Stud by Siskind, Kelly (16)

Sixteen

 

Ainsley

Half the fun of meeting the girls at the gym was wearing my favorite white camo Lululemon tights while watching them grunt and sweat from a safe distance.

Gwen dropped her ten-thousand-pound weights. “My shoulders are on fire.”

Rachel finished her umpteenth squat. “My thighs might explode.”

I fixed my ponytail. “I could totally go for a smoothie.”

Gwen rolled her eyes and jumped up and down on a freaking box, as a few men snuck lusty glances her way. “Why do you even come here?” She shot the question at me, barely out of breath.

I pointed to my five-pound weights. “I’m practically Super Woman. You should feel my muscles.” Posing like a bodybuilder, I flexed my biceps.

Rachel squeezed them indulgently. “Let’s get that smoothie, Wonder Woman. Gwen can meet us when she’s done showing off.”

Gwen gestured rudely while still jumping on a box like a crazy person.

After a deep gulp of my coconut, pineapple, avocado smoothie, I slumped in my seat. The gym had a few tables nestled beside the juice bar. People hurried by with gym bags slung over their shoulders, occasionally blocking the view of the treadmills and the street beyond the windows. I watched the frenetic movement, slightly detached. Pretty much how I’d felt the past week. The seven days since Owen’s big revelation.

“You seem quiet.” Rachel knocked her smoothie against mine.

I shrugged and kept sipping.

She wrenched my cup from my hand, placed it out of reach, and faced me. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

She made an annoyed sound at the back of her throat. “I rarely get to see you these days, which means time is valuable. If you don’t start spilling all your secrets in the next five seconds, I’ll tell Owen you also crushed on the hot chocolatier.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

I harrumphed. (Ten-letter word to express dissatisfaction.) But she was right. We didn’t see each other nearly enough, and I’d done nothing but let my emotions fester the past week. Although I’d visited Owen’s apartment twice, our time together had been heavy. Thick with unspoken tension, weighing down our previously light banter.

We still couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and I’d let myself enjoy flipping through a magazine while my construction hunk massaged my feet, lavishing me with attention. Like he couldn’t do enough to prove his affection. Still, we’d avoid any and all topics involving his divorce and the details he’d withheld. There had also been a few nights where I’d texted him, but he hadn’t replied until much later. Unusual behavior for him.

It was likely him feeding off my distance, but familiar anxiety knotted my belly. Maybe he was lying to me. Seeing someone else.

I needed to get my head together before I lost my mind.

My clutch purse was beside me. I fiddled with the zipper. “Did you know Owen’s wife is accusing him of cheating?”

Rachel pressed her hand to her mouth. “God, no. I wonder if Jimmy knows.”

I waved a dismissive hand. “I’m pretty sure it’s all a fabrication. At least, that’s what Owen says. That his ex is spreading lies. I mean, you should have seen him when he told me. He looked so defeated. I knew he was in the middle of a messy divorce, but she sounds like a nasty bitch.”

Rachel leaned forward to get a clearer view of my face. “Do you believe him?”

Zip. Zip. Zip. I fiddled with my purse zipper as the background pop tunes chased my anxiety. There was no denying how he’d tried to tell me something important that night. I’d pushed him to relax instead, unwind. And his regret when confessing to me had been potent. But if he hadn’t opened up about this, there could be more he was hiding.

“I think so,” I said, clinging to Owen’s best qualities, too many to name. He really had been distraught when talking that night.

“And how do you feel about him? Are things serious?”

The skittering of my heart said it all. “I love spending time with him, laughing and talking, and the sex is out of this world. Everything is just…easy.” And there’s that thing I couldn’t describe—how one glance from him lit me up into a ball of energy.

She plunked my drink back in front of me like it was a double vodka on the rocks. “If he hurts you, I will drive over his nuts with my motorcycle.”

“I already told him I’d cut them off. And when did you get a motorcycle?”

“Jimmy got it for me. It’s way too much, and I tried to refuse it, but I couldn’t rain on his parade. It even has sun rays painted on the tank.”

Sun rays for his ray of sunshine. An adorable nickname for my adorable friend. “You picked a winner with that one.”

