The Second Chance (Inferno Falls Book Three) (11 page)

CHAPTER 13

Monday at the Nosh Pit, I get a text from Chadd:
Thinking of you, girl.
 

I’m steeled, though. What Chadd can’t know is that between our hookup and now, I’ve thought a lot more about Grady and how I should handle seeing him again. I’m still not sure, and my mood about it all vacillates with the hour.
 

Sometimes, I feel excited. Maybe this can be water under the bridge. Clinton explained that Grady is coming back to deal with his dead uncle’s baggage, but it’s hard for me, during these periods of optimism, to believe that Grady’s loyalty to his uncle is the only thing bringing him back. He hated that man. There must be another reason, and maybe I’m it. I haven’t heard from him, and I’m a bit bothered that he hasn’t emailed, at least — or maybe, if he’s called around to get my number — got in touch to let me hear his voice. But maybe that’s because he’s nervous. Maybe he thinks I’m still mad at him, which of course I am. But maybe he’s as unsure as me, and doubts I can forgive. Which, during my sunnier times, I think I can.
 

Maybe he’ll want to pick up where we left off.
 

Maybe he’s held a torch for me all these years, the way I have to admit I’ve always held one for him. I’ve hated Grady plenty because a lot of what’s gone wrong is his fault. But below it all, the little girl in me has never stopped hoping things could be different — and by different, I mean the same.
 

Maybe he’ll show up here, at the Nosh Pit, and we’ll greet each other like in a movie. I’ll look at him from across the floor, and he’ll look back at me. We’ll run forward. Hug. Kiss. And all will be forgiven.
 

But other times, I feel agitated and angry when I think about our reunion. This is the man who abandoned me. Who ran out because he could only think of himself, not me and the child in my belly. In nearly ten years, we’ve only exchanged a few emails and a bunch of postcards from his travels. In my brighter moments, those postcards feel like a lifeline that proves he still cares — even about Mackenzie, who half of them are addressed to along with me. But in my darker moments, they’re something I’d use to hang him. Is this how he makes things right? Bland emails and postcards? It proves he never grew up. Never learned to be a man, and face what needs facing.
 

Most troubling of all is how afraid I sometimes feel. At these times, I’m sure that Grady still loves me. I’m sure he wants to be with me. I’m even sure, when I get these spells, that he wants to rejoin our family and be the father Mackenzie never had. But instead of feeling good, I’m equally sure that when Grady comes home, he’ll learn things about me that I don’t want him to know. I’ve spent almost a decade planting bombs all over this town, and only dumb luck has kept them from exploding in my face. Grady could come home and see me for who I am. Who he made me, maybe, but still the girl I’ve been unable to escape.
 

And then he’ll leave us heartbroken. Again.
 

Maybe he won’t even get in touch. Maybe he’ll come into town, clear out, then move on again. Not because he’s avoiding me, but because I honestly never even occur to him.
 

Still, nowhere in my emotional soup is there room for Chadd. I vowed, yet again, to swear off my wayward ways — for Mackenzie’s sake, yes, but also for the sake of my own self-respect. I deserve better than this. Every time I’ve slipped, I’ve told myself I’m getting what I need. Some women make do with vibrators and diligent fingers, but I’m better than that; I get real men. I’m not being used, I tell myself. I’m using
them
. But deep down, I know it’s all a farce. I go because I’m weak. I go because I know I’m worthless, and want to be treated as such.
 

I won’t answer Chadd’s text.
 

More: I’m not even
tempted
to answer.
 

And I mean it, too. My mind is full. Getting my rocks off has moved to the very bottom of the barrel. There’s a Brownies informational meeting this week. I’m bound to attend. I’ve been spending a lot of time at my parents’ house because nothing puts a wet blanket on my lust like being around Mom and Dad. I’ve been truly present with Mackenzie. There’s plenty to keep me occupied, but Grady’s imminent arrival is
on top of
all of that, and he’s his own ball of confounding loose ends.
 

No, I’m not interested in Chadd or his advances.
 

I delete the text and his call history. I feel strong for once, as if this time I might make it.
 

Hours pass. Carla is still out, but Jen has taken on more shifts and Ed seems to have wrangled some of the B Crew to fill in the blanks. The shift, compared to recent ones, is easy. Weekdays are always nice, and this Monday is no exception. In the morning, we’ll get businesspeople who want to eat alone and read the paper; around noon we get businesspeople on business lunches. They want their food hot and their coffee and water topped off. If you can do that, they’re usually happy.
 

I get another text. I feel my phone vibrate, and in the minutes it takes me to sneak out of sight and check it, I convince myself it must be from Grady. He doesn’t know that I’m aware he’s coming back, and I don’t think he’d pop in on me. I’ll get some form of communication. Email is too casual, but a call is too personal. A text splits the difference. It tells me he went to the trouble of finding my number, but doesn’t commit him to more than pixels on a screen.
 

But the new text isn’t from Grady. It’s from Chadd again:
Someone here says hi
.
 

Beneath the text is a photo. I see Chadd sitting at a table, having lunch and a beer with someone else.
 

Someone I recognize.
 

Someone who, it seems, wants to say hi to me.
 

It’s Tommy Finch.

Tommy motherfucking Finch,
with his beautiful blond hair and his razor-sharp blue eyes, piercing even in the small photo. Tommy with his big jock’s arms that now, even at age twenty-seven or twenty-eight, look as fine as they did in high school.
 

I haven’t seen Tommy in forever. I’ve avoided him, just like I avoid all of the men I hook up with. But most men don’t have our history. Most men don’t have the legitimate right to say hi, as if we’re old pals.
 

