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He shrugs, looking down on Javier sweetly. “It’s not the toy that has value. It’s the memory attached to the train that’s priceless, and if it makes him feel secure, then what the hell does Del know? Someday, he’ll find assurance within himself, and he’ll no longer need it.”
I sigh on the inside, a long, drawn out, swoon-worthy sigh. When he says things like that, I want to forget how much he hurt me, but I can’t. He’s a head case and if given the opportunity, he will hurt me again.
We slip quietly out of the room, and I close the door. I peek across the hall into Papa’s room. The television is blaring, but he’s asleep. I go into his room and turn down the volume. Smiling, I place a blanket over him and then leave, closing the door after me. Tug’s eyes are on me the entire time.
We walk to the living room and sit on the couch. Nerves make my stomach feel queasy, and I wonder if he feels the same way. I don’t know what to say or why the hell I allowed him to come home with me. Tug speaks first.
“I want you to know that I’m not that guy.”
“So … What … You’re either some other guy, or you’re real name is Tuglima and you were born with a va-jay-jay.”
I think he smiles, but I can’t look at him because his eyes are saying things I don’t want them to.
“How did my va-jay-jay feel when I fucked you in the shower?”
Holding back my shock is difficult, but I know it’s the desired reaction, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of showing him I’m rattled. “Am I supposed to be so stunned now that I’ll sit quietly and listen to you grovel?”
“I never grovel.” His expression hardens. “I was simply curious how far you would go to distract attention from the conversation we should be having.”
I want to scream. He’s not easily manipulated, but he’s exceptionally skilled at doing it to others.
“Oh, I can go pretty damn far. The shower was incredible until you snapped and turned into ‘that guy’, whoever the fuck he is. So, tell me, who are you now? If there’s like five of you in there, I’d kind of like to know so I can prepare myself.”
I expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. His features soften and his expression shows a vulnerability that worries me.
“You aren’t going to make this easy on me, are you?”
“Should I?”
He sighs. “I’m not pretending anymore. I like you. I tried to be someone I wasn’t because it was easier than being who I am. I want to apologize to you for how I treated you. What I did was unacceptable. I didn’t mean for things happen that way.”
It feels nice to hear him apologize, but I’m not sure it changes how I feel about him. I give him a small smile and say, “Wishing you could take it back, and not meaning to do it, are two different things. You meant for it to happen exactly as it did. You just didn’t get the results you’d hoped for.”
He stares at his shoes. “I think maybe I did.”
The thought that he feels he gained something from his stunt is unsettling. He speaks with little remorse and it bothers me. “You got back at Tori for breaking your heart, and that made you happy. You might need psychological help if you don’t see why that’s wrong.”
He laughs a deep belly laugh. “I love how you aren’t afraid to call me out on my shit, but that wasn’t what I meant. I didn’t get back at her, but I got her back, and that makes me happy.”
“Well, since you love that I ‘call you out on your shit,’ you might be delusional. Last I heard, she married Brady.”
“She did, and I got the slap in the face I needed.”
And reality hits me, but I’m not a complete doormat. “Oh, I get it now. Look, Tug, I’m not interested in being anyone’s rebound. I told you, my life is complicated. I don’t have room for anything or anyone else. You don’t understand. Raising my son, and dealing with my grandpa, making sure he takes the correct medicines and gets to his appointments. It’s a lot and it’s all I have time for. My plate is full.”
His expression twists to one of concern. “I don’t want to complicate your life any further, but I like you. I want to be friends.”
I almost laugh. “Really? You want to be friends? How does Crazy Red feel about that?”
He blanches. “I don’t give a shit how she feels. We broke up.”
“Oh. Well, clearly you’re very stable and would never complicate my life.”
He scrubs his face with his hands. A sign he’s frustrated. I’m sure he isn’t challenged by most women, but I’m not most women, and I’m not interested in landing him to gain country club status. My life’s goal isn’t to brag to all my friends about my rich husband, while we sip champagne, ogling the shirtless pool boy.
“I deserve that, but have you ever been lost? I’ve been through some things that changed me, but I’m trying to find my way back.”
Do spiders have eight legs? Does water turn to ice in the freezer? Have I ever been lost? I’m still lost.