“I sure did. But back to Owen. You say you believe him, but you seem wary.”

“I do believe him, but my trust engine is running on empty. I keep replaying how clueless I was about Brandon, how foolish I felt afterward, then I hit meltdown mode.” I was too drained to relive how horrifying it had been to get Caroline’s text, how it still plagued me with doubts. But so much about Owen contradicted her claim, and I was too invested to walk away.

As Rachel made a clucking sound of compassion, my phone buzzed. I pulled it from my purse, my heart fluttering at the sight of Owen’s name. No matter my turmoil, a simple text from him turned me back into a swoopy mop.

Jimmy and Rachel are in town. Let’s all go out tomorrow.

I glanced at my friend to find her grinning at her phone, too. “You just get the same date request?”

“Is that cool? Or are things too weird right now?”

I stared at my phone. My gut told me it was what I needed: to go out with Owen and my friends and forget my nerves. I’d offered him my trust, accepting his version of the truth, so I either had to put the incident behind me…or I had to end things.

The latter riddled me with more anxiety, which meant it was time to forge ahead. Stop allowing my past to mess with my mind.

Come to think of it, there was another thing I could do to suss out Owen’s intentions. My father had never liked Brandon. He’d been polite to him, but my dad was a cuddly teddy bear—a six-foot-five, tattooed teddy bear. For him, not liking someone meant no close hugs or bromance back slaps. Worried he’d upset me, he’d never mentioned his distrust of Brandon until we’d broken up. My sweet father felt partly responsible for the fallout.

Sounds great, I replied. We’ll bring Gwen if she’s free. Maybe invite Emmett? And I have a request.

Anything.

There was no hesitation in his reply. No concern over what I might ask. He really was the sweetest guy. A guy I could picture in my future, if I let my mind wander down that rose-colored road. Hopefully watching him with my father and my family would give me clarity. Come to dinner with me before we go out, with my family.

I tried to have a monthly Friday night dinner at home, but six weeks later, life had gotten in the way.

I like the sound of that. Mind doing me a favor too?

Cheeky bugger. But I warmed at his quick acceptance to meet my parents. Depends.

Come to the build tomorrow, he texted. Talk to Anton. No matter how it goes, I’m here for you.

My brief optimism disappeared faster than last season’s horrific culottes trend. My neck prickled. A rock formed in my gut. There was no doubt the other thing fueling my recent dark mood had been my inability to muster an apology to Anton. I was afraid of facing the boy who’d ridiculed me. I was afraid of facing what I’d done to him in return.

I replied Maybe as Gwen joined us.

“That was an awesome workout.”

I pulled out a chair for her. “You say that every time.” Even after Step Class Hell. “How are things with your mom?”

She swiped a towel over her forehead, then hung it around her neck. “Not good. Chemo doesn’t seem to be helping, and doctors wear that bad-news frown when they talk to her.”

Rachel and I exchanged worried glances. She reached over the table to hold Gwen’s hand. “How are you?”

“Also not good. I’ve tried to spend time with her, but we usually end up fighting. It’s like me being there is making things worse. I’m going to take a break.”

“You sure that’s smart?” Rachel asked.

“I have zero clue what’s smart right now. All I keep focusing on is the fact that she’s going to die before she tells me who my father is. I brought it up last time, and our fight was pretty epic. We both need space, I think.”

Whatever my relationship and life stress, it was peanuts compared to this. “We’re going out tomorrow, with the guys and maybe Owen’s brother. You should come. We can ply Rachel with wine until she gets on the dance floor and embarrasses herself.”

Gwen snickered. “I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

Somehow she perked up and chatted about her next death-defying stunt—rock climbing sans rope.

I once asked her why she tempted fate by jumping from planes and the like. Her reply: Scaring myself makes me feel alive. In the face of her mother’s illness, she was still scaring herself. Still living, careening into the void. Dating Owen and ignoring that slanderous text certainly scared me, but confronting Anton also sent me into panic mode. I may never test my limits the way Gwen barreled through hers, but it was time to take control of my life. Facing my past seemed like a good place to start.