Oh,
how I pined for Tommy Finch. For years, I watched him in my classes. I watched him on the football field, even when I was at games with Grady. When I finally got a taste of him, it was every bit as good as I’d imagined. But of course, Tommy was the asshole I’d always known he was. He got his taste and lost all interest.
 

And now of all times, he says hi.

I’ve always known that Inferno Falls was small and that people liked to gossip. I knew, deep down, that every seed I sowed might one day take root and bite me. Just yesterday, I was contemplating the many ways I might get snared in my own web. But Chadd and Tommy Finch being buddies? That’s not something I ever saw coming.
 

I lusted after Tommy for years before he finally looked my way, then for more years after he let me know I was nothing.
 

I hate Tommy. He’s not just an asshole; he’s worse than horrible. I have every right to go after Tommy with all the intensity of a woman scorned, and I’ll bet I could do some damage if I tried. Only two things have stopped me: For one, Tommy has as much on me as I have on him. And for two, if he ever came back looking for seconds, the devil inside me would be very,
very
interested.
 

I should delete the photo. Nothing here can possibly amount to anything good. Nothing proves my sexual misadventures are about a lack of self-worth than my continued infatuation with Tommy Finch. If I have reason to hate anyone, it’s
him
. If I should want to stay away from anyone, it’s
him
. If I should want nothing to do with anyone after all he’s done, I should want nothing to do with
him.
Not Tommy Finch. Not ever again.
 

But instead of deleting the photo, I find myself staying in the back room too long, pinching in on Tommy, moving Chadd out of the way as if he’s worth nothing.

Tommy still has that killer smile.
 

He still looks cut as all hell. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt in the photo, and I can actually see the striations in his forearms. His shoulders have held their breadth, but his face and what I can see of his collarbones have kept their leanness. Post-glory years, most high school football players go to seed. Tommy’s still delicious.
 

And oh, goddamn me, I’m getting wet just thinking about him.
 

Remembering the way his hands felt on me.
 

The way it all went too fast, after all of my buildup. I barely had time to enjoy myself because all I could think was,
Tommy Finch is inside me
.
 

God help me, my body still wants him.
 

His cocky smile. The way he’s looking at the camera, knowing the photo is meant for me, as if to say,
I’ll fuck you and forget you again, but you want it anyway.
The way I can tell, even via an image on-screen, that he’s sure he’s too good for me and that he did me a favor … but would, if I ask nicely, be willing to do me a favor again. The clear suggestion that he has better things to do, but would consider setting those things aside to do me instead … as an act of charity.
 

Fuck him. Fuck Tommy.
 

And fuck me, because as much as I feel hate brewing, lust is brewing, too.
 

I wonder at the text. I wonder at the image. I can’t tell where this picture was taken, but it’s a good table in what looks like a decent restaurant. Both men are in collared shirts, no ties, with their sleeves rolled up. They look like high rollers taking a few minutes to relax from being kings of the world. What did Tommy end up doing after school, anyway? The Falls isn’t so small that I’ve been forced to keep tabs, but I could easily find out. I seem to remember he had ambitions in finance, so maybe he’s rich. Fucking Tommy, can’t even be a slob like he’s supposed to be.
 

What were they talking about before this photo was taken?
 

What made Chadd suggest
taking
the photo, then send it to me?
 

Do they know? Do the two men know what they have in common? This little pic suggests they must. Because it’s not like Chadd and I are in a dating situation, where casual texts make sense. His first text was a prelude to a booty call, so what’s this? It can’t be a prelude to a threesome, can it?
 

The thought embarrasses me more than I’d think possible. The idea that the two of them got to chatting, and Chadd told Tommy about this girl he fucked in a bathroom. Tommy would have said,
Hey, I fucked her too.
 

Maybe
she’d be up for fucking us together.
 

I want to smash my phone. I want to smash their faces. How dare they? How dare they talk; how dare they presume; how dare they propose something something so bold?
 

You take the back,
I can hear Tommy telling Chadd,
and I’ll take the front.
 

I can imagine their high-five.
 

I’m shaking. I can barely see the phone because my emotions are gripping my throat. This isn’t fair. Not ten minutes ago, I’d been feeling good. No matter how Grady came to town, he was coming. No matter how things turned out, they
would
turn out. I’ve been crying over Grady — even though he was awful to me, too — for years. I can only handle one self-destructive obsession at a time. But now I’m supposed to face the man who left me
and
two men who assume I’ll be up for anything, whenever they deign to ask?
 

I’m shaking so hard I can barely think. Shaking because I’m furious. Shaking because it’s unfair and I’ve been through far too much. Shaking because I deserve better. Shaking because somewhere deep down, I very much want to do what this photo implies.
 

With Herculean effort, I delete the photo, then the text history. My thumb, as I touch the screen to confirm, weighs ten thousand pounds.
 

Someone rounds the corner behind me. I’m so keyed up, God help him if it’s Ed coming to order me back to work. He might find a fist in his mouth. A foot in his balls. A knife, from the counter beside me, in his fat fucking gut.
 

But it’s not Ed, or Roxanne. It’s Jen, looking at me in a way that proves I must look as horrid as I feel.
 

“Maya, are you … what’s going on?”
 

My phone buzzes again.

The screen reads,
It’s Grady. I’m in town. I don’t know if you’re willing to see me, but I’d like to see you
.

CHAPTER 14

I know from talking to Arthur that Maya works at the Nosh Pit — a diner that didn’t exist when I left town. So much has changed. I’ve heard chatter about Inferno Falls quite a lot, for a place I’ve mostly tried to forget. It keeps making Top This lists: Top 10 Fast Foods Made Hip, Top 100 Places to Start a Business. And now that I’m here, I see why. The town has blossomed. I’d almost want to settle here, if I wasn’t a wanderer at heart, and if it didn’t carry so much history.