Truly Mine Page 9

  These visits are becoming unbearable. My father is immediately aggravated at the mere sight of me in his home. He has no clue who I am. The final stage of Alzheimer’s has robbed our family of its leader. It’s unbearable to watch.

  I shove my anger down as I walk into what used to be Dara’s childhood bedroom. It’s been transformed into the room my father will die in.

  I hate everything about this visit. My mother isn’t even able to comfort either of us because my father becomes violently angry if anyone is near her. He might not remember his children or grandchild, but at least he remembers her. And he thinks he must protect her from everyone.

  This disease is a bastard. I’m looking at a stranger who won’t look at or speak to me. Why Dara thinks it’s important for me to do this is beyond me. It doesn’t make me or my father feel better.

  “Hey, Dad.” I reach out and lay my hand near my father, but I don’t touch him.

  He turns his head away from me and stares blankly out the window. I miss the strong and vibrant man my father was last year.

  “Everything is good at the office. You’d be proud of us.” I’m not very good at one-way communication. It feels like a waste of breath.

  I sit in the rocking chair next to my father’s bed for half an hour longer. Staring out the window just like my father is, I wonder where we’ll be this time next year. I wonder if Dad will make it through the holidays and how my mom will cope when he’s gone. I’m impressed by how she has been handling this whole thing. She’s a rock, always finding the good in everything—even with slowly losing her husband. I wonder if she is just being strong for everyone else.

  After a brief conversation with my mom, I leave with all intentions of calling Truly.

  But I stop at the bar.

  And I never get around to calling her.

  I did however attempt to get her out of the space she had been occupying in my mind. I just made my life more difficult in the process. I gave in to Katie. I was drunk, and I wanted Truly to get the fuck out of my pounding head.

  Just like she did every Friday night, Katie came into the bar and sweet-talked me. Only this Friday night, I had gone through a week without any attention from a woman, a week of barely leaving my house, and worst of all, a week of smelling a woman who wasn’t there.

  When I did my laundry, I’d smell Truly because Rion had left his dirty clothes in the laundry room—the clothes he’d sprayed with Truly’s perfume. Every time I walked past his bedroom, I’d smell her because he’d sprayed his damn bed. She was not only in my head, but also in my house.

  I only wanted someone to write over my memories of my night with her. Katie had made promises for years to rock my world in bed. I was weak and gave in. It was one big mistake.

  I realized quickly that I didn’t want her at my house. I should have stopped. If I didn’t want a memory of her in my house, I should have just ended it there. That had never been a problem for me. I’d taken many girls home. I’d slept with quite a few in my own bed, on my couch, and on my floor, and it’d never been an issue. But I didn’t want Katie in my bed. I didn’t want another woman in my bed at all. I didn’t want to rewrite my memory with Truly after all.

  I didn’t feel the usual fire or excitement with Katie. I’d felt more chemistry with strangers. She tried too hard to impress me or something. Nothing felt natural like it had with Truly. I guessed what really happened the entire time was, I compared Katie to Truly. And she suffered miserably by comparison. She didn’t have Truly’s big eyes and sweet smile. Her skin didn’t feel like Truly’s silky soft skin. Truly’s raspy moans and giggles were missing, and Katie’s exaggerated porn-star moans did nothing but make it difficult to get hard enough to even go through with it. And she certainly didn’t smell like Truly’s Chanel No. 5. She just wasn’t Truly.

  The only thing that came of the whole night was another damn mess. Now, in addition to Truly, I have to deal with Katie.

  Great job, Tyler.

  I’m sitting with my phone in hand, Truly’s number typed in, and my finger over the Send key. I take a deep breath and hit Send. It rings and rings until I’m forwarded to her voice mail.

  “Hi, Truly. This is Tyler Burke. I’m calling in regard to your mother’s estate. Dara would like me to hand-deliver several documents that require your signature. If you could return my call, I would appreciate it. Talk to you soon.” I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m glad she didn’t answer.

