Giving In (The Sandy Cove Series Book 1) Page 7

  “Come in.” Willow enters and sees what I’m up to.

  She stands there, hands on hips, and a look of disapproval on her face.

  “Gonna run again? Go home and sulk, let him win? You’re stronger than that, Harlow. Since when do you wimp out?”

  That stings, but I don’t care. I can’t enjoy myself here knowing that immature ass lives ten feet away.

  “Leave me be, Willow. It’s just not working out. I’m going home.”

  She kicks the door closed with her heel and grabs the clothes I’m trying to pack out of my hands and throws them on the floor.

  “What the hell!”

  She grabs my wrist and turns me towards her, her eyes pleading with me.

  “And what’s going to happen once you get there? Stay in your room for the rest of the summer, avoiding the outside world, risk running into him? You know what will happen if you do? I can’t go through that again with you, Harlow. I’m your friend, but I won’t allow another slip up with him.”

  I think about it, about her words. What would happen if I did? What would happen if I fell back in? Under the spell, under the pull, under his forcefulness. It’s so easy for me to cave. She thinks I’m strong, but I’m as weak as they come, especially when the one we do not speak of is involved.

  “I know, but I can’t stay here. I hate Cruz. He ruined my laptop. I was in the process of filling out all the online applications for the districts in our area, and it took a long time. I never sent them, now I have to start all over again.”

  She tugs me down to sit on the bed next to her. Her demeanor softens, and she wraps an arm around my shoulder.

  “You have been through so much, Har, and you have overcome a lot of it for the most part, but you can’t let him win. I want him out. Not sure why Porter hangs with someone like him. All I know is, you can’t let him win, and if you go home, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

  She’s not talking about Cruz either.

  We sit in silence for a few moments. I’m thinking about what she said. If I go home, he wins. He’ll know I’m defeated, that I came crawling back. I can talk to my brother Craw about things but Greta, my sister, no way. She’s way too caught up in her wedding plans to hear my sob stories. Mom and Dad aren’t aware of anything, so I can’t go to them.

  Someone knocks at the door, and Willow gets up to answer it. She automatically slams it again, not giving me a chance to see who it is, but I have a pretty good idea.

  She leans against the door and rolls her eyes. “Son of a bitch.”

  I smile. “It’s fine. Let him in. It can’t get any worse.”

  She eyes me for a second, not believing I just said that.

  I nod my head as she pulls at the doorknob.

  Cruz walks in, looking as pale as a ghost and holding a cardboard box in his hands. He looks awful, and that’s unusual for him.

  Willow eases up to him, gets inches from his face, not saying anything. She just stares at him, because in the case of Willow, sometimes her scowl is worse than her words.

  Oh, God this is uncomfortable. She’s so good at it.

  She turns to me and winks before exiting.

  The room is still, so is the air between us. I look to the floor, playing with my fingers in my lap, as he continues to stand.

  “You’re leaving?”

  I nod.

  “I don’t blame you. I haven’t made this easy for you.”

  I look up at him, pursing my lips together, my eyes agreeing with him.

  “Look, I’m not a jerk. Really I’m not. I’m just not good with sorry’s or hello’s or goodbye’s. I’ve been really hard on you, but you don’t make it any easier.”

  I start to speak to stop him, because I’m pretty sure I’m not the cause of this.

  He holds his hand up to stop me.

  “Let me finish talking, please.”

  I let out a sigh. “Fine, continue.”

  “You think I’m a stupid person. Well, I’m not. Just because I didn’t have an extensive education like you, doesn’t mean I haven’t been educated. The Marines paid for me to go to community college. I got my Associates Degree in Criminal Justice, and I haven’t pursued a full time position with a force because I just got back from my third tour in Iraq. The world has educated me.”

  Oh, no. God forgive me. I had no idea.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Damn right, you didn’t.” His voice raises and appears a little sterner. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I’m just sensitive about it. I’m not usually, but for some reason, you bring it out of me.”

