The Second Chance (Inferno Falls Book Three) (21 page)

“Ernie is gone. Your parents have been gone for years. You were a kid back then, and yeah, I guess I’d have left in your shoes. Shit, Brandon defended you for the longest time. So did Bridget. You know those two, out of everyone we used to know, would understand the need for a fresh start. Whenever you emailed or called or whatever, we ended up talking about you. And when you said you were coming back, we knew it wasn’t about Ernie’s house. It was just time.”
 

“Someone had to handle this, Joe,” I say, now feeling defensive.

“This?”
He looks around incredulously. “This is a cakewalk. You could probably have done it over the phone.”
 

“Fax,” I pout.

“You came back because you knew you made a mistake. I’ve known you as long as anyone, Grady. You don’t shirk responsibility, and you’re never disloyal. Those were special circumstances, but they’re gone. Nobody’s going to make you live with your asshole uncle anymore. I don’t know if you were serious, but nobody’s actually talking about you — not in bad ways, anyhow. Everyone liked your dad. Hell, I ran into Vincent Brush the other day, and he wouldn’t leave me alone, going on and on about how much he liked your old man. And how he once had a buddy named Mudvein, who got his dick stuck … well, you know Vincent’s stories.”
 

I don’t even chuckle. That’s how much I resent Joe speaking his mind.

“There’s nothing left to run from, Grady.”
 

“I’m not running. I wanted to see the world.”
 

“You saw it! For ten fucking years, you saw the world! The States, anyway.”

“There’s still, like, two hundred countries left.”
 

Joe shakes his head. “Just stop it, Grady. You’re not going to Alaska, and you know it.”
 

I look at my phone like it’s a run-over childhood keepsake. Five minutes ago, I felt happy. I finally had everything I needed, and was going to get all I’ve ever wanted. Now I believe Joe, that this isn’t what I’m supposed to do. Maybe because what I need and want isn’t in Alaska after all.
 

In a small voice, I mumble all I can think to say: “Fucking Tommy Finch.”
 

“Tommy was never anything to run from, Buddy.”
 

I wonder if he’s right. I wonder if I really did come back to right a wrong. My departure from the Falls marks my largest selfish act — the one thing out of all I’ve done that I’m ashamed of every day. Back in Portland, I couldn’t walk past a fucking cat without saving it. It’s ludicrous to think that I’ve never meant to return and heal the damage.
 

I wonder if what was broken can be fixed. I wonder if it’s too late.
 

My mind fills with images of the redhead girl I once knew, with her stubborn temper and emerald eyes. I remember long days and nights spent beside her. I remember, just three days ago now, the feel of her hand in mine. The memory of her lips, if I can ever find my way to forgiving their lies.
 

I think of the little girl who seemed to like me so much. I can’t blame her for coming into the world. She shouldn’t need to suffer because I’m afraid.
 

I think of the woman, and I think of the girl.
 

The girl with the big blue eyes and blonde hair, both so much like her father’s.

CHAPTER 24

Tommy is looking at me like an X-Ray.
 

He can see every inch of me under my Nosh Pit uniform as I stand in front of him. He can see through my bra, my panties. The night we were together was the culmination of a long week of teasing, and I remember how he asked if I’d shave. I’d never done that before, not for Grady and never since. But I’m sure that’s how he’s seeing me now: bare and smooth, soft to his fingers’ touch.

He smiles. I remember that smile. I remember the way he showed it to the other girls in school and made me jealous. I remember how, when Grady and I were apart for those few weeks, he finally deigned to turn it on me.
 

His eyes are as blue and deep as ever. They’re sexy eyes. Grady’s are different: brown, honest, and thrilling in a different, deeper way. When Tommy looks at me, I feel that thrill right on top, across the surface. His face sends a cool breeze across what feels like bare skin to harden my nipples. Everything about Tommy says sex, as if he was made for nothing else.
 

He wants me. Again. Right now if I’d let him.
 

And as much as I’d like to stay upstanding and lie, I feel how badly I want him.
 

We only had one night. One tragic, beautiful night. In the morning, he forgot me, and I turned away. I regretted it immediately, as long as I’d pined for him, but remorse didn’t stop my mind from reliving it, over and over, while my fingers explored.
 

I remember the hard, insistent, selfish way he kissed.
 

I remember that intense, rough way he fucked me.
 

I remember how hard I came. I remember folding at the middle like a mousetrap snapping. I remember calling his name, scratching his back, biting him on the neck. And I remember, after the first time I came, with two fingers third-knuckle-deep in me and his thumb on my throbbing clit, how Tommy flipped me over and shoved his cock inside to the hilt. Like an animal.
 

And I came again.
 

And again.
 

And again.
 

“Hey, Beautiful,” he says.
 

“Hi.” The single word takes effort to evict from my throat. I don’t dare say more because my jaw feels sluggish. My throat feels sore. I hate him so much. And still my mouth is begging, to unzip him here in the booth and take what my body’s been trying to recapture since.
 

“Did you get my text?”
 

I hold up the phone.

“No, I mean the picture. Of me and … Chadd.”
 

His pause combines with a small smile, and in that instant I’m sure Chadd told him everything. He probably bragged about fucking some slutty waitress in the bathroom, then Tommy put two and two together. I know Chadd felt pretty good afterward, and judging by how many times I’ve had to fight his advances, I’d say he wants an encore. I imagine that enthusiasm was infectious. Maybe Chadd got angry, and Tommy got hungry.
 

