Fat Girl (21 page)

“No.”

“That’s your cue, Peters,” Jordyn sneers, yanking my arm.

I ignore her tug. “Give me ten minutes, Dee.” I’m willing to beg at this point. “That’s all I’m asking. Ten minutes to talk to you privately. Then I’ll go.”

She releases a weary sigh and seems to have to push her voice through it. “I’m not up for your personal attacks and nasty insults. Despite your low opinion of me, I’m crushed by the news of Papa T’s death.”

“I know you are. That’s why I’d like to explain and apologize. Please.”

“Don’t let him pressure you, Dee.” Jordyn says.

Since telling Jordyn to back off won’t earn me any favors, I keep my mouth shut. While my heart pounds over her silent indecision, Dee exchanges looks with her friends in some female code I can’t decipher.

Moments later, Dee returns her gaze to mine. I can all but feel the apprehensive energy beating off her. “I’ll give you
five
minutes and not a second more.”

I don’t argue the concession.

“We’ll be in your bedroom if you need us,” Lexie says with a supportive hand on Dee’s shoulder.

Jordyn casts me a killer glare before she releases my arm to give Dee a quick hug. I used to be the hero, the one who chased all her demons away. It chafes that I’m now seen as the bad guy. But after last night, I have no one to blame for that but myself.

“Could we sit down, Dee?”

She glances over at the kitchen, but as if thinking better of it, leads the way to the living room, where she takes a seat on the couch. Rather than selecting the upholstered chair near the window, I lower myself to the wooden trunk, which doubles as a coffee table. There’s little space for both of us to maneuver and our knees bump.

Dee jerks her legs to the side. The abrupt movement causes the neck of her long robe to gape. She clutches the lapels together, but I’m way ahead of her. Catching a peek of luscious cleavage has already sparked images of Dee naked beneath the terrycloth, all dewy and soft from her shower.

To distract myself from thoughts of peeling off her robe and chasing the subtle scent of vanilla, I lift my gaze to her face. And find it no less distracting. Her beautiful eyes, ravaged by tears and a sleepless night, resemble golden clouds right after a storm.

“Say what you have to say, Mick.”

I get my head together and lean forward, resting my elbows on my thighs, and letting my hands dangle between my parted knees. “Dee,” I begin, “the things I said to you last night were unconscionable, from the crude insults to the way I told you about Cayo’s death. He would have had my ass for treating you that way. You didn’t deserve it or any of what I’ve dished out in the past five days.”

Her guarded expression is inscrutable, but I forge ahead, needing to get it all out. “For selfish reasons, I used your foster parents to unfairly pressure you into taking Dwayde’s case. I said you owed them a debt when that wasn’t true. Their love was never on loan or something you had to pay back. You were as much their daughter as Gabi and Maria were. They were sad that you left. But there was no bitterness or resentment.

“All these years, they’ve kept your picture on the table in the den with the other family photos. Papa T often spoke of you. And Mama T still refers to you as “
mi preciosa hija
.” She misses you.”

Tears spring to her eyes and the corners of her mouth quiver. “I’ve picked up the phone so many times, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if they’d even want to hear from me. I—” Her words trail off and she drops her head so that the dark curls curtain her face.

“I didn’t know he was gone,” she continues with emotion thick as cotton in her voice. “I didn’t read Dwayde’s entire file. I read only the summary. I told myself it was sufficient to get me started on the case. That I wasn’t cheating him. But the truth was, I didn’t want the details. I couldn’t handle reading about the family I left. I didn’t even ask Isabelle or Dwayde about them. I couldn’t.”

She looks up at me then through long lashes, her eyes glistening like polished windows into her soul. “You called me a coward the other day and you were right.”

“Dee—” I start to object, but she cuts me off.

“No, most of the things you’ve said to me are true. I did bail on the family who treated me as one of their own. I did hurt them and I’ll never be able to change that.”

