A week after my phone call with Layla, I somehow found myself on a small airplane at five o’clock on a Saturday morning, heading to my home state. It really was crazy how life could change in the span of one day.
Layla had called me the day after my mini-breakdown and demanded she come live with us, refusing to take no for an answer. We’d struck a deal; she’d move to North Carolina as long as I flew to her and made the cross-country drive with her.
The one-way ticket had been surprisingly affordable, so if I was being honest, I didn’t argue hard against the idea. She was my best friend, and I missed the shit out of her every day.
So there I was, smashed in the middle seat between two armrest hogs, on my connecting flight to Kansas. Thankfully, the time zone went back so I’d gain a few extra hours during the trip and arrive by eleven o’clock. I couldn’t afford to take more than two days off from any of my jobs, and my parents couldn’t watch Jamie on the weekdays anyway.
Layla would be picking me up from the airport, and we’d be heading straight over to get the moving truck. At that point, we’d load up her boxes as quickly as possible and immediately start the twenty-hour drive to North Carolina.
We were planning to drive straight through in order for me to make it to work on time Monday, but we’d pulled so many all-nighters in our lives, I had faith we’d do all right. As long as we took turns, it couldn’t be that hard.
I shifted in my seat, fiddling with the “I love mommy” bracelet Jamie had made me a few years ago. I wasn’t sure what had made me decide to wear it, but as I was packing, I’d suddenly felt the need to bring a piece of him with me.
It’d been only the two of us for so long, I suppose I just needed some reassurance. It felt weird to know I’d be in a different state than my child. I’d never done it before, and it felt wrong somehow, like I’d abandoned him.
In the rational part of my brain, I knew those toxic thoughts weren’t accurate. But when you spend years being ridiculed and critiqued for every parenting choice you ever made, it’s hard not to join in and judge yourself right along with the haters.
Jamie knew I was traveling to Kansas to visit Layla, but he thought I was taking a “girl’s vacation.” He didn’t know she’d be coming back with me, and I couldn’t wait to see his face. He’d been in love with her since he could speak.
Back when he was about five years old, Layla had brought her boyfriend at the time over, and Jamie had burst into tears because he’d wanted to marry her. I had a feeling she was eagerly waiting to tease him about it.
Declining a drink from the flight attendant, I pulled out a highlighter and one of the three college textbooks I’d managed to squeeze into my carry-on bag. Laying it out across my lowered tray, I prayed I could study without the motion of the aircraft making me nauseated.
“You studied both flights?”
“What else was I going to do? Crochet?”
“Sleep, Mads, you were supposed to sleep.”
I shrugged. It was so rare for me to get daylight hours to study, and I was already going to miss out on time during our return trip. I felt like it was only logical to take advantage of the flights. I doubt I could’ve slept in the middle seat anyway. That was just asking to wake up cuddling a stranger’s shoulder.
When I’d landed, Layla had been waiting at the airport coffee shop. Dressed in a baggy sweater and leggings, she hadn’t noticed me when I first arrived. She’d been hunched over a book with large, square glasses resting on her freckle-dusted nose. Her hair was loose, landing about mid-waist and was an eye-popping, vibrant blue. I might have hugged the ever-loving shit out of her.
Since I hadn’t needed to check a suitcase, it didn’t take us long to reach the parking garage and cram ourselves into her tiny Miata. I’d landed early afternoon, so as long as there weren’t any hiccups with the truck rental or packing up her stuff, we were looking good to put some miles behind us before it got dark.
“So…” she started, merging onto the highway, and I already knew where this conversation was going to head. “Meet any hot guys lately? Maybe a new guard at work, or a nice, scruffy gas station attendant?”
I rolled my eyes. Layla had been on me for years now about getting back out there. She knew me well enough to know I was lonely, but she also knew me well enough to know I had neither the time, nor the desire, to date.
In my experience, there were only four things the human male species was accomplished at: donating sperm, exaggerating the number of recipients they’d donated to, bragging about where the sperm was deposited, and disappearing the moment said deposit did its intended purpose.
I told her as much.
“You’re too young to be so damn cynical, Mads.”
I bristled at her disapproving tone. “It’s the truth and you know it. And that’s with me not even mentioning male number two who came after that.”
