Everything for Us (The Bad Boys #3)(43)
Author: M. Leighton

“Of course. I’m parked right over there,” I say, pointing to my car.

I walk more slowly so Darrin can keep up. Thankfully the lot is paved or he’d have trouble navigating it in his wheelchair.

“I would open your door, but this thing gets in the way.” He glances down at the offending limb. I think it’s sweet that he’d even think about it. I’d forgotten what a nice, genuine country guy he is. I’d be willing to bet there’s not an ounce of guile in him. I don’t know too many people like that. I’m related to even fewer.

“How ’bout I open it for you, just this once?”

He sighs loudly. “If you insist,” he says playfully. I hit the button on my fob, listening for the click of the locks before I open the passenger-side door and hold it for Uncle Darrin. I watch as he comes to a stand on his good leg, then expertly pivots, moving from the wheelchair to the car seat.

“Like a pro, right?” he says as he folds up his wheelchair. “Doc won’t clear me for crutches yet.” I nod, having wondered about that. “Think you can slide this into the backseat? Or the trunk? It’s not heavy.”

“Of course.”

Once I get the chair into the backseat, I get in on the driver’s side and start the car.

He’s quiet for the first half of the short drive to his house. When he finally speaks, it’s not the small talk I would’ve expected.

“There’s something different about you. You’re not the spoiled little rich girl you used to be.”

I could probably take offense at that, but I don’t. I take it as a compliment.

“I’m not. And I don’t ever want to be again.”

I glance over at Darrin and he’s nodding, taking it in.

“I didn’t think you’d stand a chance against that damn brother of mine. I’m glad to see you’re stronger than he is, stronger than his influence.”

I look at him again. He’s watching me, like he’s seeing me for the first time. And like he approves of what he’s seeing.

I say what I truly feel. “Thank you.”

“It hasn’t always been easy for Olivia, either, what with her mother giving her such a hard time about who she is and the kinds of choices she makes. I’ll tell you what I’ve always told her. Blaze your own trail in life. Make your own choices and make your own mistakes. It’s the only way you’ll find your own happiness, not someone else’s.”

I say nothing to him, only nod. His words are so profound, they resonate so deeply, that I don’t know what I could possibly say in response. I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for someone to tell me those things, to tell me that it’s okay to make mistakes, that it’s okay to be me, to be my own person. But in my whole life, no one has ever allowed it. And they never will. If I’m to be the Marissa I want to be, it will be away from my family, my friends, from the life I’ve always known. Blazing my own trail means burning bridges with the flame.

And I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to do that.

But I know I have to try.

When we reach the house, I put the car in park, but I don’t cut off the engine. I get out and walk around to get his wheelchair out. I pry it open before pushing it to the now-open passenger door. Like the pro he teased about being, Darrin reverses his earlier movements and stands on his good leg, pivoting and then plopping down in his wheelchair.

I move to the back of the chair, grabbing the handles to push him up the driveway.

“You gonna leave your car running all night?”

“I’m not staying. I think I’m going to head back home tonight. I’ve got some . . . trailblazing to start tomorrow.”

I see him nod. He gets my meaning. He doesn’t speak until we’re at the front door. He wheels his chair around to face me. His smile is pleased.

“Good for you,” he says, a twinkle of pride lighting his eyes. It’s something I’ve never seen before, not even from my father when I graduated law school. It makes me feel like I can leap tall buildings in a single bound.

He digs his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door. Before I can ask him if he needs help with anything, he cuts me off. “Drive safe,” he says warmly. “And don’t be a stranger. You’re always welcome here. You’re family.”

I nod and smile before I turn to walk back to my car. My throat is so tight with a lump of emotion I doubt I could squeak out a single syllable. When I reach the idling car and slide behind the wheel, I look up to see Uncle Darrin sitting in his wheelchair in the doorway. He waves to me once more. I wave back and put the car in reverse. I pull out of the driveway and into the road. As I’m driving away, I glance into my rearview mirror. Uncle Darrin is still sitting in the doorway, watching me go.

TWENTY-THREE

Nash

My mouth is so dry I could spit cotton balls. I need something to drink, but the blonde from the bar is lying on my arm, pinning it to the black sheets.

Like a magician pulling the tablecloth out from under the dishes, I jerk my arm out fast and roll to the edge of the bed. I don’t bother to look back at her. If she wakes up, she wakes up. If she’s stupid enough to open her mouth, she’ll deserve the cold shoulder she gets.

I left with her last night to make a point. To myself and to Marissa. The only thing I managed to prove is that Marissa is under my skin.

The blonde, Brittni with an i, didn’t seem to notice that I was distracted, nor did she seem to care that I wanted to get some liquor in me before I did more than kiss her. But even then, with a head all fuzzy from a mixture of vodka and tequila, all I could think about was a different taste, a different smell. A different girl.

No matter how much I drank, I couldn’t seem to forget she wasn’t Marissa. Luckily, Brittni drank too much, too. Passed out before I had to tell her I wasn’t interested in doing anything with her but drinking her liquor.

I’ll be gone before she wakes up. After I get a drink of water, that is.

I grab my shirt and pull it over my head as I stumble from the bedroom. I find the kitchen with relative ease. Her condo is about the size of a cracker box.

I open the fridge, hoping for bottled water. But there’s none. Only Diet Coke and beer. Without shutting the refrigerator door, I get a glass from the dish drain and hold it in front of the light. Thank God it looks clean. I run some cold tap water into it and gulp it down. Then I do it again. Water is the best thing for a hangover.

My head is still swimming a little, so I flop down on the sofa until it clears enough to drive. Heaven forbid I get pulled over. I avoid the law like the criminal that I am. Decent people worry about tickets on their record. I worry about someone finding out who I am and what I’ve done and throwing me in prison with no possibility of parole.