Life After Taylah
Page 7

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.