Love, Me: A Pleasant Valley Novel Read online

  “It has nothing to do with the past. She’s a sweet girl, Vaughn.”

  “Dammit. Just tell me!”

  He crosses his arms. “It’s not my place.”

  “I’m done with this shit.” I walk out, but his voice stops me.

  “You’d be okay with me telling her about your mom and stepdad?”

  “You can’t compare the two. What happened with them doesn’t have any effect on my relationship with her.”

  He nods. “I get it. I do. The only thing I can say is to give it time. I promise you; she’ll be worth the wait.”

  “So I’m just supposed to wait, huh? For a girl who is not only unavailable, but who also puts another man in front of me? Sound familiar? Never again, Brad.” I do my best not to stomp away as I leave.

  I crank up the radio in my truck, wishing this whole thing was just fucking easier. By the time I make it home, I’m actually exhausted. I hop in the shower before I get in bed, and the second my head hits the pillow, I fall asleep.

  * * *

  I’m sitting at the desk when she walks in. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s wearing sunglasses, so I can’t see her eyes, and it pisses me off. “Here.” She holds out a dry cleaning bag with my jacket that I forgot at Brad and Kenny’s when I left the other night.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry I puked on you.”

  “It’s okay.”

  When she turns to walk away, I hesitate to go after her. I shouldn’t. So I don’t. When four o’clock rolls around, I walk over to the restaurant, wait for her outside the door, and then walk her to her car. I ignore the tension, the anger, the desire . . . the fucking disappointment. She simply thanks me before shutting her car door. Those two words coming from her soft voice are the highlight of my day.

  Weeks go by with no new revelations. Weeks of me asking why I’m doing this to myself again. Why I’m wasting my time on someone who clearly doesn’t give a shit about me. Why I’m still walking her to her car, protecting a woman who puts another man before me. Einstein said the definition of doing something over and over again and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity. Guess that makes me insane then.

  I want to ask where he is. What the fuck he’s doing allowing his girl to have another guy making sure she’s safe. What kind of man does that? Where the fuck has he been? Her parents got back last week, and since then, I haven’t bothered to walk her to her car since I saw them all walking out together. The perfect little family. The kind of parents I always wanted.

  I’ve been dreading but looking forward to tattooing her forever, it seems. When she comes in for her appointment, I hand her a release waiver, have her sign it, and then motion for her to follow me. “I’ll need you to stand while I apply the outline first.”

  “Okay.”

  “Lift up your shirt and push your waistband down.”

  I wait for her to bare her side to me, and when the pants aren’t low enough, I slide them down farther. The only reason I’m able to hold myself back from doing what I really want to do is because I’m a professional. I take my job very seriously and refuse to make her an exception. I carefully apply the stencil and rub it a little longer than necessary because even through the paper, she feels so damn good. After slowly peeling it away, I slide my stool back and examine it.

  “Perfect.” I nod at the mirror. “Check it out. Let me know what you think. I don’t want bullshit about how you love it, when you really want to change something. Be honest because once it’s there, it ain’t coming off.”

  She angles her body toward the mirror, and I watch her face in the reflection. After taking a quick glance, she turns back to me. “Looks great.”

  “You didn’t even look at it.”

  “I did. Please, just start.”

  The only reason I even continue is because I know it’ll look amazing. I don’t do shitty work. Ever. “Fine. Hop up and lie on your side.” It’s hard to avoid talking to her when I want to ask her so many things. I want to see if she’s as miserable as I am. I want to know why she’s torturing me. I want to know if she’s ever going to let me in. But it’s for the best. She’s taken, and I refuse to be the second choice in any woman’s life ever again.

  She jumps when the machine buzzes.

  “Tell me if you need a break, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  The first press of the needle makes her suck in a breath.

  “Good?”

  “Yeah.”

