Purple Haze (Blue Dream Book 2) (14 page)

A weight falls onto my shoulder at the same time he lies her in her crib.

“This little thing hasn't done anything to deserve to be shunned. To be hated. She didn't ask to be born into the fucked Collins blood line.  She shouldn't be punished. And Noah....Noah was man enough to show up and stay when no one else would. He did it for her. So she could have the family we never did. A healthy one. One that spends holidays together without secretly loathing each other's presence. And you know what? I want that too.”

After Ryder hits a button on an Ipod that's mounted on the wall with speakers, he tosses his head at the light switch. Quickly I turn it off and move back to be at his side. “You bounced her. I'll rub her back.”

He shifts so his body is out of my way and I begin to gently stroke. His arms wind themselves around my waist as his head lands on my shoulder. In a gentle whisper he says, “I want Shelby to play with her cousins on the weekends. I want Shelby to
have
cousins, Pres. I want that. And I only want it with you.”

Melting into his touch, I confess, “I only want it with you too.”

Instrumentals croon at us while we get swept away in the idea of someday having this for ourselves. I don't think either of us expected we would get back to this place without the other one. Maybe that's why the idea of kids with Xander never stuck for longer than a fleeting moment. Maybe some piece knew the only kids I wanted in this world were to be little baby Collins. Little mixed creations of the beautiful chaos we are when we're together. We still have obstacles and a distance to stretch before children can be an option on the board, but we'll get there. I know we will. Just like I know he will keep exposing the dark shadows of the demons he holds onto so tightly. I just need to be patient.

Ryder

“Nothing is working, Ryder,” Noah fusses from the other end of the phone.

He doesn't seem to be able to grasp the fact I don't give a shit. No matter how many different ways he wraps it, no matter how many layers of desperation he covers it in, it doesn't change my mind. Why would it?

I adjust the phone against my ear.

“He's stopped accepting treatments all together. He's cut himself off. He wants to die in the luxury of his own home. He's got a nurse that looks after him.”

“Get to the point.”

“Go see him,” he pushes harder.

“No.”

“They say he'll be lucky if he makes it to the end of the week, Ryder.”

That's longer than he should be given. With his list of fucked up grievances, Karma should've come to collect years ago. I'm not immune to that shit list. Somehow I just managed to buy more time. Having Presley give me a second chance to be more than just a lover, but a man who deserves forgiveness, isn't going to come at an easy price. 10 years of self-loathing wasn't enough. I know it's going to cost me more. That's what addiction does. It makes you pay when you're looking and even worse when you're not. And there's no doubt I'm more addicted to her than I've ever been. I like to believe it's in a healthy way, but isn't that a fallacy? There's no such thing as a healthy addiction. You have to ask the question 'how destructive is it' and if you can live with the answer then consider yourself fortunate. Presley's destructive to all the shit that wants to prevent me from shedding the last of my past. She's the chemical burns of redemption. Loving her has created a new dependency I'm still adjusting to. Not being able to take a hit when I want. Not being able to get the ultimate high she provides every day. Sharing my drug with others in the world when they don't deserve it. It makes me irritable. Uncomfortable. Angry. Similar side effects to other drugs. Law believes it's because I went 10 years without and then head first back in. He says love is a drug that requires an entirely different type of balance and commitment that doesn't happen overnight.

“What's it going to take to get you to go over there?”

My silence is met with a sigh.

“Do I need to call Presley to convince you?”

“Don't drag her into this,” I grouse. “This isn't about her.”

“It's not, but her and Law seem to be the only two people you fucking listen to.”

His point is valid.

“You know what? Call Law. See if he agrees. If he thinks this would be detrimental to your sobriety, fuck it. Don't go. You can say goodbye at his casket.
But
if he thinks it would help, then go. Deal?”

“Deal implies there was something on the table for me, Noah.”

“I'll drop the requirement for you to have dinner with us every week.”

With a shrug I retort, “Pres likes those. And so do I.”

Ever since we went to our first one a few weeks ago, she rearranges her schedule to go with me. I think they remind of her when we were in high school and she would come over for a Sunday family dinner. I think there's a mixture of nostalgia and futurity that excites her. Another stone on the paved path of confirmation that we're meant to be.

