The Reason I Stay (31 page)

My eyes dart up to look at Matt, who is shaking hands and talking animatedly with Toupee Man. His gaze drifts to mine, and that smug smirk forms on his lips at the same time as those amazing eyes wink lovingly at me.

In a haze of disbelief, I step out of the car and walk toward the two men. Matt drapes an arm around my shoulder and introduces me to Tommy, who compliments us on being such a lovely couple, and makes a little joke about the Sharpie writing on Matt’s arm that still hasn’t completely come off. Despite the man’s attempts to call my attention, my eyes stay glued on Matt’s calm face as Tommy evaluates Greta, a huge grin forming on his chubby face, and guides us to a
certified pre-owned
—Tommy’s words—dark blue Dodge Ram.

Matt pulls me with him to inspect the truck, asking my opinion here and there about little things. I watch him, amazed, not believing that he’s parting with Greta.

The Maserati is the last little bit of the old Matt, the last thread connecting the man I love with the man he used to be, and it was something I never thought he’d let go. He always said that he loved Greta too much. However, according to his own words on the way here, he’s been planning this for days. It makes me wonder if the change is only caused by his excitement over his new job and the necessity for a heavy-duty car it poses, or if it’s deep and permanent. I sure hope it’s option number two.

Once he’s satisfied with his inspection, he steps inside the cab again, and looks at me with stars in his eyes. “So what do you think of her?”

“She’s big.”

He chuckles. “That she is. Do you think all the tools on the list will fit?”

I roll my eyes and laugh. He kisses me the moment the first snort escapes my throat. I really don’t get what his thing with my snorts is, but I sure appreciate it.

“Larry and the boys will hate you. They all have car boners over Greta,” I say when he pulls back from my lips. This time he’s the one who cracks up, and I’m the one kissing his laughs away.

“Well, they’ll have to get over it, because Rosie is my new girl.”

“Rosie?”

Without saying a word, he touches the big rose tattooed on my shoulder. My overly-emotional instantly fill with tears. All of the roses he’s given me in the past month flash through my mind, and it all makes sense: he wants the last unclaimed flower on my arm, my favorite one.

I kiss his lips again, and through that kiss I add his name and the face I can’t get enough of to the tattoo. “I love the name,” I finally whisper against his lips.

Matt pulls his face away from mine, smiling like a child, and gives a thumbs-up to Tommy, who is standing a few feet in front of the monstrous truck. The man grins from ear to ear and walks to his office.

After an hour of signing documents and fussing on the computer, we collect our final belongings from Greta and walk to Rosie. I expected Matt to have a final goodbye or to look longingly at Greta, but he does neither. He just starts the truck and drives away without so much as a glance Greta’s way.

“You’re a changed man, Mathew Rogers.”

He doesn’t say a word—just smiles at me, and brings my hand to his lips for a kiss.

B
y the end of summer, my life found a new normal—one that involved a whole lot of adapting. There were some things that didn’t change, like work and my commitment to Kodee, but since Matt moved in with me and started his new business, one that is really beginning to bloom, the normal I once knew has been going through a sort of metamorphosis, and I’m learning that adapting to continual change is a necessity. And that’s okay.

August marked the birth of Rose Landscape & Gardens. It’s very hard to keep my grin from reaching my ears whenever I think that Matt named his company, his dream, after me. The day he came home with all the contracts and showed it to me, I was flabbergasted, but he just kissed my lips and said, “I never knew I had that dream until you came along. RL&G is as much yours as it is mine.” I obviously don’t see it that way—RL&G is his—but I’m damn flattered by his way of thinking.

So much happened in September that the month felt like a big blur. Matt hired help to finish the high school garden in time for the fall semester. Tanie and Eric finally set their wedding date for early June, and as the maid of honor and best man, Matt and I felt compelled to spend many days and nights with the happy couple—who got a little less happy when Tanie decided to go into bridezilla mode—planning the big day. And finally, when Kodee’s soccer team resumed its Saturday practices after the summer break, Matt volunteered to help coach. Coincidently, a lot of moms, older sisters, and even a few cousins who never watched a single practice before became more devoted to the Tuesday and Thursday practice sessions than they were Sunday morning church. Around here, that’s saying a lot. Bitches!

October was calmer, cooler, and spookier. With Jolene’s famous Scare Fest being my favorite tradition around here, I spent most of my free time working on Matt’s, Kodee’s and my costumes. As per Kodee’s request, we dressed up as Disney characters gone crazy—and murderous—and though that was creepy, it wasn’t nearly as bad as the terror that loomed at my place of work.

Halfway through October, Kyle started showing up at The Jukebox, at least four times a week, always in the middle of the afternoon when the diner was mostly empty—a routine he has yet to change, much to my disliking. He always comes in alone, and wearing his police uniform. At all costs I avoid tending to his table, and the girls—bless their hearts—always help, changing tables with me if he happens to fall in my section. Weirdly enough, he never complains about that. He just sits at a table, orders coffee and pie, and reads some papers from a brown paper file.

Because I believe that keeping secrets, especially important ones, is the same as lying, after the third consecutive afternoon that Kyle showed his face at the diner, I told Matt about it. My expectation of his reaction was along the lines of an angry fit, followed by heavy nagging for me to quit my job. However, Matt’s reaction was more about sending a non-verbal message to Kyle.