“You’re seriously the most pessimistic person I’ve ever met.”
I puckered my lips, pretending to consider it, then shrugged and nodded my head. She was right, I was pessimistic as hell. Life had made sure of it.
“Speaking of male number two…when was the last time you called him?”
My entire body tensed, her words triggering my fight or flight response. And since there was no safe way to fly, I went with the first choice.
“Why would I call him?” I demanded. “I haven’t called him since the day the divorce was finalized.”
She darted her gaze at me, her eyes narrowing and lips curving down. “And when was the last time he called you?”
“Does it matter?”
“That recently, huh? What a fucking asshat. Seriously, I hope someone takes a shit in his exhaust pipe.”
I sighed, reaching up to rub my temples. It was too early in the trip to already be touching on sore subjects. “He’s called me a few times, but it’s always random and spaced out.” I paused, clasping my hands in my lap. “He called last week, late evening. Don’t give me that look, I didn’t answer.”
“Good. I’d fucking castrate you if you did. He was probably drunk.”
I nodded in agreement, but internally flinched. Her statement wasn’t meant to sting, but it did all the same. When we were together, Aaron had only cared about me when he was sober. Once we separated, he only cared when he was drunk.
A half-hour later, we were driving onto the gravel parking lot of a…company? Where in the hell were we? “Layla, are you sure this is the right place? It’s kinda shady looking.”
“Yeah, this is the address the guy gave me, and look, there’s the moving truck and car trailer parked over there.” She turned off her Miata, but neither of us moved as we glanced around, the same look of apprehension on our faces.
“O—kay. Let’s get this over with then. Keep your key between your fingers.”
She pinned me with a side glare, shoving her door open and hopping out. But as we rounded the vehicle, I could see the key sticking out between her fisted fingers.
Two grimy men, some suspiciously wrinkled paperwork, and one hour later, we were gunning it out of the parking lot. “Okay, you were right, that place was shady as fuck,” she said.
I responded with an exaggerated, wide-eyed nod. It had been the right place, they’d had paperwork ready for us and everything, but it had been the most awkward experience I’d had in a while.
The two men hadn’t even assisted us with getting Layla’s car onto the trailer. In fact, they’d acted like they’d never done it before in their lives, so we’d had to figure it out ourselves. It’d taken longer than we’d wanted, and we were now behind schedule.
“At least it was cheap.”
We arrived at the apartment she’d been sharing with a friend from college. We were both starving, but neither of us had felt confident attempting to grab a quick bite with the truck and trailer.
We’d be lucky if we made it the entire trip without getting stuck somewhere as it was. Our driving skills weren’t something to brag about even on the best of days.
But two hours, two sets of sore, shaking arms, and two pairs of sweaty pits and tits later, we were done packing.
“Why do you have so much stuff? Where are we going to put all of this?” I asked, sagging against the driver door. The thought of raising my noodle arms to hold the steering wheel for the next few hours sounded horrendous.
“It’s not as much as it looks. It’s mostly clothes. And shoes,” she said, walking toward the apartment door one last time.
I huffed a laugh. My fashion sense tended to be ‘thrift store snazzy,’ whereas Layla’s was ‘come get me sexy.’ She’d always had the most amazing closet.
“I really don’t think all your bedroom pieces and your music stuff will fit in the room, Layla. The rooms are small.”
“Eh, I’ll shove it all in the garage since you don’t use it. The acoustics will be bomb in there anyway.” She disappeared into the apartment to give one final look over and to grab her fur baby.
I walked around and gripped the rope to pull the rolling door shut, eyeing Layla’s keyboard and sound system. She’d been singing and performing since she was old enough to hold a guitar, and there was literally no one who could hold a candle to her. Banjo, violin, electric, twelve string, she could play them all.
During middle school, she’d even added piano to the mix. I was just patiently waiting for her to become famous and support me for the rest of my life like the dependable baby daddy she was.
Confirming the back was latched and wouldn’t fly open, I’d just started turning when something slammed into the backs of my knees, sending me forward and smacking my forehead into the truck.