I’d skipped out on this week’s volunteering sessions. Although I didn’t have the willpower to turn down Owen’s evening invitations, I’d studiously avoided him during the day, as though the sunlight would expose my nervous energy and he’d tire of my hot-and-cold routine. With tonight’s ambush on the horizon, the notion was less unsettling, and it was nice to be back.

The familiar hustle and bustle of the Habitat build had me smiling: hammers pounded, saws whirred, voices shouted instructions and questions. I didn’t spot Owen or Anton right away, but a handful of students were sitting on scaffolding, paintbrushes in hand, as they joked and painted window frames.

The first six townhomes were nearing completion, another six rising from the ground. Pride puffed up my chest at the sight.

Then a red-headed man slid into my peripheral vision, and my pride went splat.

Anton was talking with two girls, both teens grimacing. He was too far to see his scarred hand, but his arms cut stern lines as he spoke, maybe reprimanding them. The girls then faced each other, hips jutted out with attitude, as though they were forcing out insincere apologies.

If I could write thought bubbles above their heads, they would read:

“Sorry.”

“Whatever.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The depths of teenage sincerity.

The two trudged off toward the build, and Anton rubbed his eyes, clearly exhausted. He didn’t look like the guy who’d laughed as I’d stumbled, terrified, out of the walk-in fridge, or the villain who’d hissed stupid bitch when I’d forget to put a second tomato on a Chucky’s Chicken Sandwich. But he did have a limp from the mean prank I’d pulled, a slight drag of his right leg.

I contemplated scuttling back to my apartment and hiding in the dark for the rest of the day. Never showing my face onsite again. But I’d made a bold wish to better myself, which meant doing more than Habitat work.

Yes, Anton had been a dick. Yes, he had tormented me. But this was about acknowledging the cruel thing I’d done, provoked or not. Not hiding. Not pretending volunteering made it all better.

This was my trial, and I was as guilty as Anton.

He hadn’t moved, likely enjoying a breather from his students. I chanted a series of yoga oms, searching for serenity. I’d been out scoping stores this morning and was still in my Donna Karan jersey dress and ankle boots. That left me dressier than I’d have liked for this encounter. The exact thing Anton had teased me about all those years ago.

At least my walk of shame would be fashionable.

I forced my spine straight, determined to face the music. (The soundtrack to Jaws, specifically.) I navigated the uneven ground until Anton was a foot away. Close enough that I could glimpse red, puckered skin on his right hand. His attention cut to me, maybe sensing my horrified stare. His eyes widened behind his glasses. Then they narrowed, slicing me down at my wobbly knees.

His stance slammed from relaxed to rigid. “Ainsley Hall.”

I offered a timid wave. “That’s me.”

He stared. I cowered. Around us, the earth continued its slothful spin.

I was a breath from doing my fiercest runway walk away from there, but I’d come for a reason. There was no changing the prank I’d pulled. Nothing could undo the physical harm I’d caused. It was time to accept my punishment.

“I’ve been volunteering here and noticed you a while back, but was too cowardly to approach you.” I cleared my throat twice. “Thing is, I was the one who left you the cockroach box. You weren’t exactly nice to me, but there’s no excusing what I did. And I don’t expect you to accept my apology. I’m still sorry. You didn’t deserve to get hurt.”

His face glazed over like an unimpressed wax statue, but my heart was a battering ram. I couldn’t tell if his blank expression was born of repressed anger or arrogance. He’d exhibited both as a teen.

He scratched his red hair, a move that put his burned hand in full view. “Are you done?”

If he’d let me apologize ten thousand times over, I would. “I guess. I’ve just always felt sick about it. Maybe knowing it’s haunted me will make you feel marginally better.” I didn’t guilt him for what he’d done, or offer my sob story about working too many hours back then and struggling to keep my head above water while paying my family’s bills. How it had all compounded with his cruelty, culminating in my cowardly act.

There was no justifying my actions.

“Good,” he said, “because I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

It was my turn to become a statue. As awful as he’d been, he’d never shown a lick of remorse. I hadn’t hoped for it now. “You should?”

He watched his students a moment, then stared at his boots. “My father was a drunk—the nasty, abusive kind—and I took that out on you. You were an easy target, I guess. I’m ashamed about it, to this day. So, yeah…I should be the one apologizing. And thanking you. The cockroach stunt woke me up.”