Matt arrived at the diner just moments after Kyle’s ass hit a chair. His expression was severe and determined as he took long, purposeful strides toward me, leaving me breathless and unable to pull my widened eyes from him. The moment he was within arm’s reach, his big hands pulled me to him, demanding and possessive but in the sexiest way possible, and he delivered a kiss that could have gotten me pregnant if I weren’t on the pill, and we were wearing fewer clothes. And then he sat down to eat, staring angrily at Kyle’s face.

Yep, October was a crazy month.

November was the month of cute. Matt started getting more and more work, which forced him to hire two full-time employees. The pride and joy I saw on his face when he told me made me melt. Tanie finally found her gorgeous princess-like wedding gown. The way she clapped her hands and squealed a giggled “yes” to my “Is this the one?” question made my eyes water. And finally, Kodee took a cue from me and Dacle Greg and started calling Matt, who’s been more present in her life than her father ever was, “Mad”—half Matt, half dad—and that put actual tears in my eyes.

December was a month of cold temperatures and really hot sex. Actually, the hot sex happens during all the months, on all the nights, and all the mornings since that first time, but for some reason the wintertime felt like an aphrodisiac that turned us into teenagers. During one of those brazen encounters on a cold Sunday morning, Matt gave me an advanced Christmas gift. It was a piece of paper containing an itinerary for a weeklong trip to Florida.

“It’s ‘bout time I meet Greg face to face, right? I don’t want him thinking I don’t mind his permission to shack up with his little girl,” Matt said when I turned my questioning gaze to him.

I laughed because we’d been shagging for months, so that was definitely delayed. However, I was also so glad I’d be seeing my dacle soon, and for an entire week, that I squealed and kissed Matt. Then I thanked him, three times.

It was January second when we finally returned home from Florida. I was officially allowed to get knocked up and hitched—not necessarily in that order—since Greg and his partner John fell in fatherly love with Matt. Happy and in love beyond measure, I started planning a birthday party for my beloved boyfriend. My goal was to make it a surprise, and a big one, at that. I can only hope that things go over smoothly when Sunday arrives. It’s hard to believe that day is right around the corner. Since I first set out to organize his big day, my plan has been to join his Jolene and Seattle lives at The Jukebox on a Sunday, the only day we don’t work. I enlisted the help of both of his best friends: Eric, to help me handle the Jolene part of it, and Fitz/Sugar—whose phone number I stole from Matt’s phone—to coordinate the Seattle guest list. Luckily, they’ve both been happy to cooperate, and before February rolled around, we had most everything planned, and sixty people already confirmed.

Now the only thing remaining on my to-do list is to put together a slideshow of Matt’s time here in town, and of his gardens, so that his friends, who won’t be able to stay in town for more than a weekend, can see what he’s been up to for the past eight months. The boys have Thursday night poker at Wes’s, and it seems like the perfect time to do it, since I’ll be off work rather early, and Matt will come home late.

It’s seven p.m. when I leave the diner. A cold wind that doesn’t belong to an Alabama winter makes me clutch my jacket closer to my body as I walk down the little steps leading down from the diner’s porch to the sidewalk.
Stupid global warming.

Instead of crossing the street and walking by the beach as I usually do, I stay on the sidewalk, hoping that the buildings and streetlights will provide some shelter and warmth. They don’t.

A gust of wind blows past me, chilling my very soul, when I hear the sound of doors closing behind me. I don’t pay much attention to it and continue walking, focusing hard on staying warm and arriving home while I can still feel my ungloved fingers. Then I hear a voice that makes me shiver.

“Sparkle.”

Shit! Not you.
In no mood to deal with Kyle, I don’t stop walking, nor do I turn my face to look at him. After four more steps, his voice sounds over the swishing sound of the ocean again. “Wait up. I want to talk to you.”

My fingers tighten around my purse and I take a deep breath, willing my feet move faster. The fast
thump-thump-thump
of wooden heel meeting concrete indicates that he’s running in my direction, which is not good. He continues to call me by the ridiculous nickname I hate. The combination of all these factors makes me consider sprinting, but I decide against it, knowing I’ll probably fall on my face. A second later, long fingers clasp around my upper arm, and I curse myself for being so careful about kissing the concrete.

“Damn, Lexie. I just want to talk,” he blurts out, panting through twisted lips.

“We have nothing to talk about. Let go of my arm, Kyle.”

He shakes his head and keeps his fingers where they are. “No. You’ll run if I do, and I need some words with you.”

I want to close my eyes in frustration, but considering who is clutching me, I don’t. I don’t trust him enough for that. I sigh. “Well, I need you to let go of my fucking arm.”

“That kind of language doesn’t suit you, Sparkle.”

“Stop calling me that and let go,” I yell, and yank my arm away from him.

His arm falls down to his side, and he looks unblinkingly at me. It’s mindboggling how even after years of me being down-right hostile toward him, he still looks stunned every time I stand up for myself, and that’s the root of all this trouble. He can’t understand, or believe that I’ve changed. That what he did to me, all the physical and emotional abuse he put me through over the many years we were going back and forth, changed me. But it did. It changed me to my core, though I’ve refused to be bitter, and instead found strength through it. I’ve let it make me into a woman who can look at that handsome face and see him for the creepy pain in my ass he actually is.