  I no sooner start to relax when my phone rings. It’s Truly.

  I clear my throat and answer, “Hello?” I lean back in my office chair and prepare myself for the punch in the chest that I know her voice will be.

  “Hi, Tyler.”

  Yes, that voice. That sweet sultry voice that said my name while I was between her legs, while I took her on my bed.

  I fist my hand and lay it over my chest as she continues, “I just got your message.”

  “Hi, Tru. How are you?” I feel like I have the worst case of indigestion I’ve ever had in my life.

  “I’m good, Ty. How are you?”

  “Good. I’m good.”

  “So, I was thinking. I know you’re busy, so rather than flying out here and taking up your time, why don’t you just have Dara mail me the documents, and I’ll sign them and send them back?”

  I think fast. I don’t want to call Dara out on her real motives of gaining a donation to Fallport. “I’ll actually be in town, so it’s just as easy if I hand-deliver them and take them back with me. It’s no problem. Really.” Now, I’m concerned that I’ve given her the impression that I want to see her. “I won’t take up much of your time. I can stop by your office. We can take care of this in fifteen minutes, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Uh…okay. That’s…fine then. When will you be flying in?”

  “I’m planning on Friday, a week from tomorrow. Does that work for you?”

  She pauses, and I can hear her flipping papers.

  “Yes, it looks like I have some time that Friday in the afternoon.”

  “Great. I’ll see you then.”

  “Thanks, Ty.”

  “You’re welcome, Truly. See you soon.”

  pronunciation prak-ti-kuh-buhl

  (adj.) able to be done

  Truly

  “So, I have some news you aren’t going to like.” Marie just throws it out there.

  Marie, Lissa, and I are unwinding at our favorite restaurant. It’s been a long week, and we’ve most definitely earned the drinks we’re having now and the few that are still to come.

  “Really, Marie? Can it wait until Monday?” Lissa whines.

  “I suppose it could, but I feel that I need to give you as much advance warning as possible.”

  “Let’s hear it.” I wave my fingers in a bring-it-on manner and take a drink of my cosmo as I wait for what I’m most certain is not great news.

  “Rodney Addison wants another session.” Marie gives it to us fast and unapologetically.

  Lissa and I look up at each other, knowing exactly what the other is thinking. We throw down the remainder of our drinks in unison.

  Marie continues, “I’m sorry. I knew you weren’t going to like this. He’s paying good money, if it’s any consolation.”

  Marie is all about the money. She’s trying to get her lingerie line in every store, and this job pays for that dream. I get it though. She’s smart for working out her future now.

  This gig isn’t going to last forever. The fact that we’ve been at it this long surprises the hell out of me. When we started this business, we did so on the premise that it was only going to be long enough to earn enough money to put ourselves through college. Marie, being the overachiever she is, wanted to study fashion and earn a business degree. Lissa was going to study photography and travel the world, taking beautiful photos. Of course I had no idea what I wanted to do. It was so me.

  I’m lost. Always lost. I put on a good show, but I still have no clue who the hell I am or what the h
ell I want.

  “He’s hopeless.” Lissa is not amused at all, and her tone reflects it.

  I’m not happy either. “It’s not about the money, Marie. He doesn’t pick up on what we’re teaching him. Honestly, I get the vibe that he doesn’t even listen to what we’re saying.”

  “I agree. One minute, he seems to have no skills at all, and the next, I swear, he doesn’t need my help. It’s weird,” Lissa adds.

  “He’s weird,” I chime in.

  “I scheduled him already, so let me know now if you want me to cancel.”

  We sit in silence for a few minutes.

  “A whole week?” I question Marie, hoping that she’s only kidding us.

  “Yes, a whole week.” She’s not joking.

  Another week with that man is going to have me drinking to keep my sanity. On the other hand, this is what we do. We don’t always like whom we’re working with at any given time, but we get through it. Hopefully, it’s with a satisfied customer and one less broken family.

  “Whatever. But no more after that.” I make it clear that I’m done after this.