“What the hell, Sadie?” I yelled, shooting a glare at the wet nose and lolling tongue staring up at me. That adorable face silently watched me rub my forehead while her butt moved a mile a minute. “Yeah, yeah, hello to you too, mutt.”
Sadie was a pit-bull, golden retriever mix, and at only a few years old, she was as sweet as she was rambunctious. We’d already shoved her giant bed in-between the captain chairs of the truck cab, and I opened the door, letting her leap in.
“We all set?” I turned to see Layla locking the front door with a licorice stick hanging out of her mouth.
“Yup. Let’s get on the road, bitch!”
Wine shot out of my nose, sending flames through my sinus passages and tears to the corner of my eyes. I flailed my hands in front of my face, coughing and wheezing. “Tell me you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“In the same weekend?” I somehow croaked out in the midst of my coughing fit. I closed my eyes and squeezed the bridge of my nose. Wine would be sloshing around my brain for at least a week after this.
She continued, unfazed by my near-death experience next to her. “I mean, I would’ve voted for us to all join together, but sadly they weren’t down for crossing swords. Shame, but we can’t have it all, I guess.”
I dropped my hand, squinting my eyes open to look at her. “You’re joking.”
She burst out laughing, reaching over to pat my thigh. “Yes, you poor sap, I’m completely full of shit. I don’t like to share, you know this.”
Shaking my head, I took a—carefully controlled this time—sip of my rosé. It was Thursday evening, five days after Layla and I had packed up her life.
We’d arrived half-dead, but safe, to the duplex late Sunday night, and it’d already been one of the best weeks I’d had in years. I hadn’t realized just how lonely I’d been, how deprived I was of non-work-related, adult interaction.
Jamie’s reaction had been icing on the cake. We’d picked him up from my parents Monday morning, and he’d been jabbering so much, it’d taken him a solid two minutes to realize she was sitting up front with me. He might have actually stopped breathing for a moment.
His eyes had resembled a shining pair of anime eyes, and his voice had screeched out a shocked, “What?!” when she informed him she’d moved in with us.
Every day since had been amazing. After work Monday, I’d actually been able to shower before bedtime without feeling guilty about sacrificing Jamie’s and my evening game session. Layla had talked so much smack about beating him that he’d challenged her to take my place.
She’d turned and winked at me when he rushed to start up the system, tipping her head toward my bedroom door. I’d almost kissed her.
Tuesday, I’d picked up Jamie and came home to find dinner cooked and ready; a slow cooker meal that made the entire house smell like fall. Not having to prepare a meal had given me an entire extra hour to study, which in turn, meant I got an entire extra hour of sleep that night.
Yesterday, I’d walked in the front door to find her folding our freshly laundered clothes while our pups wrestled on the floor at her feet. I didn’t know where she’d gone to wash them, but she could have washed them in a river, and I wouldn’t have cared. It was one more chore marked off my never-ending list.
Granted, I knew things would change when she started working, but I was going to soak up the help while I could.
Now we were outside, slouched in white, plastic chairs she’d purchased yesterday from the dollar store, and drinking. Not wanting to make numerous trips inside and risk waking Jamie up, we’d brought the entire box of wine out with us. Throw in a full bowl of popcorn and our comfiest sweaters and leggings, and we were over here living our best lives.
Layla pulled out her phone to play music, but I made an excuse about wanting to enjoy the peace and quiet. If I told her about the note my neighbor left, she’d only demand to blare the music even louder. She didn’t take anyone’s shit.
I was known to bite when provoked, usually because of people like the bitch of a neighbor, Kathy, but I didn’t enjoy it. Confrontation made me itchy.
“Seriously, though, Mads, what do you do for fun? If you suddenly had an entire weekend of paid vacation and your parents watched Jamie, what would you do?” She took a giant handful of popcorn, cramming it all into her mouth and looking at me like a deranged chipmunk.
“Sleep.”
“Fuck off, I’m serious.”
I reached between us for the wine and poured another glass. Did I need it? No. But I was about to have a weekend full of double shifts, so I was determined to enjoy my last evening at home this week.
“I’m serious, too. I wouldn’t even know what else to do. The few times I’m relaxed with Jamie and not studying, I’m building a train set with him or watching animated movies.”
