Depths (23 page)

“What are you saying? Why wasn’t she family?” I ask, feeling like I’ve just cracked open a fortune cookie but have no idea what the little scrap of paper is trying to tell me.

His smile is slow and sweet. “I don’t know why. I guess I wasn’t comfortable. I guess she wasn’t right. I guess I didn’t want to change for her, and she sure as hell didn’t want to change for me. But, you?”

I put my hand to my chest when he says ‘you,’ like I’m making sure I’m still here, sitting in front of him, not faded and blown away. I’m here because Cohen sees me and points me out.

“Me?” I repeat.

“You.” He puts a hand out and traces the line of my cheek with his finger. “Every single thing feels right with you. You make me want to change. I feel like you want what’s better for me. And I want that for you, Maren. And anyone who doesn’t want to let you change into the best version of yourself? They’re not worth being with.”

“My dad,” I say hollowly.

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t talking about him. I was just making a general statement, okay?”

I’m irritated at him. I’m irritated at me. I’m irritated at my dad.

How did things flip so quickly?

Then he pulls me into his arms and everything flips again.

“I don’t want you to leave, but that’s not for me to decide,” he says, his voice a rumble over the sound of my own heart pounding in my ears.

“I don’t want to leave,” I say, turning my head into his shirt. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He pulls back, and I half expect to get booted out. But he’s smiling like I just said something incredibly funny.

“Lose me?” He cups my face in his hands. “If it was up to me, I’d never let you out of my damn sight, Maren. You can go wherever you need to, for however long you need to, and I’ll be here waiting when you get back.” His thumbs brush back the tears I didn’t even realize were sliding out of my eyes. “You never have to worry about losing me.”

“I do have to leave.” I can hear the wariness in my own voice, and it makes me tired. I’m so tired, and I feel like I haven’t slept for months on end, but tonight I got to take a half hour nap in his arms, and I need more. My body needs more. My heart needs more.

“Okay.” He kisses my lips softly. “You’re welcome back whenever you’re ready, alright? I hope it’s soon, because I miss your fine ass already.”

In my chest, it feels like my heart is bursting, blooming. I feel…hopeful. For the first time in so long, I feel like things may be possible. Like I can stop treading in the shallows and explore the depths.

“I have to go,” I repeat, my voice shaky.

“That’s fine,” Cohen whispers, kissing me harder, with more urgent passion. “And I’ll be here.” His hand slides under the cotton of my shirt. “But first? Come to bed with me again.”

Even though I tell myself it’s okay, I’ll be able to come back to him soon, I follow him to bed and make love like it might be the last time.

Which gives me courage to make damn sure it’s not.

***

I hate to bug him when he’s so content, gorgeous and sprawled on the bed.

“I need a ride back home.” I expect an argument, a grumble, but he gets up and dressed without a single complaint.

On the ride back to my shitty apartment complex, he reaches over and keeps his warm fingers twined with mine. By the time we’re in the parking lot, I want to tell him to take me back to his place, only this time, I’m not leaving. Ever.

But I know I have to check on my father. I can’t just leave him alone, even if Cohen made some good points. Which I know I need to take seriously. He wants to walk me up, but I convince him to just watch me until I get in.

He doesn’t make it easy, kissing me in the dark interior of his car until my head spins. When I finally manage to pull back, I practically jump out of the door, because I know if I don’t leave immediately, I’ll follow my heart and go home with his wildly sexy, sweet guy.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. It might be a while,” I warn him as I lean into the car.

“I’ll be waiting,” he promises with a reassuring smile. “Call if you need anything, Maren. I’m here for you.”

I hold my breath, hurrying out before I change my mind, hoping, this one time, things will start to work out the way I need them to.

***

The TV is glowing in the living room when I quietly push through the front door. Dad is kicked back in his recliner, eyes closed. I quietly set my purse down, and catch the lingering smell of Cohen on me when I turn. I pad lightly across the carpet, not wanting to startle Dad, lean over him and flip the TV off. He’s snoring soundly, but I still tiptoe as quietly as I can to my room to gather up some clean clothes and take a shower.

The water both soothes my chilled body and leaves me a little melancholy, knowing the places that Cohen kissed and sucked and touched are all washed clean. I haven’t even been away from him for an hour, and I already ache to be near him again.

It’s crazy how he’s been in my life all this time. Every day. Just not like this.

I shiver thinking of the way it felt to have Cohen so damn close. Moving inside me, holding me tightly with those arms that I never wanted to leave. But I had to…because, even after our talk, I still had to come home to check on Dad.

I towel dry my hair, and then make my way to the kitchen. The fridge is already nearly empty, even though I just went shopping two days ago. I let it slam a little too hard with frustration, and Dad stirs in the recliner.

“Mare? That you?” he calls.

I close my eyes, purse my lips, and silently count to ten. Willing myself to have patience with him. I don’t want to get into anything with him tonight. I don’t want it to ruin the high I’m flying after my night with Cohen.

“Yep. Just me.”

The old chair that he’s had since the late eighties is stained with beer and still holds the smell of clove cigarettes. It creaks and pops as he rolls to his side to see me. “What time is it?”

I glance at the clock on the decade-old microwave. “It’s just after two.”

“In the morning?” Dad says, knowing the answer even in his permanent state of whiskey-induced numbness. “Where’ve you been?”

I let out a small laugh, laced with annoyance. “I was just with a friend, Dad.”

I feel gross having just diminished what Cohen actually is to me for the sake of an easy ending to this conversation with my dad.

“You didn’t come home for dinner,” he says with a deep huff. When I look over the high counter top, I see his arms are crossed over his chest.

