I didn't have to ask her who 'him' was-I knew. In that moment, I realized that love wasn't unconditional, and my mother definitely loved me with conditions.
Pouring milk into my coffee mug, I go sit outside near the water. The sounds of crickets and frogs fill the silence. I make up a list in my head of things to do, but my mind inevitably drifts to Marissa. Her expressive green eyes that hold so much sadness and so much heart.
I watch the dark night sky slowly turn to orange as the sun makes its way over the horizon. Leaning my head back, I close my eyes, hoping to just rest. The sounds of the water rolling over the rocks at the edge of the lake and the cry of the crickets lull me back to sleep. I wake a couple hours later to the sound of a school bus honking.
Grabbing my coffee mug, I head back inside for my gym bag and head there, where I'll knock the shit out of the heavy bag, beating the old memories of my mother, that night, and the guy whose blood runs through my veins out of my head.
Chapter Nine
Mick
I make it inside my door right as the sun is setting. My body still aches from the beating I gave it this morning at the gym. My feet hurt from walking the streets trying to chase down leads on a guy who everyone seems to have seen but no one really knows.
I barely make it into the kitchen before there is a knock on the door. Throwing my head back, I run my hands over my face and groan. I'm sure it's fucking Sandie. She has been blowing up my phone for the past two days. Ever since she showed up at the station and pretended she got a new phone and all her contacts got erased. I could kill fucking Chris for giving her my new number!
When the soft knock comes again, I hope it's not her. I throw the door open and stare, mouth hanging open, at the person on the other side.
"I wasn't going to come, but Phyllis said I at least owed you a meal, so here I am." She shrugs her shoulders. "She also gave me your address, so I don't want you to think I'm stalking you, because I'm not."
I take her in. She's wearing a pair of flip-flops, faded jeans, a tight top, and a pale blue, zip-front hoodie.
I don't say anything. I'm stuck on the fact that she's here to do something nice for me. No one has ever done something like this for me.
"This is stupid. I'm stupid." She thrusts the bag in her hands at me. My hands reach out to grab it, still not saying a word. She turns around to walk down the steps, and I snap out of it.
"Marissa, get your ass in the house so we can eat dinner."
She turns around, letting her head fall to the side. "Is that any way to talk to someone who slaved over a hot stove to make you dinner?"
I peek at the containers in the bag, knowing damn well Phyllis gave them to her. "I don't know." I raise the bag in my hands. "Did you actually cook this?" My lips are fighting to hold back the smile that wants to emerge.
She throws her hands up. "Okay, fine, I didn't actually cook it. But I did box it up, and I sure as hell paid for it, so it's almost like I cooked it." A slow smile starts to creep across her face. "Now, are you going to be a bit nicer and let me share it with you?" she asks as her hands fall to her hips.
I don't reply. I just turn toward the kitchen, leaving the door open behind me. I don't have to wait long before I hear the click of the front door shutting.
"Do you want to eat outside or inside?" I place the food on the counter.
"Outside would be great," she responds. "Here." She grabs the food. "I'll bring this out. You bring out the plates."
I open the cabinet and pull out two plates and then I grab forks, knives, and two glasses. I don't even finish gathering everything before she's back inside to help me carry it all out. "What do you want to drink?" I ask her as she takes the plates from me. "I have beer and water."
"Wow, those are some tough choices. I'll take water, please. Do you want me to bring out anything else?"
"Nope, all good. I'll be out in a second." I turn back to the fridge to grab the drinks. I also take a moment to talk my cock into calming down. It seems that he is very interested in our sudden dinner guest.
I walk outside to the table that sits just to the left of the porch. I flip on the light switch, and the little white Christmas lights I have strung up all around the yard turn on, casting a soft glow over the space.
I look at the table and find that she has already taken off her flip-flops and has thrown herself into a chair that looks out onto the lake.
"It's beautiful out here, Mick."
