Tug (14 page)

“It’s okay to wake him. You can’t possibly carry him all the way back to my place.”

“Nonsense. Of course I can.”

We walk back to my apartment, and he holds Javier the entire time without complaint.

I open my door, and Tug asks where Javier’s bedroom is. He follows me to my bedroom, the bedroom I share with Javier. Papa and I cannot afford more than a two-bedroom. Tug lays Javier on the bed and takes off his shoes. I find his toy train in the bag and set it next to him.

“Can’t forget that,” I whisper. “He’s kind of attached.”

Tug laughs quietly. “Nothing wrong with that, but I’d hate to roll over on it in the middle of the night.”

“Done it, and it hurts, but he loves it. Papa took him to see the trains up north and bought it for him. It was their last trip together before his mind went. Javier’s been obsessed with trains ever since.”

“There are worse things to obsess on.”

Don’t I know? I’ve been obsessed with Tug Hunter since the moment I laid eyes on him.

“True, but he takes that toy everywhere with him. It’s not like it’s valuable or anything, but Del says he’s getting too old to carry it around all the time.”

He shrugs, looking down on Javier sweetly. “It’s not the toy that has value. It’s the memory attached to the train that’s priceless, and if it makes him feel secure, then what the hell does Del know? Someday, he’ll find assurance within himself, and he’ll no longer need it.”

I sigh on the inside, a long, drawn out, swoon-worthy sigh. When he says things like that, I want to forget how much he hurt me, but I can’t. He’s a head case and if given the opportunity, he will hurt me again.

We slip quietly out of the room, and I close the door. I peek across the hall into Papa’s room. The television is blaring, but he’s asleep. I go into his room and turn down the volume. Smiling, I place a blanket over him and then leave, closing the door after me. Tug’s eyes are on me the entire time.

We walk to the living room and sit on the couch. Nerves make my stomach feel queasy, and I wonder if he feels the same way. I don’t know what to say or why the hell I allowed him to come home with me. Tug speaks first.

“I want you to know that I’m not that guy.”

“So … What … You’re either some other guy, or you’re real name is Tuglima and you were born with a va-jay-jay.”

I think he smiles, but I can’t look at him because his eyes are saying things I don’t want them to.

“How did my va-jay-jay feel when I fucked you in the shower?”

Holding back my shock is difficult, but I know it’s the desired reaction, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of showing him I’m rattled. “Am I supposed to be so stunned now that I’ll sit quietly and listen to you grovel?”

“I never grovel.” His expression hardens. “I was simply curious how far you would go to distract attention from the conversation we should be having.”

I want to scream. He’s not easily manipulated, but he’s exceptionally skilled at doing it to others.

“Oh, I can go pretty damn far. The shower was incredible until you snapped and turned into ‘that guy’, whoever the fuck he is. So, tell me, who are you now? If there’s like five of you in there, I’d kind of like to know so I can prepare myself.”

I expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. His features soften and his expression shows a vulnerability that worries me.

“You aren’t going to make this easy on me, are you?”

“Should I?”

He sighs. “I’m not pretending anymore. I like you. I tried to be someone I wasn’t because it was easier than being who I am. I want to apologize to you for how I treated you. What I did was unacceptable. I didn’t mean for things happen that way.”

It feels nice to hear him apologize, but I’m not sure it changes how I feel about him. I give him a small smile and say, “Wishing you could take it back, and not meaning to do it, are two different things. You meant for it to happen exactly as it did. You just didn’t get the results you’d hoped for.”

He stares at his shoes. “I think maybe I did.”

The thought that he feels he gained something from his stunt is unsettling. He speaks with little remorse and it bothers me. “You got back at Tori for breaking your heart, and that made you happy. You might need psychological help if you don’t see why that’s wrong.”

He laughs a deep belly laugh. “I love how you aren’t afraid to call me out on my shit, but that wasn’t what I meant. I didn’t get back at her, but I got her back, and that makes me happy.”

“Well, since you love that I ‘call you out on your shit,’ you might be delusional. Last I heard, she married Brady.”

“She did, and I got the slap in the face I needed.”

And reality hits me, but I’m not a complete doormat. “Oh, I get it now. Look, Tug, I’m not interested in being anyone’s rebound. I told you, my life is complicated. I don’t have room for anything or anyone else. You don’t understand. Raising my son, and dealing with my grandpa, making sure he takes the correct medicines and gets to his appointments. It’s a lot and it’s all I have time for. My plate is full.”

His expression twists to one of concern. “I don’t want to complicate your life any further, but I like you. I want to be friends.”

I almost laugh. “Really? You want to be friends? How does Crazy Red feel about that?”

He blanches. “I don’t give a shit how she feels. We broke up.”

“Oh. Well, clearly you’re very stable and would never complicate my life.”

He scrubs his face with his hands. A sign he’s frustrated. I’m sure he isn’t challenged by most women, but I’m not most women, and I’m not interested in landing him to gain country club status. My life’s goal isn’t to brag to all my friends about my rich husband, while we sip champagne, ogling the shirtless pool boy.

