Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1) (24 page)

I grin wide. “That’s Bach, Grams. He’s my friend.”

“Friend?” Mom joins in, eyeing him shrewdly. “Where did you say Dylan was again?”

“Vacation.” I grab Bach’s hand and bring him closer. “Bach, this is my mom Nena and my grams Iris. Guys, this is Bach.”

“She has your eyes,” Bach says, grinning at Grams. He holds his hand out. Grams takes it greedily, holding on to his hand and wrist with both of her wrinkled, kind hands.

“They didn’t make friends like this when I was a girl.” She winks at him, still frisky after all these years.

“That’s because I was around. With my rifle,” Grandpa teases. He doesn’t have a jealous bone in his body. He knows Grams is his and never questions it. He wraps his arm around me and grins, his beard gray and his dark blue eyes kind yet fierce. “How was your exams, Sweet Pea?”

“Where on vacation?” Mom pesters. She’s got her eagle eye trained on me. “He always comes down with you.” She looks Bach over, taking in his darkness, his sexiness, his breathtaking-ness.

“It’s only been a year, Mom. I’ve been coming here alone a lot longer,” I point out stiffly. “They were good, Grandpa. I promise.”

“Come sit with me,” I hear Grams say. She leads Bach away from me.

“Give her a break would you, Nena? She’s had exams to deal with. Come on, Sweet Pea. Lunch is almost ready.”

As Grandpa leads me away from her, Mom stares at my hand, like she can tell it was wrapped around Bach’s all day and not Dylan’s.

Then she looks into my eyes. “Don’t you need a vacation?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m leaving tomorrow.” I force a grin at her and allow Grandpa to take me over to the huge oak family table.

Grams insists that Bach sit right next to her. Carolyn eyes him the way she does everything I own. She wants him now that she knows he’s mine. Her wavy blond hair is styled beautifully, her bright green eyes twinkle, and her surgically altered nose is as perfect as she could afford. She’s Dad’s brother’s daughter. Dad always had a soft spot in his heart for her because she was his niece. But she and I have never gotten along. She spits on me when I fall and I have to wipe it off every time. I glance at her husband, Froy, and wonder if he knows whether his wife is a bitch. He doesn’t of course. Froy’s a handsome idiot.

He smiles sweetly at me when I sit down across from him and next to Grandpa. “How’ve you been? How’s college?” he asks. Carolyn’s eyes flash to me.

“I’m great, thanks, Froy. And college is college. How’s the dealership?”

“Good.”

I see
, I want to say, thinking of his Mercedes parked out front.

Dad left Carolyn a lot of money in his will. She used it to start a car dealership in Houston. The only good thing she did was give Mom a share in the company. “And how are all my cousins?” I stare down the table at all six of them. All blond, all green eyed, all monsters except Stacey. All five boys look at me and glare. They listen to their mother. Stacey was born with a mind of her own. “Great to hear.”

Carolyn takes a sip of her sweet tea. “How’s my beautiful cousin?” she sneers with a grin.

I smile back just as nicely. “How’s mine?”

“Oh, you know, married and happy.” She stabs me with her eyes. Stab stab stab stab.

Grandpa touches my knee under the table, talking me down. “I’m happy for you.”

My family converges at the table. Stacey gets to sit next to Bach. Mom sits on my other side. I’m surrounded. I take a long drink of my ice water, watching the way everyone keeps looking at me and then at Bach. They don’t even know they’re doing it. Or maybe I’m just paranoid. The only one being nice is Grams. But that’s no surprise. She always is.

“Thank you, Betty.” She smiles in appreciation as she sets down a delicious looking plate of food in front of me. Fried pork chops, sautéed green beans, and a dollop of mashed potatoes and scratch gravy. Thankfully Betty’s a new addition to the Evans home. Her rich southern cooking would have me in busting out of my size four’s in no time if I lived here.

“So,” Mom announces. She takes a bite of her pork chop. “Did we decide on horseback riding after lunch or swimming?”

“Swimming!” the five little monsters squeal.

“I’d like to go horseback riding,” Stacey speaks up, looking just like her mother. Except Stacey’s beautiful. Her mom could be if she wasn’t such a cunt.

“What do you think … ? Bach was it?”

“Yes,” he says, looking up from Grams. “I don’t mind. I didn’t really bring anything to swim in though.”

