Don't Let Go (11 page)

It occurred to me as I shoved a second one into my mouth that it was my second time that week to have nachos. And then it occurred to me that having such a meaningless thought at such a crucial revelation might mean I was losing it.

Ruthie eyed me as I pushed another chip loaded with shredded chicken, dripping cheese, and steaming beans in my mouth before she spoke.

“Anyway—she started talking about this boy she met—”

“Met?” I said, ceasing the chewing. “She’s just met someone and she’s already having this conversation?”

Ruthie smiled as you would to a frustrated child. “Calm down, Jules. This is why she came to me and not you.”

And that was just the icy dousing I needed to jolt me into silence. I bit my lip to fight back the burn that started in my chest and crept upward. That was the crux of it. Becca had gone to Ruthie to talk about the most intimate of things. Something I couldn’t have gone to my mother with either. I blinked and swallowed hard as that reality pushed the burn up into my eyes.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Ruthie said, grabbing my hand again, but I shook my head.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Go on, I’ll be good.”

She took a long swallow of her drink and glanced over to where Patrick was standing at the bar, chatting up the bartender.

“She met a boy, his name is Mark.”

“Mark,” I echoed. “From school?”

“I didn’t ask, but I assume so,” Ruthie said. “His dad is one of Patrick’s crew.”

My ears rang with the information. I’d seen Patrick with his crew before, most of them much rougher-looking than he was. A young version of that?

“And he’s pressuring Becca for sex?” I asked, hearing my voice go up a little higher and louder than normal. At precisely the wrong time.

“What?”

The deep voice was behind me and louder than mine ever dreamed of being, and everything in me cringed. I turned just as Hayden stepped up to our table, looking at me all wild-eyed. With one look I knew he was at least three or four beers into a good buzz, but unfortunately still very coherent.

“No, no, no, no,” Ruthie said, waving hands at both of us before something blew up. “Nobody’s pressuring anybody for anything. Shit,” she added, dropping her head for a moment. “This is out of hand. She was just asking questions is all.”

“Who’s the dad?” I asked.

“What dad?” Hayden asked. “And what the hell is going on with Becca? Why’s she asking questions about sex?”

“You know, this was a private conversation,” Ruthie said, glaring up at him.

“Not anymore it’s not,” he said.

I held my head together with my palms. “Hayden, it’s okay that she’s curious, that’s normal.”

It just wasn’t okay that she didn’t come to
me
with that curiosity. That she was going so far as to ask about birth control. That wasn’t okay. But I wasn’t fueling that flame in front of Hayden.

“I heard you say that someone was pressuring her—”

“I was just—” I stopped and took a deep breath. “It was my misunderstanding, okay? I was flying off the handle just like you are now.” I turned back to Ruthie, who looked as if she’d rather chew a brick. “Who’s the dad?”

“I think she said his last name was Wallace,” Ruthie said quietly.

“Why does it matter who the dad is?” Hayden said.

“Back in a minute,” I said to Ruthie as I got up to join Patrick at the bar before he could rejoin us. I was frazzled enough without Hayden getting in the mix. At the look on her face for being left with him, I made a mental note to buy her another margarita.

“Hey, beautiful,” Patrick said as I reached his side.

“Do you have someone working for you named Wallace?” I asked.

Patrick’s eyebrows raised just a fraction. “Um—yeah. David Wallace?”

“Lives in Copper Falls?”

The eyebrows lowered to a frown. “No, none of my men do. But I think a couple of them have ex-wives around here. Why?”

“Does he have a son named Mark?” I asked, feeling very much like a prosecutor and yet unable to stop shooting off the questions.

Patrick turned to face me fully. “I have no idea, Jules. We don’t sit around comparing photos. What’s going on?”

“My daughter wants to have sex with a boy named Mark and said his dad works with you,” I blurted out, realizing somewhere in the places where logic lived that I wasn’t anywhere close.

The eyebrows shot back up and he cleared his throat. “Oh. Well, I guess he probably does then.” When I continued to stare at him, he gave me a questioning look. “Sorry?”

