Don't Deny Me Page 14

  How could she not know that?

  Mick flipped open his phone and dialed her number. He was going to lay it all out to her, right there in the kosher foods aisle. He did think about her, he did want to see her, and he did love her. Okay, so it wasn’t easy for him to say things. Most guys were like that, weren’t they? Did she have to expect so much from him?

  Angrily, Mick listened to the ringing of his unanswered call, but hung up before it went to voice mail. He wasn’t about to leave her a message that she could ignore and not answer just to get back at him. That shit wasn’t right, he told himself as he pushed his cart, filling it with stuff he barely paid attention to. Playing games.

  Fuck that. He wasn’t going to call her again. No matter how much he wanted to talk to her, or see her. Let her come to him, Mick thought bitterly.

  Let her wait.

  * * *

  Alice waited a week before she deleted his name from her instant message list. It had killed her to see him come online every night, same time as always, but never ping her. So had the silence of her phone. But she’d meant what she’d said. No matter how quickly the words had slipped from her lips, they’d been sincere.

  Call me when you have time for me.

  No call. Therefore, no time. It stung, first like a slap and then every day after that with the slow, dull throb and ache of a muscle-deep bruise that refused to heal.

  Another week passed. A third. She gave up believing he’d call her, but not hoping.

  She didn’t speak of it to Jay, who asked only once or twice before wisely choosing to change the subject. Things with him and Paul had been patched up. Jay was happy about it, and if Alice didn’t quite believe Paul wouldn’t end up breaking her friend’s heart, she knew better than to taint him with her own bitterness about her situation.

  Wendy hadn’t been quite so understanding.

  “Men,” she said flatly, “are assholes. Why are they such assholes?”

  Alice picked at her salad. No appetite. At least she wasn’t eating her feelings.

  “Hey. Don’t let him do this to you.” Wendy rapped a fingertip on the table to get Alice to look at her.

  Alice shrugged. “He didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t let him do. Things happen. Sometimes the things that burn the brightest also die the fastest.”

  “He said he loved you ‘on some level,’” her sister said with a sneer. “That’s just gross.”

  Her sister’s affront on her behalf made her want to cry. “I don’t know. I guess I’d rather he said that than lied to me about how he felt.”

  “He’s scared.”

  “That’s just what we always say about men when they don’t give us what we want,” Alice said. “It’s a nice way of making ourselves feel superior, or something.”

  “Okay, so he wasn’t scared, he was just a dick!” Wendy said.

  Alice dragged her fork through the pile of unappetizing lettuce and gave her sister a small smile. “I’m trying to be philosophical here, and the best you can come up with is that he’s a dick?”

  “A giant one.” Wendy nodded. “Riddled with oozing sores. No, not a big one. A tiny, teeny weeny blister-covered prick!”

  Alice snorted laughter. After a second or so, the giggles turned to chuckles, and then to guffaws. In another minute, she and Wendy were laughing hard enough to send tears rolling down their cheeks … and then she was crying. Sobbing. Alice buried her face in her hands.

  She hadn’t cried at all this entire time, but now the gasping sobs rose up and choked her. The tears seared her, burning. Everything tasted of salt and sorrow, and Alice pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to stop herself from crying but could not.

  “Thank God you came here for lunch instead of Olive Garden,” she heard Wendy say, and lost it all over again.

  She cried long enough to soak the tablecloth in front of her, and her sister handed her tissue after tissue until finally, Alice was able to stop. Her eyes had swollen so much her sister was nothing more than a blurry lump. Her nose, a running faucet. Even her tongue felt cracked and sore.

  Wendy handed her a wet cloth from the sink and squeezed her shoulder gently. “Feel better?”

  “No.” Alice shook her head as she wiped her face with the cloth. Another surge of tears threatened, like waves of sickness, but she pressed the cool cloth to her face and managed to keep it under control. “I fucked up, Wendy. So much.”

  “Shh, hey,” her sister said. “He fucked up. Not you. Even if you did, I mean, we all do, he still should call you. You told him to when he had some time, and he hasn’t. That’s just a dick move.”

