Life After Taylah (3 page)

He shrugs. “Met him through Kelly.”

“And you know Kelly, how?”

He laughs softly. “Inquisitive little thing, aren’t you?”

I give him a half-smile. “Sure, you could say that.”

“I know Kelly through my brother. He is a pro-surfer, and he competes with him. We all just kind of got along.”

I nod. “Who is your brother?”

“Keanu Alexander.”

My mouth drops open. “No shit.”

He looks impressed. “The lady knows my brother.”

“I’ve seen him compete with Kelly. He’s amazing.”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“So are you,” I add, feeling the need to clarify that. “I’ve been watching you race for the past two years.”

“So has ninety-nine percent of the female population.”

I giggle, and then slap a hand over my mouth. I haven’t heard a giggle leave my throat for so long, the sound shocks me. Nate smiles at me and points to the seat, asking if it’s okay for him to sit. I nod, and he walks over, doing just that. I can smell him now he’s this close. He smells like cigarettes and beer, but the smell isn’t bad, it’s kind of comforting. Before my dad become hard and withdrawn, he used to smell like that.

“So, what kind of dancing do you do?” he asks.

“Ballet.”

He looks me over, his green eyes piercing into mine. “I can see that. You’ve got the right look.”

“And what look is that?” I ask, frowning.

He grins. “Don’t get huffy. You just look as beautiful as a ballerina should look. You’re . . . dainty.”

I feel my cheeks heat. “I can’t decide if you’re complimenting me or insulting me.”

He laughs loudly. “It’s a compliment.” He presses a hand over his heart. “Swear.”

“Liam is looking for you.”

I lift my head at the sound of the voice behind us and see Kelly entering the courtyard. He’s got a beer in his hand, and he’s giving Nate a look.
The
look—the one that says
what the hell are you doing?

“Thanks.”

I stand and turn to Nate, smiling down at him. “It was nice to meet you, Nathaniel.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “Call me Nate, and I didn’t catch your name.”

I grin. “You figure it out.”

I turn and walk up to Kelly, placing my hand on his shoulder softly before stepping past him.

“Goodnight, Dancer!” Nate yells.

I smile the entire way into the unit.

~*~*~*~

“W
hat the fuck are you doin’ here, Avie?” Liam mutters, lighting a cigarette and buttoning up his jeans.

I stare sadly at my brother. He grew into a lovely-looking man, but he’s damaged himself. Deeply. He’s an asshole, he treats women badly and drugs are doing some serious harm to him. His once gorgeous, blond hair is ratty and forming dreadlocks. His blue eyes—the eyes just like Momma’s—are dull and lifeless. His skin has a constant grey tinge. The only thing he’s got going is the fact that he’s muscled and well built—and I have no doubt that’s because of steroids.

“I wanted to see you,” I say, walking into his room and cringing at the smell. “I called and you never answered. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Been busy,” he mutters, inhaling deeply and blowing out big grey puffs into the air.

“Liam,” I begin.

“Don’t,” he growls. “I don’t need your fuckin’ pity, Avie. It’s the only reason you’re here. You feel sorry for me. I don’t need you to feel sorry for me. I’m fine; I’m doing fine.”

“You’re not fine, Liam,” I sigh. “You’re living in a dump and you look like hell.”

“Well,” he mutters, “not all of us are fuckin’ perfect like you, Avery. We don’t all get Daddy’s money, and we’re not all set up with Prince Charming to live a rich and happy life.”

I flinch and instantly become defensive.

“Dad got you this apartment, which was once worth a lot of money. He helps me with dancing because I give him enough respect to let him.”

“You’re his fuckin’ pride, Avery. He got me this apartment, but it’s nothing on the luxury you fuckin’ live in. You’re worthless without him; at least I’m having a go on my own, not leeching off him and his faggot sidekick.”

My jaw grinds and I struggle to keep calm. “I come here every week. I call you; I give you most of the money Dad gives me. I don’t keep any of it, Liam. I work for my money; I pay my rent, even though Dad doesn’t want it. I’m doing the right thing—what you’re doing is hurting me over nothing. I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to . . .”

“I don’t want your fucking help,” he roars. “I don’t want your fucking pity. Stop treating me like you’re my fucking mother. I don’t have a fucking mother—she’s fucking dead!”

