“Why’d you throw up last night? You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“God, no.” Thank God. “Probably stress.”
“Mom and Dad are coming by tomorrow, I think. Derek’s coming too. He’s bringing Haven. He’s got her for the weekend.”
There’s a glimmer of something to look forward to in all of this, and her name is Haven. My niece is my world, and I rarely get to see her ever since Derek split from his ex.
“I don’t think they allow kids under twelve into the ICU,” I say.
“Between all of us, we can work something out. Derek really wants to see Brooks though. I think he’s taking it harder than we realize, and that’s why he hasn’t come to visit yet.”
An unlikely friendship spawned between Derek and Brooks the last couple of years. I blame it on a fateful golf game three Memorial Day weekends ago. They’ve been tight ever since.
“Daphne texted me earlier,” Delilah says.
“Yeah. Me too.”
“She feels awful for not being able to come right away.”
“She’ll be back at Thanksgiving.”
“Yeah, but if anything happens to Brooks, she’ll never get to say . . .” Delilah blinks and turns away. “I don’t even want to finish that thought.”
My head pounds, and I eye my front door. As soon as I’m behind it, I can shut out the rest of the world for a few hours. Make the day fade away with a hot bath and an Ambien. Tomorrow, I get to do it all over again. Put on my brave face. Pretend I’ve got it all figured out. Allow everyone to think I’m stronger than I’ve ever been. Ignore the flood of guilt coursing my veins every time I look at Brooks and feel resentment. And in the back of my mind, wonder when Royal’s going to show up at my door again.
Because no matter what, that undercurrent remains.
Nine
Royal
* * *
As soon as I get home, I toss Brooks’s pajamas into the garbage, where they belong. It killed me, fucking killed me, to wear those pants.
The scent of clean laundry fills my tiny studio above a noisy laundromat. It’s the only good thing about living in this dump. It’s like I live in the inside of a dryer. The place is perpetually warm, which works out nice in the winter, and the place always smells good, even when the floors need cleaning and the bedding’s due for a wash.
Whipping the fridge door open, I grab a carton of milk and chug it straight from the container before putting it back. I can taste the fact that the sell-by date was yesterday.
I grab a shower, scrubbing the scent of Demi’s white-washed house off my skin but refusing to release the image of her from my mind. Watching her from afar has never been a substitution for the real thing, but it was the only option I had. And as painful as it was to stand there and let her shoot daggers my way this morning, I hope someday she’ll understand.
And forgive me.
“Morning, Royal.” Pandora swipes a credit card and hands a set of Corvette keys to a middle-aged man trying desperately to pull off a cracked-leather bomber jacket. “Twenty minutes early today. What’s gotten into you? Couldn’t wait to see me?”
“You know it.” I don’t look at her, my words dry and flat.
I grab my work shirt from a hook behind the reception desk at Patterson Auto Body. My name is stitched across the breast in royal blue cursive thread. The very same color I’ll be painting my Challenger as soon as I get the funds saved.
The bells on the door jingle when the customer leaves, and our parking lot sits empty.
“We’re getting an Escalade in about an hour.” Pandora smacks a piece of neon pink bubble gum. Probably watermelon. Her tongue always tastes like watermelon. “Real bad shape. Front and back. Thing’s totaled, but the owners want to fix it anyway. Bet it’s got a huge backseat.”
She winks.
I punch in and glance toward the back office, where Pandora’s father sits at a computer, his classic rock turned way too loud. The man’s covered in tattoos, he served two tours of duty, and he has a smile filled with gold from one too many bar fights. That old son of a bitch is tough as nails and rough around the edges, but he gave me a job when no one else would.
“Where were you last night?” Pandora hunches over the counter, wiggling her ass and grinning. “Tried texting you. Not like you to pass up a chance with the boss’s daughter.”
My gaze snaps toward Rod in his office, who’s completely oblivious. Fucking the boss’s daughter isn’t my proudest accomplishment, but damn if she doesn’t remind me of a white trash version of my only weakness.
Sometimes, in his most desperate hours, a man has to settle.
“Come on,” she says. “I know it turns you on just as much as it turns me on.”
Pandora Patterson is Demi Rosewood’s cheap alter-ego. Raven hair. Full lips. Big tits. Curves for days. Round, blue eyes. Pandora’s just a little edgier. Less refined. Sleeves of tats. Garish red lips. A throaty laugh. A perpetual perfume of stale cigarettes and spilled drinks. She’s sure as fuck no substitute for the real thing, but I’m a man with limited options, and Pandora never once judged my situation.
“Told you,” I say. “We can’t do that anymore.”
She pouts and drags a pointed fingernail down her cheek like she’s crying. Slinking over to me, she slips her arm around my shoulders.
“God, Royal, you’re such a fucking tease.” Pandora rubs her breasts against my chest and leans into my ear. “I thought about you last night. Nothing else makes me cum harder than when I think about all those naughty things you do to me in the back of the shop after Daddy leaves . . .”
Pandora’s a kinky little slut. She gets off on the thrill of almost getting caught, and she loves fucking the kind of men her daddy would chase with a shotgun. Even grizzly Rod Patterson has standards for his wayward daughter.
She runs her fingers through my hair, helping herself to a handful and jerking my mouth toward hers. Her cigarette breath fills my lungs when she laughs through her nose.
“You’re so tortured,” she says. “You know that? I think that’s why I can’t get you out of my head. I just want to fix you.”
“Don’t need fixing.”
“Everyone needs fixing.”
“Doesn’t mean they want to be.”
“Ugh. You’re so stubborn.” She smacks my chest. “And damaged and guarded.”
Her palm then slides to the front of my pants before she cups my junk. I suppose this would be considered sexual harassment, but it doesn’t bother me. I’ve been through worse shit than a big-titted sex-addict feeling on me. Pandora gives my cock a gentle squeeze and stares into my eyes. The sound of her dad tapping his booted foot along to CCR’s Fortunate Son in his office just fifteen feet away sends a quick sweat down my back.
I can’t afford to lose this job.
“And I fucking love it.” She releases me from her clutches and returns to the reception desk to answer a ringing phone. “Patterson Auto Body.”
Pandora slips a nail between her lips and winks my way.
“Didn’t want to talk to you either.” She slams the phone down, shrugging. When her shoulders move inward, her cleavage spills out of her top. It’s intentional, no question. “No one there.”