Hard & Fast (Rules to Break #1) (13 page)

Chapter Fourteen

The whole flight, my mind buzzes with all of the questions I didn’t think to ask Mom when she broke the news: is Dad awake? Is he breathing on his own? What’s his prognosis? Is he even going to live? Each new question—and its potential answer—brings on another shuddery sob. The flight attendant darts nervous glances my way, but I don’t care.

“Are you okay, dear?” the woman next to me asks. She offers me a Kleenex from her purse. I gratefully accept it and nod, even though I’m not okay. Not even a little bit. I can’t believe this is happening. It feels like a scene out of a low budget Lifetime movie, not real life.

Cole pops into my head. By now, he would have noticed that I didn’t just leave, but packed up all of my things and moved out. Was he calling me because he was furious? Did he want to beg for me back, or tell me to screw off and never set foot on his property again.

A whole new wave of anguish hits me. My fingers itch to grab my phone out of my purse, at the very least to see if he texted me, but the rational part of my brain kicks in and I shove my bag further under the seat in front of me. I can’t think about Cole right now. What’s happening with Dad is so much bigger than any relationship drama.

By the time the plane touches down, I’m so worn out over all of the stress that I can barely pick myself out of my seat.

We disembark right onto the runway, and my bag bumps behind me into the terminal. Even though I’m wearing sunglasses to shield my stinging, red-rimmed eyes, heads snap up to stare at me all the way to baggage claim. Some part of me had hoped that Mom was exaggerating about how far the news about Cole and me had spread, but it’s obvious in this moment that it’s all anyone has been talking about.

Mom’s waiting for me in the lounge. She’s wearing a pair of wrinkled trousers and a sweatshirt rolled up to her elbows. It’s so unlike her—the woman who cares infinitely about what people think about her—that I freeze with fear. It must be bad. Really bad.

Mom spots me and races over to wrap me up in a hug. It takes me a moment to even realize what’s happening. To say that my mom isn’t affectionate would be putting it mildly. I’ve always known that she loves me, have never once doubted it, but the biggest overture she’s ever made was a half-hug, half back pat thing after my high school boyfriend Danni Montelletti broke up with me for a member of the debate team.

Panic clamps down on my chest.

“Did he? Is he?”

Mom’s brows pull together before her eyes go wide. “No! Oh, God no, Rose.”

I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“Oh, thank God. I was so worried. I thought—”

“Your father is very much alive,” she says.

I nod and wipe a hand down my face. “Alright, good.” I become aware of all the people watching us. “Let’s get to the hospital then.”

“You don’t want to drop your bags off at the house first?” Mom asks.

I shake my head. I need to see Dad
now
, before I burst from all of the tension radiating inside me. Mom’s gaze catches on something behind me.

“Do you mind?” she snaps. I follow her line of sight to a teenager snapping a cell phone pic of me. I wonder how long it’s going to take before that picture hits the tabloids. I can see the headline now. COLE DEAN’S SECRET LOVER DUMPED!

The whole thing is so humiliating.

“Thanks, Mom,” I mutter. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes I did,” she says. “Now let’s get you out of here before anyone else gets any ideas.”

Once we’re safely inside the car, I sift through the scattered questions I’d wanted to ask Mom earlier. I can hardly remember a single one.

“How did this happen?” I finally ask.

Mom starts the car. “He was at the store, using the lift to get lumber off the shelf for a customer . . .” Mom trails off, swallows. “They say he just grabbed his chest and . . . and slumped over.”

I wince. Mom’s throat bobs as she swallows again.

“Lucky for him Jimmy Haskins is trained in CPR,” she continues. “He kept your dad’s heart going until the paramedics arrived.”

I look out the window so she won’t see my shining eyes. Had Dad just read an article about me when he collapsed? Had the customer asked him a rude question about his daughter’s virtue, or lack thereof? I picture Vivian Eggerton or one of the other judgemental women from church glaring at Dad in her prudish, narrow-minded way, shaming him.

“Is he going to be okay?” I ask, voice thick.

Mom presses her lips together. “The doctors say they need to run some tests.”

I nod, and we both turn silent.

Before long, the hospital rises up in front of us, all glass and steel beams. The last time I’d been here, it was a quaint brick building. They’d been talking about constructing a new hospital since I was a baby, but they’d finally done it. It surprises me. I wonder what else has changed since I left.

Mom turns off the car, and I look up at the windows rising dozens of stories high. I’d been in such a hurry to get home, to see Dad, but now that I’m here, I’m glued to my seat. I don’t want to go in that place. Don’t want to see my dad as anything other than the great beast of a man who could slice a log of wood in half with a single chop of an axe.