Tears well in my eyes and I struggle to breathe. The door opens behind me and I feel hands on my shoulders.

“Go, Avery.”

It’s Kelly.

I turn and rush from the room, my legs wobbling. I hurry through the crowd, pushing until I reach the front door. I burst out and run to my car. I dig through my pockets—dammit, I can’t find my keys. I shove both hands in, but they’re empty. I look down through the window, and scream in frustration when I see I’ve locked them in. I kick the door, angry. I look around helplessly for a moment, and then decide I’m too angry to go back inside. I have a spare set at home. I’ll just walk.

I turn and walk off down the street, swiping my eyes furiously to stop the tears sliding down my cheeks. I hear cars going past me, but I keep my face down. It’s going to take me hours to get home, but I don’t care. I just need a break—I need the walk. Liam hurt me, and the sad thing is I understand it. He’s so broken, the forgotten child, and no matter how hard I try he won’t let me in.

But I’ll keep trying.

“Need a lift?”

I squeal and spin around, shocked by the voice that has suddenly popped up behind me. I see Nate in a chunky truck that completely suits his bad boy persona. He’s leaning out the window, cigarette in his mouth, eyes fixed on me.

“No,” I mutter, turning around, heart pounding.

I begin walking again.

“Kelly told me you live at least a two-hour walk away. It’s late, people are out that you don’t need to come in contact with, and you’re a girl. It’s dangerous and stupid. Get in the car.”

“I’m fine,” I say, not looking.

I don’t know how I missed the rumble of his car before, but now it’s taunting me as he slowly drives behind me.

“Get in the car, or I’ll get out and throw you in,” he orders.

I stiffen and turn, glaring at him. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“One.”

I gape. “Are you seriously counting at me? I’m not a child.”

“Two.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Three.”

He swings the door open, leaving the truck running and takes two steps towards me. Then he leans down, presses his shoulder to my belly and lifts me into the air. I’m hanging over his shoulder as if I weigh no more than a sack of potatoes. I squeal and slap his back, but there’s no budging him. He walks me around to the passenger door and opens it, throwing me inside.

“You’re a . . .”

He slams the door in my face, leaving me gaping. He’s at the driver’s side in a few seconds, and when he’s in, he turns to me.

I splutter a few times before I manage to get my words out. “Do you always throw women into your car in such a manner?”

He grins at me. “If the situation calls for it.”

I narrow my eyes at him, and cross my arms. “I don’t need your help.”

“I’m aware of that,” he says, pulling the car out and driving south towards my suburb.

“Then why are you here?”

“Kelly was worried. I was the only person not drinking, so I offered.”

“I could be a murderer.”

He chuckles. “If you could get close to me with a knife, I’d murder myself.”

“Hey! That’s mean!” I protest, uncrossing my arms and placing them on my knees.

“You weigh no more than a child, you’re a girl, and you’re a delicate one at that. If you managed to take someone my size down, then I don’t deserve my manhood.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. “I’ll make it my challenge to destroy your manhood.”

He grins at me.

“Kelly gave me your street, but what’s your house number?”

I rattle it off and he nods, turning in the direction of my apartment.

“So, tell me, Dancer, what do you do aside from dance?”

“I work at the local library. It’s only part-time, but I enjoy it.”

“A dancer in a library. You should write a book.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t judge.”

“No judgment here, honey.”

Honey. I bite my lip. I wish Jacob would speak to me so . . . affectionately.

“What about you?” I ask, but I notice my voice has softened.

“I ride. It’s what I do. It’s my job; it’s my life.”

“You do nothing else?”

He shakes his head. “At this point, no.”

“And do you have a girlfriend?”

He gives me a sideways glance and a cheeky grin. “Is Dancer asking if I’m available?”

I shake my head furiously, putting my hands up. “No, I’m . . . I mean . . . I’m taken, anyway. I was just making conversation.”

He raises his brows, but answers with, “I’m married.”

Of course he’s married.

“You’re so young,” I say. “How long have you been married for?”

“Six years.”

“That’s nice,” I say, wondering what his wife looks like. She’s probably stunning.

“What about you? Married or just taken?”

I huff. “Not married, but I’m sure it’s close.”

“You don’t sound too happy about that?”

I sigh and stare out the window, watching the trees flick past as we drive. It’s a gorgeous night out. I notice the stars shimmering in the sky. I think about how to explain my relationship with Jacob, without it sounding like it’s something from the early 1800s.

