Wet Part 3 (30 page)

“Rhees?” He made his way over to her with concern. “When was the last time you ate?”

She seemed reluctant to answer.

“Yesterday.”

“Yesterday, at lunch?” It was the last time they’d eaten together. His jaw set and his mouth twitched. It took all his reserve to speak calmly. “Why didn’t you have dinner?”

“Because you left me.” She hung her head, not necessarily in shame, but likely because she hated the way he looked at her.

It was his turn to drop his head. He stared at the deck floor for an uncomfortable few seconds, trying to keep his cool. He massaged the back of his neck, but then he reached for her arm and pulled, a little too roughly, not because he was angry with her. He was just so angry with himself.

“Come on.”

She gave him a foul, disbelieving look, and tried to free herself, but he dragged her away.

“Let go,” she said quietly, embarrassed in front of everyone on the deck.

“We’re getting you something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He dragged her across the Plank and past several of their favorite lunch spots close to the shop.

“You’re hurting me,” she finally let him know.

He let go as fast as he could. “I’m sorry,” he said, holding his hands up, mortified, and searching her eyes for forgiveness. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’d never intentionally hurt you.”

She stubbornly folded her arms and waited for him to open his eyes. When he did, they stared at each other until her stomach rumbled again. He groaned out a frustrated sigh. 

“What am I supposed to do with you?” he asked. His eyes skirted around, looking at everything and anything except her. “One minute you insist that you don’t need help, that you can
function
, but the next minute, you can’t even get yourself a fucking bite to eat.”

“I am perfectly capable of feeding myself!” she yelled. Another hunger pang made itself known and he tilted his head to show how she’d just proved him right.

“You left me. You didn’t say how long you’d be gone. You didn’t tell me to have dinner without you. You didn’t bother to make arrangements for me—you always make arrangements for me. By the time I realized you were
never
coming back, it was late, and I just didn’t feel like eating at that point.” The volume in her voice steadily increased. “You didn’t tell me the plan. You didn’t say a darned thing. Apparently my mindreading skills must have been on the fritz, because I didn’t know what the heck you were thinking, or doing—or if you were ever coming back.”

He rubbed his face with both hands.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t plan to be out so late—or get drunk.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t eat.”

“I really did expect to be back. I didn’t mean to just leave you hanging.”

“I’m sorry I moved out of Oceanside the way I did. I should have discussed it with you first. We should make those kinds of decisions together.”

“I overreacted.”

“Ya think?” she snapped at him, putting their apology-fest to an abrupt end.

“I’ve told you I don’t want you in my bed—” Her stomach interrupted him. He gestured that they start walking again. “You need food.”

“I’m
really
not hungry, in spite of what my stomach says, I don’t think I could keep anything down.”

He looked off again. “You’ve lost a lot of weight.”

She shrugged, telling him she didn’t care.

“You haven’t been eating well since the . . .” He put his hands on his hips and looked down.

“The wedding,” Rhees said. It hurt that he couldn’t even say it.

He nodded. “Diving burns a lot of calories—maybe if you take a bite or two, you’ll realize you’re hungry after all.” Gloom suddenly washed over the cross expression he’d been wearing. “We need to talk. Can we please just go sit down somewhere quiet?”

She didn’t like the way he was acting. It scared her.

“Okay,” she mouthed. She’d meant to say it louder but she couldn’t get any sound to come out. She nodded reluctantly and they resumed their walk along the main street.

“In here,” he said, putting his hand on her lower back to guide her into a building.

“Oscar’s? No one eats lunch here.”

The place was one of the only bars open all day. They also billed themselves as a sandwich shop, but no one really ordered a sandwich until after they’d had a few drinks.

“That’s why
we
will.”

Rhees let him escort her inside. The place was void of other humans except the bartender-waitress-sandwich maker. Paul led Rhees to the booth farthest from the bar to ensure the waitress wouldn’t hear their conversation.

He motioned for Rhees to sit. When she did, he took the opposite side, sitting across from her. It didn’t feel right. He always sat next to her. The waitress showed up at the table immediately.

“Hi,” she said, looking at Paul with a smile that seemed a little too enthusiastic. She started to say something to him, but then she looked at Rhees and lost her place. When she found it again, still staring at Rhees, she cast her eyes to the floor and smoothed her hands down the front of her apron and cleared her throat.

“Congratulations on your marriage.” 