“Your car,” he desperately pleads. “Call Law and
take
whatever advice it is he gives, one way or another, and we'll call your car paid off. No more monthly payments. I'll put the title in your name. You can just pay for your portion of insurance.”

Living paycheck to paycheck prevents me from taking Pres to do the nicer shit she deserves. The nicer shit she pays for. Every time I see my bank account I'm that penniless eighteen year old struggling to scrounge up enough cash for a Christmas present. I loathe the feeling.

“Fine,” I cave. “I'll call Law.”

“And
take his advice
,” Noah emphasizes.

“Yeah.”

Noah lets out another sigh before he hangs up. A familiar tingle on my tongue for a cigarette appears, which makes calling Law even more crucial than it was before. It's just a phone call. Besides, I'm not doing this for Noah. I'm doing this so I can take my girlfriend to a restaurant that has four stars. I'm doing this so I can do more than offer to help with doing laundry to provide for her. I'm doing this so I can take her on a weekend getaway somewhere expensive. I'm doing this because she's worth any sacrifice even if it means having to stare into the eyes of the man who cost me having to live a decade without her.

Presley

“Hope you're hungry,” my mother warmly says, placing a plate in front of me.

“That's why I'm here,” I tease while Gabe settles beside me.

“I'm here because it's free,” my brother jokes. “And quiet. Home is never quiet anymore.”

Dad starts in the process of joining us.  “Children are noisy-”

“So are husbands,” Gabe interrupts.

My mother whispers, “So true...”

“Children are little non-stop sound machines. Your sister could've told you that,” our father says. “She almost has as much insight about them as we do.”

“Almost.” Lifting my fork I ask, “How is Akiko?”

“Weren't you listening?” Gabe questions between mouthfuls of beans. “Loud.”

I snicker, which is when my mother finally sits down. “Little girls are especially loud. What's she doing?”

“Singing,” he groans. “All the time.”

Playfully I question, “On key or off?”

“Both. She's still having difficulties with learning English but the melodies make it easier for her to pick up and understand. So Antonio is
always
playing her music or singing to her in English and Spanish.”

“She's gonna grow up so confused,” I joke again.

Gabe kicks me under the table. “Shut up.”

“Take a joke.”

“I need to take a nap...”

“Speaking of children, how's work?” Dad inquires joyfully. “Everything going well?”

“Like a machine.” And it is. Despite my inability to balance it and Ryder at first, everything seems back on track. Sometimes it's hard to deny him time with me, but my career matters and I've convinced myself that's okay. I'm learning there's nothing wrong with trying to have it all. The real question is, can I have one without bulldozing the other?

An impressed look appears on his face. “Oh yeah?”

“Enrollment is at max capacity. The wait list is so intense people are starting to look into us
before
they're pregnant.”

“That's insane,” my mother mumbles.

“We're what everyone wants.”

“Not everyone,” Gabe argues. “Some of us are completely content with the neighborhood hole in the wall. Some of us actually enjoy the quaint vibe.”

Defensively I bite, “Don't say that like my school is run by mindless money hungry drones. I'm in my classes every day. I participate in the activities. I supervise the extended learning sessions. I organize outside events to bring the parents together. I know my teachers. I know my staff. There isn't a bump in the night I don't know about ahead of time. Sure, I'm not small, but that doesn't mean I'm not charming or that my school is heartless.”

My brother quickly surrenders his hands. “I didn't mean for it to come out that way.”

“Well it did.”

“Sorry.”

“You okay?” Mom questions in a cautious tone.

Backing down from my outburst I reassure, “Yeah. It's just....I've been a little strung tight lately. I give everything I have to that business, so I guess it doesn't take much to rub me the wrong way about it.”

“Apparently,” Gabe mumbles.

“You know it's alright to give yourself to other things,” my mom informs.

It doesn't always seem that way. When I allow myself to get swept away with Ryder I feel like the adolescent who forgot there was a world outside of him. Just his presence manages to overshadow everything in his proximity. We meet for lunch and the only thing I can think about is ravishing him instead of my food. He swings by the school before he goes in and suddenly I'm letting phone calls go unanswered knowing I shouldn't. He takes immediate focus. However, when he's not around, it's the exact opposite. Work demands and I instantly cancel everything else. It's a weary war that I'm not sure how to win.

“Are you dating again?”

