Mending Michael (14 page)

MICK

She tastes too good.

The girl I hate.

This girl I can't stand.

This girl I can't stand to be away from.

This girl I'm falling for so badly it hurts.

Like a moth to a flame, I can't stay away from Holly. And I'm so afraid I'm gonna get burned. Again. I'm not so sure my heart could stand another blow.

Yet here I am.

Falling again.

My hands travel up her neck to hold her face and abruptly, I unlatch my lips from hers, peering into her eyes once again. But because I am so fucking afraid, I breathe out, "I fuckin' hate you so much."

Two small fists rap hard against my chest. "You are so fucking screwed up." She continues punching at me until she falls against my chest crying. "Why? Why do you hate me so much? My God, all I do is try and try...I just want to be your friend. What the fuck?" She trails off. In tears. Something I'd never thought she'd do in front of me. And I'm not proud of it.

Once again, I encompass her in my arms, but this time, I don't kiss her.

I hold her.

And run a hand over the back of her head, while I lean my chin on top of it.

I don't say anything.

I can't.

But I let the drumming of my heart pound against the beating of hers, until chest to chest, our hearts are beating in sync.

It's all I can give her right now.

Because I hate her.

I hate her for making me fall in love with her.

HOLLY

I have to be crazy myself for standing here in his arms, when I know damn well that glacial exterior of his is going to reach out and sting me again.

And I
don't
cry. Not in front of people anyway. So what the hell is it about Mick freaking Michael Ross that has me blubbering like my mother? Goddammit, I am not some shrinking violet willing to take a man's shit. So why am I taking
his
?

I gather my assertiveness and push at his chest again. Only this time, I shove him so hard I knock him down. "Fucking get your shit together before you kiss me again, because that bullshit's just gotta stop."

He sits on the sand, eyes wide, looking up at me.

So what do I do?

I kick the fucking sand at him. I know…I’m too mean for my own good. I don’t want to be mean. I really don’t. It’s crazy though, these emotions that are triggered when I’m with him. I want to apologize. I stand there, looking at him, contemplating how to begin, when suddenly I see fire in his eyes.

"You fucking bitch," he yells, getting up and coming after me.

I run from him. I run so fast, I smack into the metal railing going up the ramp. I'm holding on to my side, in an attempt to make the pain go away, when his left hand lands on the railing to the left of me, and his right hand cages me. Behind me, I can feel his breath racing, and I don't think it's from chasing after me. As my own breathing picks up, his arms bend, enabling him closer to me. I don't dare turn around, because I have a feeling he wants to kiss me again, and I won't give in. I can't give in. I meant what I had said, he has to get his shit together before I'll let him put his mouth on me one more time.

So I stand there. My back to him. His breath on my neck, his body hovering behind me. I close my eyes, willing him to walk away. Because if he doesn't, my body
will
betray me.

Once his breathing gets to the point where I think his lungs are going to explode, he violently pushes off the railing, uncaging me, and muttering, "Fuck. Me."

Slowly, I turn around, leaning against the railing and getting my own breathing under control. Because Oh. My. God. He wanted me. I felt it in his pants. And if he hadn't turned away, I think I would have pushed him back down on the sand and fallen on top of him. Then I would have found myself going against my word and kissing the heck out of him.

After grabbing hold of my composure, I walk up the ramp and sit on a bench that overlooks the ocean. While I'm brushing the sand off my bare feet, I watch Mick, down at the water's edge, his head down, struggling internally with something.

Kenna?

Charity?

Me?

A secret that I know he holds close to his chest?

My Docs tied, my feet propped against the boardwalk railing, I'm busy contemplating what the heck could be Mick's secret, if there even is a secret, when I see him walking up toward the boards. He doesn't go up the ramp, though. He heads straight for me...though I'm behind the railing, and he's beneath me on the beach.

His lips are pursed, his face determined. After a brief rise of his shoulders, he exhales a long breath. "I don't have my shit together. You're right," he admits, crossing his arms on the railing where I just dropped my feet from. "But I'm trying." He hesitates, and I decide he's most likely biting his inner cheek again. "If you can be...patient...while I try...well, I'd appreciate that. 'Cause, well, truth is...I don't really hate you." His eyes close, and he shakes his head. "I just," he opens his eyes and looks up at me, "hate the way you make me feel
things. I'm not comfortable with it, so..." he trails off, bending his neck to bring his chin to his chest.

I think about this for a minute. Plus, it gives me time to cool the blush that's forming in my cheeks. Unable to control the sigh slash giggle that escapes my gut, I cause him to frown.

Quickly, I correct that, by leaning over the railing and yanking him by the neck of his snug, sinewy-chest-revealing, gray t-shirt and pulling him towards me. Since he's quite tall, I don't have to lean down too far to bring my mouth to his. I don't kiss him. Not yet. Rather, with my lips barely brushing his, I whisper, "Don't mess with me...and I'll be patient."

His wide eyes darken with the dilation of his pupils, and his lip quirks just a bit on the right.

"Now buy me a cheeseburger. I'm hungry, and you owe me," I demand, pulling away from him.

Still standing beneath me, his hands now wrapped around the lower railing, he drops his chin. "Why do I owe you?" he asks, not getting it.

"For putting me through your bullshit."

He raises his brow and lets go of the railing. "Fair enough."

I meet him at the top of the ramp leading from the beach, and he whispers something really softly.

"What?" I ask, quite loudly, I might add.

He drops his head and says louder, "I'm sorry."

I smile. "Thank you. And I’m sorry too. I’m not the easiest person to get along with,” I admit.

