Page 64 of Fighting for You
I throw a fifty on the table then whip around to him. “Her fucking name isMargot. And she left,” I say as I push past him. I’m not in the mood to answer his questions. He can get the information from Cary and Thea who saw the whole thing play out.
“Left? I never even saw her.”
“Yeah, well, get used to it.”
The door is swinging shut behind me when I hear him say, “What the hell does that mean?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Margot
Ijolt awake covered in a cold sweat. I tossed and turned all night, nightmares of my past chasing me. It’s not a dream though, it’s a living nightmare. He found me.
It’s Christmas morning, I plan to go see my dad. He may not be sober enough to realize it, but it won’t feel like Christmas without seeing him.
Checking my phone, I see there are six messages from Brooks, all sent throughout the night, all asking me to call him, let him explain, and all becoming less coherent as the night wore on. The last one was sent at 4:43 a.m. I turn my phone off without responding after sending a text to Hayes letting him know I’ll be by for Christmas lunch—our annual tradition.
I take a look in the mirror after washing my face. My eyes are puffy from crying, and the circles beneath them are a dark purple since sleep was hard to come by last night. It was difficult for my mind to settle once I got back home, both because of the lingering threat but also because Brooks’ words kept spreadinginto the deep pockets of my mind. “I told you not to get attached to me”and “you’re acting like some lovesick teenager after her first time”keep floating around me, inescapable.
I’ve never felt as small as I did in that moment. Our difference in age never seemed like an issue before last night, but now it’s clear he only sees me as some young piece of ass. Someone to use. To break.
I feel so utterly stupid for not believing everything I’d heard, everything he told me himself. I should have listened. I guess I didn’t want to believe the truth so badly that I only held on to the things I perceived as real. I ignored all the red flags, deluding myself, even when he was waving them directly in my face.
I guess I should be thankful he showed his true colors so soon. He didn’t drag it out, string me along for weeks, months. Didn’t wait until I was completely head over heels in love with him. Just a little bit. Just enough for the sting of what I saw last night and the things he said to leave a lasting wound on me. Leave my heart tender and bruised, not quite battered and beaten.
At least he had the decency to not leave me in tatters.
Tears well in my eyes again, but I blink them back. I need to get a hold of myself. He’s just a guy. So what if he took my trust and threw it back in my face? So what if I shared—unbeknownst to him—something I can never get back? It’s a lesson learned, right?
Swallowing down as much of the emotions threatening to overtake me as I can, I blow my nose, pull my hair into a loose bun, and head out to celebrate Christmas.
I pull up to my dad’s and sigh at the disrepair of the place as I often do when I come here. I know today’s not the day, but Hayes and I have to have a conversation about it. Dad is in no state to take the initiative to get someone out here. It’s up to us—well, I guess me. I think Hayes is over the whole situation, he’s only willing to invest the bare minimum of his time, money, or mental bandwidth. I don’t blame him, twenty years is a long time to take care of someone who refuses to take care of themselves.
Opening the door, my anxiety spikes. Brooks and everything that happened at the bar yesterday was a distraction from my more pressing issue—the reason I was seeking Brooks out in the first place last night, the desperate need I had for him to make me feel safe. I scan the trees around my dad’s place. He’s secluded here, with no neighbors for miles. I’ve never thought about it until now, now that every rustle of the wind and change in shadow brings a sense of danger with it.
I had gotten complacent. Months and months of nothing had lulled me into feeling safe. Meeting Brooks, feeling confident from his attention dissipated the usual dark cloud that hung around me. But it’s back now and darker than ever.
Miss me?
I hurry from my car to Dad’s house. After carefully navigating the crumbling front steps, I make my way inside and lock the door behind me. Just like numerous times before, I find him sleeping it off in his recliner in the living room, the TV playing a Christmas movie quietly. A half empty bottle of vodka stands on the side table next to him, and I can’t tell if it’s left over from the night before or if he started early this morning. I guess it doesn’t make a difference either way.
I pick up a few empty bottles and takeout containers—just like always, it never ends, never changes—but lose steam pretty quickly. Dropping the items in my hands back to the coffee table,I sit on the old sofa in the center of the room. Huffing out a heavy breath, I realize I’m tired. Tired of watching my father drink himself to death day in and day out. Tired of pretending I’ve got things together so I don’t disappoint my brother. Tired of looking over my shoulder all the time.
I feel like I’m keeping it together by sheer force of will and double-sided tape. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.
“My heart is heavy today, Daddy,” I say, knowing full well he can’t hear me in his unconscious state. “I handed my heart over to a man, and he handed it back to me in pieces last night. What was I thinking?” I scoff to myself. “I was pulled in by those stupid blue eyes and the motorcycle and that nose ring. The tattoos…” I trail off on a groan. “Sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear any of this. I just don’t really have anyone else to talk to about it. I definitely can’t tell Hayes—especially now—it would end in a bloodbath.”
I pause, playing with a loose thread on the couch. “I thought he was one of the good ones, you know? I guess I’m a little naive. Should I be blaming you? Absent parent and all. I don’t think it’s fair though; it discounts what Hayes did for me. He was a great stand-in for you, I can’t even begin to thank him.” A tear tracks down my cheek, rolling to the corner of my lips. I taste the salt of it when I open my mouth to continue, “And I’m in trouble, Daddy. He found me, and I don’t know how long he’s been here. I’m terrified. I don’t want to have to run again. I don’t even know where I would go.”
I sit in the quiet for a while longer, listening to my father’s deep, even breathing and the soft sounds of the TV in the background. I feel better after saying everything out loud for the first time. Not that it helps the situation, but a tiny bit of the tension I carry daily has eased.
Wiping away the tears from my face, I stand, gather up the bottles and containers I dropped earlier, and take them to the kitchen where I spend the next thirty minutes cleaning up.
The Indigo Hill town square is deserted. I would expect nothing less for a small South Carolina town on Christmas Day. It started sleeting on the drive over from Dad’s, and now the roads are slick. I’ve passed only a few cars, and despite my best efforts, my eyes shoot to the driver of each one, looking for anyone who looks like they don’t belong.
I park on the empty street right outside of Mark of Mason. The shop is dark, blinds shut to the outside. Hayes has given all the people who work with him a few days off for the holidays as he does every year. They typically pick back up after the new year.
Without the usual faces milling inside the storefronts and on the sidewalks, the center of town feels creepy and ominous. I pull my jacket closer around me to ward off the chill. The wet, icy wind bites at my cheeks as I reach into the backseat to grab Hayes’ present, and I pull my parka hood tighter to me. My eyes sweep the gazebo in the center of the square as if I expect to see someone waiting for me.