  With as gentle of a touch as I can manage, I trace the outline. When small drops of blood form under the needle, it hits me square in the chest. I have to stop and pretend to be adjusting my machine to compose myself. I hate that I’m making her bleed . . . that’s the last thing I want to see.

  She doesn’t flinch when I press the pedal this time, and I manage to continue, even though it’s killing me that I’m causing her pain right now. An hour goes by then two. I’ve asked if she needs a break multiple times, but she always says no. When I’m on hour three, the outline is complete, and I’ve even gotten a good start on the color. My back is killing me, but being able to touch her, even through the latex, makes the pain worth it. I’m about to switch needles when she finally speaks. “Are you done?”

  “I can if you want me to be.”

  “No, it’s fine. I just want you to finish it.”

  “You want a break? Grab some water or something?”

  “No.” I don’t know her well enough to diagnose her feelings based on one word, but if I had to guess, I’d say she’s hurt. And that hurt has turned to anger.

  Whatever. If she thinks she can take it, then I’ll finish. I lose myself once again, and an hour and a half hour later, I wipe away the excess one last time. “All done.”

  “Can I get up?”

  “Yeah, but be careful.”

  She doesn’t listen and hops off the table. Her body sways, and she reaches out to steady herself on the table. “Shit.”

  “Told ya.” I grab a bottled water from my mini fridge and hand it to her. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” She slams half of it and then turns to look in the mirror.

  Again, I watch her eyes. This time, they fill with tears, and she covers her mouth. “Holy shit.”

  “Like it?”

  “Vaughn, it’s amazing.” She touches it then pulls her hand away super-fast. “Shit. It’s sore.”

  “Yeah, it will be for a couple of days. Here, let me cover it up.” I slide my stool over and apply ointment then some Saran wrap. I take off my gloves and rip a piece of tape. I never do that, but because it’s her and because I’ve been literally itching to feel her bare skin again with my own, I do it. When my fingers touch her skin, I almost lose my shit. She’s so damn soft. And smooth. “All done.”

  She puts her clothes back in place and tries to discreetly rub her eyes. “How much do I owe you?”

  I begin cleaning up. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Hell, no. I’m paying you. How much.”

  I turn and cross my arms. “How many fuckin’ sandwiches have you given me and not taken my money?”

  “Not enough to cover a tattoo.”

  “I don’t want your money.” I want you.

  “I saw that man give you a wad of cash for something way smaller than this. How much did you charge him?”

  “One fifty an hour.” Her mouth drops, and I raise an eyebrow. “And that was a discount. Just keep giving me food, and we’re good.”

  She grabs her purse and flinches when it rubs against her side. “I owe you sandwiches for life then.”

  “I’m good with that.”

  For the first time since she’s been here, she smiles at me. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Before she leaves, I turn to grab an instruction sheet. She takes it and walks away. I watch her on the monitor, and when she’s finally off the screen, I grab the first thing I see, which happens to be a metal replica of my truck, and t
hrow it across the room, hitting a framed picture of the first magazine article featuring my work. When the glass crumbles down to the ground, I do the same.

  Chapter 9

  Rayne

  I shift in the seat to try to keep the seat belt from rubbing against my freshly tattooed skin. The short ride home seems to take forever, but when I finally walk in the door, a tidal wave of emotions break the dam. My purse falls from my arm, and I scream into the empty room. I don’t even cry because there’s no point. Crying won’t bring him back, and crying won’t give me answers. I’m way past being sad. I’m even over being confused. Now, I’m just fucking pissed.

  I’m pissed at Bryan for making me promise to stay faithful when he knew damn well there was a chance he wouldn’t come back. I’m pissed at the man who promised we’d have a life together and then fucking left me. I’m pissed at Vaughn for being so fucking perfect. I’m pissed that I’m questioning myself for holding on to something I should have let go of a long time ago.

  It’s time . . . time to let him go.

  With a jerky arm and angry steps, I get my phone from my bag and go to the couch. The past few weeks, I’ve been slowly realizing how miserable I am without Vaughn in my life. I feel even lonelier without seeing him every day as I’d gotten accustomed to.

