Only Trick (31 page)

Truth.

I’d gamble on him and his unknown past without so much as a blink. I’m willing to say “screw it” and just figure it out as we go.

“G
rady, go.”

“My God you sure do try to sound important.” I shake my head, boots propped up on the counter, waiting for my next client.

“Says my swoon-worthy God of all things color. I’m shopping for suits. You never call me, what’s up?”

“I asked Darby to marry me and I think her stepmom fucked me.”

“Out, out … everyone out. This is an emergency.” Grady’s in panic mode, and everyone around him should be too. He’s unpredictable when he feels like he’s losing control over me. “Have you gone mad?”

“I’m not asking for your permission or even your advice. But you and Tamsen are the closest people I have to family, and I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done, so out of respect I wanted to let you know.”

“I’ll be on the first flight out of LAX.”

“Grady! I don’t need you to come rescue me.”

“I’m not
even
ready to address you proposing to Senator Carmichael’s daughter. I’m sure no doubt without his consent, but her stepmom? Where did you ever come up with such a ridiculous accusation?”

“You told me the only information you found out about my past from so called ‘people on the street’ was that I was a junkie and screwed older women. Well Rachel Hart is older and she’s from New York—”

“Christ, Trick! That’s not a fucking connection that means anything—”

“I saw it … it was a look. The way she looked at me, she wasn’t seeing me for the first time. She was nervous with a subtle mix of pain and anger. I knew it that night, but I had to be sure so I called her.”

“You did what?”

“I had to know.”

“And did she confess some lurid affair to you?”

“Of course not, but she was on the defensive and warned me to stay away from both her and Darby. You said you suspected these ‘older women’ took advantage of me. She told me men never fuck her; she fucks them.”

“So your brilliant solution to all of this is to propose to Darby?” Grady’s voice takes on a soprano pitch.

“I love her.”

Grady laughs. “You love her. Well that’s great, Trick. Tell me, did she accept your proposal before or after your dick had this vague memory of being up her stepmom’s pussy?”

“Fuck you! I haven’t said anything to her. I don’t have any proof … yet.”

“So you’re going to start out your life with her while this epic epiphany that you fucked her stepmom weighs on your conscience?”

“Rachel’s scared that I might remember something. I can tell. She’s not going to say anything. Hell, she doesn’t want to admit it to me, why would she ever say anything to Darby?”

“Does she know you’ve proposed to the Senator’s daughter?”

“No.”

“And what are you going to do if you’re right. What if you were with her and someday she decides to tell Darby? Some people will slit their own throat in the name of revenge.”

“Darby loves me.”

Grady gives me another cynical laugh. “Well, there ya go, kid, I guess you two lovebirds have it all figured out. Good luck with that.”

I press
End
and swipe my arm across the counter, sending makeup flying everywhere. “Goddammit!”

Who. The. Fuck. Was. I?

“H
ey.”

Trick turns at the sound of my voice, clenched jaw, heaving chest, and a mess of makeup all over the floor.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he closes his eyes and dips his chin.

I tiptoe through the mess until I stand in front of him, looking up at the last face I ever want to see. “So my day was good. How was yours?”

He opens his eyes. “I’ve had better.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I nod. “I can see that. Want to talk about it?”

He searches my face with pain and intensity in his eyes. “Not really.”

I step back and manage to hop up on the stool without smashing anything under my feet. “Well, if you don’t want to tell your lover…” I shy away from fiancée for now “…maybe you should tell your BFF. It usually works for me.”

Planting his hands on his hips, he glances at me, and that lip twitches.
He’s mine now.

“I would tell my
friend
that if I hadn’t already lost my mind, I’d swear it was happening now. I would tell my friend that all I know for sure about my past is that I was seriously fucked-up. I would tell my friend that
all
I want to do right now is take my lover to bed and fuck her until the world makes sense again, and then I want to pack our bags and get the hell out of here … and never return.”

Uhh …

All I can do is hold my breath. Just … no words.

Trick lifts his shoulders then drops them in defeat as he bends down, tossing some things in the garbage and others back on the counter. “But I would never tell my lover that because I wouldn’t want her running for the hills. So to her I would say that I had an argument with Grady and I let him crawl under my skin. Then I would suggest to her that we grab an early dinner and hang out … maybe play Battleship or Scrabble.”