There was a pen lying on the bar, and I picked it up and started clicking it. “So what’s this guy like?”

Patrick narrowed his eyes. “Babe, I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this, but what does his dad have to do with it?”

“They learn it from somewhere.”

He chuckled and winked randomly at the woman behind the bar as she handed him a to-go box of something that smelled wonderful. “They
learn it from somewhere
? Because he couldn’t just be a normal horny teenage boy, right?” He squeezed my hand and took the pen I was furiously clicking, setting it back down. “Come on, Jules.”

“Well, look what he sees,” I said, refusing to be placated. “Y’all pick up women wherever you land. If he sees him screwing around all the time—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Patrick said, the jovial expression leaving his face. “Despite what you obviously think of me and my guys, we aren’t traveling fuck magnets.”

“I didn’t mean it like—”

“Oh, I think you meant it exactly like that,” he said, pushing off the bar with a fired-up coldness I’d never seen before. “Let me tell you something. We have a job to do. We work hard, eat crap food, sleep in cheap motels, and move on to the next job. What my guys do on their few off hours is not my business, and what their
kids
may do damn well isn’t.”

“Patrick—”

“Look in your own house before you start pointing fingers, Jules,” he said, turning to leave. “I didn’t
screw around
with you all by myself.”

“What?” I exclaimed, a little louder than I intended. “I wasn’t talking about you.”

“I am. Maybe
your
kid is the one watching.”

At that, he left. I watched his back as he wound his way around the tables and pushed the front door open.

“Want something, hon?” the bartender lady asked me, pulling my attention back.

I blinked and held my hands against my stomach, feeling the stab to the gut that Patrick had just left there.

“Um, can I get two more margaritas on the rocks to that table?” I asked, pointing to where Ruthie sat looking irritated and Hayden stood hovering like a hawk.

I made my way back, feeling heavy and wrong and stupid. Was Becca paying closer attention to my actions rather than my words? She knew what we were doing, she’d said it out loud. The one time in my life that I’d allowed myself outside my own rule book was with Patrick, and that’s when she decides to pay attention?

Ruthie just met my gaze with that universal silent communication all best friends have. She saw Patrick leave, she saw my face, my deflated composure. She knew how I felt. That was enough while we had an audience. Hayden, on the other hand, was still up on level four somewhere.

“Your boyfriend leave?” he said, a twitch to his jaw telling me that the word bothered him.

I knew that even after our years apart he still cared about me. He’d always loved me more than I did him, and as unfair as that was, I’d married him anyway. Back then, I was damaged goods. Mourning the loss of a child that no one but Ruthie ever spoke of with me, and still carrying a torch for the love of my life. A love that had left me to mourn alone. To worry about him, cry for him, curse him, and sometimes hate him. It took Hayden two years to win me over completely, and although I never felt that all-consuming passion again, I assumed that was my fate.

He was cute and witty and smart and could always make me laugh when laughing didn’t come naturally to me anymore. Hayden found me in my darkest place and showed me the light again. That was enough. His controlling nature and lack of an off switch when he drank made it not enough.

I ignored his question and palmed my glass, sucking up what was left of my margarita and watching the dance floor. I needed the cold and the tangy citrus to cool my blood.

“I have the right to know what’s going on with her, Jules,” Hayden said, leaning into my line of vision.

As an upbeat country song filled the room, I met his eyes. “Let’s dance.”

He backed up a step. “What?”

“You heard me,” I said, hearing Ruthie snicker to my right. I grabbed his hand. “Let’s see if we still remember how to do this.”

“What are you doing?” I heard him say behind me as I pulled him along.

I wheeled around to face him. “Trying to let off a little steam, Hayden. Trying not to be my mother.” The burn hit the backs of my eyes and I blinked back the impending flood. “She went to
Ruthie
with this. Instead of me,” I said, trying to control the quiver that laced my words.

Hayden’s eyes panned my face and went soft. He’d lived with me long enough to know where my head was.

“When’s the last time you two-stepped?” he said finally.

“With you.”

He rolled his eyes and smiled that smile that always made women look twice, making me chuckle to myself.