  Wanting Vaughn has nothing to do with Bryan. What I feel for Vaughn is. . . It’s more than I ever thought possible; it’s all consuming, and it’s what I’ve always wanted.

  Sliding my finger across the screen to unlock it, I take a deep breath then dial Bryan’s number. It’s time to end it with him. “We’re sorry, but the person you are calling cannot be reached at this time. Please hang up and try again later.”

  “What the hell?” I mumble to myself and then dial again.

  “We’re sorry, but the person you are calling—”

  “No.” I stand, tripping on my feet before regaining my balance. “No, this isn’t happening.”

  I physically type in each individual number, stabbing my screen. “We’re sorry, but—” I have to make three attempts before I end the call. “Please, no. Not now.”

  I grab my purse and run to my car. On the way to my destination, I continue dialing his number, only to get the same result. “No, no, no.”

  I park crookedly in their driveway and run to the house, banging on the door. It’s pretty late, but I don’t care. “Kristen! Aaron! Open up! Are you home?”

  The door whips open as I’m pounding, and I almost fall into the house. “Rayne, what’s the matter?” Bryan’s mom puts an arm around my shoulder and ushers me inside.

  “His phone doesn’t work anymore. It says he’s not available.” Bryan’s dad, Aaron, walks into the room. “Why isn’t his phone working anymore? What happened?” I ask him.

  He glances over at Kristen, and they share a look. Guilt.

  “What happened? Did they find him?” My hopeful and naïve self asks the question I’m smart enough to know will never result in the answer I want or used to want.

  “They didn’t find him, Rayne. He’s dead. Just like he’s been dead for years.”

  “Aaron,” Kristen chastises.

  “No. She needs to hear this. Again.” Aaron sits directly in front of me and grasps my hands. “Rayne. Bryan is dead. He’s not coming home. He’s never coming back, and he would want you to move on with your life.”

  All the fortitude I’d mustered up over the last few weeks is immediately gone, vanished into thin air, just like my boyfriend. “That’s not true.”

  “What part?”

  “All of it. They never found his body. He could still be alive.”

  “Really? Where would he be?” Aaron sits back and crosses his arms. “Living in a fucking cave?”

  “Maybe some people took him or something?”

  “Rayne, he didn’t go to a foreign country where rebels are going to capture someone. There are no pirates. He’s dead.”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “I can’t do this, Kristy. I’m sorry, but I can’t deal with her anymore.” He stands and runs angry hands down his face. “I’ve been paying for his cell phone bill for years, Rayne. I’ve been erasing your voicemails, so there was room for you to leave more, but it’s been too long. Did you really think you could leave voicemails for two years? Dammit, I need to move on. We need to . . . You need to move on.” He walks away, and Kristen sniffles next to me.

  “He’s right,” she says with a shaky smile. “It’s time to let him go, Rayne.”

  “I . . . I thought I was going to. I was going to leave him a message and tell him. I was going to let him know how sorry I was for breaking my promise.” My throat burns and my chest tightens. “But how am I supposed to tell him goodbye when I can’t hear his voice one last time? When I can’t say the words out loud to him?”

  “It wouldn’t matter anyway. He never heard your messages.”

  “He did.”

  “He didn’t, Rayne. He never did. Aaron and I kept it up for you, to give you peace of mind, but it’s just been too much for us. We can’t continue to pretend that our son is still alive. He died doing what he loved, and he’s never coming back. You need to move on.”

  “But he made me promise him.” I pull out my rings and finger them on the chain. “He made me promise to wait for him to come back.”

  She shakes her head. “He wasn’t serious.”

  “I was.” I stand and walk to the door in sheer disbelief. “I was.” And I can’t believe I was willing to go back on it so easily.

