Can't Let Go Read online

  I escape into the bathroom and change my clothes. By the time I return, Dex is already in his pajama pants, digging in his bag. He drops his phone and bends down to retrieve it. As he steadily stands back up, his eyes roam up my body and a warm current in my blood swirls, following the path of his eyes. He bites his bottom lip and takes a deep breath. “I’ll be back,” he says with a husky voice.

  Once he rushes out, I climb under the covers to disengage any sexual urges neither one of us will entertain tonight. In this moment, I wish I could be one of those girls. The ones who could sleep with Dex only to feel the comforting arms of a man, but it’s the fear of after that keeps my hands pinned around my body. The fear that he slept with me out of pity, or worse, that he only did it for his own pleasure and release.

  He opens the door, and his blue eyes focus on the television and anywhere but at me. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he murmurs, never casting a glance my way.

  “Don’t be silly. We’ve done this before.” I flip to my side.

  “When we were fourteen, Chris.” He grabs the pillow.

  “Really, Dex. I trust you,” I tell him, facing him head on, and oh my lord, his muscles are everywhere. He’s always been built, but holy mackerole, he’s insanely big now.

  He looks at me long and hard for a few seconds and then pulls back the covers. As he’s sliding under the crisp white linen sheets, the mattress dips next to me. I turn around so my back faces his. We both reach over and turn off the lights on our respective sides. The funny thing is if someone walked in right now, they’d think we were two elderly people, who have been married for years, instead of hot-blooded early twenty-somethings.

  Minutes of silence fill the room, and even with me shutting my eyes, visualizing what I imagine the beach must feel like, sleep won’t come. Dex’s close proximity has my body hyperaware of his breathing and his body. “Do you want to tell me?” he whispers.

  “I’m okay. Like I said, I just needed a break. Thank you for bringing me. I hope I wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for you,” I lie, and a huge breath releases from him.

  “You’re never an inconvenience to me. If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you,” he adds, and I roll over, although, he keeps his back to me.

  “Nothing. Like I said I needed a breather.” If I admit to Dex the real reason, he’ll try to fix it and save me like normal. Being here with his friends and the people that care about him, he deserves normality and that’s not in my life’s course.

  My hands itch to touch the grooves and contours of the muscles that spread across his back, displaying how hard he works out at the gym every day. “Just wanted to feel normal. So, thank you again.” The lies just continue to flow. He doesn’t need my drama in his life. He has his together, why should my fucked up past screw with it?

  The pillow shifts from his slow shake of his head. “You’re welcome,” he says, and the silence encompasses us once again. Eventually, the light whistling of his breathing signifies he’s fallen asleep. I lie awake, observing the rise and fall of his back until my eyes relent to the exhaustion of the day.

  Loud voices fill the hallway with doors slamming and kids’ laughter. Wrestling myself awake, I feel Dex’s warm leg over mine, and his one arm splayed across my chest. Relishing the warmth of his touch, I try not to move an inch, enjoying this for the short time it lasts. “Seriously?” he mumbles, and I shut my eyes automatically, pretending to be asleep.

  When he must feel our compromising entwinement, his head jolts and then his body relaxes once again on top of me. I swear his body inches a little closer, and I hear the softest inhale from his nose. Tearing away from me, he sits up and swings his legs over the bed. Peeking one eye up, I watch his head fill his hands while his back rises and falls. Murmuring under his breath, he quickly stands, shrugging a shirt on, and leaves the room.

  The door slowly shuts, and you can barely hear the click of the knob. I open my eyes and a huff releases from my own mouth. It was the first morning in a long time I felt safe before the breaking of dawn brought me back to my shitty reality.

  By the time we leave Trey’s, Dex asks Brady if he can borrow the Camaro. The good guy Brady appears to be answers yes. A few hours later, Dex parks outside my crappy apartment in my crappy neighborhood. Dex tried to convince me to go back to Western with him, but I declined the offer. He has his life and I have mine, unfortunately, they aren’t on the same path. His hand moves for the door handle, but I place my hand on his other one. “It’s okay, you go. Thank you for the ride.” I release him of my obligation, opening the door with my other.

