Page 38 of Toy Shop

We. Could it be a beginning of a promise?

He bends down silently, collecting my clothes from the floor, helping me into them. Bra, panties, shirt, then jeans. I study his expression, searching for the Alistair I witnessed before this, but that man has mentally checked out.

The man facing me is sad and seriously distant.

“I have to go.” Desolation coats his voice. “I’ll be back for you.”

No endearing words, no hug. No specific plans for later.

He turns around.

Then he’s gone.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Alistair

Nola .

It’s been two weeks. Every day is longer than the one before, every second more torturous than the previous.

I need her, and I’m bad for her all the same. Whatever I’m feeling, whatever I can offer her, it’s nothing good. I’d like to think I’m better next to her, that I might change.

The storm looming over my soul alleviated in the past week, in the few hours Nola and I spent in each other’s company. Her kindness and naïveté changed some of the rotten energy inside me.

I found myself, for those scarce moments, to be able to extinguish the lingering fire, to be void of the hate. The familiar anger I’ve harbored for years transformed into something beautiful, a place where she could heal. My brutality is a ladder for her to climb out of the darkness she’s been in for too long, and it’s a greater gratification than attending to my own selfish needs.

But it’s a pretense, escapism from who I truly am. When I’m not near her, my past returns with a vengeance. I can’t cling to her, can’t flip what we have so that I’m the one putting the weight of my past on her.

And it hurts, keeping my distance. I need to talk to someone.

Even though we haven’t spoken in forever, I pick up the phone and call my sister.

“Ali! How are you?” Her tone is cheery as it always—almost—is.

Sounds of kids’ laughter bubble around her. A smile curves on my lips, and I press the phone to my ear to hear her better. “Same ol’ same ol’. How are you? The kids giving you hell?”

“The usual late Sunday morning.” Cabinets open and shut. My sister’s footsteps tap on what must be her kitchen floor. “I’m baking biscuits for the barbecue, so they’re excited because they know they’ll have all the good stuff coming soon.”

I sink deeper into the couch, watching the lake in the distance. “You’re making them Mom’s recipe?”

“The one and only. Helps keep her memory alive. And it’s delicious.”

“Yeah.” I run my hand across my short hair, my heart sinking at the thought of her and Dad.

“What made you call?” She ceases bustling around the kitchen, painting her tone with the warmth of her. “You won’t hear me complaining, but you never call on a Sunday.”

There’s a lot of baggage relating to that day. More often than not, the memories of our parents who have passed, our shattered family, are emphasized by this one time a week. It’s when our family stopped whatever we were doing to gather and were just us.

Until we weren’t.

“I’m… I…” I groan, hating how the words evade me. When they do, they come out more like a question than an actual statement. “I might have met a girl?”

My sister’s and my souls are connected, even if we don’t talk as much as we had in the past. She knows of my reluctance to settle down, and I know these selected words will be self-explanatory. This isn’t about some girl I’m fucking on the side. It’s serious.

She reacts accordingly. Jolene’s shrill shriek pierces my ear. “This is the absolute best news I’ve heard in a decade. Who is she? Where she’s from? Where did you guys meet and when are you flying her over?”

“Hold your horses.” Her eagerness coaxes genuine laughter out of me. “We’re not dating.”

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