Seven Years (4 page)

Naya blew a kiss and slammed the door.

“Lock it!” She yelled from the outside.

I turned the bolt, set my coffee on an end table, and collapsed on the sofa. All I could think about was Austin. Did I really see him at the cemetery? Maybe I dreamed it. I never could hold my liquor and it didn’t take much to get me drunk, not to mention I was one of those people who blacked out if I drank too much. Not passed out, but conscious and sometimes belting out old rock songs. At least, that’s what Naya told me, as did a girl I used to party with when I was younger. That’s why I avoided binge drinking.

No one needed to hear my rendition of “Feel Like Makin’ Love.”

Still, the conversation had seemed so real.

I was angry and kept hitting the stupid rewind button in my brain, causing me to replay the scene at Dairy Queen. Except in episode two, I got up and cussed him out. By episode three, I told my mom to take Maizy outside and I tore him a new one for walking out of our lives. By four, I managed to get information on where he’d been all this time before slapping him. Somewhere around episode twelve, I started making out with him, and by eighteen, we were having sex all over the hood of his Dodge Challenger.

That’s when I got up and took another shower.

The next day at work, we were slammed with orders
. I don’t know if there were a lot of cheating husbands or sick grandmas or what, but Sweet Treats was hopping. Aside from selling candy, we customized gift items. You could choose from a number of candy combinations and have them packaged for different occasions in the container or basket of your choice. It wasn’t just a store for kids—we also sold expensive chocolates and gourmet popcorn. I’d sampled them to death over the years and officially murdered my love for sugar.

If a guy ever gave me a box of candy (not that one ever would, all Beckett ever gave me was a box of Victoria’s Secret lingerie), that would be the equivalent of giving me a box of anchovies. It’s not that I hated candy, but the magic was gone. A man should be more original than a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates. Flowers die and sugar sticks to your hips like a permanent record to a criminal.

However, all superheroes have a kryptonite. I had one weakness.

Lollipops.

Our store only sold the cheap flat ones for the kids and those pinwheel multicolored novelty items. But my
favorites
were the large round suckers that came in various flavors, including gourmet. We tried carrying them but they never sold. Kids always wanted the chocolate bars or some of the newer candy based on their favorite cartoons or movies. Older generations wanted the hard-to-find items from their childhood or gourmet products. So things like lollipops, peppermints, and butterscotch just didn’t sell.

The only person who knew how much I loved them was Wes. It’s how he used to bribe me to stay quiet whenever he was going to sneak out of the house or if I caught him in a lie. I was a sucker for suckers, and bribery came at a very reasonable price for him. Our parents never bought junk food unless we went to the movies. Only in recent years had Mom let go of the reins when it came to sugar and offered Maizy an occasional treat.

April bounced into the room holding a beautifully wrapped basket with a yellow ribbon. “Here you are, Mrs. Lee.”

“Oh, that’s just gorgeous! Ellie’s going to love it,” the older lady gushed. “She hasn’t tasted some of these candies since she was a little girl.” Mrs. Lee took a moment to admire the packaging before heading out the door.

“Come by and see us again,” April said with a wave. “Thanks for stopping in, and be sure to tell all your friends to visit Sweet Treats!”

The bell jingled and I glared at her from behind the display of gumballs. “That’s a bit much.”

So were the cherry earrings she was wearing and the matching pin clipped in her bright blond hair.

April tilted her head and the earrings swiveled. “You could learn something from me, Alexia. It’s not just about sales, but returning customers. You
want
them to tell their friends about us and feel like they need to come back here again for more. Charlie doesn’t offer coupons and we don’t do any marketing, so word of mouth is all we have. Relationship building is important for an independently run business.”

“We sell crack, April.”

A kid went jumping by as if there were invisible hopscotch lines on the floor. I nodded at him to illustrate my point.

“You don’t think this place could ever go out of business?”