  “Are you sure? I can walk you up.”

  “No, I’ve got it.” I turn around and step one foot out the door.

  “Chrissy, you’d tell me right?” he almost whispers, and I stop.

  “Of course,” I lie for the umpteenth time in twenty-four hours.

  He adds nothing else, so I continue my exit.

  “Call me if you need me, okay? The offer is always good. Call me and I’ll be here in a half hour.” He leans over the center console, and those blue eyes search mine.

  “Of course,” I say. “Bye, Dex. Thanks again.” I shut the door before he can even say his own goodbye.

  Waiting for him to drive away, I pretend to walk up to my old apartment, secretly praying my father’s not around and especially that Nico isn’t. Once I open the doors and walk in, smelling the stench of garbage, cigarettes, and piss in the entryway, I hear the muffler of the Camaro roar to life and I slowly exit. Peering down the road, the red taillights are only two specks in a sea of black. Taking a breath, I walk down the street and around the corner.

  Digging my keys out of my bag, I insert them into my now home. Climbing in and tossing my bag on the seat, something catches my eye. Something that I definitely didn’t pack a day ago when I used the last of my paycheck for the bus fare to Western.

  My fingers practically shake as they reach for it. Rolled up in a small rubber band are crisp twenty dollar bills. Slowly, I release it from the bands and three hundred in bills land in my lap. A long breath I was holding releases. “Damn him,” I mumble. I despise myself for his need to consistently save me.

  Four Months Later

  MY VOLKSWAGEN PIDDLES across the gravel parking lot, and I look down at the gas needle. Releasing an exhausted breath when I find the needle just below the red. Once I make my money back, it will at least get me to the gas station.

  I turn off the ignition and pull the key out. Clasping them in my lap, I stare up at the sign above the shack of a bar, reading Weddle’s in red neon. Sighing, I open my door before changing my mind. Squeaking, the rust bug cries for the attention it needs. The same as I need, someone to give a shit about us.

  Little bits of gravel fall into my sandals as I reluctantly do something I despise. Something I loathe. Something I hate as much as the people that are a part of it. Right before my hand reaches out for the door, I take a much-needed deep breath, allowing the fresh air to reach my lungs. Especially since it will be a while before it fills with outside air again, well, at least I hope.

  Hank spots me first, raising both eyebrows my way. I play the game by sitting down at the bar and grabbing a drink. Flirting with Hank a little, I pull the mask over my face, as though this is my life and I love it. While secretly, I’m hating myself a little more with every word.

  “Hey, Hank,” I flirtatiously greet, sitting down on the stool closest to the red door.

  “Chrissy,” he answers, nodding. A minute later, my usual Stoli and seven is placed in front of me. Twirling the small black straw around the glass, I wait for my invite just as I’ve been taught. I know the cameras are on me right now, Len most likely debating about letting me in. God knows I owe him money, but the one saving grace is that I can win it back plus some.

  I’ll be the first one to admit, I’ve played better, but that’s what happens when the pressure hits. When you know you have to win in order to eat, to clothe yourself, to survive, the
stakes are higher. The need to win outweighing every other fight in you.

  It takes three drinks tonight, which kind of sucks because I like to play with only one drink in me. Enough to take the edge off and relax me, but not enough to make me sloppy. “Go on in,” Hank says, nodding toward the red door, and I reluctantly leave a twenty on the bar top. “No, Chrissy, I got you.” Hank pushes it back my way, and I give him a small smile for his kindness.

  Another long and deep breath later and I’m in the room. They should refer to it as the red room of death. Poker tables fill the rooms; poor and rich men seated next to one another. No doubt the rich thinking they have the poor, but I’ve seen those tables turn in one deal. Suddenly, the poor become more fortunate and the rich leave empty handed. Too bad it’s can’t be like that outside of the red room.

