Redo
When we were kids, requesting a redo was easy. As adults, though, asking for a redo is a lot more complicated. When we want a redo, we know we have violated someone’s trust. We know we are vulnerable to rejection and that makes us afraid to ask. However, when it comes down to it, if someone truly cares about you, and you them, you will ask, and they will grant you a second chance.
BREEZE
THE TENSION IN the kitchen was near intolerable. At least I felt it. It was the first Saturday in five years that wouldn’t involve dirty laundry and scrubbing toilets. And I was sad about it. I was clearly not queen of the social ladder.
Life in the Clery house had not been normal in years. Now here my mom packed my dad’s lunch in the metal box he used to carry every day to the station, as if they were never separated. Searching the back of my mind for something appropriate to talk about proved useless. Everything I wanted to say involved telling them both to go to hell, where they could join Shame and anyone else who had ever hurt me. Yet, somewhere in my heart, I wanted all of it to last.
“I can’t believe I slept all night.” While my words were generic and awkward, it was a start.
“Yesterday was pretty emotional,” my mom said. “You probably needed the rest.”
“Where are you guys off to?” I asked when my mom placed Dad’s lunchbox next to his toolbox and her purse.
“I have to go to work,” she answered. “I’m cutting hair over at Theresa’s again.”
Theresa owned a salon in town my mom worked at before I was born.
“That’s nice,” I said, sounding as awkward as we all felt.
“And I’m off to Shame’s and then I have the night shift at the treatment plant,” Dad answered.
“What are you doing there?”
“Security,” my father answered, then looked worried when the doorbell rang. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No.” My mother and I answered at the same time.
I stayed in the kitchen with my mom while my dad went and answered the door. She stared at me as if wanting to say something. I stared back in a way I hoped conveyed how much I wasn’t ready to talk.
“Hi, Mr. Clery.”
I darted to the door the second I heard her voice.
“Well hello to you,” my father greeted our guest. “It’s been a long time.”
“Way too long,” I squealed, pushing past my dad to hug Pocket. I kept my grip tight and screamed, “you bitch.”
“I’m sorry. I was homesick and hurt. And I knew if I heard your voice it would hurt even more.”
“Come on.” I yanked her by the arm. “Get in here.”
Pocket froze when she saw my mother. “Mrs. . . . um.”
“Clery, honey.” My mom smiled. “It’s still Mrs. Clery.”
Pocket shot me a perplexed look and then smiled at my mom. “Right. It’s nice to see you.”
“I’m sure you’re surprised to see me. Anyway.” Mom waved a hand in front of her face. “We’re off to work, right dear?” She looked at my dad.
“Right,” my dad agreed, taking Mom’s cue. “I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up to do.”
I waited for them to gather their things, studying my best friend. She had grown at least five inches and had two inches on me. Her black hair fell to her waist and her thick lashes highlighted her beautiful blue eyes. Pocket was a woman, and a stunning woman I still felt inadequate standing next to. Some things never changed.
When my parents finally left, I closed the door and hugged Pocket again. I was beyond ecstatic to see her.
Pocket raised a brow. “Should I even ask?”
“What?” I joked. “Why I’ve been teleported to some alternate universe where I have normal parents? No. Please, don’t.” We shared a quick laugh before I frowned, adding, “Or why I haven’t heard from my best friend in forever?”
“I’m sorry, Breezey.” She chewed her thumbnail, staring at me. I think she wanted me to let her off the hook, but I stayed quiet. “My Gram is crazy strict. She took away my cell phone and the woman doesn’t have a landline. I was hardly allowed out of the house.”
“Did it help? Are you cured of the horrid Liam O’Rilley disease?” I teased as she followed me into the kitchen.
“I’m back, so what do you think?”
She hopped up on a barstool at the kitchen island and I poured us coffee.
“I’m so happy to see you.” I paused, feeling a little guilty for not reaching out to her more often. Although I was hurt she never called, the phone did work two ways. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I wish I could have been.”