  He told me he was in Afghanistan and Iraq when we were fighting on the dock, but I had no idea how many tours he accomplished. I owe him an apology.

  “Cruz, I don’t what to say. You’re right. I haven’t been fair to you, and I guess I jumped to conclusions. I apologize.”

  He comes to sit on the bed next to me. I flinch when he does, like I think he’s going to hurt me, and when I do it, he is a taken aback.

  I sweep my hair behind my ears, feeling uncomfortable, and I’m not sure why. I mean I had sex with him. You’d think I wouldn’t feel like that, but in reality, I think that is the reason I’m feeling like this.

  “I’m not going to touch you, don’t worry. I’m not going down that road again. No offense.”

  I laugh. “None taken.”

  He smiles at me, as I try to dodge my eyes from looking at him.

  “Is that a smile I see? You actually have teeth? My God, I thought you just forget to put your dentures in all the time.”

  I shove him and let out a small chuckle.

  “Jerk.”

  “You should do it more often.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Smile, it looks good on you.” He smiles broadly at me. I wish I could allow myself to smile the way he does.

  I’m up. Time for me to try to make amends.

  “I think maybe sometimes with you, I remember what happened between us, and I realize I didn’t know you, and I did what I did…”

  He interrupts, “What we did. I was a part of it too.”

  “Ok, us both, but I think I was angry with myself because I had never done anything like that. I disappointed myself, and I was well, embarrassed. It was totally out of character for me.”

  He laughs and runs his hands through his already tousled locks.

  “Yea, you’re right about that. Getting to know the Harlow this summer is totally different than the one I didn’t know last year.”

  What he says is a little confusing, but I get it. I was a different person last year. Someone who sort of had an out-of-body experience.

  I can’t tell him what encouraged me to do what I did with him. I have to try to put it behind me. Put behind me the circumstances which in turn brought Cruz and I together that night, but with this brain of mine, I hear the voices in my head, taunting me, fucking with my subconscious: ‘You can run, Harlow, but you can’t hide.’ ‘Fall into his spell.’ ‘Feel his spell.’ ‘Follow his spell.’

  I shake my head, making the voices go away. Cruz is still talking.

  He looks at me, and I must have just looked like a nut-job.

  “Where’d you go? Looks like I lost you for a minute.”

  I’m not sure where I just was. Lost in my thoughts, listening to the words in my head I do not want to hear.

  “I’m sorry, just deep in thought. What were you saying?”

  He shrugs and dismisses my daydream.

  “I was saying that the past is the past, and maybe we can actually get to know one another and be friends. I can be a grown up and not torture you, actually be a stand up guy.”

  I hear the sincerity in his voice. I believe him, and I have to allow myself to give him the credibility.

  “And I can relax a little. I’m not as wound up as you think I am. I can be loosey goosey.”

  He lets out a small ‘ha’ sound, and now I’m the one he doesn’t be
lieve. I swat at his arm.

  “I’m serious. I am a lot of fun, even though I’m very serious about life. I can party with the best of them.”

  He has a glimmer of hope in his eyes when I tell him that, a combination of cautiousness and challenge.

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  I stand up in front of him, and I feel relaxed, the most relaxed I’ve felt in a while. It’s odd that I feel like this talking to him, but I’ll take it for what it’s worth. This can work. We can try to put our differences aside, make this a great summer, and maybe, just maybe develop a friendship out of this.

  “Oh, I should say the same about you, Mr. Grown Up. I’ll enumerate that when I see it.”

  He gives me the proverbial eye roll.

  “And let’s start with that, Ms. Loosey Goosey. Women who are fun and carefree don’t use words like enumerate. Believe me, don’t believe me. Just try to sound a little less stuck up, okay?”

  He knows what enumerate means. Interesting.

  I sigh. “I suppose I can try. Loosey Goosey is the name of the game. Soon enough I’ll be in a job where I have to be serious all the time. No better way to give myself a break from it than try to loosen up.”