“That’s all right,” Grams tells him, patting his arm like he told her he had a secret. “I’m sure we can find something for you to wear. I pick swimming.”

I cover my hand with my mouth and shake my head.

Bach grins at her. “I bet you have a great breaststroke.”

She tosses her head back and laughs like a southern belle. “Synchronized swimming in college. I can hold my breath for a long time.”

“Iris,” Mom hisses. “Must you always be so … ”

“Horny?” Grandpa supplies. “Too bad Brad wasn’t still here to tell you. Poor thing caught us in bed so many times it’s a wonder he was able to still find sex attractive.”

My cheeks heat up. The idea of my father catching his mom and dad in bed makes it really hard to maintain an appetite. I shudder.

“Let’s talk about other things.” Mom smooth’s her dark brown hair down as if doing so will smooth out the wrinkles of this conversation. “The older they get the worse they get. Bach? What do you do to fill your time? Do you work, go to school? How did you and Harley meet?”

And just like that I wish we were still talking about Grams and Grandpa’s sex life.

The table quiets. Everyone’s waiting for his answer. He clears his throat and looks down at his plate. A part of me goes to him in that moment forever. Bach just ducks his head. He’s never done that before, at least not around me.

“He’s a party planner,” I speak up for him. From what little I’ve gathered that is technically what he does.

“What kind of parties?” Mom looks at him, and only him, making her point. She isn’t talking to me.

“The kind with music and people.” I’m talking to her. “What’s with the third degree?” I hiss, even though everyone can hear me.

She smiles in a way that makes me sure she knows. She knows I want to take Bach and runaway forever. “I’m just asking questions, honey.”

Carolyn smiles at her green beans. Bitch.

“I don’t technically have a regular paying job,” Bach interjects, cool as he always is. “I do throw parties for money and make a lot doing so.”

Grandpa nods. “An entrepreneur. Ain’t nothing wrong with that. A man’s got to make a living somehow. I’m sure the IRS wouldn’t like it, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

Bach chuckles with force. Sweat trails down the side of his face and his back is ramrod straight. “I figure I make up for it every time I buy a bottle of overpriced scotch.”

“Scotch?” Grandpa glances at him. “I love a good scotch.”

“Where’d you two meet?” Mom continues.

Honestly
… “He’s Dylan’s friend,” I tell her, looking her right in the eye. She’ll figure it out eventually.

She blows her breath out through her nose. “That’s interesting.”

“Not really.” I stab at my pork chop.

“Mommy, this is kind of gross.” One of the little five monsters spits his food out of his mouth. “I want pizza.”

Carolyn doesn’t even acknowledge him. She’s too busy watching me implode.

“Eat your food,” Froy orders, the good little husband.

“How long have you and Dylan known each other?”

Bach chews what’s in his mouth and then wipes his mouth off on his cloth napkin. “Since we were three.”

I stab my pork chop harder.

“Oh, Harley,” Mom whispers under her breath for only me to hear. She smiles kindly. “That’s sweet. I always regretted that Harley didn’t get to have that kind of friendship because of how often we moved. She’s always been a bit of a loner because of it. I was so happy when she found Dylan.”

“She did all right on her own,” he answers, forcing his gravy around on his plate.

“What do your parents do?”

I think about stabbing myself. Impaling myself with my steak knife to end Bach’s and my suffering.

Without missing a beat he answers, “My dad’s in prison and me and my mom don’t speak.”

“Happy now?” I whisper under my own breath.

“Oh,” Mom says, deflated. Now that her prying has revealed her treasure, she doesn’t want it anymore. “That’s unfortunate.”

“In prison for what?” Carolyn wonders, grinning from face lifted ear to face lifted ear.

“Drugs. He was a drug dealer.”

I’m so sorry, Bach
.

She gives him a fake, sad look.

“What’s a drug dealer?” Stacey asks innocently.

Bach looks at her. This horrible sick look passes over him. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t.

I push away from the table. “Let’s go, Bach.”

“Sit down, Harley,” he orders. His hand trembles around his fork. He moves it under the table. “It’s fine.” He doesn’t look at me. He keeps looking at Stacey’s adorably naive face. “You know how the Cookie Monster only wants to eat cookies?” She nods, sensing something’s wrong but going along with it anyway. “Well someone has to bake them right?” She smiles, nodding again. “That’s all it is.”

