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Internally, I reprimand myself for not keeping my bad, unfortunately chronic habit in check; I never know when to shut up, never know when to stop pushing, can never tell when someone doesn't give a crap about what I'm saying.
Suddenly, the idea of being around a family that actually likes each other, for the most part, seems like the worst punishment imaginable.
He catches a dozen men eyeing the short hem of a yellow dress. Thirteen, including himself. He irrationally, inexplicably considers it a triumph when he’s the only one who sees it the next morning.
“It’s fine. I came on a little strong, I know I do that a lot. I was only trying to be nice, but I know I have a tendency to mix up ‘nice’ and ‘annoying.’”
Never before has worn, blue denim caught and held his attention so unrelentingly.
I ask about it. Make a light, joking comment about Hunter drawing the short straw, getting stuck with the crap job, having to come all the way out here to hand over a list Lux easily could’ve texted me. In that gruff, no-nonsense voice, Hunter says, “I volunteered,” before waltzing out the door.
That that same mouth murmurs, “I got you, honey,” and that’s what breaks me. And God, do I break.
He doesn’t have time for pretty girls wearing pretty sundresses and prettier smiles, but he finds himself wanting to make some.
“You’ve got that look on your face,” his momma accuses suspiciously during one of their weekly calls. “Who is she?”
Easily, he names the emotion roiling in his gut. Guilt.
I’m so sick of doing that. Begging. Screaming for someone to listen to me only to be ignored time and time again. Not having any control over my freaking life. I’m so tired of feeling so damn powerless.
“You don’t go back there. If he calls you, you call me. Anything happens, you call me. Don’t care when, don’t care where. Call me.”
“You don’t embarrass me. You hear me, Caroline? Not even a little bit. You’re good, honey. Too good for those girls, too good for your daddy, too good for—”
Never in his life has he felt anything as painful, as potent, as the red hot jealousy choking him.
She doesn’t yell, but if not for the sleeping baby on her chest, he’s pretty sure she would be screaming. “She has no idea what she deserves,” she says, calm but fierce, small but terrifying. “But it’s not this half-assed bullshit. Man up or fuck off.”
“Wish I could see that pretty pussy ridin’ my hand, soakin’ it. Wish I could see you stretched tight. Fuck.”
“Then gimme a fuckin’ kiss, honey,” the big guy demands, accent thick and tone leaving no room for arguments. “Been fuckin’ dyin’ all day.”
He sits beside him for a while. The other man who let Caroline slip through his fingers. He says, “I really think you should leave her alone.” He truly, physically can’t.
“And then I got home,” he continues, softer than before. “And I saw you, and I stopped being mad. I could breathe again. Because you are like coming up for air, Caroline. Those pretty flowers you fill your life with? You’re that for me. You’re bright and you’re happy and you’re good.”
“Be mad at me, Caroline,” he says—he begs. “I can handle it. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizin’ for it. Just don’t be done. Please, don’t be done.”