Pocket waved a hand. “Oh, please. No need to apologize. I pushed you away. You’ll always be my bestie, though. I’m happy to be home.
I smiled. “Yeah. How’d you finally convince your dad to come back?”
“I didn’t,” Pocket admitted. “We don’t speak, but I’m eighteen and I finished high school early, so he doesn’t have any say.”
I slid a mug and the creamer toward her.
“I can’t believe it. It sucks. I mean, not that your back. I’m thrilled. But I’ll be gone soon.” I frowned.
“Dartmouth, I heard. I’m so proud of you.”
I shrugged. “So what about you? How was Iowa?”
“Let’s just say there’s no place like Southie. I didn’t ever fit in there. I couldn’t wait to come home. Although, I have to say, it’s changed a lot. What’s with all the new houses and shopping centers?”
“Crazy, right? Shame calls it yuppie heaven, but they like to bet sports, so it’s been good for the club.” Her mouth was wide open. “What?”
She sipped her coffee as I poured cream into mine. “You’re different,” she said, holding the mug with both hands close to her face.
I blew out an annoyed breath. “Please, I’m still loner Breeze. I want to hear about you, though. Did you have any friends there?”
“I had one, Sarah. She wanted me to go to college in California with her.”
“Why didn’t you?” I asked, putting the creamer back in the fridge.
“Same reason you didn’t choose any schools in California.”
By the time I closed the fridge, her reason for coming home sunk in.
“An O’Rilley?” I asked, giggling.
She nodded. “We’re moving in together.”
I had no idea she still spoke with Liam, although he had mellowed out a lot. Pocket must have been the reason he was lying low.
“What about college?” I asked.
“I’m going to North Eastern.”
“Seriously?” I clapped and gave her a bright smile. “That’s awesome.”
“Thanks.”
“Your dad must be freaking out. All that effort to keep you away from Liam and you’re right back with him.”
“Yeah, um . . . He doesn’t know, yet. And I tried to stay away, but I couldn’t. At lunch, I would borrow Sarah’s phone and spend every second on the phone with Liam. I’m sure you know what it’s like.”
“Shame?” I waved a hand. “Please, getting close to him is harder than scaling Mount Everest. It ain’t ever gonna happen. Besides, he has a whore he prefers over me.”
She ran a finger on the rim of her mug. “I’m not so sure that’s a bad thing.”
“What do you mean?” I tried not to sound hurt.
“Damn my big mouth . . . I don’t know. The age difference with you and Shame is—”
“Is what?” I asked, defensively, although I don’t know why. It wasn’t like Shame and I were a couple or ever going to be. He picked Sabina. I lost.
“Oh, I don’t know what point I’m trying to make. Liam says Shame’s first obligation is always the club. He also says, Shame won’t ever marry you or have kids. And I think you deserve that.”
Her words sliced through my heart. I had heard them all before from Shame himself, but they were never easier to hear. “You sound like Shame.”
“Whatever. You’re my best friend and you’ve been through so much. You deserve a guy who worships you.”
I appreciated her thought but it didn’t change how I felt. I wanted Shame to be that guy, but too much had happened. “Enough with the stupid O’Rilley’s. I’m freaking pumped you’re home. We’re going to spend all of our free time together. It’ll be like old times.”
“Can’t wait,” she squealed, and hugged me.
My cell phone buzzed. While I didn’t recognize the number, the text on the screen sent all of the hairs on my neck racing upward.
I see you moved home. I’ve been waiting for my chance, baby. -E
“What’s wrong?” Pocket asked.
I handed her my phone and sunk into a chair at the kitchen table.
“Who the hell is E?” she asked, her face twisted in confusion.
“Dixon’s son.”
“Ishmael Dixon?” The shrill tone of her voice bounced off the walls. Apparently no one filled in Pocket that E and Liam were related. When I nodded, her mouth fell open. “Don’t tell me you’re mixed up with the Villains. They almost killed Liam.”
“No, it’s nothing like that . . . God, it’s been over a year.”