“Oh.” She giggles. “I want a cookie now.”

“Me too, kid. Me too.”

“I have some. You want one?” She whispers as if everyone else is gone and it’s just her and Bach talking about cookies.

His sad smile makes parts of Dylan leave my heart for good and Bach takes their place.

“Maybe after lunch,” he says.

“Did you guys hear about the contract I just signed? I might be opening a new dealership in Miami,” Froy supplies. Carolyn doesn’t deserve him.

The conversation immediately leaves Bach and fades away. Carolyn catches my eyes and smiles. She loves the fact that I’m burning. I ignore her and wait for Bach to look at me. He doesn’t. For the rest of lunch he eats, not supplying anything to the conversation. I brought him here to be slaughtered. I glare at my mother, who is suspiciously avoiding eye contact now that she got her wish. Grandpa touches my knee under the table again. When I look at him he looks so much like my father I almost can’t take it.

“We’re going to go have a cigar.”

“Don’t let him leave,” I beg so quietly he has to lean in. “He’ll do it. Please?”

“I won’t.” He pats my cheek and then rises slowly to his feet. I watch as he taps Bach on the shoulder and motions for him to follow.

I feel dread as Bach gets up and leaves me. He doesn’t look at me and then he’s gone.

I push away from the table, too. I can’t sit here anymore.

Bach’s answers follow me around the house. I dip into each room, growing more and more agitated as I leave them behind. In the sitting room I sit in the one chair Mom forbids anyone’s butt in farting distance, let alone sitting in it. It’s hard and uncomfortable. The floral print is hand-woven and I remember Dad cringing when she bought it at an estate sell.

She always does this to me. No one’s good enough for me, no one can compete with her love for me. But she calls me every day. No matter what I’ve done or didn’t do, she would never stop speaking to me. Even if I showed up at her house with six of Bach’s kids, she’d build onto the house so they’d each have a room. Why doesn’t Bach talk to his mom? And for how long has he been on his own? Does he feel alone or was it his choice? Although I doubt either option would make the pain any less manageable. I know Dylan’s relationship with his parents is rocky. It was his description. Not mine. I thought rocky was a copout now, but at least he talked to them occasionally. I couldn’t imagine not having a relationship with the person who made me and loved me through my teenage years, through losing Dad.

“Harley.”

I look up at my mom standing in the doorway. “This chair is so uncomfortable.”

She makes a face but doesn’t tell me to get off. “I’m sorry, honey. You know how I am.”

I do. And now Bach does too. “You embarrassed Daddy today.”

She hangs his head. “Brad wouldn’t want you around him. Maybe he wouldn’t agree with my methods, he never did, but he’d agree with my feelings.”

I don’t believe that. “Dad was an open guy. He gave everyone a shot. You remember that one time he let that ex-con cut the lawn. We had the best damn lawn for as long as we were in that city. That guy ended up starting his own lawn care business. I bet he’s rich now and supporting his family because of the chance Dad gave him.”

“Or he’s back in prison.” She leans against the wall and crosses her arms over her chest. “Where is Dylan?”

I stare at my toes. I really need to repaint them.

“Harley?”

Maybe something dark and bold, like candy apple red, or even something soft, like teal.

“Harley? Answer me. Where is Dylan?”

When I look up a tear falls from my cheek and lands on her hand-woven chair. “Afghanistan.”

She frowns. “Afghanistan? What is he doing there?”

I let them fall freely. Now that she knows I can’t hold it in. The sadness and anger I’ve been trying to forget wells up, crushing me all over again. That son of a bitch left me here with his choices. “He enlisted in the army before we even met. He didn’t tell me until it was time to deploy because of what happened to Dad.”

Her hand goes over her mouth as she puts the pieces together. “No.”

“Yes. He lied to me the entire time we were together. And come to find out he’s been cheating on me too. He didn’t go to the army for me. He went for her.” My tears are hot and silent. “He left me here just like Dad.”

“Oh, Harley.” She opens her arms and I get up and fall into them. She squeezes me so hard I imagine her squeezing the pieces back together, gluing them so I can continue to exist this way instead of struggling to drag the pieces around with me. “Your father didn’t leave you here. He didn’t leave me. He was a soldier, a brave man who dedicated his life for the betterment of his child, this country. I knew when he enlisted that this was going to be hard for us. I knew it was a sacrifice that I was willing to shoulder.”