Guilt weighs heavy on my shoulders.

Mom puts the car in park, then reaches over and grabs my hand. “He’ll be so happy to see you, Rose.”

I drop my gaze into my lap. I caused his heart attack. Embarrassed him. Embarrassed the family. I sincerely doubt he’s eager to see me.

But then Mom’s getting out of the car, and I know I have to do it sometime. I shoulder my bag and follow her inside.

Dad’s lying in bed when I enter his room. His skin is unearthly pale and there are purple circles under his eyes. His pale blue hospital gown sags limply around his neck, dozens of colourful wires taped all over his chest.

He spots me in the doorway and sits up, a smile playing on his lips. But I see the way it strains him to move and tears prick my eyes. I hesitate in the doorway.

Dad pats the mattress next to him. “I don’t bite,” he says. “I promise you can come closer.”

I try to smile and fail. Somehow, my legs move. The mattress groans as I sit.

“Good to see ya, kid,” Dad says, pulling me into a weak hug. He smells like old man shaving cream and sawdust and it makes a sob choke my chest. This is my dad. Even if he doesn’t look like him. Even if he doesn’t act like him. It’s my dad.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“For what?”

My cheeks blaze with heat and I sniffle, wiping my nose. “You know . . . ”

“Lyd, would you mind giving us a moment alone?” Dad asks over my head.

Mom, who had been standing at the foot of the bed, nods and collects her purse. When she’s gone, Dad grips my hand.

“I hope you don’t think you’re at fault for this, Rose,” he says gravely.

I shrug as tears swim in my vision, but I blink quickly to force them away. Dad doesn’t need to see me cry. Not now.

“Rose, sweetheart,” Dad says. “Don’t be upset.”

I take deep breaths through my nose. Swallow. Bite my lip so hard it’s a miracle I don’t taste blood. It’s useless. I’m going to cry.

“There’s something we haven’t told you.”

That gets my attention. I sit up straighter.

“There’s going to be a Walmart in town.”

It’s so not what I expected that it takes me a moment to realize what he said. And then when I do, dread falls over me like a heavy cloak. “Oh no . . .”

Dad sighs. “It was bound to happen. We were lucky we got so many good years in. But we’re going to have to close the store.”

“What? Why? You don’t know how it’ll go, Dad. Your customers are loyal. They’ll support you.”

Dad shakes his head.

“Seriously, Dad,” I continue. “You can’t say what’ll happen. You hear about big box stores closing all the time. If people don’t shop there, they’ll just move on.”

“We’re bankrupt, sweetie.”

My mouth drops open in shock. I struggle to find words. “W-What do you mean?”

“The store’s been having a hard time for a while. Walmart is just the nail in the coffin.”

“So what are you going to do?” I ask.

“We’ve put the place on the market.”

“You’re going to sell Weatherston’s?”

I’ve always thought of Weatherston’s as a ball and chain. A burden I could never quite shake off. But I’m surprised to find that I’m sad. Weatherston’s has been a huge part of my life.

“Nothing else to do, sweetie,” Dad says. “It’s sad, but sometimes you just have to know when to move on.”

“But where will you work?” I ask.

“I’m an old man now,” Dad says. “I’m going to retire. Your mother plans to apply at the garden center.”

Mom working at the garden center. As a regular employee. My gut twists.

“It’s what we want,” Dad says, clasping my hand.

I shake my head. If it’s what they want, then why did Dad have a heart attack?

“It’s time for us to try something new,” he says.

It’s all too much. I need to get out of here. Need to breathe.

“I’m just going to get some water,” I say. But Dad grips my hand tighter.

“Your mother is hard on you, but it’s only because she cares,” he says.

I dip my head to my chest and turn away quickly, snatching back my hand.

“I’ll be back soon,” I mutter, then hurry out of the room.

Mom’s coming up the hall as I pass. “Mom, can I use the car?”

“What?”

“I need to unpack my stuff,” I say.

She blinks, but reaches into her purse and hands me the keys.

I hurry out of the hospital into the blinding midday sun. I manage to hold it in until I hit the car. I lay my head on the steering wheel and let the sobs rack my body. Everything is wrong. How had my life gone so far off track?

I cry until I have nothing left. Until I’m an empty shell of a person.

My phone buzzes relentlessly in my purse, but I ignore it and put the car in drive.

I wind through unfamiliar streets until the land levels out, rows of corn stalks reaching up to the brilliant blue sky, lazy sun shimmering overhead. And then I’m home.