I’ve hit that, and I could hit it again
.
Looks like she won’t spread for you more than once, but I bet she’ll spread like butter for me
.

I force my voice to stay steady. I’m not intimidated or afraid. I’m drawn toward him like a magnet. Everything I’m fighting now, it’s me versus me. Brain versus pussy. Sense versus lust. Logic versus programming, human versus beast.
 

“I got it.”
 

“And?”
 

“And what?”
 

“You didn’t reply. Why didn’t you reply, Maya?”
 

“It wasn’t from you. You didn’t send it.”
 

“Mmm-hmm. It was from … Chadd. Who you know.”
 

“That’s right.”

“If I’d sent it, would you have replied? I just wanted to say hi.”
 

“I don’t know. I guess.”
 

“What would you have said?”
 

“‘Hi.’”
 

“That’s all?”
 

“That’s all you said,” I tell him.

“Hmm. Well. Hi again.”
 

“Hi.”
 

“We should talk, you and me,” he says.
 

“Why?”
 

“We have so much in common.”
 

Like my daughter,
I want to say. But what’s the point? Mackenzie and I have survived just fine so far on our own. Reminding Tommy of what he already knows but has always denied in his cocky way will only invite him in. And if I seriously had doubts about Grady being in Mackenzie’s life, they pale in intense comparison to how badly I want Tommy to stay out of it.
 

“I don’t think so, Tommy.”

“I always liked you.”
 

“Really.” My first instinct is to argue that he didn’t always like me — that he ignored me for all those years I was silently crushing on him, thinking of his kiss, writing his name, picturing his perfect face. And I want to remind him that since the night we had sex, he’s seemed to go right
back
to ignoring me. He’s only here because he wants seconds. I guess a chat with his buddy Chadd reminded him that I’m ripe for the asking.
 

Fucking bastards.
 

And fuck me, that I feel myself responding to the obvious desire I feel radiating from him.
 

I don’t say what’s on my mind. I won’t deny that he “always liked me” because that’s the game he wants to play. Seduction is seduction, and Tommy and I have a story whether I like it or not. If I say more than I should, he’ll tell me I’m pretty. He’ll find a way to get me alone, and I’ll go.
 

But no. I won’t. I refuse. I know who Tommy is and how he’ll be after … after that thing I won’t let myself think of. After the thrusting. The clawing. The screaming and the sweat.
 

“Sure. Hey, when’s your shift over?”

“My tables are waiting.”
 

“I’m ‘your tables.’ You haven’t even taken my order.”
 

“What do you want?”
 

“You didn’t even introduce yourself. Shouldn’t you say that your name is Maya and you’ll be ‘taking care of me’?”
 

He shifts sideways. His smile tips almost on end. If we were somewhere else, I could take care of him, all right. And oh God, my body wants it. I’m soaking wet. Despite knowing better, every bit of me is doing just what he wants.
 

“What do you want, Tommy? Are you just here to harass me?”
 

His face registers hurt. “I’m here to eat. Did I do something wrong?”

You used me. You knocked me up; you ruined what I had with Grady; you turned your back on us, laughing. I could have come after you for support. But thinking of touching you again, even with a court order, made me too sick to bother.
 

Until now. Oh, do I want to touch him now.
 

“I’ll be back. Give you some time to look at the menu.” I start to move past, giving Tommy and any possible reach a nice wide berth. But Tommy doesn’t try to grab me like Chadd did, using his hands. He grabs me with words instead.
 

“I want to meet her,” he says from behind my back.
 

I turn.
 

“You heard me. I want to be part of her life.”
 

My mouth hangs open. “No,” I say.
 

“She’s my daughter.”
 

“Something you’ve never acknowledged. Something you’ve never tried to help me with. Something you’ve never shown interest in until now.”
 

“Well, I’ve come around.”
 

“Then support her. Pay your fair share.”
 

Tommy seems to consider. He’s cocky, but persuasive so often because the look is never overtly disobedient. Tommy is never exactly saying,
I’ll do what I want, and you can’t stop me.
His body usually says something closer to,
Here’s what’s sensible. You don’t want to be stupid by disagreeing, do you?

“Fine.” And the codicil I can see in his eyes almost sickens me:
I suppose it’s in my budget to buy your dignity
.

“Never mind,” I say. “Forget I said anything.”
 

“No. I want to do what’s right,” he says, giving me a look that says the exact opposite. “But obviously that means I’ll get visitation. Or you and I could have our own arrangement.” His eyes rake me from bottom to top.
 

I take a step closer, trying to be bold, keeping my voice low so I won’t be overheard.
 

“You had your chance.”

“The world is full of second chances.”
 

“So, what? Now you want to get married? Get a little house with a white picket fence?”
 

“Now you’ve gone too far. I just want to be … closer.”
 

There’s something in the way he’s looking at me that I’ve been trying to place, and now I see it. I can’t believe it took me so long to recognize, given that it’s a Tommy Finch hallmark: dishonesty, plain and simple.
 

“You’re so full of shit.”

“I’m not. I’ll pay, like you said.”
 

“I’m not for sale.”
 

“It’s not just about you, Maya.”
 

“We’re
not for sale.”