Purple Haze (Blue Dream Book 2) (10 page)

Presley

Bouncing like a bunny, I cross the finish line dead last. The toddler in front of me giggles seconds after and runs over for a huge hug. In one swoop, she's in my arms and we're laughing together. These are the moments I know for an indisputable certainty I do indeed have the best career in the entire world. Sure, most days are filled with tours for parents who consider their offspring a burden rather than a blessing, enough paperwork to replant a forest, and employees who at times get along as well as the small children in their care, but it's all worth it for the sound of a child's laughter. The look of joy on their face when you take the time to bond with them. To prove to them that even though they're young and small, they matter. Their choices matter. Sometimes as adults I think we forget just how important that is to feel regardless of age.

I hand Jenny over to her mother who thanks me for running the race at her daughter's request. They stroll away to the left while I jog to the right where Katherine is watching her husband and daughter play on the playground.

She doesn't even give me a glance when I sit down on the bench beside her. “I can't believe you got your face painted.”

“Why not? It's the summer carnival! It's supposed to be fun!”

Katherine rolls her head over to me with a sarcastic look.

“What!” I shrug innocently. “This event, just like the Halloween and Christmas festival are so much fun! Look around. Everyone is smiling. Laughing. Not only looking like families but
acting
like it. I love it.”

She gives me a crooked smile. “It's like looking at someone from the movie Cocoon.”

Her comment is met with a glare.

“You are like a completely different person,” Katherine continues to gush. “Don't get me wrong. I love seeing you energized and passionate about so much more now, but it's gonna take a minute to adjust to.” When I laugh she states, “I left a heartbroken borderline recluse and returned to a bubbly, overzealous social butterfly.”

Waving to a passing family who is calling my name, I argue, “I am not exactly a social butterfly.”

“Says the woman who went to a midnight showing two weeks ago-”

“It was a movie!”

“And a dessert tasting last week.”

“It was free and I like cake!”

“Let's not forget to mention the impromptu drive down to the coast you made sometime Monday after work, only to get into work for
half
a day on Tuesday.”

Her recollection brightens my smile. It was Ryder's idea to get in the car and just drive. We had both gotten off at the same time, grabbed a burger he didn't like me paying for, and reminisced about the simple days when we would just cruise around for the hell of it. After deciding to let him drive my car instead of his, the two of us got in and simply drove with no end destination. Somehow we reached the coastline, four hours from us, and walked along the beach under the moonlight before finding a secluded area to make love under it. I have to admit, washing sand out of my lady parts wasn't fun, even
with
Ryder's help.

“I'm dating,” my defense sounds weak. “That's what people do when they date, right? They go places. They do things. They play hookie from work.”

She pins me with a stare of disapproval. “Yeah, I don't know about that last one.”

Folding my arms across my chest I snip, “It's not like it's something I do often. Hell, I don't even take vacations. I work all the time, Katherine. Or at least I did until Ryder gave me a reason not to.”

“And
that's
what worries me.” The voice I'm learning I don't enjoy takes over. “There's nothing wrong with dating or falling in love, Presley. Nothing at all. It's the speed you're going. You're not eighteen any more. You have an actual life with actual responsibilities and as much fun as I'm sure it would be to abandon them all to have sex all day that's not logical. Or healthy.”

Imaging the change in lifestyle to that forces me to cross my legs. I'm not sure I would have a voice or the capability to walk again.

“I understand life with Xander was....a big dull blimp of time and I understand how exciting it probably is to be getting daily reminders of how much someone thinks about you, but the key to lasting happiness isn't switching from one extreme to the other Presley. It's finding a balance.”

Her words shift my eyes back to the playground where her, now officially one year old, daughter is waving at us.  Unfortunately she's right. I can't keep my head in the clouds like this
and
run a lucrative business. Hell, since Ryder and I have been back together I've started making a habit of letting workloads pile up until the last minute, which isn't how I operate. The new found action isn't up to the standards I set for myself at all. Neither is skipping half a day of work because of a whim. This school has been my biggest dream, right beside being with him. I don't want to give up one for the other. Hopefully with a little reminder from my best friend I can prevent that from ever becoming a possibility.

