I don’t have to be just River’s caregiver. I can be other things. I should be living my life still and enjoying the same things I did before I gained custody of her, right? Even new parents still go out without the kids. It’s completely normal and even healthy to still have your own life outside of being a parent. Even at twenty-three. Especially at twenty-three.
That’s what Tracy tells me when I leave River with her Monday night at my apartment with Kona. We’re not technically living at my apartment yet, but I’m trying to get River used to the idea of staying someplace other than the house in case it’s sold.
I didn’t want to go out tonight, but Tracy tells me I can’t keep spending all my time with a traumatized three-year-old, but then again, I want to. I hate being away from her. My mind drifts to River and her face when I left her with Tracy. It was like she was afraid I was never coming back and burning the memory of me inside her brain.
She’s not all I think about. My mind is on Tiller. Always, almost instinctively. There’s this game Tiller and I play. A push and pull. I think endlessly about him. I’m hopelessly lost in the idea of him and terribly confused by the action of him. What’s worse? I fell madly in love with the harshness of everything disturbing he does to gain my attention. That’s wrong. That’s unhealthy, but as I’ve said, I crave the gnarly ones.
That in itself tells me I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be on a date with Cody, when I know my heart will always be Tiller’s. But here I am, seated in a corner table at North Italia.
Nervously fidgeting with my hair, and then my napkin, I’m impressed by their cocktail menu. To be honest, I’m mesmerized just staring at their bar. I love modern decor and the edgy furniture and ambiance of North Italia is something out of a chic Pinterest board come to life.
It’s beautiful and the food is amazing. Everything’s made fresh to order. Even the pizzas. They specialize in traditional Italian food with a modern twist. I could spend hours looking at the menu, but I focus on the drinks because that’s what I’m going to need tonight. They have sangria and I’m pleasantly surprised to see they offer a pitcher of it!
Would that be lush of me to order a pitcher and drink the entire thing to get through this night?
Yes. Don’t make a fool of yourself here.
Cody clears his throat, my eyes lifting to his as he hands the menu to the waiter. “I’ll have a glass of Zinfandel and the Strozzapreti.”
It’s my turn to order but I can’t pronounce half of the meals on the menu, so I simply point to save myself the embarrassment. “I’ll have the coffee and this.” I point to the burrata tortelloni.
The corners of Cody’s lips twist at the corners. He’s cute, in a boyish way with dusty blond hair that falls hopelessly in his eyes and a joker’s smile when he thinks something’s funny. He’s completely unlike Tiller, and I think that’s why I agreed to go out with him. Where Cody’s nice and sweet and is opening doors with gracious smiles, Tiller’s nothing like that.
Stop thinking about him!
The waiter hands me my drink. Though the sangria looked amazing, I went with the Italian coffee. It’s an iced coffee made with espresso, Caffe Borghetti, Amaretto, and vanilla whipped cream.
Now I could tell you all sorts of things about that dinner with Cody, but I’m not sure you care. Or do you? Do you want to know the part where he talks about traveling to Brazil or that he’s been taking care of his eighty-year-old grandmother who has dementia?
He’s literally so sweet, I have a toothache.
He asks questions like we’re playing a game of twenty questions. And then he asks, “How’s River?”
Drawing in a deep breath, a familiar lump in my throat rises, and I know where this is going. “She’s doing well. Sleeping seems to be the hardest thing for her as is having my sister show the house constantly to potential buyers.”
My mind drifts back to Friday morning when Alexandra showed the house to someone with us there, cooking breakfast. She didn’t call first, didn’t ask for us to be gone, nothing. Just brought some of her friends over, let herself in and paraded them around trying to sell them on the house.
River was so distraught by them going into her parents’ bedroom, she locked herself in the bathroom for twenty minutes. The only reason I got her out was because I offered up McDonald’s chicken nuggets.
So not only will she have to see a therapist for the emotional trauma of seeing her parents’ death, she’s going to have high cholesterol and maybe even diabetic by the time she’s four.
He gives an understanding nod. “Was River with them when it happened?”
I flashback to the night. Images of the blood on her dress, the shocked lost look she held and the way she twirled my hair around her fingertips. My heart pounds painfully, harsh beats that take my breath away.
“Can we. . . talk about something else?”
Cody waves his hand around and reaches for his glass of wine. “Yeah, totally. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned them.”
Notice the way he’s fumbling with words and speaking in a quiet voice? He’s sympathetic but asking all the wrong questions. Awkward silence weighs on my shoulders, sagging my posture as I finish the rest of my coffee.
It’s then Cody asks, “Um. . . what’s your. . . .” He pauses, redirecting the question and squaring his shoulders in a stiff I-don’t-know-why-I’m-asking-this stance. “Is there something going on with you and Tiller? I don’t want to step on his turf.”