He nods and as we start walking, I feel his hand lightly brush against mine. When I turn to look at him, he's already looking at me. That's when he entwines his fingers with mine.

We wordlessly walk to the hamburger vendor and order a cheeseburger and a cola each. Mick pays, I thank him. Again, we eat our burgers as we walk, silently observing the people and places on the Seaside Heights boardwalk, but barely saying a word to each other. Though we
are
holding hands again.

As we pass the old carousel, the fudge shop, and the many money-sucking arcades, I realize that something has definitely changed between us. And I think the realization is sinking in for him as well.

Maybe I'm just speaking for myself here, but we don't really know where to go from here.

MICK

Okay, maybe I don't hate her anymore.

Maybe I never did.

Didn't someone once say, "There is a fine line between love and hate?"

Do I
not
see that line?

All I know is, before Holly started working at the bar, I'd kept my distance because of the intermittent bursts of electricity that spread through my veins at the sight of her. Plus, I'd been an engaged man. But once she'd started being a regular fixture in my pitiful life, even though I'd long since broken things off with Lara, I couldn't handle the fire that raged through my blood when she was near me. I
can't
handle it. Still.

I'm at a difficult point in my sister's life. I don't even have my own shit together, as Holly so considerately pointed out, yet I need to straighten out my sister's life at the same time. I don't have time to sort through my feelings for a girl. I put that behind me when I shut the door on Lara. If I open my heart to Holly, how do I know she won't do the same thing as Lara? How do I know she won't crush my heart? She certainly has the capability of doing so.

But the feeling of her hand in mine, like it is right now, feels so good, and it's these moments where I want to toss aside all my reservations and embrace the beauty of Holly—her sarcasm and all.

Until the moments when I'm kissing her, and it scares me half to death.

I'm supposed to be sad. I have a little girl in foster care, where she does
not
belong. I can't be contemplating a new relationship. I shouldn't be walking on the boardwalk of Seaside Heights.

I let go of Holly's hand, no warning, and blurt, "We gotta go."

"Go where?"

"Home. Right now."

"Oh...kay." She shakes her head. "Why so suddenly?"

I stop, turn toward her, and snarl unintentionally, and more for me than for her. "Why am I here, Holly? Kenna's probably somewhere crying...hurting...and I'm here. Down the shore. Where she would love to be right now. Riding the merry-go-round, winning stuffed animals. My God, how unfair is that?"

She nods, understanding. "I know. It isn't fair." Holly shrugs. "So let's go. When we get home, we can run through a list of lawyers that you can call tomorrow. I'll give my dad a call, see if there's anyone he knows."

I run the back of my fingers along her cheek. "Thanks."

All the way up the Parkway, my thoughts go from that lady taking Kenna, to guilt over taking Holly down the shore, to “if only Holly would move her hand lower down my jeans.” I know…sick. I’m going through this terrible turmoil, yet I can’t keep myself from thinking about Holly’s hands wrapped around my waist, so close to my dick.

As the minutes pass by, I try to close my mind of all thoughts, but I can’t, and though my heart hurts for Kenna, my increasing desire for Holly is taking up its own lion’s share of my heart.

Her hands are not still on my stomach, and with each movement, my desire grows, both in my heart and in my pants. I’m nothing but a perverted male who thinks of nothing but sex. My niece has been uprooted abruptly, and I can’t stop thinking about my sexual needs? What an ass I am.

But it’s Holly. And something about my desire for her is more than just sexual. I know that. I feel it.

***

After dropping Holly off, without a kiss I so desperately wanted to leave her with, I go to my apartment and fight the urge to go downstairs and have a drink. I don't know who or what I'll be dealing with tomorrow, so I try to keep my head sober and my veins clean.

My phone has one missed call—Chief Paul, who didn't leave a message.

"Yello," he says, answering on the first ring.

"Chief. Mick. You called?"

"Micky, yes. Meet me at the station at ten tomorrow. Gotchya an appointment with my friend Carmine. Big domestic lawyer. He's willing to do it pro-bono. But Mick. You do
exactly
what he says. Got it? He wants you to move, you move. Wants you to get a new job, you get a new job. Christ, he asks you to jump off the GW, goddammit, you do it. 'Kay?"

"Yeah, Chief. Hey. Thank you so much."

"We got your back."

The Mack truck size weight that'd been sitting on my chest since Kenna was taken from us eases. It's now the size of an average-sized car, if I'm going to compare the weights of my burden.

Finally, this nonsense will end, and Kenna will come home.

Since the first person I think of is Holly, I call her and tell her the news. Of course, she's excited and offers to come with me, but I tell her I should probably go alone. She agrees. After we hang up, though, I kind of regret declining her offer. I may need the moral support. I really don't want to mess this up tomorrow. For Kenna. For Charity.

Oh my God, poor T. She never meant to put Kenna in danger. She never asked for this disease. It's not her fault she was born to alcoholic parents. But we're all responsible for our own actions, I suppose. And endangering a toddler's life—well, there is no excuse. There can't be.

So now I'm fighting my own addictions to keep Kenna safe.

To get her back.

I'm not an alcoholic. I don't think so. But this weekend has been difficult. For as long as I can remember, I'd had a drink in my hand. It's how I cope. It's how I'd watch my parents cope. It's their addiction that started this all. It's their addiction that caused the mess that has become T's and my, and now Kenna's, life. T and I are by-products of alcoholic, drug-addicted parents, and now the brunt of it is being borne by an innocent child...again.

But I can't have a drink.