I shrugged. “If the movie theater or pizza shop closes, then yeah. But this street is a freeway of hyperactive kids between the ages of Winnie-the-Pooh diapers and high school saggy pants. Not to mention the fact we offer pick-up through the Internet.”

“Not everyone likes picking up when they can have it delivered to their house by another company,” she pointed out, refilling a display of Ring Pops.

It was near closing time and I sanitized the counter, wiping away all the grimy little fingerprints and germs.

After hours when we closed the shop and turned on the dim accent lights, it became pure magic. Long canisters lined the walls and we had several short aisles with packaged candy and other items. We didn’t have any fancy neon sign—just a pink board that ran over the doorway with the store name painted in black. We were open from ten to ten—at least those were the advertised hours. Everyone on this side of town knew we’d stay open as long as there were customers. Night owls loved it because the colorful displays in the window would catch their eye and draw them in for a late night snack before or even after their movie. I mentioned to Charlie once or twice that he should consider making us a hybrid business—perhaps buy the space next door to open a coffee shop and offer sweet treats for the adults, with a door connecting the shops. “Pipe dreams,” he would say. Charlie might have gone for it, but he probably didn’t have the money.

We admittedly got some peculiar customers wandering in; some of them looked like hardcore criminals while others just had strange eye colors. But sometimes there was a single guy and that’s how I ran into Beckett. It was hard to pass by our shop at night because the beautiful displays in the window brought out the child in everyone.

The last customer left the store and I stretched out my stiff muscles. “You feel like going to a party, April? It’s a little wild and crazy and there’s no telling who will be there. My neighbor is throwing one on Tuesday. You can swing by after work if you want; it’ll be going on all night.”

She considered it and scrunched the ends of her short hair. “Maybe. Where?”

“You’ve been to my apartment once or twice; it’s the one right next door. Stop by and keep me company. I told her I’d show up, but sometimes those parties can get a little nuts and I’d rather have someone there who’s…”

Her eyes narrowed. “Who’s what?”

Um—extracting foot from mouth
. “Who’s sensible and won’t end up dancing naked on the balcony.”

April shrugged. “I might. Depends on how tired I am.”

I twirled my keys around my finger and stood at the door. “Coming?”

“No. My sister is picking me up tonight and I have a book to finish reading.”

I furrowed my brow and leaned on one of the display counters by the front window. “Something wrong with your car?”

April fidgeted with a stretchy bracelet on her arm. “I think it’s the transmission, but I don’t know anything about cars.”

“Come on; I’ll give you a lift.”

She averted her eyes. “Nah. I already got a ride.”

A grin crept up my face. “Actually, I happen to have a viable solution for you. See that
beautiful
Toyota out there in the parking lot? It can be yours for a reasonably low—”

“Save it,” she said with an outstretched hand. “I don’t want your cootiemobile.”

Damn that hurt. “See ya, April.”

Standing on the curb, I glared at the car. Not one single inquiry. At this point, I’d consider selling it for a dollar just to get rid of the memories. But I needed a way to get to work so that wasn’t an option.

The lights shut off in the shop and April locked the door, waved, and went into the back room. I was crossing the street toward the parking lot with a slow, reluctant gait when a familiar voice called out from behind.

“Sexy Lexi?”

I cringed. I hadn’t been called that name since high school when Michael Hudson deflowered me. After that, he called me Sexy Lexi and all his friends thought I was a slut. Isn’t that always the way it goes?

“
Please, please, please
, don’t let it be him,” I murmured as I turned around.

“It’s me, Mike Hudson. Remember? We dated in high school.”

He smirked, lingering by the fire hydrant in a pair of jeans and a blue sports jersey. He still looked the same with curly brown hair and a light dusting of whiskers, but he’d put on a little weight around the gut. Without missing a beat, Michael walked in my direction and I began to get nervous.

“Still lookin’ good, Sexy Lexi.”