“But the scars…”

He held up his hand and smirked. “They’re kind of badass, and they remind me what’s important. I don’t tolerate bullying in my classes. If I even get a whiff of it, I come down hard on the kids.”

One of the moody teenage girls called, “Mr. Bickley!”

Anton raised a finger to tell her he’d be a minute. “Anyway, I’m sorry for everything I did. That fridge stunt especially. You tried your best at work, and I was a prick.”

“You’re forgiven,” I said quickly, happy to say the words, thrilled to put this chapter of my life to bed. I wouldn’t be sending him a friend request or swapping phone numbers, but grudges were poison. “Consider us non-enemies.”

He smiled sadly. “Non-enemies sounds pretty great. See you around the build.”

He joined his students, and I stood a moment, letting the reality of our conversation sink in. Shame still weighted me, but I felt light, too. Relieved the confrontation was over.

“How’d it go?”

I swiveled at Owen’s sexy baritone, teetering like I had the first time we’d met. Muddy ground and high fashion were not a good combo. “When did you turn up?”

He slid his arm around my waist, anchoring me. “I saw you talking with Anton and waited until he left.” His voice softened. “So?”

So, I faced my nemesis and apologized. So, I was still standing. “We both said what we needed to say, and he doesn’t blame me for what I did. He actually thanked me, which is odd.”

Pensive, Owen looked in Anton’s direction. “How do you feel?”

Naming this riot of emotions was as easy as choosing one item at a Sephora sale. “Like I’ve been riding the Gravitron ride Gwen once forced Rachel and me on—exhilarated and nauseated. But I also feel badly.”

Owen was in his usual work attire—worn jeans, gray T-shirt accentuating his broad chest, thick sandy hair askew from his hardhat. Untold tenderness warmed his eyes. “I don’t follow.”

“Apparently Anton was living with an abusive father back then. If I’d tried to understand him more, maybe I could have talked to him. Helped. But I was too wrapped up in my emotions to see beyond his pranks.”

A sharp look crossed Owen’s face, his features tightening.

My lungs constricted. “Do you think I messed up? That I should have done something?”

“Babe, no.” He shook his head vehemently. “Nothing like that. Teenagers are ruled by their emotions, and he was awful to you. I’d have done worse than a box of roaches. It just made me think of something else. But I’m happy you’ve found closure.”

I had found relief. As well as an idea.

Facing Anton had triggered a thought, a way to alter the focus of my current job situation. He’d found strength from my mean stunt, had used it to better himself. The way some women reinvented themselves after a nasty divorce. If I worked with women instead of men, people wanting to redefine their lives after a separation, I could make a difference. Help them find strength on their own.

Letting that notion marinate, I pressed to my tiptoes and pulled Owen down for a soft kiss. Someone wolf whistled, and I smiled against his lips. “We could give them a real show.”

“Nick would have a heart attack.” Another chaste kiss later, he said, “Looking forward to the club tonight. Emmett can’t come, but I’m excited to meet your friends…and your folks.”

Suddenly, so was I. Confronting my past-self had set my emotions awhirl. All my emotions.

I may have avoided sleeping at Owen’s place, had kept him at a healthy distance this past week, but pretending my heart wasn’t invested in him was foolishness. He’d pushed me to face my fear today, promising support no matter the outcome. He’d incorporated my vegan lifestyle into his, stocking his fridge with foods I liked. My man touched me whenever he was near, soft brushes that said: you’re mine, I’m yours, we’re better together.

He also fucked like a god.

The implications settled on me, just how hard I’d fallen for him. My father’s opinion was still important, but I couldn’t rely on him to confirm Owen’s honesty. I had to take this plunge on my own and hope for the best.

A first step to stop dwelling on what-ifs could be having some enjoyment at Owen’s expense. Watching him sweat while he feared for his life under my father’s intimidating presence would be gold. He didn’t know Mason Hall looked like a Hells Angels biker. He didn’t have a clue Dad’s tough exterior didn’t match his gooey center.

My father and I had played this game before: the Make My Boyfriend Wet Himself game. I nearly released an evil bwahahaha laugh at the image. This was going to be some kind of fun.