“He slept with two different cocktail waitresses that night. Two.” Tom is dumbfounded, like it is scientifically impossible. It occurs to me that Megan is his one and only. The combine harvester keys are in my hand, so I begin to babble.
“Well, if you insist on carrying the boxes, you could move those five, and the room’s basically done. Jamie won’t believe I helped, probably. Maybe I should soak a handkerchief in sweat and he can get it verified by a lab.”
“You’re obsessed with proving you can work harder than him. It’s just a permanent battle with no ending.” Tom regards the portrait with an expression I cannot read. “You two are so tough on each other. Why don’t you try being friends? When you are, it’s amazing.” He grins at a memory.
“I have to prove myself. Every time I call someone out of the blue, they’ve got this tremor in their voice. Hello? Like they’re imagining me making an emergency call with my blue half-dead hand. That’s why I like guys like Vince. They don’t treat me like an invalid.”
“Vince,” Tom says, seizing on a name at last. He turns it over in his mind like one of Loretta’s tarot cards. “Vince. Not Vince Haberfield from high school.”
“Yeah, Vince Haberfield. He either doesn’t know about my heart, or he forgot, so when we hang it’s not this huge deal.” I don’t really care for Tom’s expression so I go into the kitchen and unearth a takeout menu. “Should I order a pizza for you before I go over to Truly’s? Silly question. Of course I should.”
He’s now sitting on his new bed. “You’re with Vince Haberfield? How’d that little piece of shit turn out?”
“He’s still a piece of shit. And I’m not with him.” I hold out my hand until he realizes what I want; he gives me his phone. I order a pizza I know he’ll like and hand the phone back. “Say something.”
He’s just sitting there. I don’t know what he’s processing, but it seems like a lot. I pat him on the shoulder. “I can see you’re not exactly overjoyed. Bad news to report to Jamie, huh?”
“I’m not reporting anything.” He says that with a tight jaw. But he’s still himself. I don’t get that hint of wolf that I thought I might when we look into each other’s eyes.
“Hey, don’t judge. Dating is an absolute nightmare. Be glad you don’t have to worry about it.”
“I thought you weren’t dating him.” He’s got me there. “Well, I have to worry about it now.” He rubs his hand on his face.
“You are not looking after me,” I tell him in my most firm voice. “No matter how much you want to, I’m not yours to look after.”
I watch as something like a wordless protest twists up out of him, and he’s groaning and putting his face in his hands. He’s miserable. I’m breaking his brain just being in this house.
Time for me to get out of here. One wrong move and he’ll be jamming his stuff back into his suitcase like Jamie did.
“I’m going to Truly’s now for a while. Save me some pizza.” I don’t need to change my dusty clothes. Keys, wallet, shoes, I’m out the door. I am the queen of the instant exit. I’m practically jumping out a dog door. “Bye.”
“Wait,” Tom calls from back in the house, surprise in his tone.
Patty slips out behind me. “Hey, come back!” I chase her up to the pavement and scoop her up. “Naughty.”
There’s a car approaching, and it’s not a pizza delivery car. That’d be one instant miracle pizza. It’s a noisy, black car. I know this car. I set a sprint record running back to the front door, my blood whooshing in my ears, and stuff Patty into Tom’s open hands. “Bye.”
The black car stops at the top of the drive, blocking my car in, and the ignition is turned off. The driver’s door opens.
Vince has either perfect timing, or the worst timing of all time.
Chapter 9
Moments like these make me certain that Loretta is lying facedown on a cloud, stuffing popcorn into her mouth, nudging Vince’s car a little faster down Marlin Street. Two minutes later, I’d be gone, and Vince would be just cruising past.
Vince rounds the hood of the car, sees me and Tom, and stumbles a little in surprise before recovering. He sits on the hood of his car. Speak of the devil.
“You still have no phone.” That’s Vince’s way of saying: I haven’t seen you for a while, I wanted to see you, and this is tough on my ego.
I’ve got new eyes now, looking at him. Tom’s straightforward gorgeousness has spoiled me for my usual type. Vince is whipcord lean, pale and dark haired, dressed in head-to-toe black. Tattoos galore. Dark circles and an air of tortured artist. He cups his hands around a cigarette, there’s a flick, and now he’s exhaling plumes of gray.
“Thought I’d drop by.” Vince clearly hates these sorts of moments where he’s got to justify his actions or give a shit. I’ve never required it from him. Another drag, and his blue eyes look anywhere but at me. “But you’ve still got company. Tom Valeska, right? Haven’t seen you for years, man. How’s it going? Cute dog.”
“Just great,” Tom says on a half laugh, Patty straddling his forearm. She’s got a toadlike expression. Cigarettes make her sneeze. “I’m fantastic.”
“And I’m fine,” I aim sarcastically at Vince. He just grins at me, looking at my body in my clothes.
“No argument here.” Vince narrows his eyes at Tom’s face, assessing him. “Are you here to start on the house?”
“Yep,” Tom says.
“About time. What a dump. And you’re staying here?” Vince is looking at the truck, and thinking about what opportunities may be impacted by this.
Tom would cross his arms if he weren’t holding a Chihuahua. “I’ll be here. Every day for the next three months. She’s working on it with me.”
Vince mulls this over. “Heard you were out looking for me last night. Lenny sent me a text, said he saw you at Sully’s.” He jingles his key ring at me. “Let’s go out.”
“I wasn’t looking for you. I’ve got other plans tonight. Beat it, shithead.” I point at the road.
“Wow. Way to make me feel used and abused.” Vince adds with a sly smile to Tom, “She only wants me for one thing.” He’s technically correct. Tom raises his eyes to the sky like he’s praying for strength. At this rate, I’m going to have to dig a small, thin grave.
For the last few years, Vince and I have used each other repeatedly in the little gaps of time when I arrive back in town. I don’t even bother telling him when I leave, because who cares? Not him.
Sex with Vince is like going to the gym; I feel slightly better after having done it as the sweat cools on my body, but I make a lot of excuses to myself as to why I shouldn’t go.
Tom’s dealt with enough of my boys to know that the best response is to be infuriatingly polite. “Where are you working these days, Vince?” You’d never guess he called him a little piece of shit two minutes ago. Butter wouldn’t melt in that perfect mouth.
Vince looks sideways at the decal on Tom’s truck. “I’m between gigs at the moment. I’m trying to get Darcy to hook me up with a job at the bar, but she’s holding out on me. I could get into construction, though.” A lingering, job-offer-sized pause is left here.
I shake my head. “Like I’m going to babysit your ass at the bar. You can work there when I leave.”
Tom stares at Vince. “And what do you think of the fact she’s come home with a bruise from working there? From a guy?”
Vince looks me all over but can’t see anything amiss. “She handles herself. I bet she fucked him up.” He falters under Tom’s eyes and adds awkwardly, “Are you okay though, Darce?”
“Fine. And you’re correct. I can handle myself.” I like how Vince sees me. Unquestionably tough and with no need of saving.
“Who did it?” Vince is more curious than outraged.
I huff. “Keith. The big dumb dipshit.”