“I deserve that, but have you ever been lost? I’ve been through some things that changed me, but I’m trying to find my way back.”

Do spiders have eight legs? Does water turn to ice in the freezer? Have I ever been lost? I’m still lost.

I pat his knee and speak softly, hoping to let him down easy. “I understand what you’re going through. I’m on a journey, too. Maybe if we were closer to the finish, we could be friends. But we both have a long way to go. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“You can. I know you can.” His words are so focused, so insistent, that I want to believe him, but I’m not ready or able to be friends with him.

“How you treated me was a slap in the face for me as well. I spent a great deal of time justifying being a hooker. What you did made me realize there wasn’t a reason valid enough to live with the shame of that lifestyle. I’ve never felt more like a prostitute than I did with you. As weird as it sounds, I should probably thank you. I want more for me, and my son, but I have to find my way alone, and depend on myself.”

His forehead creases, a pained expression marring his features. “I used to think that, but it’s a lonely life.”

Those words hit hard. I am lonely. I have Javier, but I crave an intimate love that makes me feel special. It’s wrong. “I think you should leave,” I say firmly, begging my voice not to break.

Tug stands, and our gazes meet. Our feelings clash between us in the charged air as conflict and agreement battle for control.

“I’m not giving up,” he says. “You want this, too. You’ll see.”

“Ah, Mr. Overly Cocky is back. I thought you weren’t ‘that guy’.”

“When it comes to getting what I want, I’m so ‘that guy’.”

“Oh, I see, so it’s a matter of convenience?”

“Sometimes. Like you don’t have confidence in some area’s that you use to your benefit?”

“No.” I might be lying. “I try not to manipulate people.”

“Uh-huh.” The backs of his fingers brush softly across my cheek. “Who came in the shower with a purpose, Maria or Monica?”

My cheeks flame red. “You got me there, but that doesn’t change anything.”

“You’re wrong. I’m going to show you that you don’t want to be alone.”

I already know I don’t want to be alone, but it’s the choice I made years ago when I acted on impulse and fled my old life.

Tug leaves, and I crawl into bed and cry until every inch of my body aches.

G
randpa’s and a female voice drift into my room. I have no idea what time it is, but the sun is out and shining in my eyes through the open window. Who’s here? I have a moment of panic that we’ve been found, that our years of running have caught up to us. I bolt from the bed and swing the door open. A middle-aged woman with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail smiles at me. She’s wearing purple scrubs and is helping Papa down the hall.

“Who are you?” I ask rudely.

“I’m Veronica. Franco’s nurse.” She introduces herself and holds her hand out. “I’m here to help you.”

I ignore her hand and say, “Papa doesn’t have a nurse. Where did you come from?”

“The Harrington Health Agency.”

“Who hired you?”

“I don’t know,” she answers as she continues helping Papa down the hall to the living room. I follow them. “I’ve been assigned to your grandfather for the next year.”

“Where’s Javier?”

“Oh, I dropped him off at school this morning, and there’s breakfast in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

I’m far too pissed to be hungry.

T
here’s a knock on my door—more like a loud pounding—that vibrates the walls. When I answer it, an aggravated Maria storms into my place. I’d been expecting her, but somehow thought I would receive a friendlier greeting and a heartfelt thank-you. My eyes roam over her perfect ass, and I imagine what it would feel like under my palm, smacking it from behind. In tight-fitting jeans and a skimpy top, she’s every man’s fantasy. She spins to face me. The anger coloring her cheeks makes her even sexier. It’s the same color from the morning we spent together in the shower.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she screams through gritted teeth.

Oh, no. She is not going to be mad at me for this. I move close to her and grip her arms above the elbows. Her eyes widen. She sucks in a quick breath and holds it. I lean in close and inhale her scent. It’s sweet like honey and vanilla.

Mine.

She swallows, releasing her breath. I bring my lips to her ear and exhale softly.

“Hello, sweet girl,” I whisper and skim my lips along her jaw. I touch my nose to hers and gaze into her beautiful amber-colored eyes, probing her. She turns her head, knowing her eyes will be truthful. “I thought I made it clear that I would prove you don’t have to be alone. I’m not giving up. I want you.”

She struggles and tries to pull away, but I hold tight.

“I don’t want you paying for a nurse,” she says, trying to sound adamant.

“I want to.”

“Call the agency and cancel it, right now.”

“No!”

I move my hands to her waist and latch my hands together behind her back. She looks at me with burning intensity. The fire in her eyes isn’t anger, and she knows it.

“I mean it! I don’t need your fucking help.” Her palms slap against my chest, and she yells, “I can take care of my grandfather!”

I lock her arms underneath mine at her sides so she can’t slap me again. My lips graze over hers, and I trace the seam of her mouth with my tongue. She turns her head, refusing to let me kiss her.