The pale blue clapboard siding rises up two stories high, colourful planters dotting the big white porch that wraps around the main level. Acres of land spread out behind the house. My childhood playground. Dad used to spend every weekend out there mowing the grass on his lawn tractor, sipping on a beer and stopping to say hello to every neighbour who passed. I wonder if they’ll have to sell the house now. The thought is too depressing to bear.

I go inside and breathe a sigh of relief. The place looks just as I left it. The same blush pink carpet with vacuum marks covers every inch of the house. The same rooster border circles the kitchen, the same eyelet lace curtain flutters in a light breeze over the sink. It smells like Mom’s vanilla-scented air fresheners. At least one thing hasn’t changed when I wasn’t looking.

My bedroom is just as I left it too. Giant posters and corkboards cover every inch of wall space, and there are enough colourful pillows on the bed to supply an orphanage. I flop down on the bed, my feet hanging over the edge of the twin-sized mattress. A hollow feeling carves out my chest. Being here reminds me too much of how things were before: easy and fun. How exciting the world seemed when I was sixteen.

And now, after everything, I’m back. No career. Just a bedroom full of dated posters and dashed hopes for my future. I’m starting from scratch again.

My phone buzzes in my purse. I should ignore it, but I roll up and rummage inside my bag. Cole’s name flashes across the screen. I stare at it, my thumb hesitating over the keypad. I want to answer. I want to answer so badly. I miss Cole so much it’s a physical pain in my chest.

But I made a decision. Things are terrible now—more painful than sixteen-year-old me could have ever imagined—but it will never get better until I stop looking back. I squeeze my eyes shut against the aching. Against the desperation. But all I see is Cole’s face. His shining eyes as he held me close on the hill, our bodies slick with sweat in the cool midnight air. I feel the cold stone against my back as he pressed me up against the wall in the alley and tucked my hair behind my ears. I taste the salt on his skin, smell the clean laundry scent of him as if he was right here in the room. Oh God, it hurts. It hurt so bad.

Finally, the phone stops ringing. I breathe out slowly through my nose.

And then I dial.

The phone rings only twice before someone picks up.

“AT&T, this is Jane speaking, how may I help you today?” a woman answers.

I clear my throat. “Yes, hi. I—I’d like to change my phone number.”

Chapter Fifteen

The first night I sleep in my old room is one of the strangest nights of my life. I’m exhausted from the flight and all the crying
,
but in some ways, it’s like I never left. I have nothing to show for my time in L.A. and as I lie in bed with the soft glow of the bedside lamp leaving a puddle of light on the same old scratched up table I’ve had forever, it almost seems like it never happened.

The second night is easier. And harder. I miss Cole. I know my phone won’t be bothering me again, though. Since I changed my number, it’s been silent. I click off the light and fall asleep in total dark. The kind that never happens in L.A. The kind I thought I’d never experience again. I just want to forget everything and focus on my Dad. I can’t let how it’s ripping me up inside to be without Cole take me over.

When I wake up on the third morning, it takes seconds before it all comes flooding back. I uncurl myself and realize I could still sleep for another two days straight. I’m that kind of tired, the kind that leaves you heavy and dazed. But I want to get back to the hospital, and I promised Mom I’d stop in at the store this afternoon. I’ve been spending all my time at the hospital, avoiding town, avoiding anyone who isn’t Mom or Dad or a nurse I have a question for. But Mom’s been trying to manage the store on her own since Dad’s been in the hospital, and it’s time I sucked it up and helped her out.

I roll out of bed, the quiet little routine of being back home almost familiar again now. I’ve been very careful not to let Cole into my head very often. It hurts too much to think about him, about Prague. I grab a quick shower and head downstairs. There’s a note from Mom stuck on the fridge with a crooked ladybird magnet I made when I was a kid. It says she’s gone to the store and to go ahead to the hospital if I want to and she’ll meet me there later. There’s a kiss at the end of it. Just a little scratch of a cross in the bottom corner. But that’s one good thing about all of this at least—Mom and I are united in our determination to care for Dad and get through this together. We haven’t spoken about L.A. or Cole or those photos again. I’m glad. I just want to forget.

I get ready and I’m just about to call a cab when my phone rings. It startles the hell out of me, vibrating on the counter. My heart beats fast, blood rushing up to the surface of my skin. I snatch it up. Mom. Disappointment courses through me followed quickly by a bolt of panic.

“Mom? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. I’m just at the hospital now. Your Dad’s got some tests this morning so I just wanted to let you know there’s no need for you to rush over here today.”

I take a breath and feel my shoulders relax. “Okay. Want me to go in to the store now then?”

