Recompense For Love: Book Three of the Against All Odds Series Page 15

“Well look who it is,” Sara remarks teasingly and I glance up to see what she’s talking about just as we make it to the jukebox.

  I groan loudly, unable to hold it in when I see the man of the hour is just leaving. He must be able to predict the future or something, considering he seems to know exactly where I’ll be before even I do.

  “Since when do guys even care about choosing songs? Doesn’t seem very macho,” I point out without putting much thought into it. Not that I’d refrain from being rude to him if I had put some thought into what I was about to say…I’m still irritated as Hell for his earlier stunt.

  Of course, Nash doesn’t award me with a response, just giving me a blank stare—which kind of makes me feel bad about the catty comment when he doesn’t choose to spar back—then tips his head in our general direction before leaving us to our turn.

  Right as he begins to retreat his first choice song begins to play. It’s a tune I know immediately, and I consider the irony that he’s chosen a song that will always make me think of him. That’s twice tonight, too. Two different songs, two different memories.

  I bite my lip as my heart seems to suffer a seizure of sorts, the damn thing jolting and cringing and doing all sorts of strange things a vital organ shouldn’t do.

  Painted On My Heart by The Cult is first up on his list, and it take me back. Take for instance the fact he went through this obsessive phase of watching Gone in 60 Seconds all the time when we were younger, thinking Nick Cage was the coolest actor out there and Angelina Jolie was the hottest chick in Hollywood, but especially with her ice blonde hair and car-stealing badassery. Everyone who’s seen that movie remembers the scene were Nick and Angie were sitting in a car outside a house, watching and waiting on the homeowners to hurry up and get it on so that they could steal their car—all the while acknowledging a past romance and the stifling sexual tension still between them. Painted on my Heart was the song playing in the background. The side storyline, the whole second-chance romance thing, was the only reason I allowed Nash to choose that damn movie so many times.

  Fucking asshole. If he were still standing here, I’d give him a piece of my mind for being such a dick tonight, but at the same time, can he really be so calculating? Usually women are the ones who go out of their way to litter a man’s path with sentimental death traps that send the guy down memory lane. I’ll just chalk it up to bad luck.

  Déjà vu creeps over my senses as Sara shoves a dollar into the machine and begins fretting over selections. I tune her out, still staring as Nash walks confidently through the crowd—his tall and athletic frame striding leisurely through the packed house and turning the heads of several chicks as he passes by. I watch all the way up until the point he disappears. Guess that makes me part of the Nash fan club too.

  After Sara makes her three for a dollar song choices, we linger around, chatting amongst ourselves and stopping by to say hello to a few of the friendlier faces we recognize from Central Valley—which aren’t all that many.

  At some point, we make our way back over to the bar where she shamelessly begins hitting on Maverick again. Hardcore. Being the man that he is, he gives it right back to her, and I begin getting this nagging suspicion I’m the third wheel who’s standing in the way of her friend sealing the deal with a new conquest. I get the third wheel vibe quite frequently.

  “Hey, I’m going to head to the bathroom. Be back in a minute.” Concern crosses her face and I can tell she’s fighting the good fight between being a caring friend, and knabbing the dude. I’m gone before she can even come to a decision.

  I don’t actually have to pee again, but hearing all the sexual innuendos was getting to be too much. Hearing your friend spout out some lame pick-up lines about what a dude is packing is enough to commence a hardcore spell of mental vomiting. Seeing as how I’m a loner, save for the two or three friends I have—only one of which are here tonight—I head down the dark hallway in search of the restroom anyway, just so that I’m not the loser standing off by herself.

  I’m still trying to dissect Nash’s actions tonight, which are wishy-washy as fuck. Where is his friggin’ bride to be? Little miss faux-tits, faux-nails, faux-personality hasn’t been around the past couple of times I’ve run into Nash…

  Suddenly, I’m slammed up against the hallway wall just a few feet shy of reaching the bathroom. A hand clamps over my mouth to stifle my scream as if the perpetrator knew exactly how I’d react. I begin to struggle, but my eyes come to land on my perp’s face, easing my fear only to set it ablaze in an entirely different way.