I shrugged, pausing long enough to toss a few pieces of buttered goodness into my mouth. “Even the thought of going out to a bar or spending the weekend on a beach with a sexy, hazel-eyed, dark-haired, muscled stranger has me riddled with anxiety. I’ve officially forgotten how to socialize.”
Her drink, which she’d been lifting to her face, froze an inch away from her mouth. A disturbing smirk graced her lips, and her eyebrows were closer to her hairline than her eyes. “That is quite a specific description of a stranger, my dear Madison.”
I waved my hand flippantly, dismissing her observant—and irritatingly correct—assumption. There was no way I was going to tell her about Garrett, my rude but hunky as hell wall neighbor. “It was just an example.”
“A very precise one. What an imagination you must have.” She wiggled her brows. “I suppose when the only thing getting you off is your hand and imagination, you have no choice but to get good at—” She ducked, cackling and dodging my attempt to smack her.
I shook my head, laughing despite myself. It was true, it’d been years since anyone other than myself had touched me. I didn’t usually mind, but there were definitely days when I craved the feel of a man’s hands sliding across my skin, the brush of lips along my neck, and the eruption of butterflies during a breathtaking kiss.
But I didn’t let those days trick me into thinking I needed a man. I didn’t. Jamie and I were scraping by just fine, and as much as Layla liked to joke, my hand and imagination worked a hell of a lot better than any man ever had.
“Teasing aside, Mads, do you really have no interest in dating again?”
“I don’t know. Relationships take time, and I don’t have that to give to someone right now. Not to mention, unless I meet a guy at the grocery checkout who isn’t sneering at my EBT card, or some nice single dad enrolls his child in Jamie’s class, I don’t go anywhere to meet someone.”
She tipped her head back, pondering that. “What about online dating? That’s how I met Sam,” she said, referring to her ex-boyfriend.
She suddenly sat up, growing more excited as she worked through her thoughts aloud. “Actually, it’s perfect for you. You can post the truth about your situation so only those who don’t care will contact you, and then you can weed them out from there.”
“I don’t think men our age use those sites. They just pick up women downtown near the college.”
“Which is why you need to look for an older man.”
My mind instantly flickered to Garrett, like a string had yanked on my thoughts and plopped me at his feet. I shook the image of his chiseled features and muscled biceps away, busying myself with brushing kernel pieces off my lap.
“Can I put ‘looking for sugar daddy’ in my bio?”
She spread her hands out in the air, mimicking a banner. “Must have a big dick and deep pockets.”
I drained the last of my wine. “If I can’t fit inside his pockets, I don’t want him.” We tried to keep straight faces, but failed, erupting into laughter.
“And they said romance was dead.”
I froze at the sound of that voice. A familiar rasp that rumbled through the air and danced across my skin. Leaning forward to see past the side railing of the porch, my eyes latched onto the arresting, damn near haunting, view of its owner.
Cast mostly in shadow, with the porch light illuminating his face like a beacon, Garrett stood a foot away from the railing, staring right at me. His hands were tucked into his pockets, the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, and a cigarette was perched between his lips.
He looked untouchable. Unattainable. The kind of man your mama warned you about, but the kind you’d willingly crawl on your hands and knees for anyway. He was dressed in only a plain white shirt and black sweats; his feet bare on the cement. It was obvious he hadn’t planned on coming over. He’d likely just stepped outside for a quick smoke when he overheard our immature conversation.
I was struck speechless, but Layla didn’t miss a beat. “There’s nothing wrong with telling someone what you’re after up front. Honesty is always the best way to begin a relationship, wouldn’t you say…?” She stretched out the last word, holding her hand out and tilting her head in an obvious indication she was waiting for his name.
He didn’t give it to her.
He just continued staring at me with that same flat expression, and I swore beneath it was a hint of disappointment. My skin itched, and I felt like sinking down into my chair and hiding behind my legs.
Garrett pulled the cigarette from his mouth, plumes pouring from his nose. “Is it honest to sit there objectifying men for their bank accounts and dick sizes knowing tomorrow you’ll be the first to ridicule men online for objectifying women for the size of their tits or homemaker status?”