Her eyes widened. She looked like she wanted to shake me. “What’s been over a year?”
I sighed and decided to dish. “One night, I was insanely pissed at Shame and went to a party in Dorchester. That’s where I met E, but I haven’t spoken to him since.”
Given she didn’t know about E, I didn’t give her a lot of details. If Liam wanted her to know, she would. Perhaps Liam protected Pocket from Dixon, like Shame claimed he did with me.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Nothing. Eddie can’t come here. The Villains and The Bastards have an understanding about the turf line.”
I didn’t inform her the Villains made a habit of crossing it, and I had a giant scar on my leg to prove it. Shame was no longer responsible for me, and I would be damned if I asked for his help.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. E plays games, but I’ll be fine,” I assured her.
We continued to catch up over breakfast. I loved having her home, and I dreaded having to leave her all over again. At least Dartmouth was driving distance.
After a promise to come over later, Pocket left to meet Liam so they could hunt for a place to rent together. I was happy for my friend. I had to admit, when her and Liam first got together, I, like everyone else, figured they were too young for it to last. Yet, here it was five years later and they were apartment shopping. You never knew when love would grab hold of you. I didn’t. I never saw it coming with Shame, but love took me hostage the moment I laid eyes on him.
I plopped down on my bed in a room that felt like it belonged to someone else. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I was bored and I couldn’t walk down stairs and tease Dozer or play air hockey with Tank. There were no chores to occupy my time. The house was too clean to clean again, although, I considered it. I left all of my books at Shame’s and I went to bed too early the night before to take a nap.
Whenever I sat still, all I could think about was Shame making it official with Sabina, and worse, how gloriously happy she was going to be about it.
Bored and in fear of losing any marbles I had left, I decided I was going to pretend to be thirteen again, so I walked to Cumby’s and got myself a watermelon Slurpee.
I stood out front, like Pocket and I used to, as I sucked the sugary deliciousness from the straw. With my eyes closed and the sun warming my cheeks, I could almost hear Pocket giggling next to me. But she wasn’t. My carefree youth was a distant memory behind the horizon of my current insanity and my uncertain future was close behind.
My new parents and Shame-free life awaited me. I wasn’t going to let go of this life yet. I had time before I left, time for Pocket and I to share a Slurpee in front of Cumby’s or sneak a cigarette under the bleachers of the high school. Before I left it all behind, and went to college to forget where I came from, I was going to bask in the glory of being a kid from Southie.
Like a robot, programmed with all the appropriate motherly phrases, Mom reacted to me entering the kitchen. “How was your day, honey?”
My gaze moved over the kitchen table, set for three with a basket of bread, homemade mac-n-cheese, fresh-squeezed lemonade and the awful vase full of sunflowers.
Was she for real?
Had she forgotten?
This was the first time an opportunity to have her alone had presented itself. I wasn’t going to let her back into my life as easily as my dad obviously had.
“If you hurt him again, I swear to God, I will kill you.”
She flinched a little. “Whoa. I think you’ve spent too much time over in that clubhouse.”
“That clubhouse is the only real home I’ve ever had. But this isn’t about The Bastards. This is about a pattern you set. You leave. You pop in with promises, but you always bail. Maybe you’ve stuck around longer than your typical twenty-four hour run, but that doesn’t mean I forgive you. You never saw what you left behind, or the pain you inflicted on Dad.”
Her lips twisted and regret shadowed her expression. “You’re right. I didn’t see it. Not with him or with you, but it’s different this time.”
“How?”
“Because of Shame.” She took a seat at the table. I remained standing, as I wasn’t prepared to be comfortable with her yet. “Your dad and I got real help, and we see a counselor every week to stay on track. I love your dad. Hell, I always have. But the only thing stronger than love is addiction. I screwed up, but I’m committed to making this work.”
I couldn’t help but wonder what it meant if you loved your addiction because Shame was both. I loved him fiercely. It had only been twenty-four hours since I had seen him, but I was jonesing for a fix. I felt dizzy, irritated and sick to my stomach. I thought for sure I would die if I didn’t see him soon. I was ready to get on my knees and pray.
