Purple Haze (Blue Dream Book 2) (3 page)

Ryder

I coo at my niece. “Who is the prettiest little girl in the whole wide world? You are. Yes you are Shelby.” She giggles her adorable ten month old giggle. “Ot oh...here comes the mash potato plane!” There's another laugh before she drops her mouth to welcome the spoonful.

Shelly's giggle is as sweet as her daughter's. “You really are great with her.”

Once the bite is in her mouth, I look over. “Thanks.”

“You want kids some day?” She leans forward planting her flawless made up face in the palm of her hand. “If not you should really consider it.”

Kids require dating. Dating requires finding someone you
want
. In my case it would be finding the only person I've ever wanted. My life may be finally changing directions, forgiveness being offered on a multitude of levels, but that's one second chance I'm not dumb enough to think I'd ever get.

“They're a lot of energy,” Noah mutters from across the table.

Shelly hits him with a sharp stare. “How would you know? You're always working.”

“Not always,” he argues, seconds before his phone starts to vibrate across the table. Immediately he grabs it, stands, and says, “I have to take this. It's my secretary.”

With a shrug she looks back at her beautiful daughter. “It's okay, right Shelby Welby. We know daddy loves us.”

My eyes follow Noah out of the room. An ancient well known unease creeps into my system. I lean back in the chair and state, “That's new. I don't remember Noah getting calls from her this late.”

“Noah's always getting calls,” Shelly warmly clarifies as she stands. “His job is demanding. I knew it when I married him.” Her dainty hand reaches across the table. “All done?”

“Yes,” I answer in the kindest tone I can muster up. It's only been three weeks since I stopped staying here. During that time, he got several calls during dinner, but never answered them. He always returned them afterward. After he helped Shelly with dessert. After that Shelby was put to bed. I try to put the suspicion out of my mind. There are numerous things I'm beginning to hope he
didn't
get from our parents. “The lemon chicken was really good. Thanks again, Shelly.”

“You can call me, Shel,” her insistence is proceeded with her disappearing around the corner. From the other room she yells, “You know that.”

My niece makes a giggling sound, which grabs my attention. In a playful fashion I say, “Oh you like that? You like when mommy fusses at me?” She laughs again and reaches her mash potato hands out for me. “You wanna uncle Ry to pick you up? Is that what you want?” The motion in her hands increases. Her little feet kick unhappily. “Hey Shelly, do you mind if I pick up Shelby?”

“Sure!” She calls back. “But that means you're in charge of cleaning her face and hands.”

I smirk as I unbuckle my niece and lift her to me. “Let's go get you cleaned up bumble bee.”

With her in my arms, we make our way to the kitchen where Shelly is already rinsing dishes.

She points to the space closest to their refrigerator. “I keep spare wet wipes in that cabinet. Well, I actually keep them all over the house. My little Shelby Welby is a messy thing.” While I follow her directions, she asks, “So how's your new living situation? You like your roommate?”

“Yeah. He seems alright.” I grab the box of wipes at the same time my niece starts to squirm. “He's the one who helped me get the job working at Big Mike's Service Shop.”

“That was nice of him. You guys hang out a lot together at the apartment?”

Hanging out isn't something I know how to do. I've been a recluse for so long learning to be social reminds me of learning a foreign language in school except it doesn't come with a textbook or flash cards. Just daily pass-fail pop quizzes. I open my mouth to reply when Shelby lets out a startling cry seconds after having her nose wiped.

Panic settles quickly on my face, which causes my sister in law to smile. “You're fine.”

“But she's screaming.”

“She hates when anyone wipes her nose.” Shelby's cries get louder and her mother offers to take her out of my arms. “Come here, silly willy.”

The moment she's shifted over she lies her head on Shelly's chest. “Sorry.”

“You didn't do anything wrong.” The reassurance doesn't help. “Most babies don't like their hands or face wiped.”

I try to hide my feeling of failure.

“What about a girlfriend?” Her sudden subject displacement pushes my body back against the counter behind me. “Are you dating? Do you want to? I know the perfect woman for you!”

The likeliness of her knowing Presley makes me smirk. That's the only
perfect
woman for me. How I tell that to my brother's damn near perfect wife? Not a clue. One thing is for sure. If I don't find an excuse to leave now she's only going to want to cruise down that lane of questioning and it's one I frankly can't. Or won't.

Noah enters the room with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Dessert?”

“Can't.” I force my hand to grab the keys from my pocket. “Have to get to my recovery meeting.”

My brother nods. “Right.”

“Those still going okay?” Shelly tries to ask, but is muffled by my nieces new whimpers.

“They're fine.”

“Why don't you put Shelby to bed and I'll walk Ryder out,” Noah suggests.

She leans over and pecks him with a kiss on the cheek before saying to me. “Good night, Ryder.”

“Night Shel,” I retort. In a gushy tone I add, “Night my favorite little princess.”

Shelby briefly smiles and rubs her eyes indicating how tired she is.

The two of us head for the front door in silence. Once it's shut with us on the other side, I coldly state, “Dad always waited to take
those
kinds of calls until after dinner.”