“Would you mind?” I hear the slight strain in her words. She’s been tiptoeing around the topic of the store. Someone needs to run it till it closes for good, but it was the source of so many of the arguments we had in my teenage years. I still wince when I think about what a dick I was. But the store symbolized everything I thought I didn’t want at the time. I hurled the name of the place around like an insult back then.

“No, I don’t mind at all. Don’t worry about a thing. I can spend the day there and you can just call me later. Ok?”

She’s relieved to accept, I can tell. But the truth is, now that I know Walmart’s coming and the place will probably have to close down, I
want
to go there. Well that’s just me all over, isn’t it? Always wanting things I can’t have.

I decide to catch the bus to the store and spend the short walk to the stop wondering why I've been so determined to make things so difficult for myself. At the bus stop, two teen girls openly stare at me, one widening her eyes as her bubble gum pops and deflates over her lips. They immediately turn to each other and I have to pretend not to hear the furious whispering and giggles.

Wonderful.

I get more of the same on the bus, except it’s two women my mother’s age, one of whom I recognize from church when I was kid. They favor the pursed mouth approach as they look me up and down, purses clutched tight in their well-padded laps.

I take the seat in front of them so if they want to say anything, they’ll have to say it with me sitting right here. But satisfying as it is to feel them practically bursting with disapproval behind me, I’m glad when the short ride is over and I can get off. I feel like everyone’s staring—even the bus driver, who looks about a hundred and forty and in reality probably doesn’t know or care who Cole Dean is or whether Rose Weatherston declared she was going to start a new life in L.A. and royally fucked it all.

The store is on the outskirts of town, so at least I don’t have to walk up the one main street we have. I keep my head down, sunglasses on, wishing I’d bought a jacket with me as I hurry down the street from the bus stop to the store. When I look up, there it is. I stop dead, the old place catching me off guard. If I’ve ever thought of this place during the time I’ve been away, it’s been with a shudder. With the knowledge that no matter what happened, I’d never be back here, never be stepping off the curb and crossing the road and dreaming of something else, anything else, like I did every day after school back when I worked here.

The sign above the door—the one that just says Weatherston’s, like there’s no need to explain what it sells—is a little sun faded, but the long blocky building hasn’t changed. It all looks exactly the same, right down to the wheelbarrows and sacks of compost piled outside just like I remember, and when I step through the door, the same old bell pings and the same old smell hits me. All wood shavings and metal with a faint tang of paint thinners. I walk up to the counter and find four customers waiting while Jimmy wrangles the till, a phone gripped between his shoulder and his ear, the cord twisted around his arm.

He sees me and his mouth pops open in a perfect O. Jimmy’s worked here since about 1864 and he put up with a lot of my teenage mutterings and declarations that having to sell sandpaper on Saturdays instead of going to the movies with my friends was the worst thing ever to happen to any girl in the history of the world.

He also saved my dad’s life by giving him CPR until the paramedics came. My eyes fill with tears as I flip the counter up and duck behind it so I can fling my arms around him.

“Rose!” he says, and he doesn’t finish the sentence with what he’s clearly thinking, which is “I never thought I’d see you here again”.

I disentangle him from the phone and start serving the customers, leaving him to focus on the call, which seems to be about the relative merits of various brands of creosote. After that, it’s right back into it like I never left. I serve until the queue’s gone down, catch up with Jimmy, which thankfully involves just talking about my dad and how we’ve all been, then restock shelves and sweep floors.

Jimmy tells me I sure do work harder than I did way back when and I smile, but my heart breaks a bit. I’ve been relentlessly busy since I got off the plane. I’m kind of scared what will happen when I stop.

Around three p.m. the store fills up with a bunch of guys buying lumber. Outside the store, there’s a kid riding a bike in lazy circles. I’m in the screwdriver aisle (yes, there’s a whole aisle), picking a splinter out of my palm, when the ancient overhead announcement system crackles. I can’t remember the last time I heard it, and I’m not sure it even works. A loud buzz fills the store, then a voice announces “Kate Macintosh to the store front, please. Kate Macintosh?”

I spin around, pulse starting to race. What the hell is going on?

“Kate Macintosh, I have some news for you,” says the voice. “I think you might have gone for an audition. I think you might have nailed it. I think you might have left a number for a phone you then left in L.A.”

I stare around me at the array of screwdrivers hanging neatly in rows. It can’t be. I can’t . . . 

“Rose,” says Cole’s voice behind me, “You got the job. You got the part.”

I turn around. There he is, standing at the end of the aisle. Cole Dean. In Weatherston’s hardware store on the outskirts of town in the ass end of Illinois. Everything in me thrills at the sight of him, wants to rush to him, crash into him. I shake my head, speechless. He smiles and it destroys my heart.