  Old vinyl chairs rest in the center of the room, strewn about around the round tables. Red … everything I see is red. Isn’t red for sexy? You’d think that it’s a strip club the way it’s decorated. But that has been tried before, failing miserably. The last thing you want around when someone begins losing all their money is to have a hooker to bury their sorrows in. To save those last few bills to sneak into the hands of a woman, who will make you forget you just lost your last buck.

  Just when I’m about to sit down in order to wait my turn, a man stumbles away from a table in front of me. Ivy, the dealer, waves me forward and motions toward the seat. She smiles at me and out of all the tables I could end up at, Ivy’s is the best. It has to mean a sign of good luck, right? Placing the chips I’d just cashed in when I walked in on the table, I patiently wait for my deal. My drink of choice quickly appears in front of me, and I nod a thank you to the waitress.

  It’s nice to have Ivy dealing me the cards, but my companions couldn’t be worse. Stench number one to my right keeps leaning my way, barely able to hold his body up. While Stench number two to my left keeps checking me out from the corner of his eye. I take a drink and wince at the enormous amount of alcohol burning down my throat. Hank was being easy on me out in the common bar.

  Ivy deals the cards and everyone antes up. The first couple hands come my way, ‘blessing’ me with a small windfall. Even though the guilt still remains, with the chips stacked in front of me, my lips begin turning up, over confidence building inside of me. Then jackass number two orders me another drink and begins chatting in my ear. Obviously, he’s a newbie because most people around here know my dad. No one messes with someone else’s child. Note to add, rule number three is you never lean into someone after the cards have been dealt.

  “Hey, why don’t we get out of here?” he whispers in my ear, nudging my drink closer to me.

  “Nah, I’m good right where I am.” I give Ivy a small smile, and she snidely raises her eyebrows.

  “Hey, Chuck, why don’t you take a break?” Ivy says to him dealing the cards out.

  “I’d love to, as long as this fine Sheila joins me.” His finger brushes along my leg, and I jerk it the other way.

  “Um … I wasn’t aware we’re in Australia,” I remark, and Ivy tightens her lips, withholding her laughter.

  Tossing my chips in, I attempt to disregard him, but the lingering scent of dime store cologne mixed with cinnamon brings an incredibly nauseous sensation to my stomach. Trying to appear unfazed, I drink my vodka with nothing but a splash of cranberry and focus on my cards.

  Five hands later, my chips are slowly disappearing into the hands of the others. My ‘blessings’ slowly blessing the tall lanky guy at the end of the table, who consistently mocks me by winking every time his hand slides the chips his direction. He’s kind of cute, college kid most likely. Hat on backwards, vibrant jade-colored eyes, t-shirt with some sarcastic comment too faded to read. You have to know someone to get into Len’s games, so the curiosity to who he knows keeps my eyes focused on him.

  An hour later, my last chip clinks into the center pile. It’s small, but I need it to stay in the game. It’s all about staying in the game, because once you’re out, you’re finished. Unfortunately for me, Len let me slide two nights ago with being short a couple hundred. Biting on my lip with my foot bobbing up and down under the table, I turn the corners of my cards one more time. Eyeing college stud, who glances down at the empty spot in front of me and then back to his cards. His lips slowly turn up into a Cheshire grin.

  “Fold,” he says, pushing his cards toward Ivy.

  I allow my eyes to narrow toward his as I grab my miniscule winnings. He gives me a full smile and winks again. If I wasn’t so desperate, I’d chuck them in his face. Thanks to good ole Dad, I’m as desperate as a life-sentenced prisoner in front of the parole board.

  “Glad to see you can continue playing.” Sleazebag next to me moves a little closer, his gold ringed hand placing another drink at my side.

  Giving him a small smile, I concentrate on Ivy. For the next two hours, I stay afloat barely. College stud throws me some bones, and I’m ashamed that I allow him to do it. I finally stop drinking, but it’s too late, the vodka weighs heavy in my bloodstream already.