  Piercing green eyes seem to seek permission to remove his hand—seeking assurance that I won’t scream if he does. With a nod on my part, he cautiously pulls the hand away.

  My mouth pops open to give him a piece of my mind for scaring the living daylights out of me, but I never have the chance. His lips are on mine before I can even blink, strong fingers wrapping around my throat just snugly enough to hold me in place. My eyes flutter closed before I can think, my tongue peeking out to lightly tease his lip. He groans, pulling back, and my eyes pop open again.

  Shit. What am I doing?! I can’t be doing this, and I open my mouth again to tell him so. I can’t even be surprised when he beats me to it.

  “Don’t do that,” he growls, and I blink at him in confusion. Pretty certain, he’s the one who came onto me.

  “Do what?” My tone is venomous as I glare at him, daring him to put all the blame on me.

  “Make me jealous…” His face is hardened off, cold and demanding, yet still handsome as ever when his hand squeezes lightly, still not enough to have me gasping for air, but just e-damn-nough to have me squirming with need.

  “Make me want you when I’m not allowed to…” he ticks off.

  My nostrils flare as I take a deep, angry breath. “Newsflash, Asshole. You should learn to control yourself. You’re to blame for your own actions. Not only that, you have a freaking fiancée and here you are kissing me in the dark hallway of bar,” I growl, and he grimaces at my words.

  Anger over not only his actions tonight, but his actions in general over the course of many years come flying together to form one disastrous, unstable entity of emotions.

  “I will never be the other woman, so you can get that idea out of your thick skull. But let’s talk about the fact I can’t help but blame you for the way my life is—my family’s life is. I know it’s not fair, and I know it’s not just, but I also know you were there that night. You’re the only person left who can tell your family’s side of the story, the lone survivor, the sole individual who can give insight into what happened from the Hudson point-of-view. And my daddy might have been the town drunk at the time, lord knows everybody’s well aware of that, but he wasn’t drinking on that night. I was around him all day, so I believe him when he says the crash wasn’t his doing.”

  My chest feels so much lighter. All the things I’ve held inside emptying, freeing me a little more.

  “But that’s just the thing, Lyra. I don’t remember jack shit.”

  “You don’t remember? Or you choose not to?”

  “I don’t fucking remember anything aside leaving the high-school before the accident. Then everything goes dark, and I wake up in the hospital.”

  “I don’t believe you. Your Uncle made the choice that same night to do everything in his power to slander the Knightley’s. And you made a choice that night too…you woke and made the conscious decision not to give a damn about me anymore. To shun me, and to keep your mouth shut when you were the one person who could look into the details.

  You were the one person who could make my life better. Instead, you chose the coward’s way out of just accepting what was told to you. You made the choice to allow people to hand-feed you lies, to digest them and absorb them. You never wanted to question your Uncle. You never cared to know if it was the truth, or a cover-up.”

  “Cover up?” He mocks. “Do you even hear yourself? I don’t question my Uncle, because I already kno
w the facts. I saw first-hand accounts of your Dad’s drinking habits. I was around you all the time. I took you to winter formal because he passed out drunk for fuck’s sake. Why should I rip my heart open again when I’ve only just begun to stitch it up, just to prove to you what I already know?!”

  “Why?” I hiss. “How about proving you’re not a coward.” I stab my finger center-chest. “You’re supposed to be a PI back where you lived before, but you won’t even look into the one thing that concerns you most. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  I launch my weight forward, not making any leeway except in pushing my neck into his hand more, nearly stealing my breath. Surprisingly, he drops his hand and takes a step back, separating us. He’s the first to turn and begin walking away, but he stops to make one final remark.

  “For the record, my fiancée,” he sneers, glaring my direction at the same time, “is back in the city clearing out our shared apartment because she decided she didn’t want kids—or, more specifically, Ari—when doing so will get in the way of her budding model career. I’m not a cheater, and I’m certainly no coward, but thanks for letting me know what you really think of me.”