Turned out, I didn’t have to grovel with God. I heard the front door fly open and Shame barged into the kitchen. His face screamed red and the veins in his temples throbbed as he stopped in front of me. “Go pack your shit. You’re comin’ home with me.”
“What? No,” my mom shrieked. “She just got home.”
“She has to,” my dad said, coming up behind Shame.
“Why didn’t you call me when E texted you?” Shame asked, his voice laced with anger.
As much as I wanted Shame to come for me, I didn’t want him there out of some misguided and dysfunctional feeling of responsibility. I didn’t want him as my protector, and I didn’t want to be his obligation.
I wanted him to want me.
“You kicked me out, remember,” I said. A traitorous shake of my voice gave away how hurt I felt, and I swallowed. “I’m not required to tell you anything.”
“Well, now you are,” he ordered impatient and undeterred. “I said pack your shit.”
“No.” Maybe it was childish but I crossed my arms in front of my chest.
“Breeze, princess,” my dad coaxed. “Your mom and I aren’t around a lot. Shame told me about Dixon’s business. Eddie might come for you. It’s not safe here. Shame can protect you.”
“The Villains can’t cross the line,” I told my parents, but it was Shame I had to convince, and he knew better.
Shame hauled me by the arm to my room and slammed the door behind us. “This isn’t a request. Pack a bag. Now!”
“No. I’m not going back with you. I begged you to stay and you tossed me out. You picked Sabina. I’m done being a charity case and a way for you to work through your issues. Find some other damsel. You taught me to be strong. So here I am, independent and tough. I’ll protect myself. Now get the hell out of my house. I don’t ever want to see you again!”
I felt pretty good about my newfound bravery, until Shame grinned and laughed like the devil himself. “Have it your way.”
With a haughty grin, and my hands firmly on my hips, I said, “I will, thank you.”
Shame closed the distance between us, and before I could process what was happening, he hoisted me over his shoulder. My head nearly hit the wall on the way out of my room.
“Put me down right now, Shame. I mean it!”
His laughter filled the hallway, but he kept going. He stopped in the living room, shouting above my screaming in protest. “I’ll send Viv over tomorrow to get her things,” he addressed my parents.
They shrank back and nodded in agreement, ever unwilling to help me. I pounded my fists into Shame’s back on the way to the car, but the big gorilla didn’t budge. He pinned me in the passenger seat and fastened my seat belt. As he rounded the front, I unclicked the buckle and pulled the door handle. The freaking door stuck. It had to be a cruel joke. The car was too old to have child locks, but it wouldn’t budge.
Shame laughed as he settled into the driver’s seat. “Pop put in those locks. Good for business. I think he got them from your dad out of an old cruiser.” I narrowed my eyes. “Oh. Come on. You gotta admit . . . that’s funny.”
I growled loudly at him as I turned away so I wouldn’t have to look at him.
“Buckle up.”
I crossed my arms, ignoring his request.
He reached over and pulled the belt across my lap. I caught a whiff of the familiar sent of him. I couldn’t describe it if I tried but it smelled like peace, like safety, and like my sanctuary. As he clicked the buckle into place, I relaxed slightly. I was helpless to fight Shame, and he damn well knew it, which was utterly infuriating.
Granting a re-do is difficult. It requires us to forget our pain and our suffering. It requires forgiveness.
SHAME
“You know The Villains don’t care about the line.” Breeze wouldn’t look at me, let alone speak to me. I didn’t care as long as she was safe. “The club went after The Villains today for Tex. Dixon’s looking for a way to hurt me.” She still refused to pull her gaze away from the window. “He’ll succeed if something happens to you.”
I heard her sigh but her focus on the glass didn’t budge.
When Pocket showed up at the clubhouse with Liam and needed to speak with me, I didn’t want to hear her out. I assumed Breeze sent her to do her bidding, but when she told me about the text, I lost it. Having Breeze at the clubhouse was going to be difficult, but it would be less than six months until she was off to Dartmouth, and far away from danger.
