TWO
Zeus
The house rests in darkness, barely a hint of the fading sunset on the floorboards as I walk across to the kitchen and tug the fridge open. Brilliant white light spills out to highlight the grease stains on my shirt and jeans.
Maybe another week and I’ll have her running. A bargain for what she is: a 1971 Plymouth Barracuda. Damn thing would have been worth a quarter of my house if she’d had an engine, but the guy had brought the shell in from the States with great intentions, yet none of the passion to see it through.
Passion: something I have in spades.
Cool water trickles from the corner of my mouth as I down half a bottle and kick the fridge door shut with my boot. Days in the garage seem to be my modus operandi of late. Days where I lose all track of time, only stopping to come indoors for a feed, or because it gets too dark and the biters come out.
Distraction: my sedative of choice.
“Z. You home?” John’s voice carries from the internal garage door.
“In the kitchen, brother.”
He strolls up the hallway and flicks the light on as he passes the switch. “Saw the garage door open and figured you must be here. Bike isn’t out front, though, so I wasn’t sure.”
“It’s around the back.” I set the bottle on the counter and lean both hands either side of it. “Needed a wash.”
He hesitates in the middle of my living room, hands in his pockets as he rocks on the heels of his work boots.
“What are you here for?” I’m lucky if I see the guy once a month these days.
He clears his throat and frowns as he stares at the floor between us. “She comes home tomorrow.”
Fucker may as well have swung a torque wrench into my gut. “Yeah, okay.”
He cocks his head to the side, gaze narrowed. “Is that all?”
“What the fuck do you want me to say, mate?” He’s made it clear where I stand with his family.
“I don’t know.” John shrugs. “I guess I figured you’d be more excited or some shit.”
“You guessed wrong.” Rip an old wound open to let it bleed anew, and then ask the man if the pain excites him? John’s fucking lost the plot.
“I thought you should know anyway, in case you see her around. It’s inevitable that you two will bump into each other, and you know….”
“You wouldn’t want me to do something stupid?” I taunt.
“Zeus.”
“Nah, I get it mate. Stay the fuck away from your daughter, and if I see her, pretend she’s invisible. Understood.”
He huffs through his nose, eyes hard as his jaw works side to side. “Put yourself in my shoes, Z. What would you have done?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, but I kind of hoped that fucking plane ticket would have shown you what our friendship meant to me.” He’d wanted proof that I had good intentions when it came to him and his family—he got it.
If I’d known that sending Belle overseas to chase her dreams wouldn’t have changed a goddamn thing back here, then rest assured I wouldn’t have paid for a fucking cent of it.
Three years I’ve mourned that goddamn decision. Three years I’ve used technology like some form of self-flagellation, inflicting pain on myself each time I pulled up the pictures I took of her, of us. I can’t let go. I can’t forget what it felt like to have the one thing that meant the world to me slip from my grasp.
“I can’t stop her if she decides to come here,” I point out as I turn the water bottle between my dirty hands.
“No.” John tips his head slightly. “But I don’t think she would, anyway. Not when she’s with Damien.”
The plastic crinkles in my fist. That fucker’s name is my goddamn trigger point. “Thanks for stopping by, John.”
“Sure.” He takes a step back, and then pauses. “Take it easy, Z. Give me a call if you ever need a hand out there, okay?” He jerks his head toward the garage.
I nod, well aware he only makes the offer as some sort of olive branch. But why the fuck would I want to hang out and reminisce with him if all it would do is remind me of my greatest mistake? Whether I knew it or not, I ruined what we had the day I drove a fist into his face and picked his daughter’s love over him. Nothing I did afterward changed the damage done that day. Nothing.
John leaves, the dull sound of his work truck filtering through the house as I march over and slam my fist down on the light switch. The room plunges into darkness, my chest immediately lighter. I retrieve my phone from where I left it on the dining table, and then head to get the bottle of water off the counter. No. Fuck that. Today calls for something stronger. I veer left instead and snatch the untouched bottle of bourbon off the top of the cupboards and take it to the sofa.
Who are you now, dove?
The alcohol cuts a hot path down my throat as I flick through my Facebook settings and bring up the list of blocked users. Only one. Only one person that I ever gave enough of a fuck about to go to such lengths. My thumb tingles as it hovers over the screen. Fuck it. She comes home tomorrow, and that thought alone means I should man up and deal with this like an adult. But I can’t do it. I can’t open that Pandora’s box.
The only way I can live with my decision to buy that ticket is by pretending I had no choice. But I had a choice. And I picked the one that would be best for her. Definitely not the easiest for me.
You’re addicted, Z. Addicted and not sorry about it one fucking bit. That’s the funny thing with addiction: you only feel guilty about it when you finally face the facts and acknowledge how bad it is for you.
Belle? Nope. I’d never admit that because she was never bad for me. It was me who was bad for her.
If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stay the hell away from me when she gets back to Longdale.
Because I’m twice as selfish now, with half the fucks to give on what anyone else thinks.