  Alice wiped her face and took the cloth away to look at her sister. “It’s playing games, and it’s stupid, but I’m doing it, too. So we’re both idiots.”

  “So … call him,” Wendy said.

  Alice gave her sister a long, hard look, until Wendy nodded with a sigh. “It’s a thing with him, Wendy. And it will probably always be a thing with him. So, the question is, can I deal with that thing? Or will it keep making me crazy?”

  “It will keep making you crazy.” Wendy shook her head.

  “So … I call him, he doesn’t call me back. Then I’m right back where we started. It sucks. It’s stupid. We’re both stubborn, we’re both assholes.” Alice shrugged helplessly, feeling the tears welling again. Hating herself for not being able to stop feeling so fucking sad. “But I told him to call me when he had time for me, and he hasn’t. Should I chase him?”

  “No. But do you want him to chase you?”

  Wendy had a point, one Alice had thought about a lot. “He doesn’t have to chase me. I’m right here. Right where I’ve always been. All he has to do is reach out, and here I am.”

  “I’m sorry.” Wendy reached to grab Alice’s hand for a squeeze. “It sucks all around.”

  “Yeah. It does.” Alice drew a deep breath and gave her sister a water-logged smile.

  “Hey, I know what would make this better. Soft serve from Peggy’s.” Wendy waggled her brows and grinned.

  The last thing in the world Alice wanted was ice cream, really, but her sister was trying to cheer her up.

  “By the time we get there,” Wendy said, “you’ll want some. I promise.”

  Face washed, positive attitude implemented, in her sister’s passenger seat, Alice turned the music up loud and rolled down the window to let the wind blow her hair. It was summer. She was with her sister. And ice cream really could make everything better.

  They were both laughing and singing along with the radio when the pickup truck ran the red light and rear-ended them.

  * * *

  He’d known there would be questions when he showed up to Sunday dinner without Alice, but all Mick said was that she hadn’t been able to make it. Jimmy and Jack didn’t give a shit, of course. Pop, God bless him, wouldn’t have noticed the Pope if he walked in. Mick’s mother gave him an extra-long hug and pat on the back and served him two portions of turkey before she’d even let Jack have a second. It was Mary who cornered him in the kitchen after dinner, when Mick was getting something down from the high cupboard for Ma.

  “What happened?”

  Mick set the platter on the table and gave his sister a shrug he knew damn well wouldn’t put her off for long. Mary, who could be a dog with a bone, gave him a sad look. Mick shrugged.

  His sister watched him, her arms crossed. She’d started looking so much like their mother it was scary, except that Ma was soft-spoken and never pried. Mary could take a lesson, Mick thought, and felt bad at once.

  “She was good for you,” Mary repeated. “What did you do?”

  Mick cracked open the bottle and took a long pull. He could escape into the living room and the TV with his dad, brothers, and nephews, but he stayed. Not sure why.

  “I didn’t call her back.”

  Mary groaned. “Oh. That. What is it with you? With most men, actually. It’s not brain surgery. Someone calls you, you call them back, why is it so hard
?”

  “I didn’t feel like talking to her right then, and then it got late and I was going to call her the next day. That’s all.” Mick shrugged again. The beer tasted sour, and he poured it down the sink.

  “Did you fight about it?”

  He nodded.

  Mary sighed. “So, call her now.”

  Mick said nothing. Mary’s brows rose. She put her hands on her hips.

  “Mick!”

  “She said she didn’t like it when we didn’t make plans, that it was always last minute.”

  Mary looked at him like he was stupid. “Makes sense to me.”

  “I’m spontaneous!” Mick protested.

  “You’re not spontaneous,” his sister told him. “You’re disorganized and you’re always looking for the next best thing, so you can’t commit to what’s in front of you in case something more exciting comes along.”

  That hit him to the core, but if anyone in the world knew him, it was Mary. “Shit. That’s cold.”

  “It’s true,” she said, but gently. “I love you, Mickey, but my God, I’ve watched you do this dance for years. You’re going to lose her if you don’t step up.”