I wiggle my fingers back at Angel who is at the top of the slide. “You're right.”

“I know I'm right.” Katherine blows kisses to her. “This is kind of my specialty. Didn't you see the New York Times Best Seller sticker on my hardback?” After my faint chuckle she adds, “Speaking of, my publisher wants me to write another study on relationships.”

Shaking my head, I surrender my hands. “Nope. Whatever it is count me out.”

“But it involves the different stages of relationships from first meetings, to courtship, to dating...which you are currently doing by the way.”

With a smirk I deny her request, “Prudence is closed for business.”

“We'll see.” Katherine looks the direction of her family. “Where is Prudence's new boyfriend by the way? Why haven't I met him? Why didn't you let him come to Angel's party again?”

I wasn't ready for that possible suicide mission. “It was just family, remember?”

She hums and continues her investigation, “And why didn't you let him help you with Sundae Sunday?”

“Because I didn't need his help. I can do my job all by myself. I've been doing it that way for years. Besides, that's how the employees collect some of their training hours.”

“What about patio furniture shopping yesterday after work? Did you take him with you to do that?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I? It wasn't a big deal. It wasn't hard to do on my own. It was actually easier that way.”

“Right.” The pause in her speech concerns me. “Just curious...why isn't he here having fun now?”

“He had to work and then had plans. We've got plans tomorrow,” I casually answer, the urge to check for a message from him increasing.

He sends several a day. Not all of them are romantic, but they all feel that way to me. When you're used to having someone only text you reminders or informative updates, having the opposite is something you treasure tremendously.

“Other plans?”  It's hard to pretend her suspicions aren't similar to my own. “With who?”

“Not sure,” I mumble.

“And you're okay with that?” She places a cautious hand on my leg. “Given with what has happened in the past?”

“You were right when you said the Ryder I'm dating now and the one I dated in the past, are not the same person. However, if I'm going to give him a second chance then I have to be all in. There has to be some sort of trust or I really still am that nerdy teenage girl who didn't know how to be in a healthy relationship.”

To my surprise Katherine nods at my point. “True. Just...don't confuse trusting some with deliberately ignoring what's right in front of you.”

Learning to trust him is a process to say the least. Not turning into the insecure adolescent I was before is proving to be almost as difficult. But he's given me no reason to not trust him. I believed him when he bared his sins to me at the diner. I just pray I'm not setting myself up for a failure of epic proportions.

“He was up front from the beginning about his past and his intentions for the future. Until he gives me a reason otherwise, I trust him.”

Katherine doesn't argue with me. She simply hums as a response. It's unclear if it's in approval or not, but it doesn't matter because unlike the last time we were together, I know it doesn't matter what other people think. It's not about them. It's about us.  It's about what
we
feel is best. Neither of us were capable of living like that before, being young and too impressionable. So far we've manage to make the best of this second round and I believe we'll continue to, even if it means dealing with a few bad cards along the way.

Ryder

I tug on my light blue shirt with a smile. Presley loves me in various shades of this color. She can't help but fawn over how it brings out my eyes, which she then stares into until I'm so overtaken with the urge to kiss her I can't fucking think straight. Just the thought of kissing her now is waking up parts I won't be using for at least another six hours.

On my way to the kitchen, Merrick's spread of text books and art supplies across the entire living room startles me. “You're home.”

“I am,” my roommate grunts in response and slips the pencil he was holding behind his ear. “So are you.”

“Off today.” I grab a bottle of orange juice from the fridge. I try to keep it in the house if possible for Presley. I've began to notice at her house, it's her favorite go to drink, so I started keeping some here. I want her to feel at home here. I've been trying to do little things to let her know that when I can. Can't exactly buy her diamond earrings or dozens of roses every time I want her to know I care. That fact scrapes at old desires I know would help soothe the insecurities. “Taking Pres to the carnival. Cheap and easy fun. What about you? What are you working on?”

“Well,” Merrick starts just as I scrutinize his surroundings.