“You mean, I didn’t come home to cook you dinner? Sorry, Dad, I had plans.”

“Could have told me so.”

“Dad—” I start, and then let my mouth clamp shut again. I’m not going to do this right now. I’m not. Now that I know he’s okay, I want to go to bed and not have to dwell on an argument with my dad as the way my night ended. “I’ll give you a call next time.”

“You probably need to up my minutes on my phone.”

I grip the counter top. “Why is that?”

“I’ve been talking to a friend of mine a lot more than I thought I would be, and I just don’t want you to go over on the minutes.” He says it like he’s so courteous. Like he’s doing me such a huge favor by letting me know.
 “And you need to get to the store. We’re out of yogurt.”

“You don’t even eat yogurt,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“And maybe some of this.” He holds up the empty bottle of whiskey, and it’s the final straw.

“Dad, I’m not buying you anymore booze.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shoot him an incredulous glare. “It means I’m done. With all of this. With buying your booze. With paying your cell phone bill. With cooking your meals. With leaving an amazing night with someone who is so important to me to make sure you haven’t drowned yourself in a pool of your own filth. That’s what it means.”

I slam my palm down on the counter for emphasis. Dad doesn’t flinch.

It isn’t exactly how I planned this talk in my head. At all.

“Maren, I’m sorry. I know it’s rough—”

“Do you, Dad? Do you really? Because I sort of feel like if you knew how hard these last couple of years have been for me, that you might do something to change the way things are. Unless you just don’t care.”

“I care. Pumpkin Pie, I care.” His brows pull together in a look of guilt. “You’ve just got to give me some more time. I just need a little more time, is all.”

I let my shoulders fall in defeat. This part, this is precisely how I figured things would go.

“I was out late because it was my birthday. Did you even know that? Do you know how many birthdays you’ve missed?”

“Aw, hell, Mare. I’m sorry. You know I wish I could give you something nice—”

I shake my head. “I don’t want gifts, Dad. I want you to remember dates like that because they’re important to you. Because I’m important to you. But nothing,
nothing
measures up to the importance of that bottle.”

“Don’t say that, kid.”

I know that I’m his daughter. I know that I’ll always be, but man it works my nerves when he refers to me as a kid.

“Dad. I love you. That’s why I’ve done this crazy thing for years. That’s why I cook your meals and pay your bills. I do it because I love you so much, and just want you to feel better. But you just aren’t. And I… I really don’t think I can anymore. I don’t think I’m helping you…or me.” I let the last two words slip out in a whisper.

Dad nods his head slowly. He looks small. I pity him.

I don’t want to pity my own father.

“I understand, kiddo. Just give me six more months and I’ll get it together. With your help, I can get a job. You said you’d look into the warehouse thing, right? Could you do that for your old man?”

“Dad.” I pause to pull in a breath and work up my nerve. “I think you need more help than I can give you. Like, professional help.”

“I’m not talking about this with my daughter. You’re a child, Maren. You don’t understand things—”

“How can you say that? What do you think I do all day? What do you think I worry about all day? You! I take care of you. I worry about you, Dad. I understand plenty. I understand that it’s not okay for me to be raising my father.” I grab my keys off of the edge of the counter.

“Where are you going? You’re gonna say all that and just leave?”

“I can’t do this right now, you’re not even listening to me.”

“Fine,” Dad says. He throws his hands up. “You want to put on your big superior attitude and run away like your mom, great!”

But I’m not running away this time.

I’m running to something.

Someone.

I’m just falling into that perfect state where you’re half asleep-half awake and can hear everything going on around you, but you’re so relaxed it’s like you’re paralyzed and you don’t even care. My head is swimming with thoughts of Maren moving on top of me, her expression so intense and gorgeous.

But, damnit, there’s a knock at the door. Without moving, my eyes shift to the clock on the nightstand. It’s almost four in the morning.

My immediate thought is that it’s Kensley.

She used to pull shit like this when we were together. Going out with her friends, downing way more alcohol than her hundred and fifteen pound frame could handle and then having her friends drop her off at my place, slurring her words, and horny as hell. There’s no way she is pulling that shit with me tonight. But it’d be just like her, to come and fuck with the most incredible night I’ve ever had with any woman—even her.

I lay still in my bed, until I can’t shake the thought that even if it is her, she’s out there alone and at least needs a damn ride home. I pull a V-neck t-shirt over my head and make my way to the door, planning what I’m going to say to her to get her to leave without a big scene.

But it isn’t Kensley.

“Maren, baby, what are you doing out here?” I barely get the door open the entire way before I’m pulling her through it, out of the wind.

“It just…my dad…fuck!” she says, her voice shaking hard. “Everything is so wrong!”

“Doll, everything is not wrong. Earlier? That was definitely not wrong at all,” I say. I help her out of her sweater and scoop her off of the floor and up into my arms.

“Cohen, what are you doing?” she asks, pawing at my chest like she’s protesting, but she’s not actually pushing away, so I know she digs it.

“Taking you back to bed. It’s late.”

“I know, but, I didn’t come back for…I mean, earlier was nice. So, so nice, but that’s not why I’m here.” I carry her up the small flight of stairs back to my room.

I shake my head and smile. She’s shaken up for sure. It’s my job to make her feel better.

“I’m not about to strip you down, if that’s what you think. I didn’t want you to leave earlier. I get why you said you had to, but I was a sad sack watching you go,” I admit. “But now you’re back, and it’s late, and you look stressed as hell.” I set her on the edge of my bed, our bed. “Take off those jeans and top and put this on.”