“Did you hear what I said, Rose? You got the part. The one where you gave your name as Kate Macintosh? And I can assure from having taken the call, they didn’t know who you’re with. Who loves you.” His voice dips down and he takes a few steps toward me.

“What are you—” I’m vaguely aware that a small crowd is gathering outside the store. Cole must have been spotted coming in to town. “What did you just say?”

“I said I love you.”

My heart jumps as though it’s trying to fly away. A camera flashes behind us. Cole turns to it, and I have a moment of pure panic thinking about his pent up anger when the news about us hit the tabloids, and then his reaction when we left that club in L.A. so many weeks ago. But when he turns back to me, he’s smiling. Uncertain, his eyes searching mine, but smiling. He looks nervous as hell.

“I love you, Rose Weatherston,” he says
.
We meet in the middle of the aisle and he takes my hands. His skin touching mine sends shiver all over me. How could I have ever thought I could survive without this? Another flash goes off. Over Cole’s shoulder, outside the store, every teenage girl in Illinois is crushed up against the glass with their cell phones in their hands.

Cole traces a thumb along my jaw. “I don’t care who knows it. Even if you turn me down and never answer my calls ever again. Even if you hate me for all the stupid things I’ve done and said since I met you. Rose,” he says, his voice low now, his face close to mine, “I love you.”

I don’t care who knows it either. I want him. I breathe him in, falling into him just before he kisses me, his mouth soft and gentle. Every feeling I’ve been trying to ignore and push away since I left L.A. floods back and I know with absolute certainty that I’ve been miserable without him. But his hands are in my hair and he’s pulling me to him, breathing faster and I know what he wants. I want it too. Muted cheering and screams come through the glass front of the store. There are girls pushed up against the glass, cell phones poised.

We break apart and he smiles, shy and disbelieving. I’ve never seen him like this. “Can we go somewhere? To talk?”

I nod and take his hand, leading him to the back of the store. Cole Dean is here, holding my hand, in my parent’s store. He just told me that I landed a part, and that he loves me. I’m not sure if my feet are touching the ground right now.

Jimmy and a few customers are standing around the counter looking bemused.

“Rose, I locked the doors,” he says. “I . . . didn’t know what else to do.” He eyes Cole like he can’t believe he’s real. “Do you want to borrow my car? Seems like you two might want to get away from here.”

I nod. “That would be great, Jimmy. Thanks. Can you manage by yourself?”  

“Sure I can. You go right ahead.” He hands me the keys and I tow Cole out the back to the employees parking lot, which has four spaces, only one of which is in use right now. Jimmy’s truck smells like sawn wood and I can barely get it in gear I’m so dazed. But the crowd from the front of the store seems to be migrating to the back, so I peel out of the lot and automatically head for my parent’s house.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” I find myself saying.

Cole is turned to me on the seat, and I know already that we’re not going to talk when we get where we’re going. At least not right away. My stomach is heavy and liquid at the thought.

I focus on driving, but the few minutes it takes to get us back to Mom and Dad’s house I’m hyperaware of him next to me. I have to ask him about the role he was talking about. I have to tell him why I left. I have to
think
. But as I swing the truck onto the drive, glance around, and open the front door, all I can do is
feel
.

As the door closes, Cole’s behind me. I sense him, tensed and nervous. I walked out without a word. Only three days ago but it seems like forever. Just the knowledge that he’s standing right there is heating me up from the inside out.

“Rose?” he says, quiet and hesitant. His fingers brush the back of my hair and I turn, pushing up to kiss him, hungry for his mouth on mine, his hands on me, his skin next to mine. My hands press to his chest and he shivers, kissing me back hard. And then he’s lifting me, pulling my legs around him as I twine my arms around his neck, my fingers into his hair. I press the length of my body against him and he lets out a desperate noise. “Where?” he says, his mouth hot against mine.

“Upstairs.”

We bang the door to my room open and he kicks it closed, pushing me up against it, his body straining to mine as we kiss. It’s not enough, we both want more. I have to be closer to him. I tug at his T-shirt and he lowers me to the floor long enough to tear it off. Then his hands are frantic on my shirt, on the buttons of my jeans, sliding them down, and I drink in the sight of his shoulders, the tan skin and the slide of his muscles. I can’t stop touching him, pulling him back up to kiss me, but he stops, on his knees in front of me. He looks up at me, hair dishevelled, searching my eyes, and then kisses my hipbone, my stomach, the crook of my thigh. I suck in a breath. My legs are going to buckle. I glance towards the bed.