Page 33 of Average Joe

I stacked a forty-five pounder onto the bar. “I got something. Not sure what to call it.” Blue balls, maybe. Christ, I couldn’t think about Marley without getting hard.

Frank loaded the right side. “Invite her to opening night.”

“Like I said, she wants nothing to do with me.” I shook my head, adding another forty-five.

“Listen. There’s one thing I know about women—they want to be wanted. They just don’t think we’ve figured that out. You want her, let her know. Make her feel you”—he pounded a finger into his chest—“right here, no matter how hard she pushes you away. Fill her so full of you that other fuckers don’t have the opportunity to weasel their way in.” With that, he dropped his ass to the bench, planted his feet, measured his grip, and killed his first set.

Whatever, I thought, mostly ignoring hisfill her so full of youbullshit.

I held back my snort. She’d had her fill of me all right—between her legs, between her lips, even her tits. Marley and I were in for one hell of an explosive adventure if our sexual encounters were any indicator of what a relationship would entail.

That was if she’d lower those walls and let me in.

* * *

The skeletal remains of a spider were stuck to the dusty packing tape of a box labeledFragile. But just like the first four I’d pilfered through, the cardboard housed not one breakable item.

The first three had contained stacks of old bills and invoices. Box number four included a mix of old photos, handfuls of dried-up pens, a collection of ancient holiday and birthday cards, some still unopened, some containing unused gift cards and notebooks.

Frank and Connor had helped me transfer thirty-six boxes from the attic to the garage. I’d sent them away shortly after. My emotions regarding Alice were unreliable, and though there were no secrets between the three of us, I wasn’t ready to expose my raw feelings to my two closest friends.

I pulled the blade of the cutter through the seams of box number five and lifted the flaps, the musty scent of decaying paper hitting me hard. Inside, resting on top of what appeared to be more unopened bills, sat a blue box. I lifted the small package, its weight substantial.

Outside, cars passed. Down the street, a lawnmower roared to life. An airplane flew overhead, the jet’s rumble temporarily muffling all other noise. Something shifted in my chest. When I was younger, Alice had often sat in the backyard, trying to guess the destination of passing planes, too many times making me join her while she sipped tea and stared at the sky.

Deep down, I’d known she wished to reach up, grab one of their wings, and be carried to some faraway adventure. But stubborn Alice was a fighter, if nothing else, and though she’d unknowingly married a monster, she was faithful, and despite the bruises, the torment, and all the shit Bill put her through, she never gave up hope that one day her husband would see the light and change his ways.

He never did. He never would have. And by the time Alice had realized money was his mistress and would always come first, it’d been too late to save his soul.

I popped open the lid of the blue box and found three identical thick-band gold rings and one heavy, braided gold chain. Strange. I couldn’t remember Alice or Bill ever wearing much jewelry.

I set the gold aside and rifled through the remaining contents. More bills, many of them withLate Noticestamped on the top. Beneath the envelopes lay more photos, scattered like they’d been tossed carelessly to the bottom.

One stood out. A picture of Bill, Larry, and Alice. Alice stood between the men, wearing her gardening gloves and hat, a new, unplanted rose bush at her feet. An apology plant.

Bill stared straight ahead, arm slung around Alice’s shoulders, a smug, crooked grin cracking his face. With his free hand, he pointed at the rose bush. Alice’s gaze seemed to be aimed to the left, her smile unconvincing, her lip swollen, the brim of her hat not long enough to hide the purple mark on her cheek.

“Fuck!” I threw the box across the garage, knocking a pair of pink shears off their hook, then hopped to my feet and stormed outside, desperate for fresh air.

Marley stood at her car about to get in, and my wave of rage receded. Suddenly, all that mattered was unloading the heavy regret I’d carried for too many days.

Our eyes met, then locked. I jogged her way, never breaking that connection. Marley stood in wait, clinging to her purse strap with one hand and tapping the roof of her car with the other. I deserved that apathetic look, but damn, her lack of giving a shit stung.

Clearing the emotion from my throat, I mumbled, “Hey.”

“Hi,” came weak and forced. Clearly, she hadn’t forgiven me for being a jackass about her job, and as she turned to grab the door handle, I decided a sincere grovel was in order.

“I’m sorry about the other day,” I blurted before she could escape inside her Subaru. “I was taken by surprise.” Shit. I was about to make excuses for my behavior. There was no excuse. I was solely responsible for every word that came out of my mouth. “You know what? I’m just really fucking sorry. My behavior was uncalled for.”

She paused, her back to me. Dark jeans hugged that magnificent ass and clung to every curve from thigh to ankle.

Marley turned and stared at my chest before hitting me with a harsh glare, a million chaotic emotions swirling through her hazel eyes. “You’re forgiven.”

Too easy.

“That’s it?” I laughed, confused.

“That’s it.”

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