Before last night, I’d convinced myself that Dee’s leaving was a heartless act. Now, I realize that it was easier for me to think of her as the villain. But looking at her now—so fragile, almost breakable, riddled with guilt and self-loathing—I know I was wrong. Whatever got Dee to the point of leaving had nothing to do with being callous. The decision obviously cost her and she is still paying for it. I don’t want that.

“Mama T and the girls are asking to see you. The only reason they haven’t called is they aren’t sure you want to see them. You can’t change the past, Dee, but you can start over. Anytime. It’s not too late.”

“It’s too late for Papa T,” she says, continuing to punish herself. “I should have been there for him…for my family…But I wasn’t. I don’t even know when or how he died. Tell me.”

“Dee, don’t do this to yourself.”

“Please, Mick.”

Those big, pleading eyes, swimming with tears, leave me no choice. “Last November, Cayo was diagnosed with terminal cancer,” I say, trying to keep my voice clinical to get through it. “They gave him less than six months to live.”

“Oh my God,” she breathes, covering her mouth.

“The news was shocking. We all operated on autopilot at first, mostly in denial until the reality of it set in. Mama T was the most stoic, staying strong for him and for us. Victor coped by being practical and ensuring Papa T’s garage was managed. The girls fussed over him. And Dwayde withdrew into himself and wouldn’t talk about it.”

“And you,” she whispers shakily, fiddling with the ties of her belt. “How did you cope?”

I open my mouth with every intention of telling her I coped just fine, but somehow the truth comes spilling out. “I was angry at the unfairness of it,” I confess, passing a hand over my hair. “Papa T loved life, he loved his family, and everybody loved him. He walked into a room and had instant friends. How could he be dying? How could the man I thought was invincible not be able to beat this thing? I couldn’t accept it. I wouldn’t.” My voice cracks and I clench and unclench my hands, trying to ward off the piercing guilt that hasn’t dulled in seven months. “I was determined to fix it. I had all this money—I could afford the best doctors and to send Cayo for treatment anywhere in the world. But none of it mattered. I still couldn’t save him.”

“Your being there was what mattered.”

I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t enough. After all he’d given me, the only thing he ever asked me for I couldn’t give to him.”

“What was that?”

“To stop fighting and accept what was. He said he’d had a happy, fulfilling life and needed me to make peace with this. But I didn’t know how. I was selfish…only thinking about what I wanted. He died in March, knowing that I’d let him down.”

“You didn’t let him down,” she says softly, her words a light caress to my heavy heart. “Papa T wanted you to make peace with his dying for yourself, not for him.”

The roles have somehow gotten reversed. I started off with every intention of comforting her, and somehow Dee has ended up comforting me. I didn’t make a conscious choice to bare my soul, but she’s always had that truth-serum effect on me. Talking to her just feels right. And yet I know she’s hurting too. I long to pull her into my arms and soothe us both. But I doubt she’d let me. Instead, our eyes lock in mutual grief.

“I’m so sorry you lost him, Mick.”

“I’m sorry you lost him, too, Dee.”

Tears trickle down her cheeks. I have to bunch my hands to keep from wiping them away. But I have one more thing that needs to be said. “Over the years, Cayo kept telling me that life was a precious gift and that I was wasting mine. I took it to mean basketball. But after this week, I think even more than that, he meant the anger I was harboring toward you.”

I watch surprise, even confusion, flicker across her beautiful face as if what I’m saying doesn’t make sense. “I’m tired of being angry, Dee. I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore either,” she says. “I’m sorry for hitting you. That was terrible.”

I take a chance and reach for her. She stiffens but doesn’t pull away. I slide my hands up her jaw to cradle her face, absorbing the softness of her skin and the dampness of her tears. “My words hurt you a lot more than your slap hurt me. You accused me of seducing you, and I’d like to explain that.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.” My hands move into her hair, my fingers sifting through the curls. “I did set out to seduce you. Partly for my ego. But mainly because I thought it was the only way I could get you out of my system.”