  “She told me to call her when I had time for her, like I never made time for her, when I did. All the time. I gave that girl more time than I’ve ever given anyone! Why can’t women ever just be satisfied?”

  “I’m disgusted with you,” Mary said flatly. “Satisfied? You want her to be satisfied with what you give her? Don’t be arrogant, Mick. She wants to spend time with you because she likes you. And you turn around and knock her down for it?”

  “She pissed me off, Mare. I need time to cool down, so I don’t lose my temper and totally fuck everything up, say things I’ll regret.”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “Let me get this straight. You had a fight about you not calling her back and about not making plans. She told you to call her when you had time for her. And you’re not calling her?”

  It sounded stupid because it was stupid, but all Mick could do was give Mary a stubborn glare. His sister shook her head, clearly giving up on him. “I don’t want to be an idiot, Mary.”

  “Well,” she said. “You are.”

  * * *

  Alice had been in the ER for hours. Nothing broken, though she’d needed stitches in her arm and hand. They hadn’t admitted her, though they’d taken Wendy upstairs an hour ago. Her sister had suffered the brunt of the accident and was being kept overnight for observation, though both of them had been fortunate not to suffer serious injuries. The driver of the truck had walked away without even being admitted. Everything could’ve been much worse.

  Her clothes had started going stiff from the blood. She didn’t know if it were hers or Wendy’s, but she wanted a hot shower, clean pajamas, some ice packs, and her bed. Everything hurt. She was already purple with bruises.

  “I just want to go home.” Alice turned her head to look away from the doctor who was poking and prodding her.

  “You have a ride?” the doctor asked.

  She hesitated. “I called my … a friend. To come and get me. But he hasn’t answered me yet.”

  The doctor gave her a sympathetic smile. “Do you have any other friends who you can call?”

  She did, but she didn’t want any of them. She wanted Mick. She needed him.

  “Do you want to give your friend some more time to answer you? Or we can call you a cab.” The doctor was already looking harried, not that Alice blamed him. The ER was overflowing with patients in worse condition than hers.

  Alice checked her phone, but Mick hadn’t returned her call. She took a deep breath that hurt everything inside her and shook her head. “Yeah. A cab would be great.”

  * * *

  “Mick. It’s me. I’ve been in an accident, a car accident. They’re keeping my sister, she’s banged up pretty bad, but they’re letting me go home. I’m okay, but … I need you. … Can you come get me? Please call me back. I need you.”

  He’d listened to the message ten times, at least, each time feeling sicker and sicker inside. It had come in around two thirty on Sunday afternoon, while he was driving home from his parents’. He hadn’t listened to it until just before he went to bed. Not on purpose. Not to be a dick. Just because he hadn’t noticed it until then.

  He’d called her back as soon as he’d listened, but had gone straight to voice mail. Three times, though he hadn’t left a message after the first. At a loss, he’d called Jay, but he hadn’t answered, either.

  Monday morning, exhausted from being unable to sleep, he’d missed the alarm. Got to work late. He’d called Jay again, this time at the office, but got an out-of-office voice mail. Useless for anything, Mick canceled his onsite visits. He logged into his computer, but Alice’s name didn’t appear in his list of contacts.

  He called her again. “Alice. Call me, please. I’m sorry I didn’t get your message before. I really am. But please, call me back, okay?”

  She didn’t call him back. Not all day, and by five o’clock, Mick couldn’t stand it anymore. With rush hour traffic it took him close to two hours to get to her place, and by the time he did, he was starving. Worried. Anxious and a little angry, too.

  When she opened the door, all the breath left him. She looked like … shit, she looked like she’d been hit by a truck. He wanted to take her in his arms, but the way she stood so stiffly, as though merely looking at him hurt her, kept him from touching her.

  “Can I come in?”

  Silently, she stood aside to let him pass, then closed the door after him. Without a word she went into the living room and settled onto the couch, where it was clear she’d been for a long time. Blankets, a bowl of half-eaten soup, ice packs. The TV was playing something in black and white, but on mute.