My remark is met with a firm glare and a grip on my arm to cease further movement. “Excuse me?”

“Why is it men like you who have every fucking thing can't let that be enough?”

“I'm not sleeping with my secretary, Ryder.”

In a swift motion I snatch my arm away. “And I almost believe you.”

His blue eyes flare. “Is your perception of the entire world seriously that skewed?”

“I've seen enough of it to know the patterns of an unfaithful individual.” Before Noah can argue I remind him. “In case you've forgotten, we grew up in a house with two of them.”

“Speaking of our parents, dad's cancer has spread.” He continues to stare harshly, his face searching for a change in mine. When he doesn't receive it he snaps in a whisper, “Nothing? You have nothing to say about that?”

“No.”

Noah's shoulders drop as he shoves his hands into his over-priced, designer suit pants. “Our father is
dying
. Don't you think you should see him? Give him one more chance to see his son? To talk to you? To make things right?”

“No.”

“Ryder-”

“It's already enough that in order to get help from my big brother I had to sign a legally binding contract agreeing to weekly dinners, monthly piss tests, and continue counseling in some way, shape, or form.” His face scrunches at the blunt nature. “My getting fucked over meter is already at capacity. Sorry.”

I continue moving towards the car that he purchased for me to lease from him. “At least think about it!”

What the fuck is there to think about? As far as I'm concerned, the sperm donor we reference to as our father, died right along-side the alternate path I should've taken in my adolescence. I've already paid in spades for his pathetic regrets. I refuse to pay again.

**

The pale man behind the podium continues to ramble on about one of his lowest points as a user. Strangely enough it resembles my sinking ones. He's describing the first time he was willing to exchange sexual favors for a hit of blow. The desperation that tore apart his morals. Truth is when you need to reach a high bad enough, nothing shy of death will stop you.

“You look grumpy,” Kara's voice whispers over my shoulder. “We could always ditch and do something more fun.”

Once upon a time my cock would've twitched in anticipation for the drugs we'd share and then the urge to fuck from them, but now the damn thing doesn't register for more than it's unannounced morning wood. The vow of celibacy has finally reached a mutual agreement.

Instead of responding, I slink further down into the metal chair. It's cold. Hard. Unforgiving. The resemblance to a life of addiction is not lost on me. No cushion in that lifestyle. No cushion in the goddamn chair.

“Okay goodie two shoes,” she sighs in my ear. “We'll stay. But you have to admit you aren't listening to his sob story so much as wishing you could grab a pair of scissors and cut off the potential rat tail growing from his head.” Her comment creates the urge to smirk. “Did he miss the trailer park exit or are those things coming back? Fucking tell me they're not coming back.”

I stifle the instinct to chuckle at the same time we begin to clap for his bravery in sharing his tale. After he leaves, we conduct the closing, and are dismissed for the evening refreshments.

“So, what's the reason you won't go have pancakes with me tonight?”

Turning in my seat to prepare to face her, I'm startled when she climbs over the chair and flops down beside me. Kara twirls her gum as she continues to chew it. She's an anomaly.  A perfectly packaged reminder of a life I choose to no longer lead, yet filled to the brim with the possibilities of friendship. Desire. Progress. All the things that are the groundwork of what
should
be my present. The confusing combination aggravates me.

Finally I reply, “I have an early morning.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Job.”

Her lips curve. “But no girlfriend?” 

Even if we somehow manage to develop a friendship that is where it will stop. There will never be more. The sooner she grasps that, the better.

“Fine. No pancakes, but we're at least exchanging numbers because now you've denied me for pancakes so many times I'm going to have to up the ante and add a Netflix marathon of Saved By The Bell.”

“Saved By The Bell. Really?”

“Uh...yeah!” She pulls out her phone from her shirt. “There's something irresistible about the way Zach would freeze time to basically tell the world whatever word vomit he felt like spewing at the time. Besides, for flaking on me every time I ask,
I
get to pick what we watch.”

Following her action, I pull out my phone. “It's the rehab remote all over again.”

“Pretty much,” she hums and snatches the device from me the second I've keyed in the password. Her thin fingers fly across the keys. Only seconds later she hands it back. Her agility is remarkable. “I already texted myself so I have your number.” Kara smacks on her gum with a wider smirk. “Don't worry. I'll use it.”

That wasn't ever an issue for me. I can't imagine it ever will be. My eyes follow her backside as she prances away on her wedged shoes. She fits the old bill. A walking catastrophe in a pair of low rise jeans. The kind of woman who could fit so easily into my obsolete routine of giving dick and doing an ounce without concern for any other thing in the world.  Fuck fitting the bill. She
is
the bill. In ways being around Kara is like having those damn candy sticks in my mouth all over again.

Law makes his way past her and takes the spot she was just occupying. Expressionless he states, “You know, there are perks to dating another recovering addict. They understand the struggle you face daily on a deeper level. You can have co-existing lifestyles with the same boundaries and barriers. It lacks the embarrassment of having to deny events or parties.”