Never Been Ready (10 page)

"Well, I hope it works out for you, Hotshot. Everyone deserves happiness, especially if that means doing the one thing you were put on this earth to do."

I smiled, silently thanking her, before saying, "And what about you? What were you put on this earth to do?"

"I don't know yet. I'm still figuring that out."

~Leah~

The piles of dried leaves scattered all over the curb crunched under my tires as I pulled off the street. I looked out onto the disheveled yard. Mountains of acorns and twigs were scattered everywhere —reminders that winter was just around the corner. The grass was a mile high, and I knew my father probably hadn't stepped foot outside since the last time I'd visited. Or if he had, he had just been too drunk to notice his yard looked like a scene from
The Addams Family
.

I hated visiting my father. It was just one giant reminder of my childhood and how much it had utterly sucked. I was constantly being compared to a woman who he had both hated and loved with every fiber of his being. I was a never-ending reminder of the wife who had left him behind and the mother who hadn't wanted me. But it was Thanksgiving Day, and as much as I hated the man, he was my only family. Someone should check on him, and unfortunately, that someone was me. This was the part of my life I didn't share with most people. Not even Clare knew everything that went on in this house, and I intended to keep it that way.

Bundled up in a long wool sweater to combat the cooler temperatures, I hiked up the driveway and let myself in, not bothering to knock. He wouldn't hear me anyway. He was probably still passed out from the night before. The familiar stale stench of alcohol filled my nostrils, and I tried not to gag.
God, I hated that smell.

When growing up, most children usually attributed certain memories with scents —the intoxicating aroma of their mother's homemade cookies, the way the house smelled after the freshly cut Christmas tree was brought in. For me, this pungent aroma of alcohol summed up my entire youth in one poignant statement. Booze was my father's best friend, lover, and soul mate. There was no other room for anything else in his life after my mother had left. He used it to fill the emptiness, regret, and anger that had consumed him.

I was just the byproduct that had come from it all, and I had been left to raise myself from the age of seven. If it weren't for Clare and her family, I didn't know how I would have survived. They had shown me what love was, and I had sought solace in their arms every second I could.

"Dad?" I called out into the silence.

No answer.

After dropping groceries and supplies off in the kitchen, I made my way through the dingy house, picking up trash along the way before depositing it into the overflowing trash can. As I went, I made a mental list of the things I needed to do before I left. Emptying the trash was the first on the list. I finally found my hero of a father slumped face-first on his twenty-year-old faded orange sofa. His clothes looked about two days old, and from the smell, he probably hadn't bathed in at least four days.

"Dad, wake up," I said a bit louder, reaching down to shake him.

He finally stirred, looking confused through his bloodshot eyes. He cocked his head toward me, taking a few moments for his sight and brain to sync before he figured out it was me.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you, too, Dad."

"Come to rag on me some more, girl? That's all you do when you come around here," he muttered.

"I brought you groceries. Today is Thanksgiving Day. Did you know that?"

"Why the hell would I care about that? Do I look like I got anything to be thankful for?"

I ignored that question. Instead, I decided to go and unload the groceries. I first went through the fridge and pulled out all the expired items, which was mostly everything. I put in the lunch meat, cheese, and milk I'd bought, and then I placed the bread on top of the refrigerator. I took out the trash next and replaced all the liners with fresh ones, knowing they would all be full of bottles and empty take-out containers the next time I came.
Social security being spent wisely no doubt.

Hearing shuffling, I turned to see my dad enter the kitchen. He seated himself in one of the old wooden bar stools at the counter.

"You bring me any liquor, girl?"

"No, Dad. You know I don't buy you alcohol."

"You got any money then?"

"I'm not giving you any money, Dad," I said calmly, trying to keep my hands from shaking.

"Then, what the hell good are you?" he roared.

I flinched, knowing it was now time for me to leave. No good had ever come from this argument, and I'd learned my lesson before. I folded up the grocery bags and headed for the door. As I turned the handle, I took one last look at my father, seeing him hunched over the counter. His face was buried in his hands, and he looked about twenty years older than his actual age. I'd always wondered what life would have been like if he had just let her go. If he had been able to man up and be the father I so desperately needed him to be...but he hadn't. And this was the life we'd both ended up with.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Dad," I whispered before quickly walking out the door and taking my first full breath in minutes.

I cried the entire way home.

Hands covered in sticky dough and flour, I groaned when the sound of "SexyBack" by Justin Timberlake filled the tiny space of my kitchen. It was Declan's ringtone.

"Great," I muttered, looking down at my dough-covered hands. I tried to clean off at least one hand, so I could answer the phone without getting dough permanently stuck in the crevices.

"Hello?"

"What are you doing?" Declan's sultry voice asked.

"Making an apple pie."

"Mmm...from scratch? That's kind of kinky."

I laughed, loving the
American Pie
reference. "You and your manly parts stay the hell away from my pie, Hotshot!"