My father's question lifts my eyes away from the enchilada on my plate. In a sheepish tone I admit, “I am.”

“That's great,” my mother exclaims. “Is it one person or are you dating around?”

Dad groans, “Is there a better way to phrase 'dating around'?”

“Testing the waters makes it sound like she's learning to swim.”

“You two need to learn some new metaphors,” Gabe grumbles and has another bite. We chuckle together and he asks, “Anyone special?”

Ryder's morning face conquers my mind.  It's absolutely one of my favorite looks about him. Early in the day, before the pending stress or let downs have settled in, he has this air of complacence. His eyes are bright. His smile warm. All the features on his face are completely relaxed. I remember it from when we were younger before the responsibilities of the real world kicked us in the ass. Innocence at that level are unseen except for that one brief moment.

“Um...” I clear my throat. “Yes, actually.”

“Oh,” the excitement in my mother's voice is brief. “Wait. You're not dating Xander again are you?”

In a mumble I say, “Not him.”

My father catches the remark and asks, “What do you mean not him?”

“I mean it's not him I'm dating
again
.” The table remains silent. With all eyes on me I state, “It’s Ryder I am dating,
again
.”

Keeping this from them was intentional at first. Everything was so fragile and fresh in the beginning. I knew we needed as much space as possible from potential judgments. Katherine's were more than enough for me. However, after that, there didn't appear to be a “good time” to slip it into the conversation. Most of the family gatherings have been focused around Gabe's gorgeous new daughter and weekly phone calls around outrageous news reports my parents assume I've seen. I wasn't
hiding
Ryder. I just wasn't sporting him around like prize, which doesn't make me a bad girlfriend.

“Ryder.” Gabe repeats.

“Yes.”

“As in the Ryder who broke your heart, Ryder?” He drops his fork. “As in dick head Ryder who didn't seem to give a second thought to the way he dumped you?”

Quietly I disagree, “It wasn't that simple, Gabe.”

“To hell it wasn't,” he snaps. “The only thing that asshole wanted was to screw you and when you wouldn't he let you go. When he couldn't plant his flag on top of the mountain he bailed!”

“And we need to learn new phrasing,” my father mumbles to himself.

“That's not what happened!”

“That's exactly what happened, Pres! I'm a guy! I know these things!”

Doing my best to return to calm and rational, I move past his comment, “And whatever reason we broke up before doesn't matter now. We were teenagers. We were young. We made mistakes. It's been ten years, Gabe, he deserved a second chance-”

“He deserves a knee to the nuts.”

“Gabe,” my mother snips.

“You're perfectly fine with this?” He growls at her. “No problem?”

“She's an adult,” my father defends. “She's earned the right to make mistakes-”

“Dating him is not a mistake,” I breathlessly argue.

“Maybe not.” Mom's hand touches my arm. “Your father's just saying you're a grown woman. If you've deemed him worthy of a second chance you're the only one who has to live with that. I would just like to add...there's a reason things didn't work out the first time-”

“Horny bastard,” Gabe grumbles.

I kick him under the table harshly. He winces and I glare in return.

“Remember the old phrase, 'Fool me once shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me'? Well.” She waves a hand at the situation. “Keep it in mind.”

Not completely surprised at their response to my rekindling of the past, I simply nod and pick my fork back up.

After an adequate amount of awkward silence, my father states, “It would be good to see him again.”

Gabe grumbles something to himself and diverts his eyes down.

“Why didn't he come with you tonight?” Mom asks as she returns to eating.

I didn't want him ambushed. “He had plans tonight.”

“You don't spend every waking moment together like you used to?” Dad teases. “You were so obsessed with each other the first time you dated it was hard to tell where my daughter ended and her boyfriend began.”

“We're a little better than that now...”

Which is almost the truth. I can move further than five feet without him on my hip, but part of me loves that we were like that. Part of me loves when we're like that now. When we go out to dinner he always insists we sit beside each other to keep me close and when we're at his apartment or my townhome, he doesn't tend to let us go unconnected for longer than necessary. There's always a hand to hold. A shoulder to stroke. Arms to be wrapped around me. Just a shot of being showered with that level of affection and I'm tipsy on love. Sometimes I wonder if our mutual devotion is passion in it's purest form or if it's internecine. That's one question I'm alright not having the answer to even if I shouldn't be.