“Mick—”

“Let me finish, Dee. A coldhearted seduction was what I planned. What a joke. I couldn’t pull it off. Once I started kissing you and touching you, I wasn’t thinking about my ego or about the conquest. I was only thinking about how sweet you still tasted…and how incredible you still felt.”

She shivers and her breaths hit my face like warm puffs of cotton.

“I was the one who got seduced, Dee. I still want you. I’ve never stopped.” I kiss her. Not with the urgent hunger of last night. This is a soft joining of lips, a slow dance of tongues and quiet sighs.

Then her fingers grasp my wrists. Squeezing. Gently at first. Then not so gently. It takes my addled brain a moment longer than it should to register that this isn’t an encouraging touch. It’s a signal for me to stop.

“I can’t, Mick,” she whispers, pulling back. “I can’t do this with you. Not again.”

The alarm in her voice has me looking into her eyes, and I’m jolted to the core by the haunting pain I see behind the tears.

“Dee?” I flounder to understand as she attempts to free herself from my hold. Because she’s shaking, I drop my hands.

“I’d…I’d like you to leave now.”

Leave? I thought we landed in a good place, the anger behind us. That kiss wasn’t one-sided. She was with me until…until what?

“Dee, talk to me.” I force my voice to stay level in spite of my confusion and rising concern.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she says and wraps her arms around her waist as if she were holding herself together.

“How can you say that when you’re looking at me as though I’ve broken your heart?”

She hugs herself tighter, the tears trickling into the corners of her mouth. “Does it have to do with the reason you left?” I ask, desperate to put the pieces together.

“If you ever had any regard for me at all, Mick, you’ll just go.”

“Dee. Don’t ask me to do that.”

“Please. Go.”

Leaving Dee goes against my every protective instinct, but staying and pushing for answers when she’s about to fall apart would make me an insensitive bastard. I take solace in knowing her friends are here and do as she asks.

But it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

I WATCH MICK GO. AND the ache feels as real and punishing as it did fifteen years before. I long to call him back; to lean on those broad shoulders and unburden myself of my secrets. But I couldn’t then and it’s too late now.

When I hear the door softly close behind him, feeling the weight of the past crushing my chest, I lower my face and sob into my hands. I don’t even notice my friends enter the room until I feel the cushions on either side of me sink and I’m circled in their arms.

When my crying jag eventually stops, Lexie gets me some Kleenex to sop up the tears. “Sorry, I’m such a mess,” I say.

“Please.” Jordyn waves away my apology. “That exchange with Mick was superintense.”

“How much did you hear?” I sniffle, wiping my eyes and nose.

“Most of it. We left the door open in case you needed us,” Lexie explains.

“Oh.” I’m sort of embarrassed to have had an audience, but I’m also relieved not to have to replay the entire conversation for my friends.

“Wanna tell us about it?” Jordyn asks, tucking her feet under her hips.

I think about what I learned in therapy.
If you avoid talking about the problem that’s eating you, you’ll eat to avoid the problem.
But retreating is my go-to response. My safety zone. “There’s nothing more to tell than what you heard.”

“We heard what was said, Dee. Not how you feel.”

I blow out a breath and slump back against the pillows. “I feel like crap, Jord. How else am I supposed to feel about abandoning my family without ever looking back?”

“You were eighteen, Dee, and heartbroken.”

“I was selfish and thoughtless. Papa T died without me being there…without me ever telling him how sorry I am.”

“You can’t do anything about that,” Lexie says gently. “But Mama T is still alive, and Mick gave you a bridge back to her and your foster sisters.”

A bridge I can’t cross without revealing why I left. And I’m not ready to do that. I may never be.

“I was all set to hate the man,” Jordyn grumbles. “But then he apologizes and tells you how much you still mean to your foster family. I’m not the romantic kind and you know I think, once a dog, always a dog. But holy shit, Dee, it’s hard to hold onto that principle when a guy’s pouring out his heart. Mick is still totally in love with you, girl.”