  “Alice …”

  She looked at him, her expression completely blank. She’d done nothing to cover the bruises on her face, and they stood out starkly in shades of purple, blue, and even black. It broke him to see them, along with the railroad track pattern of stitches on her forearm and the back of her hand.

  It broke him worse the way she looked at him. Not cutting her gaze. Flat and disinterested and emotionless.

  Mick knelt beside her, tried to take her good hand. She tugged it gently away and put it under the blanket. His insides twisted.

  “I’m sorry,” Mick said. “Baby, I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

  Something glittered in her gaze. “No. You weren’t. I called you, and you didn’t answer. And this time, Mick, it wasn’t about whether or not we were going to lunch. This time, I really needed you, and you were not there.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, helpless to do anything but repeat it until maybe she’d hear him.

  Alice only stared, silent. She’d heard him, Mick realized. But she would not listen. He got to his feet.

  “You want me to go,” he said, not a question.

  “If you can’t be there for me when I need you,” Alice told him, “then I don’t want you.”

  She swallowed, her mouth thinning. She blinked rapidly, and it killed him that she was trying so hard not to cry in front of him. He’d done that to her. Hurt her worse than that truck. Left her with worse than bruises. Worse than scars.

  It was over.

  Part Three

  Don’t you believe in second chances?

  —Mick to Alice

  * * *

  Time had passed, but could anyone really ever change? That was the question that came to Alice’s mind in the darkness of her room with Mick breathing soft and steady in the bed beside her. His declaration had led to an embrace, which led to a kiss, which had taken them to her bed. Toe bone connected to the shinbone, Alice thought and rolled to face him. Her fingertips drifted down the line of his bare shoulder and arm to rest for a moment on his hip before she rolled onto her back again. Mick hadn’t stirred.

  He’d always slept hard and deep. She was the one who tossed and turned and woke in the night to
go to the bathroom. Now, though she really could’ve waited until morning, Alice got up and used the toilet. She rinsed her mouth at the sink, then looked at her own reflection, turning her face from side to side as though she’d find some answers in the slope of her cheekbones or the shadows under her eyes.

  What in holy hell was she doing?

  “I want you¸” Mick had said. “Let me prove it to you.”

  If orgasms were proof of desire, he’d done as promised. Her cheeks heated. Time had passed, indeed, but Mick still knew her body better than any man ever had. Maybe ever would, she had to admit. She’d had a few boyfriends since breaking up with Mick, but none who’d turned her inside out and many who’d never even turned her on.

  In bed, she turned so he could spoon her. Eventually, she slipped into dreams. Fractured images of crashing waves and fields of flowers. She woke again to the first hint of light in the sky and listened to the steady in-out of Mick’s breathing, wondering how on earth she was ever going to give this up all over again.

  Now that she’d had him again, how could she go back to living without her Mick?

  “Are you awake?” he whispered against the back of her neck.

  She almost didn’t answer, not wanting to wipe away the brilliance of the night with the mundane morning. She wriggled against him after a moment, her ass pressed to Mick’s very impressive waking erection. She hadn’t meant anything by it, not really. More a silent acknowledgment of her wakefulness than a come-on … but that didn’t matter when his hand slid over her belly and between her legs.

  His fingers found her clit with unerring precision. Smooth circles, perfect pace. He had her on the edge in a minute or so, then eased off to tease her while his teeth found the back of her neck and the slope of her shoulder. They moved together, shifting until he was inside her. As always, in that first moment when he filled her, Alice made a low noise.

  Leisurely, they moved. Dreamlike. Her orgasm rolled through her; she cried out, wordless and breathless and gasping. Mick thrust once, twice more, and shuddered against her.

  They slept.

  Alice woke to the scent of coffee and frying bacon and toast—did she even have bacon in the house? Bleary-eyed and tousled, she threw on a robe and went to the kitchen to find a feast spread out on the table waiting for her. Cream and sugar had been set out by her mug, which Mick filled for her as soon as she appeared in the doorway. He kissed her when he pressed her mug into her hand. He wore jeans but no shirt. Bare feet, too. Clearly, he was trying to kill her with the sexy.