  Marie nods in agreement. “Okay.”

  I have to change the subject. “On a better note, I talked to Tyler yesterday. He’s going to be in town on business next week, and he’s bringing some paperwork that I need to sign. So, he’ll be in the office sometime on Friday.”

  “Tyler?” Marie is confused.

  I haven’t told her about my night with him yet.

  “My friend from Fallport.”

  “Whom she hooked up with last week.” Leave it to Lissa and her big mouth to put it out there.

  Surprised, Marie sits up straight and leans in. “What? Why am I always the last to know?”

  I glare at Lissa. Then, I address Marie, hoping that she isn’t going to grill me for every last detail, “It’s not like that. We’re friends. That’s all.”

  Again, Lissa chimes in, “With benefits.”

  “Stop, Lissa!” I snap at her. Then, I direct my conversation to Marie only. “His sister sent him to help me find some papers at my mother’s house. Then, I later saw him in the bar, and…yeah, I did go home with him.”

  Marie is looking at me like I hold the secrets of the universe, and she wants to know them all.

  Damn it, she wants details.

  “Do you think he just wants to see you again and has offered to bring the documents as an excuse? I mean, it’s kind of out of the way for him, don’t you think?”

  I wave my hand, dismissing her take on the visit. “Honestly, I’m pretty sure his sister is sending him because I made a comment about donating my mother’s estate to the town. I don’t want any of her money.”

  The girls are quiet with that.

  After a few minutes, Marie breaks the silence, “Yeah, I get that. Have you talked to him since you left Fallport?”

  “Just yesterday when he called me.”

  “Did he say anything about wanting to see you again?” she asks.

  “No, he didn’t. That’s not how things have ever worked with us.”

  “How do things work with you two then?”

  Why can’t she just accept a simple answer?

  I sigh a heavy breath before I answer, “If you must know, we messed around in high school, and when I go back to Fallport and see him, we hook up. It’s amazing, and then it’s over. Other than that, we don’t have contact.”

  Marie nods, satisfied with that explanation.

  “What does he do for a living?” Not surprisingly, Lissa wants to participate in the conversation again.

  “I have no idea. I thought he would be a lawyer, like his parents, but he doesn’t seem to be.”

  “You didn’t ask?” she says, scolding me with her tone and look.

  “No. As I said, that’s not how we are with each other.”

  “Did he ask what you do for a living?” This woman will not stop.

  “No. He did not ask me anything personal.”

  “Let’s talk about you.” I flip the conversation as she’s exhausting me. “How did this date with Ellis come about?”

  With that, she’s off. Unlike me, she has no issues with sharing every last detail of her life, personal and professional. She has no secrets. The whole time Lissa is talking about her run-in with Ellis and how he asked her out, I’m thinking of Tyler. As the week came to an end, I was able to keep him off my mind for longer periods of time. Since yesterday’s call though, not a minute has passed when I haven’t thought of him. Not one minute.

  “Tru!” Marie waves her hand in front of my face. “Did you hear a single word we’ve said?”

  “I’m sorry. I was—”

  Lissa interrupts me, “Thinking of Tyler.”

  “Really? Why do you think everything is about Tyler?”

  “I don’t. I just think your mood this week is about Tyler,” she states.

  “I haven’t been in a mood at all.”

  “You’ve been off in la-la land all week,” Marie speaks softly, backing Lissa.

  I say nothing, only shaking my head. I don’t have the energy or desire to argue.

  The waiter arrives with our food, and we begin to eat. Just a little while into the meal, my appetite has vanished, and I’m pushing my food around my plate.

  I look up and see Lissa laughing at me.

  “What?”

  “Why are you so stubborn?” She holds her hand out in a choking motion. “Sometimes, I just want to choke you, woman!”

  “Excuse me?” What the hell?

  “You want to talk to him. I know you, Tru. You’ve been preoccupied with thoughts of him all week.”

  “I have other things going on, believe it or not, Lissa.”