  A weird state of numbness rushes through my mind then hits me and flows through my veins. I slowly walk to my car in a trance. Kristen follows and tries to talk to me, but I only hear a muffled noise. After getting in my car, I go home on autopilot. The darkness of the night is worse when my eyes blur. When I make it inside, I drop my keys and purse on the floor then go straight to my bed. The pain from my tattoo is like a punishment for thinking I could be free; it’s my repercussion. I pull the covers over my head and shut the world out.

  * * *

  “She’s in here. I’ll text you in a few.” The covers are ripped from me, and the bright light burns my eyes, even though my lids are closed.

  “Rainey girl, what the hell are you doing to yourself?” Kennedy lifts me up by my arms and makes me sit up, which forces my eyes to open.

  I stare at him but can’t form a word to answer. I have never been more confused about anything in my life, and I don’t have the answers.

  “Are you okay? Your mom called when you didn’t show up at work. Thought you were sick or something.”

  Again, no answer.

  “Rayne, talk to me.” He grips my face and forces me to look at him. “What happened?”

  My body goes limp under his hand, and I fall back on the mattress. He takes the hint and stops pressing me, but I hear the click of a text message being sent.

  His face hovers over mine, and he offers a sympathetic smile. “I won’t push you, but I need you to tell me if you’re hurt at all. Physically.”

  I shake my head.

  “Do you need anything?”

  I answer the same way again.

  “Okay. I’m going to go in the other room, but I’ll be checking on you later.”

  He closes the door behind him, and I turn over to my side opposite my tattoo. The light behind my curtains begins to get darker as the hours go on, and my bladder is shouting at me to empty it. I haven’t moved since I came home last night, not because I didn’t want to, but because my body wouldn’t let me. It takes some effort, but I finally get up and drag my feet down the hall to the bathroom. When I’m pulling up my pants, I forget that Kenny is here, so when he gasps, it scares the shit out of me.

  “What in the hell is that?” he shrieks.

  “A tattoo.”

  “Oh, Rayne. Have you been taking care of it?”

  Amongst all the things assaulting my brain, taking care of my tattoo wasn’t one of them. “Shit,” I mutter. I peel the
plastic off and cringe at the once bright and colorful tattoo whose colors seem blurred. “Did I fuck it up?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had a tattoo.” He leans closer to it. “It looks mushy.”

  “Fuck!”

  “Since you’re talking again, why don’t you tell me what the fuck is up with you?”

  I disregard his question because I’m not ready to answer. “Am I supposed to wash it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Fuck it. I’m sure I already ruined it. Just like everything else in my life.”

  He sighs. “What happened?”

  Kenny’s been my shoulder, my rock, my sounding board, and I need him now more than ever. I’m just afraid that he’s going to think I’m rotten. “I was going to leave him a message.” I look down at my feet. “I was going to tell him that I was moving on with my life. I dialed his number and had the words on the tip of my tongue. But I couldn’t because Bryan’s parents shut off his phone.” With burning eyes, I grab a tissue. “I went to their house, and it was just awful. Aaron yelled at me that he was dead and I needed to move on, and Kristen agreed with him and . . .” I laugh. “The irony of this is that I was going to tell him. But now that I can’t do that, I’m disappointed in myself for even thinking about going back on my word.”

  A long stretch of silence fills my small bathroom before he speaks. “His parents are right.”

  I bristle at his comment. “No, they’re not. He could still be alive somewhere, and I’m not—”

  “You’re delusional! You’re ruining your life over a guy who is dead, Rayne. He’s dead, and he’s not coming back!”

  “Don’t say that,” I cry.

  “It’s the truth. I’m sick of walking on eggshells around you. I’m sorry, so sorry, but he’s dead. And you need to move on before you kill yourself from a broken damn heart from a guy who didn’t ever fucking deserve you!!”

  My already fragile heart shatters a little more at the insulting words from my best friend. “Get out of my face, Kennedy.”

  “No. Jesus Christ, Rayne. How long are you going to live in denial about this?”