“Well, that’s good. I’m with someone too. I actually have no idea why I’m calling you so late at night, I just…I care about you. I want to know you’re happy.”
It was nice that someone did. “Are you happy?”
“Really, I am. He’s not anything like you, but then, not many guys are, at least around here.” She laughed, a little sadly. “So is this girl anyone I know?”
Shit. He didn’t want to get Candace in any more trouble than she was apparently already in with her folks. Cryptic was the way to go. “I’m not sure if anyone here really knows her. She’s beautiful and amazing and someone I care about very much, and I’d do anything for her. But she apparently has her doubts about me now.”
“That’s a shame. The way you talk about her…wow. I have to say I’m a bit jealous. But I really hope it works out for you.”
Yeah, you say that now…
She must truly have no idea.
He couldn’t help but smile at her sincerity, though. Loneliness must be in the air tonight. He settled back on his stool and raised his hand to the board to put the finishing touch on a drawing. “No need for you to be jealous, sweetheart. You rocked my world for as long as you wanted to be in it.”
“As long as you let me be in it.”
“Hey, neither of us is to blame. We discussed it for days. In the end, we agreed it was mutual.”
“Yeah, that’s what we said, anyway. But I think those were possibly the most heartbreaking days of my life.”
That was a revelation. Michelle was always cool, always totally together. She wouldn’t have let on to anyone that she was hurting, especially not him.
Candace would. He wondered if that was the drive behind this blinding need to hold her close and protect her from all harm: that she might actually let him do it. If she hadn’t just basically told him goodbye in his truck.
She couldn’t have meant it. Give her a day or two to cool off, and hopefully she would be okay.
“I didn’t know that,” he said to Michelle. “You should have told me if you were having second thoughts.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
Good point. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Brian, I really didn’t call to get into all this. And I’m glad everything is going good for you. I hope you and your girlfriend get things worked out.”
“Yeah, me too. Good luck with everything you’ve got going on.”
They hung up soon after, and then he was left with an extra layer of melancholy weighing him down. That relationship had been like a skin he’d needed to shed, but he was grateful for it. It had served its purpose in his life. He thought maybe it had prepared him for the one he could have with Candace, shown him that he wasn’t a reptile; he could have feelings for someone.
That night he’d given Michelle her tattoos had been one of the most memorable of his life. His parlor had finally opened, his dream realized. He’d had a beautiful girl at his side. She’d told him all along that he could give her ink when he could do it in his own place. Then she’d changed the rules in the middle of the game that night and told him as they were getting hot and heavy in here that he could give her a small one for every orgasm she had.
He’d let her off easy and called it after three. She’d started to look a bit panicked.
Damn it to hell, now he didn’t really feel like being in here, either. Everywhere he looked, there was a phantom.
“What are you doing here?”
The sudden bellow from the doorway startled him so much, he nearly dropped his pencil. “Fuck! Starla? The hell!”
She laughed merrily as he wondered if it was too frigging much to ask for some privacy. But then, he guessed he should’ve gone home for that. “No, really, what are you doing here?” she repeated.
“Working, damn it. Is that all right?”
“Not when you’re supposed to be with your little love muffin.”
He scoffed. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m with the ass**le. He brought me to get my car so we could go home. Together.”
“Congratulations.”
“Whatever, like it’ll last a week. Although I did tell him if he f**ks me around again, I’m gonna give him that apa he’s been thinking about. In his sleep.”
“Damn, girl. That’s not even right.”
“Anyway, I saw you were here. I wanted to check on you.”
“I might’ve been in here getting busy with her, for all you knew.”
“Yum. Did I ever tell you I have voyeuristic tendencies?”
“Oh, God.”
Starla waved and disappeared from sight, her voice growing fainter as she headed for the door. “Good night, Brian. Don’t mope. She’s not worth it. Go get laid or something.”
That was the big cure-all with these people, wasn’t it? Girl got you down? Get laid. No money? Get laid. Armageddon ensuing? Get laid a lot.
He sighed and hollered, “I’m not moping!” just as the door closed behind her. He hoped she remembered to lock it. Getting laid damn sure wouldn’t cure an armed robbery and a bullet in the brain. They might argue that point, however.
At least he had the concert to look forward to. The more pissed off at the world he got, the more he felt inclined to shut down the parlor completely and let everyone make a day of it. In fact, that’s exactly what he needed. A long weekend with his best buddies and all the debauchery they could handle. His father would probably have a coronary that he dared to shut down. To hell with it. The day the old man didn’t get paid on time was the day he could bitch.
Chapter Twelve
Candace was drowning. Slowly. Choking, gasping, dying. A little more each day.
Oh, stop being so damn melodramatic.
Picking up her silverware and stabbing blindly at her food, she tried, she tried to tune out the polite chatter around her. It was impossible. Her mother’s voice had become like the scrape of fingernails down a blackboard in her mind. Deanne’s fakeness compounded the sensation, and her sugary sweetness grated Candace’s nerves until they were naked live wires. If the wrong one got touched, someone was going to burn.
She’d just had to walk down the aisle with her arm linked through Stephen’s, and now he sat beside her at the rehearsal dinner table, keeping up his oh-so-charming appearance to the other guests. Only she saw the way he leered at her br**sts. She wasn’t even wearing a revealing top. No hint of cle**age, no straining fabric. He was probably remembering the night he’d had his hands all over them without her consent, if he could even recall that particular drunken stupor.
When she nearly choked on the forkful of bland something-or-other she’d shoveled into her mouth, she quickly sipped her wine before her eyes could start watering.
Yes, dying. Get me the hell out of here. Someone. Anyone. It didn’t even matter anymore.
“How is school going?” Stephen asked her. “What’s your major again?”
“Social work,” she replied softly, hoping it wouldn’t get her mother’s attention. No such luck. Sylvia’s gaze whipped directly to them across the table.
“Can you believe that, Stephen?” she fretted, lacing her fingers together. “We pushed so hard for Candy to be an elementary school teacher. She’s so good with children. And Lord knows many of them need a positive role model.”