My eyes felt like they were going to fall out of my head, and I suddenly regretted my extra glass of wine. I couldn’t come up with a single, decent response. “We were just joking,” I said, hoping to prevent his face from growing any angrier. It did the opposite.
“If a man said that, you’d call it an excuse and tell him to do better.”
I moved to argue, but stopped, letting my mouth hang down like a fish for a second before snapping it closed. He was being a dick about it, but I could see his point. If I’d stepped out of my home to have a moment of peace and overheard two men talking about women’s worth being based on their bodies and employment status, I’d have taken offense.
So instead of yelling at him, I was about to apologize and tell him he was right. That is, until his next comment sucked the words right back down my throat.
“It’s no wonder you aren’t dating anyone. Women like you give women everywhere a bad name. Nothing but a leech wrapped in a pretty package, looking for a sugar daddy to take care of you while you sit at home, drink wine, and go shopping.” Each word lashed out harder than the one before, his anger finally clawing through.
He stepped right up to my porch and put his cigarette out on my railing, sneering up at me as he did. I stared right back at him, refusing to look away first. I knew my entire face was flushed, and my ears burned like Hades himself was mouth breathing against them. I didn’t know what to do with my body, let alone my face.
I wasn’t unfamiliar with people judging me. I’d been given the scarlet letter at sixteen and called a slut more times than I could count, along with every possible synonym for it.
But this was worse. It reminded me of the time a college-aged coworker had approached me while I was pregnant, offering to pay me for sex. My rounded belly had apparently screamed “I’m Madison, and I’m easy. You don’t even have to wrap it up because I’m already pregnant. Enjoy the risk-free ride.”
I was still living at home and going to school but had daycare to pay and couldn’t afford to quit, so I’d had to continue seeing the asshole every shift.
This felt much like that. He’d basically called me a sleazy gold digger, and it didn’t matter that I knew it to be untrue. Just like the guy back then, I was stuck in his vicinity, unable to walk away and never see him again.
My eyes burned, and I shifted in my seat, submitting defeat and glancing away. I sensed, more than saw, Layla straighten to her full five-foot-ten height, locking her spine for battle. She knew me better than I knew myself and could probably sense my quickly rising anxiety.
“Well, you can fuck right off. If you want to run your mouth, go do it in your own home. You couldn’t have made it more obvious you don’t know her at all.”
He gave a dry mockery of a laugh. “And I don’t care to.”
Ouch.
He twisted, the movement catching my eye and convincing me to look up, only to be ensnared in his accusatory gaze. He looked me up and down, and then gave me his back, his long strides taking him back toward his side.
Layla launched out of her chair, snatching her glass and the near-empty box of wine. I could practically hear her grinding her teeth, and for a second, I thought I saw actual flames in her eyes.
Wrapping my fingers around my own glass, I took my time following her inside, trying to give myself every possible second to withstand the storm she was about to unleash upon me.
The lock hadn’t even fully slid into its home for the night when her nails dug into my shoulder, whipping me around. “I knew it, you dirty little slut!”
That was not at all what I was expecting. “Wait, you knew what?” I asked, legitimately confused.
She leaned down into my face, raising both hands and making air quotations. “A hazel-eyed, dark-haired, muscled stranger? How convenient the man who just approached your house like he’s already intimate with it, just happens to look like that. Spill.”
“I’m not sure how to answer that.”
She grabbed my shoulders again, shaking me like a rag doll. “Spill!”
I stepped back, slapping at her arms. “He’s not intimate with my side unless he knew the residents before me. I’ve only spotted him a few times and only talked to him once before this. It didn’t go much better.”
“He’s fucking hot.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. There was no reason trying to deny it. He was calendar model hot. I threw myself face down on the couch. There was no way I was accomplishing any studying tonight.
Layla sat on top of me, slouching down and getting comfortable. “However, he’s also a fucking, judgmental asshole.”
“Seems so.”
She sucked on her teeth. “I bet he’s quick on the mark. Shame. Those arms are delicious.”
“Careful,” I said, my voice muffled by the cushion smashed against my face. “You’re objectifying him.”
She laughed, smacking me on the ass. “He’s really our immediate neighbor?”
“Yep,” I said into the couch.
She twisted her lips to the side. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“Me neither.”
