Page 97 of Sweeper
I hate Zander fucking Williams.
I lift a rack of the plastic outdoor pint glasses and carry them to the beer garden bar to restock the supply for tonight. I just need to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Focus on my work. Focus on the task at hand.
I can see my breath in the cold as I walk behind the bar to begin transferring the glasses when a deep voice nearly startles me half to death.
“Hey, Ducky.”
I gasp and almost drop the mug in my hand when I look up to see Zander sitting at the end of the bar. He’s wearing his Red Sox hat faced forward and pulled low with his brown hair sprawling out from beneath it. He’s also wearing just a hooded jumper even though it’s freezing out here.
“Zander, what the bloody hell are you doing back here?” I ask through clenched teeth.
“Waiting for you.” He licks his lips and props his hands on the bar.
“How did you get back here? We’re not even open yet.”
“I scaled the fence.” He holds his arm up and reveals a tear in his jumper. “Caught my sweatshirt on a nail in the ivy.”
“Well, that was pointless because I don’t want to see you.” I pick up the rack of pint glasses and move to go back inside.
Zander sprints around me and braces his hands on either side, blocking me in. “I need to explain,” he says, and I can’t help but note the dark circles under his eyes.
“You don’t need to explain,” I state firmly as I slam the glasses down on the bar and zip my coat up to my chin like it’ll somehow protect me from him. “I heard everything perfectly clearly. Like you said, the walls are paper thin.”
He hesitates for a moment, so I make a move to leave again, and his hand reaches out to touch my waist to stop me. The warmth of his palm may as well have been a hot branding iron through my coat. It hurts so bloody much.
“Don’t touch me,” I snap, my jaw tight as I back away from him. “Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me. Just leave me alone, okay? I understand the bit. You needed me to get to Vaughn Harris. I don’t know the particulars, but I heard enough.”
“You get what I was doing, right?” he asks, his voice hoarse, his eyes wide and red-rimmed. “I was trying to figure out if Vaughn Harris is my fucking father.”
“Oh, I got that.” I laugh and shake my head, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. “So, you flirted with me, and took me on a bus tour, and made nice with me, slept with me even…all to score an invite to a Harris Sunday dinner so you could extract DNA from Vaughn Harris. Did I get everything?”
Zander blinks back at me. “Yes.”
“Great, then there’s nothing more that needs to be said. You accomplished your mission. Well done, you.” My stomach lurches at being so close to him again and hating him this much. It’s an awful, awful feeling.
“This isn’t over between us, Daphney,” Zander says, his voice raw. “We can get past this.”
“No, we can’t!” I laugh back at him. “This isn’t something I can get past.”
He dips his head so he can hit me with a lethal glare. “You don’t think what I’m dealing with is maybe a slightly bigger deal than me not telling you about this?”
“Oh no, I do.” I nod thoughtfully. “Good luck deciding if you’re going to open that envelope. Sounds like a real nail-biter.”
Zander’s nostrils flare. “I’m glad you think my life’s such a fucking joke.”
“I don’t think your life is a joke,” I exclaim, my tone acidic as I step into his space. “In fact, I thought thefatheryou described to me sounded very real. I loved the stories you told me about him. I could almost picture him, you described him so perfectly. But now I can’t be sure who you were actually describing.”
“That’s…my dad, Jerry,” Zander sputters, his emotions all over his face.
“So, did Jerry really die? Or is he alive and well?” My words are cruel and hurtful, but the pain inside me is louder than my empathy.
“Yes. Fuck, who the fuck do you think I am, Daphney?” Zander cries, his voice garbled with emotion that I cannot sympathize with right now because I’m too hurt.
“I don’t know who you are, Zander! I thought that I was with a guy who would tell me about a very, very big thing happening in his life. Like questioning who his real father is. I know his teammates knew. They knew far more than I did. Guess that’s football for you, eh? Never mind that I let you make love to me. Why on earth would I deserve to know about a possible genetic link to the manager of your football club? Too minor of a detail to share with a girlfriend, clearly.”
“You were my girlfriend for less than twenty-four hours!” Zander hollers, the veins on his neck bulging angrily.
“And there it is,” I bite, my voice shrieking at the end. “The truth of your feelings. I told you things. I opened up to you about my sister, my family, my ex. We had been more than just casual sex for weeks now and screw you for tricking me into feeling like I was safe in that.”
