Life After Taylah Page 3

  “You weigh no more than a child, you’re a girl, and you’re a delicate one at that. If you managed to take someone my size down, then I don’t deserve my manhood.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “I’ll make it my challenge to destroy your manhood.”

  He grins at me.

  “Kelly gave me your street, but what’s your house number?”

  I rattle it off and he nods, turning in the direction of my apartment.

  “So, tell me, Dancer, what do you do aside from dance?”

  “I work at the local library. It’s only part-time, but I enjoy it.”

  “A dancer in a library. You should write a book.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t judge.”

  “No judgment here, honey.”

  Honey. I bite my lip. I wish Jacob would speak to me so . . . affectionately.

  “What about you?” I ask, but I notice my voice has softened.

  “I ride. It’s what I do. It’s my job; it’s my life.”

  “You do nothing else?”

  He shakes his head. “At this point, no.”

  “And do you have a girlfriend?”

  He gives me a sideways glance and a cheeky grin. “Is Dancer asking if I’m available?”

  I shake my head furiously, putting my hands up. “No, I’m . . . I mean . . . I’m taken, anyway. I was just making conversation.”

  He raises his brows, but answers with, “I’m married.”

  Of course he’s married.

  “You’re so young,” I say. “How long have you been married for?”

  “Six years.”

  “That’s nice,” I say, wondering what his wife looks like. She’s probably stunning.

  “What about you? Married or just taken?”

  I huff. “Not married, but I’m sure it’s close.”

  “You don’t sound too happy about that?”

  I sigh and stare out the window, watching the trees flick past as we drive. It’s a gorgeous night out. I notice the stars shimmering in the sky. I think about how to explain my relationship with Jacob, without it sounding like it’s something from the early 1800s.

  “Jacob is kind. He’s close to my father, and he’s a good man . . .”

  Nate cuts me off. “You sound like you’re reading a resume.”

  I sigh. “He’s always been what’s best for me; I care about him. He’s going to take my part of my father’s business and he’s got a good life set up for us.”

  I dare to look at Nate, but his eyes are focused on the road. He’s got a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Is he best for you . . . or your dad?”

  “It’s not like that,” I say. “I care about him.”

  “Okay, I believe you.”

  “What about you?” I say, changing the subject.

  “What about me?”

  “Tell me about your wife.”

  His face seems to harden. “She’s my wife; there’s not a lot to tell. We have a daughter, Macy, who’s three.”

  I smile. “How sweet.”

  He smiles too. “Not when she’s throwing herself on the ground in a rage.”

  I laugh. “Girls, hey?”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, I reckon. This is you.”

  I look out of the windscreen to see we have pulled up at my apartment. I turn to Nate. “Thanks for the lift.”

  “Even though I had to throw you in against your will?”

  I flush. “I’m a little headstrong sometimes.”

  “You don’t say?”

  I stare at the time and see it’s about eight p.m. It seems so much later than that.

  “Thank you, though, really,” I whisper, looking up at him. “I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to walk home.”

  “Your brother give you grief, eh?” he asks, training those green eyes onto mine.

  “Yeah.”

  He nods. “I’m sure he’ll come around.”

  I take the handle, hesitate, and then turn back to him. “Do you want a drink or something?”

  He stares at me for a long moment. “I can’t. I gotta get home.”

  “Right,” I say, wanting to slap myself. What kind of girl asks a married man inside for a drink? Jesus. “Well, thank you.”

  I get out of the car and am about to shut the door when he calls out, “Hey Dancer?”

  I look back at him.

  “You like watching motocross?”

  I nod. “I haven’t seen it in person, but . . . yeah, I think I would.”

  He shoves open his console and pulls out a ticket, handing it to me. “I ride tomorrow. If you’re not busy, come to the show.”

  I stare at the ticket and then back up at him. “Thank you, I’ll try.”

  He nods and then winks at me.

  “Night.”

  “Night, Nate.”

  I shut the door and watch him disappear into the darkness.