  “Just give in and call him or text him. You know you want to. Why be so stubborn just for the sake of being stubborn?” Marie pleads.

  It makes my heart ache. These girls love me more than I love myself. They’ve always wanted me to be happy and not held down by my past. It’s easy for them to say though and hard for me to do.

  “We all know you’re a strong woman, that you’re independent and don’t need anyone. But come on, Truly. Enjoy life.” Lissa motions the waiter for our bill. “It’s not like you have to settle down and marry the guy. Just have some fun.”

  “You’re punishing yourself, and you can’t even see it.”

  Oh, here we go with this again.

  Marie, the shrink, has told me for years that I punish myself by putting up sky-high walls to keep people out. Hate to tell her, but she’s no shrink.

  After we pay the bill and say good night, I drive home, thinking of their comments to just enjoy life. I just turned forty, and I told myself the second half of my life would be epic. I want to do new things, meet new people, and go on new adventures. When I settle down, I want to have memories that make me smile and stories to tell my friends. I know that I have to open up and trust people—at least a little if I really want to make it happen.

  I decide that, when I get home, I’ll text Tyler. Now, what to say to him is my only issue.

  Once home, I pour a glass of wine and change into my PJs. I find some mindless reality show on TV and curl up on the sofa with my Kindle.

  After staring at my phone for a while, I bite the bullet.

  Me: Hi, Tyler. I hope it’s okay to text you. I was wondering if you could do me a favor.

  Then, I wait. And I regret sending a text.

  And I wait.

  I should have called. No, I shouldn’t have contacted him at all. Damn those girls.

  This is exactly why I’m the crazy cat lady. I fucking hate rejection. I hate giving people an opportunity to make me feel…just feel. I don’t want to feel. Numb is my favorite state of being.

  Drinks make me numb. I’ll have a drink to go with my humble pie.

  An hour goes by before my phone buzzes. By now, I have a couple of glasses of wine in my system in addition to the cosmos I had at dinner. I’ve nearly forgotten that I even sent the te
xt to Tyler.

  Tyler: Hi, Tru. It’s more than okay for you to text me.

  I smile. This is not good.

  My phone buzzes again.

  Tyler: Sorry I didn’t respond sooner. Just got home from the gym.

  Instantly, I picture him in running shorts and no shirt, sweaty and hot. I feel a tight clench deep in my stomach. I moan with pleasure at the visual and throw my phone on the other end of the sofa. I cover my face and curl up like a giddy teenage girl.

  My phone buzzes five more times. I scold myself as I muster the nerve to locate it from the pillows it’s safely nestled in. Truly Rowan, act your fucking age!

  Tyler: Of course I’ll do you a favor. Anything.

  Tyler: Especially if it’s sexual. ☺ Your visit was far too short.

  Tyler: Just kidding!

  Tyler: Tru? I’m sorry. That was rude.

  Tyler: Oh my God. Not good. Not good.

  My fingers type out a response and press Send before I can stop them.

  Me: How’d you guess? You know me so well.

  Tyler: Yeah? You had me worried for a sec.

  I type a smart-ass response and quickly backspace until it’s erased. I’m trying to think of a witty comeback when he sends his next text.

  Tyler: Did you enjoy your visit, Truly?

  I read it several times. I want to say that I did enjoy it, that I enjoyed him. But I’m afraid to. I have to respond with something.

  Me: Very much so.

  Tyler: So did I. You’ve been on my mind all week.

  No freaking way!

  Again I bury my hands in my face and breathe deep. There is no way. Okay. I’m good. I can do this. I hover over the keys, wanting to type that I’ve been thinking of him, too. My fingers won’t cooperate though. I can’t even type the words.

  Tyler: I can smell you everywhere in my house. I miss you, Tru.

  Oh, fuck it.

  Me: I miss you, too. I’m so glad I came.

  I realize what I’ve typed—or rather what I haven’t typed.

  Me: To see you, that is. ;)

  Tyler: Baby, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I like hearing you scream my name.