His defeated tone takes all the humor out of those last words.

I slide off the stool. “Will you be okay for a little while? I need to do something. I’ll be back later.”

Trick nods without looking up from the mess in front of him.

*

In the car
I call my supervising physician and then I call Nana. As the gates open I expect my heart to start racing in my chest, but it doesn’t. It’s as if I don’t care anymore. I’m not here for permission or approval.

“Ms. Carmichael, how nice to see you.”

“I’m still Darby.” I hug Susie, the housekeeper who’s known me since I was born.

She smiles, a soft crinkling around her eyes and lips shows the years. “He’s in his office.”

“Thanks.”

I nod and smile at the extra security stationed around the house. The place I called home for two years before college has become a fortress over the past few months. I knock on the solid wood door.

“Not now.”

I roll my eyes and open the door.

“I said not—” My father looks up from his desk, reading glasses low on his nose, gray hair combed over Donald Trump style. “Darby.”

I step in, closing the door behind me.

“Did I know you were coming?”

I chuckle. “No, sorry did I need to make an appointment?”

He removes his reading glasses, tossing them on his desk, and leans back in his chair. “Have a seat.” He nods to the chair opposite him.

“I’m leaving town.” I sit on the edge of the chair, not planning on staying very long.

My father folds his hands and rests them in his lap. “You made the trip here to tell me you’re going on vacation?”

“No, I made the trip here to tell you I’m leaving indefinitely.”

“That thug break your heart?”

I wish there were some compassion in his voice, like a father should have if his daughter did in fact get her heart broken, but my father is devoid of that.

“No, he stole it.”

“You’re too good for him. You were raised better than that.”

“Better than what? Homeless? You don’t even know him.”

“I’ve seen all I need to know.”

“You’ve
seen
all you need to know. And what is that? His tattoos? His address?”

“You’re not leaving. With two months left before voters go to the polls, the last thing I need is you making a scene.”

I spring from my chair, gripping the edge of his desk, leaning forward. “A scene? Falling in love and living my own goddamn life is
not
making a scene! Fucking anything with tits and a skirt is making a scene!”

“That’s enough!”

“I don’t know what my mother ever saw in you.”

“I said that’s enough!”

“Fuck you,
father!
”

Whack!

Stomach acid gurgles up my throat, but I swallow it back down. With my hand cupping my cheek, I taste the salty metallic mix of blood on my tongue as the tip of it traces the gash on my lip.

“Now look at what you made me do.” He grabs a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the blood …
my blood
from his hand.

I suck in my bloodied, quivering lip as hot tears bleed down my cheeks. “Nana said my mom saw something special in you … but I’ve never
ever
seen it.” Turning, I make my way to the door with wavering steps.

The biting sound of hate in his voice stops me as I turn the knob. “That’s because it’s gone. It died with her … the day you
killed
her.”

Swallowing back the sobs, I run straight to my car. Susie’s voice echoes in the distance, but I don’t stop. The wad of tissue sticks to my lip as I blot the blood and wipe my face in the visor mirror. I wasn’t an abused child. I can count on one hand how many times my father has hit me. Tonight was number four. Justified? Absolutely not. Provoked? Always.

The pain he doles out makes it easy to walk away, but it also makes it easy to come back. Four—the number of times I’ve seen the pain … the
love
he must have had for my mom. Twenty-seven—the number of birthdays I’ve celebrated without my father. He’s always left a gift or money, but I’ve never once seen him
on
my birthday. That line between love and hate is so fine it’s nearly invisible. I thought it would get better, but as the years progress his “love” for me has been engulfed by pain, and now all I see is his anger.

*

It takes me
less than fifteen minutes to pack my suitcase. The moment I pull into Trick’s garage, I feel the heaviness in my heart lift and nearly vanish. He is my home, my safe haven. Before the elevator comes to a complete stop, I see Trick sitting at his kitchen counter eating a sandwich.

“I was going to wait for you to eat, but my stomach overrul—” Trick gets his first unobstructed look at me as I tug my suitcase off the elevator. “What the fuck!” He stands with a jerk, sending the stool crashing over against the concrete. He cradles my face before I can utter a word. I flinch as his thumb grazes my cut lip. “Darby, what the fuck happened?”