  CHAPTER 2

  NATE

  “You’re late,” Lena says the moment I step through the front door.

  I stare at her. She’s at the kitchen sink, cigarette in her mouth, black hair tied on top of her head. She turns her dark-blue gaze to mine and I narrow my eyes. She’s been drinking again; I can see it. Her eyes are glassy and her skin loses all it’s pink and instead is a pale white.

  “Where’s Macy?”

  “Sleepin’,” she mutters, dropping the cigarette into the sink. “Where were you?”

  “Liam’s.”

  “Why?”

  I walk over and take a glass, filling it with the whiskey sitting on the counter. “He had a few friends over, I wanted to see how he was. I haven’t seen him or Kelly for a few months.”

  “How is Kelly?” she asks, lifting herself onto the counter beside me.

  Lena was once a stunning woman, and in a sense, she still is. She’s just let go of herself more now. Her dark hair isn’t silky like it used to be; instead it’s thrown up all the time, rarely brushed. Her skin is no longer that creamy porcelain I once adored. She’s still my wife though, and with that comes commitment that I can’t just walk away from.

  Plus there’s Macy.

  “He’s fine,” I answer her. “Still surfing.”

  “You’re riding tomorrow,” she says, crossing her legs.

  “Yeah.”

  “I can’t make it. Jacinta wants to get her nails done. I told her I’d come. Can you take Macy?”

  I turn to her, glaring. “How the fuck can I take Macy when I’m riding?”

  “You’ve got plenty of friends. Ask one of them to watch her.”

  “You know I don’t like that.”

  She jumps off the bench. “I can’t take her with me, so you can take her with you or not ride, it’s up to you.”

  “Riding is our fuckin’ income,” I bark. “I don’t have a choice.”

  She shrugs. “I’m going to bed. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

  I glare at her back as she walks away, furious that she continually puts something else before our daughter. I shoot back the last of the whiskey and head down to Macy’s room. I get in and see her curled on the bed, her blond hair spilling over the pillow. I don’t know where she got her blonde locks from, but I do believe Lena was blond as a child. Macy looks like me: her eyes, her skin, her face. Her hair is the only thing that Lena gave her.

  I step closer and narrow my eyes. She’s got no blanket on and she’s curled into a tiny ball. I stare down at her bed and realize it’s wet. Growling, I hurry over and lift her tiny body gently. She’s wet the bed because Lena was too lazy to put a diaper on her. She knows she isn’t ready to sleep without them. Macy curls into me, and I can feel her damp pants touching my arm as I carry her to a clean spot on the floor.

  I gently lay her down and remove her wet clothes as quickly as I can without waking her. She groans and her little eyes flicker open. She’s got stunning green eyes. Her little lips part and she squeaks, “Daddy?”

  “Hey princess,” I murmur, putting her dia
per on. “You wet the bed. It’s okay, Daddy will get you all cleaned up.”

  “I didn’t wear a dee dee,” she says, her voice soft and sweet.

  She’s called her diapers dee dees since she could speak—I never bothered to correct her. She’s only little for so long; if it makes her happy to call them that, then who am I to stop her?

  “It’s okay, baby,” I say, pulling a fresh pair of pajamas on her tiny body. “You’re all clean now.”

  I lift her up and with one hand, pull the sheets from her bed. I carry her into the hall, get some new sheets and then sit her on the rocking chair in the corner while I make her a new, clean bed. When I’m done I turn and lift her, placing her back on the mattress. I stroke her curls as her little eyes flutter back closed.

  “Night, sweet girl.”

  I carefully step out, closing the door behind me. I contemplate sleeping on the couch, but it’s so damned hard I decide I’d rather sleep next to Lena then fuck my back before tomorrow’s race. You’d think with all our money that we would have gotten a soft couch, but no; Lena insisted we get some fancy new style that’s hard as stone.