“Don’t call me that, Michael. I never liked that nickname.”

“All in fun,” he said defensively, easing up to my right. “So, you work at Sweet Treats?”

When his eyes slid down my body and up again, I stepped back. “Yeah. Do you work around here?”

Michael stepped forward. “Nah. I’m in town visiting my parents and decided to take a tour down memory lane—hook up with some of the guys. Want to join us? We’re having pizza and beers over there,” he said, pointing three shops up the road.

“No, thanks. You guys have fun. I have to go, but it was good seeing you,” I lied, turning on my heel and walking briskly toward the car.

“Wait a minute,” he protested, jogging up behind me. “It’s been how many years and you’re giving me the cold shoulder? I thought you liked me?”

I whirled around and pressed my finger against his chest. “You gave me a bad reputation and then after my brother beat your ass, you had your friends jump him when he got off work. Then I was tagged with that sorry fucking nickname that stuck for three years.
Three years
, Michael.” I glanced down at his wedding band. “Go home to your wife and kids, and just pray some idiot doesn’t ever do that to one of your daughters.”

I finally had my moment and it felt really damn good as I stormed to the car, ready to do my victory dance. I’d waited a long time to tell him off, and it didn’t require a ten-minute speech. The less time I had to spend with him, the better.

But then he caught my wrist.

“You’re still mad over that?”

I turned around and tugged my arm, but he kept a firm hold. Memories of our relationship flooded back. Something never felt right about our first time, but I assumed that’s how it went with all the girls. The boy pressuring, the girl saying no, the boy insisting, the girl squirming because it hurt, the boy telling her it was always like that the first time and holding her wrists, the girl wincing in pain and crying. “
Next time it won’t hurt as bad
,” he’d said to me.

There
was
no next time with Michael. Maybe I was naïve in thinking the first time should have been special, but he was an insensitive jerk and I regretted giving myself to him. When I had refused to have sex with him again, he broke up with me.

That’s when he made up the nickname and harassed me for the rest of the school year with obscene gestures in the hallway and spreading rumors.

I snapped my arm back again but he kept hold of it. The streets were empty and most of the shops had closed down except for the pizza place and theater.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he finally said. “We were just a bunch of dumb kids. Let me walk you to your car and we’ll go our separate ways. It’s been a long time and I don’t think it’s fair you’re holding me accountable for something I did when I was a teenager.”

We were moving toward the car and I was too confused to react because of how reasonable he seemed.

“If it’s any consolation, your brother had his friends kick the living shit out of mine as payback.”

I blinked. “No, he didn’t.” Not that Wes would have told me, but it didn’t sound like him.

“Yeah, he did. I don’t know who did it, either, because none of the guys talked about it. Someone must have threatened them because I can’t even get them to talk about it today. They stayed out of school for a week with their faces all messed up.”

We approached the car and I sighed. “Thanks, Michael. Look, what’s done is done. Have a good life.”

Damn, that sounded cold, and I opened the door to my cootiemobile.

That’s when Michael gripped the hem of my skirt and yanked it up, pushing me against the open door. My heart raced and I couldn’t breathe from the sudden shock of being forcefully pinned. Either I’d have to stand there and let him grope me or get in the car. I sure as hell wasn’t getting in the car with him right behind me. My hands rested on the roof and I started to push back when he grabbed my hips with a painful grip.

“Still feels good, Sexy Lexi.
Real
good,” he growled in my ear, running familiar hands over a place where they had once been. “Just like old times.”

The next thing I knew, Michael was yanked off me quicker than a heartbeat. I pulled down my skirt and turned around, confused by the abrupt cessation and silence.

Oh, my God.

Austin was straddling Michael, his brutal hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing tightly. Michael’s face swelled up until it turned an ugly shade of bluish red, his mouth agape as he struggled to get air in. He tried to punch Austin and buck him off, but that was about as effective as moving the Great Pyramid of Giza.