His turf? I almost laugh, almost being the key word because turf is exactly how Tiller sees it. I’m good enough to hang out with, party with, kiss, but never ever am I good enough to hold his heart. Or is it me who’s scared of it? I can never tell with us. Our relationship is like a Rubix cube and neither one of us can find the right twist at the same time.
Now. . . here’s where everything turns to crap—if it hadn’t been going there in the first place.
Do you ever have that feeling something bad is going to happen? Ava used to tell me it’s called a premonition.
It’s during dessert where I get that premonition feeling deep in my bones, like someone’s trying to warn me of my impending doom. Cody’s convincing me to try the North Italia’s famous hazelnut torta, which is basically a gigantic Nutella brownie, made with Nutella cream, hazelnut toffee, and salted caramel gelato.
And that’s when I hear the distant, yet distinct, scream of a 2-stroke, and a waft of racing fuel hit my senses. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and I look around.
Cody does the same, and there’s a commotion near the entrance as a man enters the restaurant on a familiar red and white Honda CR250. I’m sure you wonder here, why they let him in the building, right?
It’s southern California. The doors to restaurants are usually open.
And I’m sure you can guess who’s on the bike, too, right?
Do you see him? The one by the door on the dirt bike, goggles blocking dark mysterious eyes, but I know they’re focused on me, waiting to see my reaction to his psychotic display of whatever he has planned.
Christ, why is he on his dirt bike?
Do you notice the way Tiller’s relaxed on the bike? I lift my eyes and wonder if under the mirror orange and purple goggles, if I’ll find his eyes to be whiskey-colored or cocaine-black.
He revs the bike twice, giving me a head nod when he spots me in the corner.
I slap my hand over my mouth. “Oh. My—”
I don’t get out what I was going to say next because Cody says, “What the fuck is he doing here?” And he narrows his eyes at me. Like I invited him. Like I allowed this.
“I don’t know what he’s doing here.” I panic and push away from the table, ready to bolt out the back door like I’ve been caught sneaking out. I have been in many ways.
Cody’s disappointment shifts. “Did you tell him we were coming here?”
“Are you crazy?” If I had, I wouldn’t have made it here. Tiller would have interjected. Like the time I was supposed to go Mexico with friends from school, and he kidnapped me and made me go to Seattle with him for the weekend. “No. I didn’t.”
Tables are tipped over. Glasses are broken. Waiters shuffle. Cooks stare.
And me, I glare that he’s causing a scene because it’s just like him to do this. My senior prom I went with a boy I’d been dating. Tiller showed up, threw a table through a window, and broke my date’s jaw. When I said being friends with Tiller is like emotional terrorism, I wasn’t joking.
I watch Tiller rev his bike, do a back-tire wheelie and knock nearby empty stools over with the rear tire. He bounces off tables, chairs, walls, putting on a show for those bold enough to stay in their seats. Guys smile, girls blush, others gawk in horror their meals are being ruined, but curious as to why Tiller Sawyer, Red Bull X-Fighter champion is destroying a restaurant. There has to be a reason, right?
Sadly, no. And if you think there’s reason for anything he does, you don’t know him very well.
People see Tiller and they think a guy like him is invincible. He’s a champion and everything about his dark eyes to the way he’s silently confident draws you in. He gets girls wet and guys wishing they had the arrogance he holds.
Some leave, most don’t, and the room fills with 2-stroke smoke. His bike idles. The potent sting of the fuel burns my eyes. Before us now, he twists his head to Cody, then me and nods.
I can see his breathing is harsh, having muscled around a three-hundred-pound bike like it was a toy, but it’s me he’s treating like a toy no one else can touch.
He removes his goggles and hangs them on the handlebars, but leaves on the skull-painted helmet.
I stare in disbelief, my eyes blinking rapidly to make sense of what just happened, or is happening. Damn you, premonitions. “What are you doing here?”
An artful display of colors surrounds him from the red-and-white bike to the green, red, yellow, and black jersey and riding pants. His front tire hits my chair. Winking, he rocks his hips forward on the seat and leans his weight forward on the bike to push my chair against the brick wall behind me. Excitement courses through me and I hate the tingling feeling in the pit of my stomach when I watch his hips roll forward.
Heat pricks my skin, my cheeks blush. He notices. Always.
His cold eyes wander. They drop to my dress, a coral and teal floral pocket dress that reveals the tops of my breasts. He was with me when I bought it at a vintage street sale a year ago. Said if I wore it for anyone else, he’d kill them. He wasn’t serious. Or was he?
He lifts his hooded eyes to mine and blinks away the expression. It screams, “Why’d you wear that dress?” while his posture remains relaxed, a practiced indifference that never wavers on a king.