He chuckled, and we delved into a longer than necessary conversation about how the original movie was the best and none of the other ever compared. We were definitely products of our generation if we could have a ten-minute conversation about
American Pie
.

After our movie discussion was done, a silence took over, and I suddenly wondered why he was calling. Since our evening of babysitting, our arrangement had gone back to normal. We hadn't hung out or had any lengthy conversations. I got the hint that Declan was trying to keep space between us after last week, and as much as it had kind of stung, I understood. He was someone I was quickly starting to see as more than just a fuck buddy, and that could definitely complicate everything. He was easy to talk to and fun to be around. I felt at ease around him now, and I guessed he was probably feeling the same thing.

"So, what are you doing?"

"Nothing. I'm bored," he answered simply.

"You don't have any plans today?"
Doesn't everyone have plans on Thanksgiving?

"Nope."

"You didn't go home?" I honestly didn't even know much about his parents to know if there was a home to go to, but I assumed he had family. Most people didn't come from the wreck of a home life like I did.

"No, my mom is up in New York. She's spending time with her sister."

"Do you want to come with me to Clare's parents' house?" I asked. I was completely blindsided by the words that had just come out of my mouth.
Wasn't I just thinking about how some distance would be good for us?
My head and mouth seriously needed to get together and agree on something. The disconnect was getting me into trouble more and more lately. He had just sounded so sad though.

"Are you sure that would be okay?" he asked.

He actually wanted to go? That was a shocker. Well, no backing out now.

"Clare's family takes all stragglers, even Hollywood movie stars. Be here in thirty minutes to pick me up."

"Okay."

"Oh, and, Hotshot?"

"Yes?" he growled at the mention of his pet name I insisted on using.

I laughed a little. He hated it, which was why I used it so often.

"Wear something nice."

~Declan~

I adjusted the tie around my neck for the hundredth time as we walked up to Clare's parents' house, and I pressed the buzzer. Not bothering to wait, Leah opened the door and ushered us in. The tie around my neck felt like a noose grabbing my body in a choke hold as it cut out all the oxygen one tiny breath at a time. I hated ties. They reminded me of my father, and that was a road I didn't like revisiting. He'd spent every damn day of his wasted existence wearing a tie, looking the part, playing the field. And all for what? So, he could screw us all over in the end.

Bitter much? Me? Never.

But here I was, wearing a fucking tie —on a holiday, no less.
Why? No fucking clue.
Actually, that wasn't true. I had a big clue, and it was tall and blonde and wearing a dress that made me want to throw her over my shoulder and run.

I'd looked over at her as we'd walked into the house.
Did she own anything that didn't make her ass look like it was being served up on a fucking platter?

I'd woken up this morning, intent on spending the day with no one but a bottle of Jack and some room service. Instead, I'd spent the morning thinking about Leah —wondering what she was doing, who she was spending the day with. It was everything I had told myself to never do. Against my better judgment, I'd called her. I'd just needed to hear her voice.

I'd tried to distance myself from her over the last week. After our babysitting gig, I had known something had changed between us. Lines had blurred, and I'd felt myself growing closer to her. Although I still felt every ounce of fiery passion for her, I also felt something deeper brewing. I'd put the brakes on and only made our usual house calls, never lingering too long even though my gut had told me to stay.

These feelings weren't new. I'd felt them before, long before —although these were more intense. The thought of having feelings like that again scared the ever-living shit out of me, which is why I'd kept pushing her away. But as hard as I'd pushed, I'd pulled back —calling her when I had known I shouldn't...holding her too long when I had known I should let her go. This would all lead to my demise, yet I was unable to stop it.

So, here we were, together on Thanksgiving —attending a holiday gathering together —like a fucking couple. We hadn't even made it two steps into the house, and we were immediately greeted by about fifty people. At least, it felt that way. The house was packed like a sardine can. Laughter and happy voices filled the air as we made our way through the house. Leah said hello to a few and hugged several, introducing me as we went. We finally found Logan and Clare in the kitchen, helping an older couple —Clare's parents, I assumed —with food preparation. Clare was actually the only one helping. Logan was seated on a stool at the counter, chatting with three other men.

"Hey, Declan. Glad you could make it," Logan greeted, never once making a comment about the fact that I hadn't actually been invited.

I guessed Leah had been right about the open-door policy. No one seemed to mind the random new guy, and no one took a second glance at me, trying to figure out where they had seen me before. It was heaven.

"Good to see you, too, baldy. What are you drinking?" I asked, motioning to his drink.

"I have nonalcoholic beer here, O'Doul's. The real stuff does crazy things with my meds and makes me sicker than a dog, but I like to pretend. The good shit is in the fridge."

"Damn. No beer? Please tell me you can at least have sex," I joked.

"No worries on that front, man. They'd have to chain me to a fucking hospital bed to keep me from Clare. Even then, I might be inventive," he answered smugly.

I laughed, quickly grabbed a beer, and rejoined Logan.

He introduced me to the other guys in the group. "This is my brother-in-law, Garrett."