Paul didn’t acknowledge her salutation or her comment. “Bring us two grilled cheese, and two Coronas with lime.”

“I’ll have a shot of tequila and
two Coronas,” Rhees chimed in. “Without lime.”

“I ordered for both of us.”

“Oh. You always order two.”

“Not today. I was just going to have one to try and knock this hangover to a manageable level.”

“Okay.” She shrugged. “I’ll drink your second one for you.” Her stomach growled again, and Paul scowled at her.

“Do you have anything you could bring her,” he said to the waitress without taking his eyes off Rhees. “Immediately,
other than
alcohol? She hasn’t eaten in a while.”

“Hmm . . .” the waitress thought about the options. “Potato chips or pickles.”

“Chips,” Paul said.

“Are the pickles sliced or whole?” Rhees asked. Paul’s jaw set and she widened her eyes at him. “I like pickles!”

“Spears,” the waitress answered.

“Just bring her a damned pickle.”

They didn’t say another word until the waitress set the shot, the three bottles of beer, the chips, and the plate with a pickle, on the table and walked away. When Rhees reached for the shot of tequila, Paul pushed the plate with the pickle in front of her instead.

“Eat first.”

She ignored him and downed the shot before grabbing a beer and chugging half the bottle. A muscle in his cheek pulsed because he held his jaw clenched so tight. When she set the bottle back down, he glanced at the pickle, strongly suggesting with his expression that she eat it.

She didn’t want to be the loser in their staring contest, but he knew how to use his eyes better than she could ever hope to use hers. He turned up the intensity of his glare to colossal—he won. She grabbed the spear, and took a bite. He waited for her to finish it off, and in the meantime, he withdrew into himself. He still hadn’t taken a drink of his beer, but he played with the bottle, spinning it casually, staring at it.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he finally broke from his rumination. “I don’t want to. I’d rather pretend it didn’t happen. I’d rather pretend it’ll all go away, but I can’t do that to you. You deserve better—I keep telling you that—maybe now you’ll finally believe me.” He withdrew again for a minute. She waited.

“I honestly don’t remember, but.” He rolled his head from side to side, cracking his neck, stalling. She watched him as she took another long drink of her beer, finishing it off.

“I—I’m so ashamed.” He turned, stuck his long legs out of the booth, and leaned forward on his knees with his head in his hands. He stammered. “I don’t know how to say it. I swear I—I didn’t think I’d ever—after the last few times, I sincerely believed, even drunk, I didn’t want anyone but you, but—” Again, at a loss for words, he tried another route. “I started carrying condoms again when we got back from the capital—”

“Two
puppies
. Just in case.”

His eyes darted up to meet hers. He nodded slowly, surely wondering how she’d know that. She picked up her second beer and took a quick swig.

“Because of what happened in the dressing room,” she continued. “And in Costa Rica, and because I’m not on the pill, which leads you to believe you could get me pregnant by just looking at me. Your eyes are quite magical, I’ll give you that, and I do believe they could be very instrumental in getting me preggo, but even
I
know it would take more than just a look.”

He straightened himself back up, and fidgeted nervously in his seat, trying to understand how she’d know that too. He looked confused, and vulnerable, which she thought, made him look so cute. She loved vulnerable Paul. She popped a potato chip into her mouth and washed it down with another swallow of her Corona.

“What happened last night?” He’d leaned over the table to ask, looking like he’d just asked her to divulge a big secret.

“I told you.” The reminder of what happened the day before also reminded her that she was still supposed to be mad at him. “You left me. You didn’t tell me the plan. I waited for you to come back. You didn’t.” She paused briefly. “Probably wouldn’t have if Randy hadn’t dragged you home, kicking and screaming.”

“What happened when I got back?” He cocked his head.

She guzzled down the rest of the second beer, making him wait for the answer. She could tell he wasn’t happy about it. Between her empty stomach and the fast pace at which she downed all the alcohol, she already felt buzzed. She smirked, then reached for the extra beer, the one he’d ordered for her, but he grabbed it before she could, sliding it out of her reach.

“Rhees?”

“Give it back. You said you only wanted one.”

He spun the glare dial to colossal again, but she looked away to avoid getting caught up in its power.

“Maybe if you give it back, I’ll tell you about last night.”