He diverts his attention to the manager approaching. Silence lingers, the only sound in the room the hum of the bike idling.
Tiller’s eyes are bloodshot, but surprisingly not cocaine-black and drift to my lips.
He remembers.
I can’t forget.
The manager taps his shoulder. “Sir, you can’t be in here.”
Hardly one to make eye contact, Tiller doesn’t look at him. “I made reservations.”
“Did you?”
Tiller nods, and his eyes tell me he’s smiling under the helmet. “It’s under motherfucker.”
My shoulders slump. He’s doing this on purpose, and I want to scream at him. I want to beg him to stop destroying my life, but then again, do I want that? Could I handle him not in it?
The manager’s face flushes, his patience gone. “You need to leave or I’m calling the police.”
“Oh, relax.” Letting go of the throttle, Tiller reaches in the pocket of his riding pants to retrieve his wallet. Carelessly, he tosses his credit card on the table. “Here. Let me buy your meal.”
A throat clears. Cody’s. “That’s not necessary.”
Leaning back, Tiller crosses his arms over his chest and regards Cody with a menacing scowl. “I told you to leave her alone.”
“You don’t own her.” Cody isn’t backing down and probably knows he should.
Don’t tease the devil.
“Yeah, actually I do.” He gestures to me with a flick of his hand. “Look at the way she’s looking at me, and tell me I don’t.”
“We should go,” Cody tells me, my pulse thundering in my chest.
“Nah, stick around.” Tiller pulls out his cigarettes next, lighting up. He takes a long drag, his chest expanding. “Why are you here with him?” he asks, regarding me again. Amusement fills his dark eyes, the smoke from his cigarette dancing shadows around his smirk.
“You can’t smoke in here,” the manager, I’m sure is on the phone with the police, says.
I’m not in the mood, but I also know what happens when you ignore Tiller. He’s like a child and reverts to those tendencies when ignored. Opening my mouth to tell him off, it’s his sudden presence in the room that looms over me, casting a dark shadow on the table.
“Having a nice time?” Tiller’s deep, gravelly voice triggers goose bumps across my skin. Stupid body. Stop having reactions to him. He’s mean.
I meet his intense eyes, the dark irises rocking me to my very core. “What are you doing here?” I ask, not bothering to hide my annoyance.
He shrugs. “Out for a Sunday ride.”
“It’s a Monday night.”
He remains where he is, his hard gaze making me shift in my seat. I swear he does it on purpose. “Then shouldn’t you be home playing mommy?”
“Tiller, this isn’t the place,” Cody points out, his voice timid and controlled. “Just leave before you’re arrested.”
Like he cares.
Tiller flicks him a hard glance that would have anyone pissing their pants. No one fucks with Tiller and everyone knows it, including Cody. A cop car pulls up outside, no lights, and a woman cop steps out of her patrol car.
Wrong move, Santa Monica police. Should have sent a male cop. I’m not saying this chick can’t do her job and enforce the law, but has she met Tiller yet?
Tiller brings his attention back to me and leans forward, both hands braced on the handlebars, his cigarette loosely hanging from his lips. His scent and body heat surround me, penetrating all my senses. He smells like racing fuel and sweat, two things I’ve never been able to ignore on him. “What are you gonna do?”
“The cops are here. You’re going to get arrested.” My warning whispers across my lips.
“When has that ever stopped me?” he asks impatiently, revving his bike once with a smirk.
While Tiller has fun with the female cop, and asks to put the handcuffs on her, I take a moment to regard Cody, who’s looking rather pissed, and if he thought he could somehow get away with it, he’d start a fight with Tiller on the mere principal of pulling what he did tonight.
The restaurant clears out, I apologize to the manager, and everyone else, something I feel like I do a lot for Tiller, but I’m still stuck on what to say to Cody. It’s when we’re outside, near my car when he lets out a deep sigh. “That didn’t go as planned.”
“I know,” I say, fidgeting with the straps of my bag in my hand. Lifting my eyes to his, I give him a soft smile. “I’m sorry he did that.”
He nods, as if there’s no need to explain, because let’s be real here, he knows Tiller’s like this. Anyone who’s spent more than a couple hours around the destructive sometimes mute crazy, knows his mind works completely differently than most normal people’s. He probably thought all this was okay. Like it was somehow an act of love, or display of affection. This is Tiller we’re talking about.
But it’s Cody’s words next that hit me. “I didn’t realize there was something going on between you two.”
I hesitate, afraid to admit, unable to deny completely, but I try. “There isn’t,” I lie, secretly loving the madness of Tiller in the shadows of everything we might never be.
In my hesitation, he finds my answer and walks away.
You can have ordinary love. I want to drown in uncontrolled passion.