  The flirtatiousness between college guy and myself begins becoming more heated and since the spot next to him just opened up, I debate changing seats. He nods his head, insinuating that I do just that before his eyes dart to the center of the room. Then as though I spit in his face, a sour look crosses his mouth and he sits up straighter in the chair. Confused on what happened, I play another hand in my current seat. Sleazy to the right leans in to me, his hot breathe connecting to my neck.

  Sliding my head away, I attempt to concentrate on Ivy, who looks up and behind me, placing the cards down on the table. Tilting my head to her in confusion, she says nothing, but then a firm grasp wraps around my upper arm and yanks me from the chair.

  Thrown off kilter, my eyes blink a few times before I’m out of the room and into the bar. The guy pushes me onto a bar stool and signals for Hank, the bartender. When I meet the pair of blue eyes that knows my complete past, I debate if I could outrun him.

  “What the hell? I had them.” I yank my arm away.

  “You didn’t have them. You’re under by over five bills. You’ll never make it up, and pretty soon Len will come in and stop it himself. Why the hell are you here, anyway? Aren’t you the one who hates this scene? Everything and everyone who’s involved?” He sneers my own heated words I spoke to him once upon a time.

  “I do. Just let me go back in there.” I start digging in my pockets, as if I actually have money in them.

  “Hell no, you stay here.” Dex signals to Hank again to get me a drink. Already feeling a little wobbly, I don’t really think it’s a good idea. But, hey, what else do I have going for me?

  “Give her a water, will you Hank?” Dex asks, but when Dex disappears through the red door, Hank places a shot and refill of my drink in front of me. Slamming the shot glass down on the bar top after I pour it down my throat, I quickly chase it with my Stoli and seven.

  Leaning my head in my hands, I figure Dex might be in there saving me from tonight, but he can’t save me from everything. Not that I would ever tell him exactly why I’m here.

  Then all the alcohol and exhaustion of my day overtakes me and my head falls to the hardwood before blackness surrounds my vision.

  “DEX?” SHE WHISPERS staring at me standing in the doorframe.

  “Hey, Chrissy, it’s me. Sleep tight, I’ll just be next door.” When the door clicks, I take a deep breath and rub the back of my neck.

  Thankful the house is empty from my roommates’ interruptions, flicking the lights on in the kitchen, I make a beeline to the fridge to grab a beer. Although, it’s not nearly strong enough to calm the amount of anxiety currently raging through me, it will have to do. Trey was always the one keeping the hard stuff around. Inhaling and exhaling, I lean against the counter, debating all the questions I’ll have to answer when everyone returns home. There were enough inquisitive minds the last time she called and showed up out of the blue.
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  I venture out to my truck, grab her suitcase of clothes from the back of her car, and think about her and I. Not seeing her for four years and now twice in four months, something isn’t right with her, and there’s only one person that would have more information. The problem is he could also be associated with the reason. I’ll wait to talk with Chrissy first when she wakes up in the morning.

  An hour later, I toss another beer bottle in the recycling bin and retreat back upstairs. Just as my foot hits the landing at the top of the stairs, a sudden urge to check on her comes over me. To double-check that nothing happened in the time I was downstairs. My hand lands on the doorknob at the same time my phone rings in my pocket. “Fuck,” I mumble to myself. Fumbling it in my hands until I have a solid grasp, Sam’s name shines across the screen.

  Sam is Jessa’s sister, and last spring break we started a friends-with-benefits relationship. Although we aren’t exclusive in any shape, or really much friends, the benefits are what we both enjoy.

  I press the answer button and scramble to my room. “A little early for you tonight,” I whisper into the phone while shutting my bedroom door and then walk over to do the same with my bathroom door.

  “Why are we whispering?” she quietly asks, and I chuckle lightly.

  “It’s late here,” I lie, and she probably knows it.

  “Ooookaaay,” she draws out. “Anyway, I skipped going out in order to stay in and watch a movie, but now I’m wishing I was in Western instead of alone in my bed.

  “I could go for another trip to Boulder,” I agree, as flashes of our naked bodies all over every square inch of the hotel room boom to mind. I’m pretty sure my dick has never been so sore, but Sam’s thirst never gets quenched.