  I get into the room and Lena is on the bed, naked, hair trailing down over her breasts. There was a time I couldn’t resist her; now I find it difficult to respect her or her body. How can I when she doesn’t respect our house, our marriage, or our daughter? I ignore her as I walk past, pulling off my shirt. We’re usually in bed at separate times, so I don’t have to have the “why don’t you fuck me anymore” conversation.

  I slide my belt off and drop it on the floor before walking into the bathroom and brushing my teeth. I take as long as I can, but she’s still on the bed, staring at me when I come back out. She drops her legs open, exposing herself to me. I sigh. There’s just no nice way to reject her without hurting her feelings, and as angry as I am about Macy, I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you without a shirt,” she says, looking at my chest. “I’ve missed it. You’ve gotten stronger, Nate. I’m lucky, aren’t I? My husband is hot.”

  I don’t answer her. I just get into the bed, pulling the sheet over me.

  “I’m tired, Lena.”

  She rolls towards me, trying to straddle my hips but I push her off.

  “You don’t fuck me anymore.”

  I knew it was coming.

  “Fucked you two weeks ago,” I mutter, dropping my phone on the bedside table.

  “Two weeks is a long time.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “You don’t love me anymore,” she cries.

  I sigh. “You’re hardly making any of this easy.”

  “Not this again,” she yells. “You’re always accusing me of being a bad mom, of being a bad wife. I’m doing the best I can.”

  I turn and glare at her. “Macy had no diaper on tonight; she wet her bed. Did you even check her before you came in here?”

  She crosses her arms over her breasts. “She was fine before.”

  “She was not, Lena,” I yell. “She’d been laying like that for hours. She was freezing. Would you like to sleep in your own piss? How fuckin’ hard is it to put a diaper on her?”

  She starts to cry, big tears running down her cheeks. “You hate me. You think I’m a bad mom. You’ve never been proud of me.”

  Fuck.

  I hate when she cries, I really do. It’ll always be my weak point.

  “I don’t hate you,” I say as softly as I can when I’m this mad. “I just want you to try harder with her.”

  “I will,” she murmurs running her hands over my chest. “I will, I’m sorry, baby. So sorry. I’ll try harder.”

  I sigh and put an arm around her. “I’m sure you will.”

  Marriage means trying.

  You can’t just walk away.

  You have to fight for the choice you made.

  I tell myself this over and over, each day. Marriage isn’t something you just walk away from. It gets bad; you have to fight for it. You have to try. I do, I try every day. I’m sure it’ll get better. I’m sure she’ll turn into the woman I thought I was marrying. I just have to hang in there.

  “Fuck me, Nate,” she whispers, climbing onto my lap. “Please?”

  I fuck her.

  It takes me a solid hour.

  Then I spend the night sitting, staring out the window because I know it’s gone.

  There’s nothing left but I have to stay. I have to fight for my little girl, if nothing else.

  ~*~*~*~

  AVERY

  Morning comes quickly, and it takes me a solid hour to drag myself out of bed for my morning run. The cool air wakes me up, but I find myself trudging through my morning at work as though I’ve had no sleep. I’m sure it’s emotional exhaustion. The day seems to drag and it feels like it takes hours and hours before lunchtime rolls around and I head to the studio.

  “Afternoon, Avery,” Maggie says, smiling as I walk through the halls. She’s like the mother I lost; she is always taking care of me.

  I smile back at her, admiring her tall, lean body. She’s in her late fifties, but she’s as fit as a twenty year old. She doesn’t dance seriously anymore, but she runs the entire studio, having spent half her life as a professional dancer. She’s amazing. Her long black hair is tied in a bun on her head and she’s wearing an elegant dress that falls to her knees.

  “Hey Maggie,” I say, waving as I move to the lockers.

  “Lyn isn’t dancing today. She’s sick, so you don’t have to be here. Her class was cancelled.”

  “I could have taught it,” I say, turning to her.

  “You should have a day off. You’re here every day but Sunday. Go home, enjoy yourself.”

  I frown. This is part of my routine; I don’t know what to do with myself if I can’t be here.

