Swallowing thickly, I picked up my drink and finished it. When I finally looked at Chloe, she was speechless as well, like she, too, had forgotten about reality. Her head dropped, pulling from our connected line of sight. “How about I take you guys back to Brix?” I offered, sliding off my stool.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to.” She downed her cranberry-vodka and then slammed the empty glass on the marble. “I can take them back.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Mariah butted in. “That was her first drink of the night. So fucking lame, right?” Her laugh came out like more of a cackle, causing her date to join in on the laughter with her. Man, they were annoying little shits. How could she deal with this all night? I’m almost certain that, when I was their age, I wasn’t that obnoxious.

“Come on, Tiny!” Mariah waved for the lanky boy at the bar to follow her outside. When they were long gone, Marcel blew a sigh and picked up their glasses, wiping their area clean. Chloe remained seated, looking at me for a brief moment before dropping her head.

“She doesn’t know who you are,” she murmured, “…if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Yeah, I know.” I scratched my chin. “Sure you don’t want me to drop you off?”

She stood from the stool, looking into my eyes as she neared me. My pounding heart caught speed as she placed a hand on top of my shoulder. “I was actually thinking about dropping them off and meeting you… if that’s okay?”

“Shit… yeah. More than okay.”

“Where should we meet?”

I thought of it, and when I pictured the perfect place, I told her, “I’ll text you the address.”

She nodded. “Okay.” Then, she walked past me, her round ass bouncing, heels clicking across the wooden floorboards. Glancing over her shoulder, lips full and supple, she sarcastically asked, “Just try and make it a little public, will you?”

She had no idea. The place I had in mind was more private than a secluded hotel room reserved for a celebrity. With a half-smile on my lips, I watched as she left the bar, her words running back and forth in my head. I leaned my elbows on the counter, sighing as I pulled out my cell phone. Marcel still stood at the bar, clearing his throat.

When I turned around to look at him, his brows were stitched, lips pressed thin. He was a buff guy with a shiny baldhead and a hoop earring in his left ear. His reddish goatee had grown out since the last time I saw him, his grey t-shirt stained with sweat. “Mind telling me what the hell that was?”

“What do you mean?” I pretended I didn’t know what he was talking about.

“The girl,” he gestured towards the door, “…the one that’s about half your age that just walked out of here. Isn’t that little Chloe?”

I glanced down, running my tongue over my teeth. I could have explained it to him, but I just didn’t know how. “Look, Marcel, just pretend you didn’t even see her here.”

He grunted and it just so happened to be the sound of his laughter. “I see plenty of shit going on around here. Trust me, this isn’t the worst of it. Ain’t my business but… be careful, man. And be wise.”

He, of all people, knew what he was talking about. He knew my daughter. I talked about her at least once every time I made an appearance here. Considering he had a daughter himself, I could only imagine what he was thinking.

Did he consider me a pervert?

A dipshit?

An idiot that overpaid for drinks?

As all of that clicked in my brain, I started to think… what if an older man came onto my daughter? A man that I thought I could trust? A man that was supposed to look out for her, not fuck her brains out?

Fuck no. I couldn’t even fucking imagine a man my age touching my daughter. My child. My fucking life.

Dropping another wad of bills on the counter for Chloe’s forgetful friends and myself, I marched for the exit and hopped into my car, cranking it and driving to the one place I should have been all along.

Home.

Away from the fantasies.

Away from what wasn’t meant to be.

Away from Chloe.

Twelve

He didn’t text me.

Or respond to the text I sent him. Not even a phone call. At first I was worried, thinking he may have gotten into an accident or maybe caught up with something, but when I saw him casually entering his home with a box of tools the following night, I knew he was avoiding me.

I tried thinking of what may have happened between the time I left him and now. Other than Mariah blabber-mouthing about how he looked like Izzy, I couldn’t think of much. Maybe the mere mention of his daughter’s name was enough to make him realize that he was getting off track—that he couldn’t go back to what we were before.

It couldn’t be that way. He couldn’t hurt her, and he also couldn’t hurt me. Distance was understandable, but all he had to do was tell me. What was all that talk about sharing just one summer? Did he not think of her then? Or was he too far gone in his thoughts and thinking with his dick?

I considered it him thinking with his other nonsensical head.

It whipped at my emotions, but I had to put myself in his shoes. I was tired of beating around the bush, dying for this man to touch me, feel me—do anything that would make me feel something. I just wanted to go back to school, forget I ever came here and saw him again.

Ugh. Men.

Speaking of, my father had trapped himself in his bedroom, refusing his meds again, which eventually resulted in a tough day for us. He called us strangers (as he always did) and even threw one of his trophies at us when we came to bring him lunch.

My day was stressful. Margie had way more patience than I could ever uphold. I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could handle—the confusion from Theo and the stress I endured while putting up with my father. I was a strong girl, but there was only so much I could handle right now.

I sat on my bed a few minutes after I saw Theo entering his home, knees drawn to my chest, tears shedding. A knock sounded on my door seconds later, and Margie walked in with a basket of my folded laundry. Seriously, she was too much. Freaking wonderful. When she caught sight of the tears on my face, she quickly apologized and hurried back out, but I called for her to come back in.

“It’s okay,” I whispered.

“Are you sure sweetie? I don’t want to be a bother.”

“No bother at all.” I swiped my face, clearing my eyes as she placed the basket in front of my closet. “What’s going on?”

“I washed most of your clothes. Thought you could use a little help.” Her smile was complacent. “I also wanted to let you know your father is finally asleep. He ate a little bit of yogurt and some of his banana, so hopefully that’ll hold him over for the night.”

“Oh, okay.” I nodded. “Thank you so much, Margie.”

“Of course, dear.” She started to turn, but then changed her mind, looking at me again. “I—well, I just wanted to ask you about something.”

“Yeah?”

Stepping forward, she twisted her fingers in front of her and hesitated for a few seconds. “It’s none of my business at all, and you don’t have to answer, but… I saw you coming from across the street the other night? The man kissing you on the cheek?” She blinked, an ounce of overprotectiveness in her eyes. “Is he the reason you’re upset?”

“Oh, god, no!” I slid to the edge of the bed, and she pressed a hand to her chest, relieved. “No. The man across the street is a really good guy. He invited me over for dinner. I’ve known him since I was twelve.”

“Oh. How nice. Does he have children?”

I looked away. “Just one. A daughter.”

“Oh.” Margie’s eyes maneuvered to the picture on my nightstand. The black and white photo of me and Izzy standing right in front of their house across the street. “I’m going to take a wild guess and assume that’s her?”