  He rises from the bed and begins to walk away, leaving me with my thoughts.

  Cruz turns back to me. “Oh, I almost forgot. I went and got you this.” He hands me the cardboard box. “This is my first attempt at being a grown up.”

  I slide my nail over the strong tape holding the box shut, and I stick my hand in and pull out a brand new laptop.

  He replaced it.

  I’m transfixed on it, relishing in his thoughtfulness.

  “Porter told me what you were working on when it got wet. I’m, uh, really sorry all your work was ruined, but hopefully it won’t take you too long to get your information together again, and you can submit your applications again in no time.”

  I run my hand across the sleek black cover of the laptop, and I realize that there’s hope for Raphael Cruz.

  “Listen, I’ll let you get to it. I just wanted to do the right thing.”

  I look up at him and give him a toothless smile.

  “I’m glad you did, thanks Cruz. It was a real grown up thing for you to do.”

  He winks at me and turns the knob for the door. He says over his shoulder, “I’m glad you’re staying, Turnip. See ya later.”

  Yea, there’s hope for Raphael Cruz yet.

  ***

  CHAPTER 6

  So you’re the King of the Douchebags?

  Cruz~

  I need to get laid. It’s been over a week. This job is a killer when it wants to be. All this overtime is worth the cash, but I feel so bad for poor Morty. He hasn’t gotten enough exercise. I need to change this and fast. Tonight I’m off, and we are all going out, so I’ll hold out hope.

  It’s hard to believe that it’s almost 4th of July. The last few weeks have been great since my neighbor and I have been getting along.

  Harlow’s not so bad. She’s thawed a bit, snickers at my inappropriate jokes, acknowledges my existence, and actually has conversations with me. She’s still using the ‘big words’ now and again, but I give her a look, and she gives me one of her infamous eye rolls, and a knowing look to turn it down a notch. We hang out at the house, having drinks on the dock with the rest of the crew. As everyone swims, she sits with her toes touching the water, just a little. Maybe I should give her a few swim lessons. She doesn’t know what she’s missing.

  I found out she’s not really a snot either. Her parents, Joe and Annabeth, have money, and she explained to us one night when we were all sitting around how her mother was some sort of a hippie. Harlow’s mom worked for social services, grew her own vegetables and shit like that. Her dad, on the other hand, came from money, old money, and lots of it. He’s a lawyer. Had to do the whole ‘follow in daddy’s footsteps’ type thing. They met when her mom was a social worker tending to a case her father was part of. She said he was a free spirit like her mom. Telling us about them being soulmates and shit like that. One pussy for the rest of your life. Yea, that’s a no-no.

  Harlow’s grandparents hated the fact that their son was going to marry a commoner or whatever, and they had a set of conditions, which her mom made her father abide by because she didn’t want any trouble, or lose him.

  The conditions? Send them to private schools, make them go to charm school, and be raised with class. That’s so different than the way I was brought up. My crack-head mother’s idea of class was sitting at the dinner table, (when we actually ate dinner) with a shirt on.

  My mom, not us.

  So Harlow grew up having an after school job at a diner and paying for things on her own. It sounds like just being raised to work for things you need, not things you want.

  Good motto.

  I want to save as much as I want to spend, but I need to live on my own. I can’t live with my brother Antonio and his wife, Bella, anymore. There’s a spawn on the way for them, and there isn’t enough room for me. If I don’t save, I’ll be forced back to the old neighborhood with the crack-head, and that’s not an option.

  Max and I talked about getting a place, but he’ll be traveling a lot with the band this coming year as well as finishing up engineering school. Porter is going up to Boston this winter to get his Masters.

  So it’s just me. But that’s okay. I’m sort of used to it.

  I like mornings on the dock when I don’t have to take a nap as soon as I get home from my shift. This morning, I take my coffee outside, go sit in one of the Adirondack chairs, watch the boats go by and wave to the people on them. I walk down and see Harlow on the phone. I don’t want to listen in, but she knows this is what I like to do in the mornings, and I’m not budging, so I can’t help it if I do hear her conversation.