The way he's sitting on the floor, back leaned against the couch, slaving away reminds me of an English project Presley had when we were in high school. She was so desperate to get an A she barely acknowledged me for the entire week, which drove me crazy. Pres was always great about making sure I had enough of her attention. Making sure I felt like I had a purpose in her world. That she not only wanted, but needed me. Sometimes I wonder if I require too much from her. Too much attention. Too much effort. Too much thought. Sometimes when we're separated I question the level of co-dependency I feel I'm slipping back into. I'm determined to find a better balance than we used to have. I just didn't think this shit would be this fucking hard.

Merrick's voice lifts, “Seriously?”

Unaware of why he got louder or what he's really questioning, I sheepishly ask, “What?”

“If you don't fucking care what I'm doing, that's fine, but don't waste time asking.”

I lean both my hands on the counter and state with sincerity, “Sorry. It wasn't intentional. You just reminded me of something that had to with Pres and my brain took off that direction. Whenever my mind starts to think about it her it gets clogged. Nothing else seems to get through.”

With a nod he says, “You're in a Purple Haze.”

Skeptical I shoot back, “The marijuana fog?”

“No, the art term. It happens when an artist is so passionate about their project nothing else seems to exist. The artist eats, sleeps, and breathes it. Every thought and decision is made with it in mind. Essentially, it ends up driving most mad and at the very least causing an artist to make irrational choices or have erratic behavior.” His description tightens the muscles in my neck. “I've been in it myself before. Be careful. Come up for air once in a while.”

This is exactly what makes my mind frozen in fear at times. Presley has always been something I'm addicted too. I've felt the negative effects ten-fold. I was under the assumption this time around when I committed to making things different, I actually would. I promised myself, her, we wouldn't make the same mistakes yet here I am, letting everything about her cloud my judgment. Merrick's point is valid. In the past, being so obsessed with trying to hold onto the little bit of Pres I had left, drove me to actions I don't think I would have taken under other circumstances. If I'm not careful I could crash back into the very lifestyle I'm steadily trying to make progress away from.

I clear my throat and agree, “Right.”

After a long, hard, look searching out doubts of my attention being elsewhere he asks, “Do you wanna know about what I'm working on or not?”

“Yeah.” Making my way over to the living room with the orange juice bottle in hand I insist, “What the hell has you commandeering the apartment floor space with art books?”

“We were given a word at random and told to create a piece of artwork to represent it. We're also required to write an explanation on why we chose each detail and document if it had influence from another artist or moment in history. I got humanity.”

I sit on the arm of the couch. “Fitting.”

“Yeah, well, if that's not enough to keep my day busy, I've got 96 pages of Art History that should've been history a week ago. Apparently that test crept up a little faster than I anticipated.”

With a small chuckle I state, “Life of a college student.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Does that mean Jo is banned from the apartment so you can actually study?”

“More like I'm studying because she's not around to distract me. It's girl's night or some shit.”

His previous sentence echoes in my head. He meant it when he said he knew first hand. Merrick's college education is on the line and he barely has enough willpower to complete a project unless his girlfriend is away. I've seen them together. I've seen the look in his eye when she's around. I have the exact same one. Maybe that's why we get along. I'll admit having someone around who understands the intensity of my love for Pres ceases some of the loitering anxiety. Who knows… maybe we'll end up reminding each other to breathe fresh air when the billows of smoke from the women become too strong. I don't think we're friends yet. But I think we will be.

**

“Open wide,” Presley demands seconds before another piece of popcorn comes flying at my face from across the picnic table. Managing to catch this one causes her to toss her hands up in victory. “Score!”

After swallowing the piece, I chuckle, “You're getting better.”

“You know I've never been good at sports,” she says having a piece herself.

“Your coordination is terrible.”

Presley playfully scoffs at me and throws another piece, this time with the intention of hurting me. When I catch it with my mouth instead, she grumbles in dissatisfaction.

“Well, not all your coordination.”  my comment immediately lightens the mood back and spreads a different flush of color to her cheeks.

She pushes the bag at me. “We should probably get moving before all this food makes my jeans tighter than they already are.”

Defensively I argue, “Nothing wrong with tight jeans, Pres. You look good. It's obvious you're fit and make a habit of taking care of yourself. That and you calling me before your kickboxing classes.”

“Well, if I keep eating like this I'll look like a cow. Do you wanna date a cow?”

“I'd marry the cow,” I validate with a smile. “You're beautiful any size, baby. You never have to worry about me thinking otherwise.”