I nod in agreement and sit in the chair to the right of her. She stands up, opens the bag, and pulls out one of my favorite meals. Chicken fried steak with garlic mashed potatoes. She dishes out my portion onto my plate and then opens the container of gravy, pouring it over the top of them. My stomach lets out a huge growl, letting her know she did well.
She throws her head back as she lets out a huge laugh. "Well then, I guess I made the right choice?" she asks while she serves herself a small ass portion. I think Lilah, Jackson's step daughter, eats more than she does.
"Phyllis didn't tell you that this is my favorite meal?" I ask her while I cut a piece of chicken, dipping it in the potatoes.
"Nope. She suggested the seafood chowder. I thought you were more of a meat and potatoes kind of guy," she tells me while she pushes the food around her plate.
"Are you going to eat any of that or are you going to just push it from one side to the other?" I ask her while cutting up the rest of my chicken.
"I've got a lot on my mind. I haven't heard from Lori again, and my stomach is in knots. I'm so worried and scared, Mick." She shrugs and looks up at me with clearly troubled eyes. "I keep replaying her last call, the sound of her voice, over and over in my head." She drops her fork on the plate and grabs a napkin from the center of the table to dab her eyes.
When she looks back up at me, I see tears swimming in them. The green has turned bright. "I did all this to show her you don't run from your problems. You stay and clean them up."
I finish chewing my food, and before I can stop myself I'm asking her, "What's your story, Marissa?" I don't know why I'm asking. I'm not even sure why I care. I just know that I do.
"Oh, good God, where the hell do I even start? I got pregnant at sixteen. My parents kicked me right out of their good Christian home, crossing me off the family tree forever." She grabs my beer bottle and takes a large pull before continuing, "My boyfriend at the time, Lori's dad, was in a band. They were good, and they were making the rounds and playing the clubs. He was eighteen, and he was going to make it big." She laughs and shakes her head.
"The only thing big he made was an ass out of himself. I walked in on him and another guy in the band having a threesome in our bed. I packed my stuff and left. I had one thousand dollars in my account, I was six months pregnant, and I was homeless. I got myself a one-bedroom apartment in a shithole building with a scumbag landlord who didn't ask questions as long as you could pay your rent, in cash preferably, and you could put down the deposit. The place was disgusting. Filthy, roach and rat infested. You name it, it crawled next to me while I slept. I got a job as a waitress and worked until I couldn't anymore. Lori was a big baby, almost ten pounds. I swore I would never have another child after her. The minute I had Lori, he came back. He said he changed, and he promised me the world. So I gave him another chance. While I was busting my ass waiting tables, and he was getting wasted every night when he went to his 'gigs', little did I know he was betting everything we had all the time. He would bet on horses or fucking dogs, football, basketball, hockey. You name it, he bet on it at that time, and he managed to rack up bills all over the place and then one day he up and vanished, leaving me with an eighty thousand gambling debt that they were going to collect even if it wasn't from him."
"Eat a few bites of your food, please." I don't want to interrupt her, but she hasn't touched her food other than to move it around on the plate.
She takes a bite of the chicken, chewing it slowly. "What's your story, Mick?" she asks while she takes another bite.
I don't usually talk about myself, but if it makes her eat, I'll fucking sing my story.
"My mom was a stripper. My father was a scumbag who had another family, his real family, and my mom was just his action on the side. Phyllis was the only person who actually gave a shit about me. I was on track to pursue a career playing professional football until my throwing arm was injured during what was my last touchdown pass ever. A rotator cuff injury in the last game of high school. All my dreams of playing college and the professional ball went down the tubes. That was that. It never healed quite right, and my career was over before it even began. I spent two years getting wasted every night and feeling sorry for myself. Phyllis had to come bail me out of jail one night. I was picked up after I almost got ran over by a police car while walking home intoxicated. The next day, she packed my shit and sent me to boot camp. Didn't even give me a choice. Just said you go and don't fucking come back until you sort yourself out and do something with yourself we can be proud of." I shrug my shoulders. "I met my best friend and my partner, Jackson, there. I did what Phyllis said. I sorted myself out and became someone she could be proud of." I look up to see her staring very intently at me.