  “Yes, Greta. I know, Greta. Relax. It will… Greta, it’s not a big deal. No, no I’m not saying that it’s not a big deal, of course it is.”

  She rolls her eyes, points to the phone and brings her hand up to her throat like she’s choking herself. I laugh because I know she’s on the phone with her crazy sister about her wedding.

  She motions for me to give her a sip of my coffee. She must be out. I hand it over to her. We take it the same way. So much sugar that the spoon stands straight up in the mug.

  She takes a sip and closes her eyes, like it’s the first time she’s ever tasted it. I laugh.

  “Ok, well Craw is coming for the 4th, so I’ll give him what you need. No, Greta. I didn’t… ok, ok, fine. I’ll speak with you next week. No worries. Ok, I love you, too. Bye for now.”

  Bye for now? She’s so formal sometimes. But Greta is not like her. From what Harlow tells me, she’s like her grandparents where Harlow is like her mom.

  She throws the phone on her chair and lets out a growl.

  “More wedding planning fiascos with your sister?”

  She drinks the rest of my coffee like she’s doing a shot of Jack Daniels. She hands me the empty cup. I turn it upside down to see the slightest little drop fall on the wooden planks.

  “How’d you guess?” She smiles.

  “Well, over the past few weeks you get this look about you when you’re speaking to your sister. You chew on your already chewed down nails so they bleed.”

  She’s doing it now. She pulls them out of her mouth as soon as I say it.

  “Oh, well thanks for noticing.”

  She plops on her chair, exhausted, and her body acts like it has run a marathon.

  “So what’s the deal?”

  “You really want to hear this?”

  Not really, but I’ll let her talk.

  “Sure, shoot.” God, I wish she didn’t drink all my coffee.

  “Well Greta doesn’t like the fonts I sent her for her invitations. I found them on a website, and I picked several out for her to try. She hated them and wants me to search for new ones.”

  “Can’t she look on her own? Why’s that your
responsibility?”

  “Because she’s too busy with other things.”

  I straighten up in my chair, lean over the arm rest and look at her confused.

  “Wait, didn’t you tell me she doesn’t work, that her fiancé said it wasn’t necessary? So why doesn’t she have time?”

  “Because she’s extremely busy with her wedding planner. What’s the word you say when I appear to be clueless about something… duh, is it?”

  Smartass.

  “Fine. I get it, she’s nothing like you. She’s the one who never got out of that bratty rich kid routine no matter how hard your parents tried to sway her away from it.”

  Harlow winks and points at me. “Ding, ding. Correct answer, sir.”

  “So you’re stuck with the dirty work. Too bad. You need to stand up for yourself, Turnip.”

  She stands up and sits on the dock, toes inching towards the water.

  “I’m working on it. I told her I’d give the samples to my brother when he comes next week. I’m not jumping on it immediately.”

  I get up and go to sit next to her. I land my feet in the water with a small splash that reaches her.

  “Oops, sorry.”

  “Caveman,” she mutters.

  “So beach volleyball game today? Guys versus girls?”

  She doesn’t answer. She’s focused on the water.

  She sticks her big toe in, pulling it out immediately. Her fear is crazy to me. I take her foot and try to ease it into the water, very carefully. She flinches, not fully understanding what I’m trying to do. She tenses under my hand, pulls back, and gives me a look of warning.

  “It’s just water. Put the rest of your toes in, not the whole foot, it’s not going to bite you, neither will I unless you ask.” I wink at her knowing that when I talk like that it gets her in a tizzy.

  She creases her brow, smacks my arm and her expression’s not anger, just worry.

  I grab the instep of her foot and slowly ease it in, a bit at a time until all her toes are submerged. She looks at me, trusting me, but with caution, great caution. She doesn’t fully trust me yet, and that’s ok. We’re working on it. It’s not going to be cotton candy and clowns right from the start, but we’ll get there.