Her face lights up in such a way it pangs my chest. She hasn't heard that before or at the very least in a significant amount of time. Fucking pathetic. What kind of asshole doesn't assure his girlfriend how sexy she is? How gorgeous he finds her? What kind of man doesn't take the time out of his fucking life to remind her what a wonderful woman she is? I already hate her ex for being a part of her life, but now I hate him more for making the same mistakes I did. Presley deserves to be treasured at every possible fucking moment.

The two of us walk around killing time before the bull riding competition is scheduled to start. We ride the safer looking ride while sharing laughs and brief kisses. They have to be short in public. With the two of us, most of the time, there seems to only be an on switch.

“Can't believe you've never been to the carnival,” I sigh as we stop to play a plate shooting game.

“When I was in college some of my friends went, but I was either working, studying, or...” Her voice trails off at the same time she lifts her toy gun. “Or working.”

Following her action, I state, “Sounds like you work too much.”

“I had rent to pay,” she announces and fires away rapidly.

Each pinging sound burrows into my chest acting as a less than subtle reminder, I should've been around to help her make rent. I should've been around to take care of her. I owed her that. I wanted to give her that. It should've been
us
studying,
us
making rent.
Our
friends.

By the end of the game, neither of us have hit anything. “Besides, it's not like we were best friends, more like just classmates. I didn't make many friends in college.” The slight dip in cheerfulness sparks a reaction to drop an arm of comfort around her. “Anyway, what about you? Did you end up going to college?”

We steadily approach the ball pitching game. “Community.”

“Didn't want to transfer?”

“Dropped out.” I pay the guy for a basket of balls and put them between us. “Almost wished I hadn't. Big Mike wants to open up another shop and has hinted heavily at wanting to me to run it at some point. At the very least, he wants me be the head mechanic. Turns out I've got a natural talent with cars.”

Presley lights up. “That's great! Congratulations!”

“It would be if I had finished school of any kind.”

Her pitch misses completely and she surrenders the remaining full basket to me. “You can't run a shop without a degree?”

“No.” I toss a hard pitch and shake a bottle. “Big Mike says the head mechanic job is mine if I'm willing to at least go back to a technical school for proper certification.”

Nonchalantly she questions, “So why don't you?”

“Barely make enough to cover my bills and pay my brother back as it is.” The ball flies from my grasp. “Besides, school is a commitment. Between that and work, there would be virtually no time for you.” My eyes meet hers. “And I'm in no hurry to be away from you more than I already am.”

She grins wide and slides her hands into her back jean pockets. “I'm not going anywhere.”

With a smile of my own I turn back to trying to win the game I know is rigged.

“In fact I can think of several ways to make studying more fun,” the sexual implication has me groaning through the pitch.

In a low heated tone I ask, “Is that right?”

My girlfriend leans her body against the empty counter space next to me. “Uh-huh.” When I smile again she adds, “And if you don't wanna borrow the money from Noah, you can always borrow it from me. I'm more than willing to help.”

Her offer tightens my fingers around the final ball. Instead of replying, I pull back and throw the damn thing with everything I've got. The group of six bottle, which seem to be impossible to topple over, fly off the stand. Anger surges up the back of my neck with nowhere else to go. My jaw ticks.

“Winner!” Announces the man running the booth. Joyfully he points to the hanging selection. “You can have your choice of the large stuffed animals.”

My attention silently roams over the selection until I spot something that strikes me. I point to the panda and immediately transfer it to Presley's clutches. The man wishes us a wonderful evening as we stroll away.

She adjusts the over-sized stuffed creature. “Thanks for my new bear.”

A grin should come easily at her gratitude yet it doesn't. Another rush of rage jolts through my veins forcing my hands to cower in my pockets. “You're welcome.”

Abruptly Presley stops in her tracks. As soon as I do, she impatiently waits for me to bridge the gap. The second I do she snaps, “Did I do something to piss you off?”

Through gritted teeth I confess, “Not technically.”

“Then what the hell is your problem?”  Not used to the affliction in her tone, it boils the anger again.  My unresponsiveness lifts her eyebrows. “I'm expecting an answer.”

I don't give her one.