Once we arrived at the clubhouse, Breeze stomped up the stairs and directly into her room. I followed her up, but avoided trailing her past the living room, which earned me a whimper from Gus.
“Yeah, I know, buddy. But she’s pissed at me.” Gus kept staring at me with his head tilted, until I sighed. “All right. I’ll go talk to her.” I took two steps into her room. “I know you don’t want to be here . . .”
“Correction,” she interrupted from the bed where she layed. “You don’t want me here.”
My response wouldn’t sound genuine, so I didn’t want to say it out loud. Of course she was there because I wanted her to be. She waited for an apology, and I was too damn stubborn to give her one. I wasn’t looking for forgiveness. That might open a door that should remain closed. I was perfectly happy if she saw me as an ass. I was comfortable in the role.
So, as often happened with us, she said nothing, and I waited it out. Usually she caved quickly, but she was different, like a night away from me made her see me for the callous ass I was. In retrospect, maybe it would have been better to leave her at her house and camp a couple of guys outside her door. Then I wouldn’t feel my heart being ripped out of my chest. But the stakes were too high. Like it or not, the night I took Breeze, she became my responsibility.
Instead of letting her torture me, I allowed my legs to carry me to the side of the bed. She turned away immediately. It was always a great failing of mine that I couldn’t keep my temper under control, but in that moment I succeeded in holding back. I wasn’t going to fight with her. She teetered on the brink of adulthood, where if I pushed too hard, she might slip away and abandon everything I wanted for her.
“Go away,” she spoke softly.
“I can’t,” I answered, sitting on the bed next to her.
I made a grave error when I sent her back with her parents. She was hurt, scorned and looking for a way to make me suffer. For a man who had risen above the confines of emotional connections, Breeze always made me want to try. It was unsettling to want to reach for more, but feel the sting of Breeze’s rejection. I should have been delighted to accept the hatred radiating from her. In my cowardly way that was what I wanted. Instead, in some way, I didn’t understand. I was disappointed and longed to see the love in her eyes that had come to make me feel whole.
“Please look at me, Dimples.” To my disbelief, she rolled over and met my gaze but it was her smile allowing a sliver of light to penetrate my dark heart. It killed me to make a choice between keeping her safe and making her mine. “I’m sorry.”
I stared at her eyes, swollen and red as she sat up in the bed. “I love you, Shame and you hurt me.”
What a truly depressing twist the day had thrown at me. I had done everything to keep her from feeling love for me, including burying my own feelings of adoration. I sent her packing, forced her to hate me, see me as a burden, only she refused to back down. She was stronger than me. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
Her hand lifted and pressed tight against my cheek, while her thumb massaged my bottom lip. Her touch rendered me helpless. “You never wanted to hurt me because you love me, too. Quit fighting. I know you. I know you don’t want to be with Sabina.”
As I took her hand in mine, I absorbed the comforting warmth of her skin, looked her in the eyes, and decided to confess. “I lied.”
Her head tilted. “What?” she asked.
“I lied,” I repeated. “You’re so damn stubborn, you wouldn’t leave, so—”
“I knew it,” she whispered.
As I watched her satisfied smile grow, I could’ve had her, all of her. Right there in her bed, I could have taken her, made love to her, and let go of all my reservations. I could have changed her future. But I didn’t.
“It doesn’t change anything,” I whispered, removing my hand from hers.
She sent me a hard look as I rose from the bed. I abandoned the much-desired sexual encounter for a cold shower, away from Breeze. I did love that girl. The way she talked, the way she walked, the way she looked at me like she could see all of the things I wanted to hide and loved me more every damn day. She was resilient and strong, loving and kind . . . and sweet, too sweet and too forgiving. Love was a risk I refused to take with her. Dixon would use her to get to me. As painful as it was, I would make sure she was never used as a pawn.
Sometimes we don’t even want a re-do. We want the person to stay angry with us, because it is easier to cope. When they give us a second chance it feels like failure.