  With that, he’s gone.

  Startled, I’m rooted to the spot as my mind begins to whirl, before I finally decide I’ve had enough. I’m calling it a night. There’s no hope in salvaging it.

  I find Sara in the same vicinity of where I left her, walking up and leaning my head on her shoulder. She yawns, shifting her weight from side to side.

  “Let me guess…you’re ready to go home?”

  Thank the heavens.

  “Would you be mad? I mean, we’re not that young anymore…We can’t hang with these barely legal kids out here.” She side-eyes me playfully. “At least I can’t…”

  I grimace. “Shut. Up.”

  “It’s cool Mama Cougar. It’s hard to tell the eighteen year-olds from the eighty year-olds nowadays. Especially if they look like that.” Her voice drifts off dreamily.

  “True that. And I agree…I’m zapped.”

  “Maverick’s pretty swamped over there at the bar, apparently there’s a new chick and she sucks ass. He keeps having to remake drinks she’s screwing up, so that’s not happening tonight either. Let’s hit the road then.” She cocks her head at the front door, and I gather up my stuff.

  The path we’re forced to take as we weave in and out through the crowd, takes us past the booths in the corner.

  “Hey, Space Girl,” someone calls out, and I cringe at hearing the name chosen by my group of bullies back in high-school, at the same time, attempting to brace myself for whatever potential comments are about to be thrown my way. My eyes meet Nash’s in an instant, almost as if he were the one who called out to me in attempts to catch my attention, but I know he didn’t utter a word. I know his voice, and he never called me that, even when things were awkward and his crew was terrorizing me.

  I blink, suddenly realizing he’s sitting with a whole troop of people. My eyes instinctively drift around the table, narrowing when I see it’s a bunch of kids from our graduating class—likely some sort of impromptu get together when they realized they were all back in town around the same time.

  Minions.

  Unfortunately, all of them belonged to the popular crowd, AKA the kids who gave me shit. I shouldn’t be surprised when I see who’s sitting cozy beside him, but I grimace in spite of myself.

  Amy . Swanson. My high-school nemesis. Nash’s on-again-off-again girlfriend before he graduated and moved away. Player much? I shake my head. He jumps from one chick to another faster than a kid playing hopscotch. Amy’s looking right at me, the same nasty glint in her eye as always—same old air of victory she’s always had, although, I’ve never exactly understood what there was for her to feel victorious about.

  For bullying me into having a terrible high-school experience?

  For being the Queen Bee snobby bitch of our graduating class?

  Those are some pristine accomplishments worth celebrating. Not.

  Her hand lands at Nash’s knee, and he flicks his gaze down where her palm now rests. Oh, I see. It’s always been about him. In elementary school she was jealous of our friendship. He paid me more attention than her, even when they were dating. Considering we were young and dumb, I guess I’d have been jealous too if the roles were reversed too, but come on.

  Did she bump her head and forget everything that happened after grade school? The falling out? His not giving a shit when his minions tripped me every single day, mixed up stuffing my locker with condoms and dead animals, and even vegetable oil? Once there was even glue and glitter all over my things.

  The tips of her fingers flutter in my direction, basically a bitchy farewell that suits her bitchy personality. I bet she waves at everyone that way, even her own grandmother. Her mouth moves as she addresses the table, keeping her snide stare aimed at me. After a short exchange between her and Billy, another terrorist of high-school hopes and dreams, everyone bursts with laughter. Pretty certain I’m the topic of choice.

  My eyes flash over to Nash a final time, still tasting him on my lips, still feeling the sensation of them pressed to mine as I take in his stoic expression. I roll back my shoulders and try to retain some pride in myself, shoving my way through the crowd. My only mission is to get to the door as fast as I can. I siphon through a list of apologies, my bad, pardon me, sorry, uttering them as I shoulder check various people.

