Sidewalk Flower (35 page)

Did he really want to listen to this
message?
 
Yes and no.
 
He had to give Trista credit.
 
She had guts to call him again after the way
he’d treated her past attempt.
 
It was
either that or she counted on him not answering.
 
Maybe she had really laid into him.
 
Cussed him out for the cowardly way he’d retreated
from the situation.
 
He wanted to hear
her rage, the more he thought of how much he deserved it.
 

Maybe they should have a talk.
 
They’d gone through too much together in that
whirlwind week not to face each other one last time.
 
He set his beer down and sat back further
into the sturdy frame of his custom sofa.
 
Then he flipped open his phone and dialed his voicemail.
 
There was only the one message.

Man, it cut
her off
.
 
She was sorry, not mad.
 
What was wrong with her?
 
She
must feel guilty.
 
If she was
innocent in all this, then she’d have been angrier than a swarm of wasps at his
assumptions.
 
But she’d been bewildered
if not at a complete loss for what to say to him.
 
He was surprised she hadn’t thrown his bag
out with the trash, or burned it.
  

Little did Trista know that she carted
around one of the only material objects in this world that meant anything to
him.
 
The blue shirt he’d worn
practically every other day he’d been around her was one his mother had made
for his father the year before she’d died.
 
Now that he was grown, it fit Lucky well.
 
Other men might laugh if they knew the care
he took with it.
 
It was nothing for him
to wash that thing out by hand, in his kitchen sink.
 
Other than that, he tried not to wear it too
much.
 
The fact he’d spent so much time
in it on the trip with Trista revealed pretty much how crazy he was for
her.
 
She’d paid so much attention to him
in it and he knew that was the reason.
 
Because she liked it.
 

The yellow panties.
 
She had those too, tucked inside his
bag.
 
Did he want those?
 
Yeah, he did.

Yeah, she had his stuff, and didn’t even
know what it meant to him.
 

* * * *

Trista’s legs spun like those of
terrified Spaniards running from
charging,
enraged
bulls.
 
Her earphones were tucked firmly
in her ears and her music was loud enough to drown out her horrible singing.
When Jaxon walked in behind her, she didn’t notice.
 

The electronic band buzzing in her ears
wasn’t all about being depressed and morose.
 
She could think of another upbeat song by Depeche Mode, if she tried
really, really hard.
 
But right now, the
pressing speed of the pop-driven tune in her ears was the only one that came to
mind.
 
It pushed her legs faster,
steadier.

Jaxon stepped into her view and waved but
she just waved back and kept on with her malicious workout.
 
He sat down and picked up the bar from the
weight bench.
 
It lay across his thighs
and he looked at her.
 

Slowly, she allowed her feet to adjust to
a less frantic circling speed.
 
She
didn’t want to, but she pulled her earphones out and stopped the next song
before it began.
 
Her pores oozed sweat.

“Hey,” she said.

Jaxon curled the weight bar simply by
rotating his wrists.
 
“Couldn’t
sleep?
 
You don’t usually keep these
hours.”
 
Veins popped over his inner
forearms.
 
He’s so strong, why didn’t he stand up to Vangie and go on that stupid
trip with me?
 
Then I’d probably never
have known who Lucky Mason was.

“Yeah.
 
First show.
 
I just have to get used to the adrenaline
kick.”
 

She wondered how he handled it.
 
It was a million times more directed at him
and the other band members.
 
Up until a
few years ago, she knew exactly how he’d dealt with it.
 
Booze, in particular
that
little treat
from South America.
 
It was potent.
 
She’d been shocked
to see the familiar bottle of Cachaca at his house the other night.
 
What a damned shitty night it had turned out
to be.
 

“Hey, so have you heard anything about
Maryella yet?”
 
On top of everything
else, she’d been preoccupied by her adopted niece’s whereabouts.
 
She’d tried a few times, in vain, to get a
hold of Vangie’s parents.
 
It seemed
Lucky wasn’t the only one avoiding her calls.

“I do have a bitty of good news.”
 
A huge smile struck up on his face.
 
“Vangie’s mum called me an hour before the
show tonight and let me speak with Maryellie.
 
Apparently, Vangie dropped her there with her oldies and then took off,
didn’t say where she was going but that she’d be back in a few days.”

“I guess that’s good news.
 
I mean, Helen is a good lady,
trustworthy.
 
Makes you wonder huh?”

“You mean how she could have given birth
to someone like Vangie?”

“Well, you said it, not me.”

“It’s okay.
 
Look, I know I fucked up when it comes to
that.
 
But…”

She had to cut him off.
 
“Really?
 
You really see that now? ”

“Yeah, I do.
 
I guess I thought I deserved it.
 
All that time.
 
I mean, I think I still do, but I’m just too
old to deal with it now.
 
She’s better
off with some young asshole
who’s
willing to put up
with all the games.
 
And for what it’s
worth, no way in hell did you deserve it.
 
Any of it.”