He reluctantly slid the bottle into her waiting hand, but then watched her expectantly, waiting for her to answer his question. She picked up the bottle and glared defiantly, letting more of the amber liquid slide down her throat. She wanted to let him know that she wouldn’t always
choose
to give in to his bossiness—she didn’t really mind his domineering, take charge, take-no-bull personality—most of the time, but right now, she felt the need to make a point. She set the bottle down a little harder than she intended.

“Whoa!” She giggled. “The table jus moobed.”

She knew she’d just slurred, but she didn’t feel that drunk.

“Shoot.” Her eyes darted to his to see if he’d noticed. “The table just moved,” she repeated, accentuating the T and the V.

“Rhees!” Paul scolded.

She was in one of her feisty moods, making her too cute, and adorable, and making him lose focus, but she’d given him a glimmer of hope. He needed to know what she knew. Regardless of how much he felt the urge to kiss her right then, he didn’t like how fast she’d consumed so much alcohol on an empty stomach. His frustration about his predicament was starting to get to him as much as he thought the alcohol was getting to her.

“Okay, okay.” She leaned forward to make sure he paid attention. “I moobed out of my apartment. You got so flippin’ m-mad, you
left
me, because it threw a wrench in your whole bash-e-lor pad thingy—” He started to interject, but she held up her finger to stop him. “You see, I know this because you and your new
girlfriend
, the ever whore-ible
er-Ronnie,
were fa-lirting with each other, right in front of me, as well as everyone else at the sh-shop—”

“No,” he successfully stopped her that time. “Ronnie is not my girlfriend. I didn’t mean to use her to hurt you—no, that’s not true.”

He sighed, angry with himself and flustered, trying to explain it.

“That’s exactly what I was trying to do. I’m sorry. You were just so beautiful, running out to make me feel better. I wanted you to make me feel better, but I still haven’t figured it out—shit! I need to stop talking.”

“Yeah,” she said. “So, you left. You decided you’d rather get da-runk out of your mind than be with me, until Randy
forced
you back.”

He set his elbow on the table and leaned his head against his hand. Two fingers on his forehead, his thumb against his cheek, and he used his other two fingers to hide behind, because he felt the urge to crawl under a rock and wait out the rest of his newly complicated life.

“So what happened when I got back?” He hated to ask.

“We argued, you drank more, you sang the song we danced to—your voice is nice. I can’t believe you’ve never sung to me before—but anyway, then you groped me, you lied, telling me how much you loved me, even though you confessed about how you don’t want me wasting myself on you. I cried, you almost cried, told me to marry someone else so we both wouldn’t have to go to hell, but then you drank some more, and told me I was beautiful, and then . . .” She looked up at him through her lashes and smiled as if she’d finally found a way to exact some sort of revenge. “Then we bumped bellies.”

Paul felt every muscle in his body relax, but then, he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or alarmed.

“Twice!” She giggled and drank more beer, enjoying herself, watching as he ran his mouth through its anxious ticks.

“And jus to be clear,
Mr. Handily-Honest-When-He’s-Da-runk
. If you want me out of your life—you’ll just have to man up and make that happen all by yourself. I am
nawt
going to help you.” She took another drink of her beer.

His head dropped back and he looked up at the ceiling before closing his eyes, wondering why he couldn’t keep his mouth shut around her. He knew he talked more when he was drunk, was more likely to say things he wouldn’t say, sober, but he’d never had his drunken confessions come back to haunt him the way they did with Rhees.

He could only think of one other time, when he’d stupidly told Mitch his secret. Mitch only asked about it once after they’d sobered up, and his questions assured Paul that Mitch didn’t know anything other than he’d said,
I killed someone
. Rhees was the only one who knew what happened to his brother.

Despite Mitch’s knowledge, or lack of knowledge, about it, he’d been a loyal friend, even though Paul had never bothered to correct his friend’s assumption that he was running from the law for manslaughter, or possibly even murder. It wasn’t the threat of going to prison keeping him from returning home, or anywhere east of the Mississippi. He couldn’t risk going anyplace where Angelo had any influence. Doing so would only put everyone he knew in danger.

The waitress interrupted his dark thoughts by bringing their sandwiches, and asking if they needed anything else. Paul told her they were fine, but Rhees ordered another beer. Rhees must have noticed how exasperated her order made him.

“Juicy crisis,
Paul!” she yelled. “You can be such a hypocrite!”

Paul didn’t think he’d quite caught what she’d said, but he finally covered his face again and hid behind his hand. His hand wasn’t enough to hide his convulsing chest and shoulders, a dead giveaway.