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We both burst out with laughter. Roman’s head turns to the side to look at us. We simultaneously lower our heads, busying ourselves with the saltshakers, trying to hide our smirks. I’m going to miss working with Kate and her carefree humor. Kate is the kind of girl that, despite her shitty life, she manages to find sunshine on even the darkest of days. I really admire that about her.
I finally finish my shift at 10:45 pm and say my goodbyes to Kate before leaving my resignation on the counter under Roman’s watchful eye.
“Happy?” I turn to him, raising my brows. “Now you can leave!”
“I’m taking you home.” He pulls his car keys from his jacket pocket.
My eyes immediately dart to his. “That will not be necessary.”
“It’s necessary, and it’s not up for debate.” Roman stands tall and steadfast. I know him well enough by now to know that I will not win this argument, and I should just surrender to the fact. I’m embarrassed for him to see where I live. It's like chalk and cheese compared to his place, and I suddenly feel less. Less of myself, less of a person, less of everything, and most of all, less than him.
I expected to come outside and see Pharrell waiting by the black Mercedes. Instead, a sleek-looking silver sports car’s lights flash as he unlocks it with a button. God, how many cars does this man own? I have no idea what kind of car it is, but it looks imported and swanky. I also don’t expect him to open my car door for me either, but he does.
Inside the car smells just like Roman. That sweet spicy vanilla scent that intoxicates my lungs with deliciousness. I yawn, sinking into the luxurious car seat that seems to hug me like a big warm blanket.
Our car ride is quiet. Eerily quiet. God, the car doesn’t even seem to make any noise.
“Turn left at the lights ahead,” I direct him, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“I know where to go,” he says matter of fact.
I roll my eyes and resign to looking out my window with a sigh. “Of course, you do.”
Chapter Eighteen
Roman
INDIE’S APARTMENT IS NOT the worst place in Boston to live, but it’s certainly not the safest either. As I pull up outside her building, there’re a couple of young teenagers standing by the entrance. They look at my car like it doesn’t belong here, and it doesn’t. This is the kind of place you leave your car unattended for five minutes and anything and everything would get stripped from it.
The rusty bars on the bottom floor apartments only add to the trepidation I feel letting Indie out of my car and into that place. But that place is her home. Our worlds couldn’t be further apart than they are right now. I have always been a strong believer that you make your own destiny. If you want something, you work hard and you get it. Never have I been so wrong. Indie’s destiny was stripped from her when her parents abandoned her. She works so damn hard, and yet she will most likely never get past this. I look back up at her apartment building which looks like it should be deemed unhabitable and feel a deep tightening in my chest. Destiny has forsaken her.
“Thanks for the ride,” Indie says quickly as she reaches for the door handle.
“Hang on a minute.” I put my hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “I’ll walk you in. I don’t like the look of those kids over there.”
She chuckles at me, shrugging my hand off her. “You do realize I’ve survived the last twenty-three years of my life without you?”
I raise my brows. “You call this surviving?”
Indie lowers her head briefly before turning it back to me with those blue eyes that are sad as fucking ever. “I call it, I’m doing the best I can, given my circumstances.”
God, she’s getting good at shutting me down. Indie possesses the natural ability to sum things up so perfectly and so tragically. Maybe she should have been a lawyer.
“Good night, Sir. Thank you for the ride.”
This time, I let her go. I watch her walk into her building, greeting the young boys at the entrance. They smile and say something to her which makes her laugh, then she disappears inside.
I sit in my car for the longest moment. Indie humbles me. She calls a spade, a spade, and doesn’t apologize for it. As annoying as that is, I like it. I like her. We are so different, and our lives certainly don’t fit together. However, ever since our worlds have crossed paths, I can’t seem to stop thinking about her.
So much about her intrigues me. I want to help her, and I don’t know why. I don’t know why suddenly everything about her matters to me. Indie is the type of woman though that would not accept my help willingly. She’s too damn proud. She’s too damn incredible.
Reluctantly, I pull away from the curb and head home. Walking into this empty apartment normally doesn’t bother me. In fact, I love it. That is, until recently. Until Indie. I was quite content living alone, doing my own thing, yet for some unknown reason tonight, and most nights over the last few weeks, I’ve found myself looking out my window and contemplating my future. Maybe life with Georgina wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe, just maybe, I do need someone to fill this void. I know my father would retire and leave me the hell alone if I did. I don’t have to love her, just provide a home and safe space for her. I’m not sure if I am even capable of loving anyone. My heart has grown rotten. Too many bitter memories and too many obligations and expectations have made me incapable of letting anyone in. I’ve shut myself off to compassion, affection, and the prospect of becoming a better man. I lost myself a long time ago.
When my mother died, I lost the only person who showed me any form of love and unconditional support. My mother was a deeply troubled woman. Her life was not easy, and she chose to drown her pain in any form of alcoholic liquid she could get her hands on. She wasn’t always an alcoholic, but the older I became, the further she sank. I have such fond memories of her when I was a child. She would laugh and play with us as if she were a child herself. My mom was beautiful; her dark hair was like silk. I’d tangle my fingers in it when she read me my bedtime stories at night. She always smelt like peaches and had the most delicate soft hands. As time passed, and I grew older, I watched her kind heart slowly shatter, no longer able to cope with the relentless demands to be perfect for my father. His endless affairs chipped away at her tenderness and solidity until all that was left was a shell of the person she once was. As I grew into a teenager and began to mature, she was no longer able to protect me from the mounding pressure my dad began to put on me as the eldest son, and the bottle became her therapist.
I take a long sip of my whiskey, staring out into the night. The dim lights of the boats in the bay mirror on the water, dancing with the current. I wish I had the courage and the maturity back then to save her. I wish I had stood up to my father and rescued her from the life she so desperately tried to escape from. But who am I kidding, I am a grown-ass man, and I still don’t have the balls to stand up to him now. She’d be ashamed of the man I have become, and that weighs heavier on me than I care to admit. I’m turning into the very man I despise. I’m my father's son, and everything I hate about him I see staring back at me through the reflection in my window.
Chapter Nineteen