She shook off his words about her when
they had Maryella to be concerned over, but inwardly it did make her feel a
little better.
 
“It sounds like you’re
really over it.”

“Well, I gave myself a pretty nasty
wakeup call the other night.
 
I can’t be
trashing myself like that.
 
Maryellie
doesn’t need that crap.
 
She needs a
daddy who cares more about her than, well, other things.”

“It’s okay, you can say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you stayed with Vangie for the
sex.”

“What?
 
Where did you get that idea?”

“Well, judging by your reaction, I think
I’ll keep that to myself.”

He shot a look up to the ceiling and
pressed the weight bar into the air like it was a Q-tip.
 
“Stefan doesn’t know everything, Trissy.
 
We’ll just let him keep telling himself he
does.
 
It keeps him happy.”

“How did you know?
 
Forget it.
 
So what was it?
 
I mean, I really
don’t understand.
 
I think I’ve been
pretty clear on just about everything else you’ve ever done and felt and said
and written.
 
But her, I just never
really understood what kept you there.”

“Easy—I was selfish.”

“What?
 
That makes no sense.
 
So you
wanted that treatment to be for you and only you?
 
You really do need help, Jaxon.
 
And by the way, she was doling it out to
everyone.”

“You can joke all you want, baby
girl.
 
But yeah, she was a challenge I
couldn’t beat.
 
I wanted desperately to
be the one who did.
 
I mean, it wasn’t
that bad at first.
 
When Maryella was first
born.”

“I guess.”

“You don’t agree?”

“Are you kidding me?
 
Don’t you remember that first night I met
her?
 
She told me to go fuck myself,
Jaxon.
 
I mean, come on.”
 
She pulled her thin cotton shirt up to blot
the sweat stinging her eyes.

“Oh shit, I didn’t know that.”

“She said it right in front of you!”

“Well, I was obviously distracted.”

“Oh my god, you and your gender are
horrible.
 
And yes, I think Stefan is
spot on in his assessment.
 
Selfish my ass!”

“Wow, she really told you that?”

“Oh yeah.
 
I think it was right after a show in Vegas,
and you guys had gone down to the casino but I needed you to do an interview
with the local paper.
 
I needed you for
about ten minutes and Vangie, someone I’d never seen before, graciously let me
know where I could go with my request while she was hanging all over you.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say to that.”

“It’s nothing, Jaxon.
 
Really.
 
I’m just really hoping you’re gonna stay in
this better place.
 
For
you and Maryella.”

The first bead of sweat trickled down his
temple.
 
He’d already hiked that bar up
about fifty times.
 
“Like I said, I’d do
anything for my baby.
 
God, she sounded
so good tonight.”

“That’s really fantastic, Jaxon.”
 

She was happy for him, in the most
sincere way possible. But
her own
emotions and
feelings and thoughts were disruptive at best.
 
And she couldn’t hold the smile for long.
 
She climbed down from the bike and walked
over to toss her hand towel in the hotel’s soiled bin.
   
She bent over to give Jaxon a
congratulatory hug, and that’s when she lost it.

* * * *

Jaxon helped Trista back to her
room.
 
The late hour meant a mostly
deserted hall, that and the fact that not just anyone could ride the elevator
up here.
 
He flipped on her light switch
and walked her over to the bed.
 
She was
in bad shape.
 
He’d let her down, so
badly, in so many ways.
 
A friend would
make it up to another friend.
 
For now,
he’d try getting her to sleep.

“It’s okay, baby girl.
 
I can never tell you how sorry I am.
 
But I’m here for you now, I promise.
 
Just close your eyes.”

Her head sank further into the pillow and
her body curled inward, bringing her knees nearly to her chest.
 
He covered her up and rubbed her back a few
turns, then began to sing.
 
She drifted
off to a song he’d never officially recorded.
 

“When I close
my eyes, I see you and your smile.
 
I
fear you’ll go away, please stay a little while.
 
And when they open up, I can’t believe you’re
still there.
 
You look like you would cry
for me.
 
You make me want to care.”

“Sleep, Trista Jeane.
 
I’m gonna make it right.”
 
He turned away from the curved and hollow
form of his very best friend.
 
He rolled
silently off the far side of her bed, turned off the light and then quietly
pulled the door closed.
 
He would have
stayed, but there was something he owed her.
 
Something he needed to set right, because he had been the one to tear it
apart.
 
At least one of them should have
a fighting chance at love.
 

It had to be Trissy.
 

He headed back to his room and found his
cousin’s number in the previous calls scroll on his phone.
 
Yeah, it was almost two in the morning.
 
But he wasn’t the only prick who’d hurt
Trissy.
 
If he was awake and ready to
deal with it, then Lucky should be, too.

The phone rang and rang.
 
Shit if this wasn’t the most uncomfortable
frickin’ chair he’d ever sat in.
 
Fancy ass wood.
 
Of
course it didn’t help that his foot was tapping like it was on speed.