  “Stop looking like that.” She laughs. “It’s not so bad for you to have to find something outside of this studio.”

  I turn my thoughts to the ticket Nate gave me. Could I go to the race? Should I go to the race? I don’t really know him, but I don’t honestly have anyone else to see. Kelly is busy and Liam doesn’t want to see me. I’ve always found it hard to make friends, so that’s out of the question. Maybe going and watching the race will be good. It has to be better than going home.

  “What’s on your mind?” Maggie asks.

  “A friend gave me a ticket to the motocross race this afternoon.”

  “You should go,” she encourages. “It will do you good.”

  “I guess,” I say, hesitant.

  She wraps an arm around my shoulder and steers me towards the door. “Go, have fun, enjoy yourself. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I laugh softly. “It’s very hard to say no when you’re pushing me out the door.”

  She spins me around, kissing my head. “I’m always for you being here and helping, but it’s a day off. Enjoy it.”

  “All right,” I say, leaning in to hug her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Bye sweetie.”

  Well, here goes.

  CHAPTER 3

  AVERY

  The crowd is huge as I push through it, trying to find a seat. I finally get one on the grass beside the track. I’ve got a good view. I pull out a packet of chips and place them in my lap, and then I open my can of soda. I very rarely allow myself treats such as these, purely because I’m on quite a strict diet with dancing, and therefore there’s not a lot of room for extras.

  I pop a chip into my mouth and moan. Diet or not, they’re my weakness.

  I watch as bikes begin roaring around the track to warm up. I stretch my neck to see better and I recognize Nate right away. He’s got the number seventy-three on his bike and across his backside in bold letters is “Nathaniel”. I grin, enjoying the fact that he’s got it right on his ass. His gear is blue and his bike is a bright yellow and black. He skids around the track with ease, kicking up dirt as he goes.

  When they’re done, I watch them a
ll line up on top of a large slope. I clap loudly with the other watchers and when the race begins, I get to my feet. Nate is the first to hit the corner, skidding around it with perfection. When he reaches the tabletop, a flat jump, he revs his bike, soaring over it with ease. He lands with a bounce and puts his hand in the air. People roar and cheer. I join in, enjoying how it makes me feel to yell so loudly.

  He reaches a set of woops, a line of tiny bumps in the ground, and he powers forward. He moves his backside over the back mudguard of his bike and pulls it flat, tearing over them. I clap loudly, cheering him on with the hundreds of other admirers, including the group of girls in front of me, screaming his name. He makes it around another two corners in front of the group. That’s when he reaches the triple jump.

  I watch with my hand pressed to my mouth as he speeds up, launching off and flying a distance that I am almost sure he won’t make. He does—landing with ease. The crowd goes wild, and I get an intense adrenaline rush that spreads through my body. When the race is finished, my heart is pounding and I feel exhilarated in a way I’ve never felt outside of my dancing.

  I get to my feet and make my way towards the line of people wanting to get out. They’ve also put the food stands nearby, so it’s not easy to leave without getting trapped in a food line. With a sigh, I patiently wait as the crowd moves out. Most of them stay behind for the live music, food and alcohol but I’ve no one to stay with so I feel out of place sitting by myself. The race was amazing, but it’s time for me to go.

  “Hey.”

  “Oh, it’s Nate!” a group of girls scream just as a hand goes around my upper arm.

  I turn to see Nate wearing everything but his helmet. Holy wow. He is breathtaking. His skin has a sprinkle of dirt scattered on it, and his clothes give him a rugged, extremely attractive look that has my skin prickling. His hair is messy from being trapped under his helmet. It looks . . . great. He smiles at me, and I smile back, still feeling quite thrilled.

  “You did really good,” I yell over the crowd.

  “Nate, sign my boobs!” a girl says, jumping in front of me and exposing a good amount of her flesh.

  Nate takes the pen she thrusts at him, quickly signs and then pulls me towards him. “Why are you leaving?”