  Lyra, you’re a damn fool. Jealousy wasn’t what you saw from him earlier. Once again, you’re the “it” crowd’s main source of amusement.

  Finally I burst through the front door and onto the sidewalk, the fresh air filling my lungs. Leaving a bar has never felt so victorious.

  In the car, Sara attempts to soothe what she perceives as anger on my end.

  “Just let that shit roll off your shoulders, Baby-girl. It’s no big thing. They’re just a bunch of lames who have to get together and do the same old shit so that they feel important again. You know no one else buys into their shit now that they’re in the real world.”

  I don’t reply, pulling out my phone and pretending to text Nana Rose.

  I guess some things never change…

  My mind latches on to that one statement. It’s the damn truth. Some people are doomed to never change, even when the entire world around them is shifting. Some people never grow up—no matter how many years pass by. And some people will always be the ones we can count on for one thing, and one thing only: Disappointment.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nash

  I glance down at the palm that’s suddenly resting on my leg, confused about the sudden need to touch me. We’ve been sitting around having a decent time, and not once has she had the audacity to come on to me. I’d like to think even she has some self-control when it comes to propriety. And the rules of propriety say, you don’t come on to your ex-boyfriend—or any man for that matter—when you’ve been told he’s engaged.

  But, Hell. Surprise, surprise. A whore on the prowl never sleeps, or at least, not in the way that requires some shut-eye.

  “Look who’s finally learned to embrace their role as the town outcast. At least she altered her appearance to fit the bill instead of leading everyone to believe she was the sweet and innocent victim. Oh, well.” Amy wiggles her fingers in Lyra’s direction. “I guess Nash here still has it if Little Miss Rebellion still stops in her tracks to give him that naïve, doe-eyed look.”

  “I’d be calling her Little Miss Cougar…That’s what the Cop called her,” Billy chuckles, making eye-contact with each of us as he asks, “Didn’t you guys see? She was sitting in that kid’s lap at the bar, saving his ass when the cop tried to arrest him for underage drinking. All the color drained from her face even though she tried to play it off like she knew about his age. Hell, she was kissing him out on the dancefloor and I bet the bitch thought Nash was pissed or jealous about it when he ripped them apart. Really, it’s just ‘cuz Nash was trying to save her fr
om the embarrassment of robbing the cradle. Right buddy?”

  Everyone bursts with laughter. Except for me. I sit here watching Lyra’s face from afar, when those tropical eyes turn stormy and she bolts out the door.

  Instinctively, my body is in motion before my mind has time to catch up. “Shut the fuck up assholes,” I growl out as I go.

  I push my way through the people blocking my path, nearly getting in a fist fight because I mow one drunk dude over. By the time I’m outside and on the street, she’s nowhere to be found.

  I’m so fucked. Good and thoroughly fucked.

  Instead of heading back in, I make my way to my car. Fuck hanging out with those dumbasses who have nothing more to offer society than they did in high-school. They’ll never learn. Irritation simmers beneath my skin, the ever present reminder that inaction is just as bad as participation. Back inside, my inaction put me in the same category as the rest of them—she saw me as being that same shitty guy from back in high-school who didn’t give a damn. That guy doesn’t exist anymore, not that she’ll realize it now.

  Everything about tonight reminds me of a similar incident back in high-school…

  ~XoXo~

  Nash, Senior Year

  I’m putting on my clothes after a nice shower post-gym. The other boys are discussing prom night, and all the festivities afterward—as in getting drunk and getting pussy. I mostly tune them out, never much having been one for locker-room talk.

  “What about you, Rogers?” I hear my teammate Billy ask.

  My movements slow as I strain to listen now. Rogers, as in Tommy Rogers—Lyra’s short-term boyfriend, and date for prom night. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t give a shit. We were friends as kids. Haven’t spoken in two years. So why does she still get under my skin?

  “Well, Lyra went home for a few hours, but snuck back out and let her wild side loose. I don’t know what the fuck happened at home, but she came back like she was on a mission in search of two things… to get drunk and to take cock.”