“Lord, you’ve got some rust to work out,” he said.

“Well, get on it then,” I whispered, making him laugh as he pushed me out onto the dance floor.

Time fell backward a little as he rested his right hand against my neck to guide me, and my feet remembered what to do. The song was quick, upbeat, and we fell into our easy rhythm almost immediately, sliding in and out and around the other couples that were taking it a little more conservative.

“Like riding a bike,” Hayden said over the music. When I laughed, Hayden dared me with his eyes. “Ready to kick it up a notch?”

It was easy to have fun with him, he had that way of somehow knowing what I needed and making sure I got it. Even though I knew we both had Becca spinning around in our heads, he focused on spinning me. He pushed me away, keeping hold of my hand, and I turned in a circle alone and then around him, all the while making tracks around the floor. He whirled me back into his arms, grinning.

“Not bad, lady,” he said.

“Let’s spin,” I said, grinning back.

We got our footing, and he winked down at me as his hand gripped the back of my neck tighter and we started spinning around the floor to the last part of the song. The other couples on the dance floor moved a little to the side to give us space, and as the song came to an end, clapped and hooted for us. I saw Ruthie stand up from our table and whistle.

“Wow,” I said, feeling the heat from the rush and the spotlight rise up to my face. “That’s been a while.”

Hayden hugged me lightly, and as a slow country song came on, squeezed my hand. “One more?”

I hesitated, knowing how sexy and intimate a two-step waltz could be. Especially knowing how sexy he could make it. It might have been several years, but I wasn’t losing my memory just yet. Not that I was afraid I’d suddenly jump into bed with him or anything, but I also liked keeping the lines clean between us.

“Come on,” he said. “For old time’s sake.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Old time’s sake, huh?”

But as Tim McGraw crooned “Please Remember Me,” Hayden smiled and took that as a yes, pulling me close and moving us around the floor. I didn’t fight it. It was familiar, and I guess something in me needed that normalcy, as bizarre as that was. Slow dancing with your ex-husband probably shouldn’t be normal, especially that way, with the combination of bodies moving slowly together in a close rhythm and legs going in between each other.

The lights on the floor had turned low, with little spotlights shining on the tables that flanked the dance floor, making those people glow a little.

He pulled me tight against him as we did a slow spin, his fingers going up into my hair and my face pressed into his chest, filling my senses with the same cologne he’d worn since I bought it for him on our two-year anniversary.

Something in my head rang out with warning bells, that I was maybe enjoying this too much and my clean lines were fogging up a bit. So when the spin was done, I pulled back a little and smiled up at him, noting the fog in his eyes as well.

He’d had me with a slow dance when we first met, and I was damned if I was going to follow up with it now. He pushed me out to do a turn, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw it in his face too. The need for distance, accompanied by a grin that said he knew he’d gotten to me in that one moment.

I smirked at him. “Shut up.”

He laughed and spun me around carelessly, and as I came around laughing, another pair of eyes sank into me from the edge of the dance floor.

The song crooned about remembering, and everything in those eyes remembered. My feet faltered as Noah stood there, dressed in all black like some stealth god, leaned against his table, arms crossed over his chest, with every possible nuance of hurt, anger, and defiance playing over his features. Even in the near darkness, it emanated off him like a glow stick.

Hayden followed my gaze and pulled me with him, my lungs filling with air as I realized I’d stopped breathing. How long had he been there? And where was—

As we made another turn, I saw her. Sitting at the table, watching him. As he watched me. His face was stony, his body taut with raw power. Like he was spring-loaded.

“Focus,” came Hayden’s voice just above my ear.

I stumbled and got my feet back on track. “Sorry.”

We made it around the floor one more time, but he managed to avoid passing them again, moving among other couples instead. I did notice that Noah had sat down, though, and I breathed a little easier.

“You okay?” Hayden said when the song ended and we walked slowly back to my table. The seriousness had crept back on him.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice husky. I cleared my throat and grabbed my new margarita that awaited me on the table. “Thank you, Hayden, that was fun.”