Page 59 of Home Wrecker

I’d called him in before closing time since I’m supposed to be gone the next few days. Needless to say, Jake wasn’t thrilled.

“You hate it here as much as I do, Hol?”

My eyes widen, and I blink fast. I don’t know how to answer or if he needs to talk something out.

There was a single instance years ago when Jake asked me that very same question. It was after hours and I was behind the bar pouring him shots. A drunken Jake, with his head lowered and inspecting every layer of varnish the bar had been sealed with, offered me a glimpse of his history. It was a snippet and I haven’t puzzled where it fits in to make sense of why Jake generally couldn’t care less about the club. But I’ll always remember Jake’s sobering recount and glimpse into his history. And how my listening—to something I’m not even sure he’s revealed to Kimber—built a measure of trust between us.

Inebriated or not, the fact that Jake believed enough in me that I could keep his secret is why I can find kindness for him when our friendship isn’t necessarily a two-way street.

Jake is skittish. Like a wounded animal in search of comfort, he’s unable to let his guard down and he bites out of habit.

He’s also predisposed to piss on things, marking them the way a dog does, which is super-fun. Case in point: His territorial fight with Trig over Kimber.

Unfortunately, I can’t be his grief counselor now, and sharing my current feelings on him being my employer isn’t going to get me out of here any faster.

“I’ll log in tomorrow and rearrange the schedule in case.”

“Nice way of avoiding a lie.” He clicks his tongue.

I consider telling Jake I loved it here when I first started because I did. The sliver of truth that the club was lively and appealing back when my biggest excitement was potty training won’t placate him. Nowadays, I’m chained to it both to maintain connections and monetarily. I’ll never find anyplace else that pays me this well. This is the first instance I’m a trapped mouse to Jake’s cat. He’s aware of how difficult the situation makes it for me to leave.

I stand up from the stool, grabbing my oversized purse off the bar, and sliding a glass to Jake. With a fluid motion, he places it in the sink. Retreating inward, I tell Jake I’ll take responsibility for calling the dancers who need to cover shifts and placing ads for new talent while I’m gone.

Cary doesn’t deserve me leaving him on permanent pause. We have a three-hour stretch of road in front of us and he’s the one driving so I can sleep.

“Cass still dragging your ass to the beach?” He confirms wanting to know if he can count on me to be in if things go downhill.

“I enjoy having my ass dragged to the beach, thank you very much. And yes, we’re leaving as soon as I walk out the door.”

“I need to rethink your vacation allotment if you’re spending it with him.”

Having never gotten to the middle of Jake’s animosity toward Sloan, I don’t latch onto caring about the history behind his opinion of Cary. Managing strippers and persuading drunk clientele to take it outside is enough drama. I have a headache from tonight already.

“Is there anything else?” I roll my eyes. One hand is on my hip and the other on the exit.

“Bring me rum? The distillery is there.” The request is brash, yet Jake’s body language is bashful and resigned for me to excuse myself from the task.

“Cash.” I walk back toward him, holding up my palm. I pocket the crisp bills Jake counts out of his wallet. “We have a distributor rep, you know.”

“And I also have you,” he mocks, forgoing a thank you.

Jake’s attitude has changed to an edgy pride in ownership that I hate because it reinforces how stuck I am.

I lumber to Cary’s SUV. The little one he drives around Brighton, not the massive XLT. Laurel’s stayed home since the air conditioning got fixed. Bennett’s a stickler about visitation, and Laurel prefers not to be a third wheel.

We had Dusty and Cece to the coast overnight. The guys went deep sea fishing, returning sunburnt and exuding male pride with their catch. Cece and I exchanged looks at how chummy they were sitting around the beach house with kids on their laps, drinking beer together. It was as if over the course of an afternoon they’d become brothers of sorts.

Cary’s invited Davina to come tomorrow afternoon. Sometimes she joins us wherever we’re going from north of Nags Head all the way down to the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse. Others she suns herself by the pool, or tends to the plant pots, and has appetizers and wine set out for when we return.

Consistently, she scoots Cary and me out the door at least one evening, insisting we need a few hours alone, but cautioning us not to fill up on dessert. While we’re at a restaurant, she and Bhodi concoct something delicious in the kitchen, and I’m happy to say my son is growing attached to Cary’s mom.

At the beach, everything about us and the fun we have feels like what a normal family does.

“Hey Doll, you look beat. Everything okay?” Cary and I lean toward each other, giving a brief kiss hello after my bum hits the leather seat.

I wave off his concern, hoping sleep will come easy, and I won’t feel as weighed down once my toes are in the sand. There’s no sense in complaining. I chose this life whether it was obvious what I was getting into as a single parent or not.

I made the decision to date Cary too. So, I won’t be too hard on myself. He covers me with a blanket, places a horseshoe-shaped travel pillow in my lap, and shifts the car into gear.

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