway. “This is great!” I announce.

“Yeah,” he says, once we’ve stopped at the end of the tour. “So when I’m done working, I can just crash here instead of having to drive home.”

Suddenly, the idea of us living here together pops like a cartoon thought bubble over my head. “Oh. Right. It’ll be useful for that.”

He leans on the door to the outside and says, “Are you ready?”

“For what?” I raise an eyebrow and motion to the apartment. “I thought this was the best part.”

“Nah. I mean, that’s good, but it’s not the best part.”

I grin, curious to see what has him hanging on the door like he’s about to pull back the curtain on a brand new car. He does a one-two-three countdown and pushes the door with the weight of his body, opening us up to a rolling field, dotted with yellow dandelions.

I gasp. It looks just like the field outside Harding’s garage. Like the place where I fell in love with him. That’s what it is. I know that now. I love him.

Why else would I have come all the way back here?

“Okay, this is definitely the best part,” I say, breathless as he takes my hand.

A stiff breeze is blowing, and since it’s barely eight in the morning, the grass is coated with dew and there’s a chill in the air. But with his warm hand in mine, I don’t feel cold. He guides me down a slope in the hill, then takes off the flannel shirt over his t-shirt and lays it down on the grass like a blanket. When I kneel on it, he says, “When I saw this, I thought it was a sign. Do you think so?”

I nod as he sits down beside me, lying back on his elbows.

Suddenly I’m transported to four years ago, when he and I used to spend those lazy afternoons after school behind his garage, with nothing else but the warm sun on our skin and insects buzzing around us. “It was me,” he says, looking up at the lightening sky.

“Huh?” I fall to my backside and hug my knees to my chest.

“All those years ago. I was an asshole. You said you were leaving, and damn, all I wanted to do was hold you here. But everyone was saying that was where your future was and who the hell was I to deny you your future?” He lets out a long, heavy breath. “So I let you go and damned if I haven’t regretted it every day since. I even went all the way there to tell you that.”