“Jacob is kind. He’s close to my father, and he’s a good man . . .”

Nate cuts me off. “You sound like you’re reading a resume.”

I sigh. “He’s always been what’s best for me; I care about him. He’s going to take my part of my father’s business and he’s got a good life set up for us.”

I dare to look at Nate, but his eyes are focused on the road. He’s got a puzzled expression on his face.

“Is he best for you . . . or your dad?”

“It’s not like that,” I say. “I care about him.”

“Okay, I believe you.”

“What about you?” I say, changing the subject.

“What about me?”

“Tell me about your wife.”

His face seems to harden. “She’s my wife; there’s not a lot to tell. We have a daughter, Macy, who’s three.”

I smile. “How sweet.”

He smiles too. “Not when she’s throwing herself on the ground in a rage.”

I laugh. “Girls, hey?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I reckon. This is you.”

I look out of the windscreen to see we have pulled up at my apartment. I turn to Nate. “Thanks for the lift.”

“Even though I had to throw you in against your will?”

I flush. “I’m a little headstrong sometimes.”

“You don’t say?”

I stare at the time and see it’s about eight p.m. It seems so much later than that.

“Thank you, though, really,” I whisper, looking up at him. “I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to walk home.”

“Your brother give you grief, eh?” he asks, training those green eyes onto mine.

“Yeah.”

He nods. “I’m sure he’ll come around.”

I take the handle, hesitate, and then turn back to him. “Do you want a drink or something?”

He stares at me for a long moment. “I can’t. I gotta get home.”

“Right,” I say, wanting to slap myself. What kind of girl asks a married man inside for a drink? Jesus. “Well, thank you.”

I get out of the car and am about to shut the door when he calls out, “Hey Dancer?”

I look back at him.

“You like watching motocross?”

I nod. “I haven’t seen it in person, but . . . yeah, I think I would.”

He shoves open his console and pulls out a ticket, handing it to me. “I ride tomorrow. If you’re not busy, come to the show.”

I stare at the ticket and then back up at him. “Thank you, I’ll try.”

He nods and then winks at me.

“Night.”

“Night, Nate.”

I shut the door and watch him disappear into the darkness.

“Y
ou’re late,” Lena says the moment I step through the front door.

I stare at her. She’s at the kitchen sink, cigarette in her mouth, black hair tied on top of her head. She turns her dark-blue gaze to mine and I narrow my eyes. She’s been drinking again; I can see it. Her eyes are glassy and her skin loses all it’s pink and instead is a pale white.

“Where’s Macy?”

“Sleepin’,” she mutters, dropping the cigarette into the sink. “Where were you?”

“Liam’s.”

“Why?”

I walk over and take a glass, filling it with the whiskey sitting on the counter. “He had a few friends over, I wanted to see how he was. I haven’t seen him or Kelly for a few months.”

“How is Kelly?” she asks, lifting herself onto the counter beside me.

Lena was once a stunning woman, and in a sense, she still is. She’s just let go of herself more now. Her dark hair isn’t silky like it used to be; instead it’s thrown up all the time, rarely brushed. Her skin is no longer that creamy porcelain I once adored. She’s still my wife though, and with that comes commitment that I can’t just walk away from.

Plus there’s Macy.

“He’s fine,” I answer her. “Still surfing.”

“You’re riding tomorrow,” she says, crossing her legs.

“Yeah.”

“I can’t make it. Jacinta wants to get her nails done. I told her I’d come. Can you take Macy?”

I turn to her, glaring. “How the fuck can I take Macy when I’m riding?”

“You’ve got plenty of friends. Ask one of them to watch her.”

“You know I don’t like that.”

She jumps off the bench. “I can’t take her with me, so you can take her with you or not ride, it’s up to you.”

“Riding is our fuckin’ income,” I bark. “I don’t have a choice.”

She shrugs. “I’m going to bed. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

I glare at her back as she walks away, furious that she continually puts something else before our daughter. I shoot back the last of the whiskey and head down to Macy’s room. I get in and see her curled on the bed, her blond hair spilling over the pillow. I don’t know where she got her blonde locks from, but I do believe Lena was blond as a child. Macy looks like me: her eyes, her skin, her face. Her hair is the only thing that Lena gave her.