The Time in Between Read online

  I didn’t tell her.

  I burst into tears.

  Stick with Me

  Eighteen years earlier . . .

  “SO WHAT DO YOU THINK?”

  I did a slow turn, taking in the condo.

  Tony’s friend obviously made good money in construction because the place was nice.

  But Tony’s friend wasn’t exactly tidy, and even though he wasn’t filthy, he didn’t clean every week (or every month) and he’d clearly not given the place a scrub down before he’d left.

  Although it wouldn’t be my first choice to clean up the house (and bathroom) of some guy I didn’t know, I’d had to clean the bathrooms at Sip and Save so the bathrooms here would be a walk in the park.

  And it was free. A way nicer place than what I’d had before, and bigger, multi-level, two bedrooms, two baths and a basement with washer and dryer.

  A washer and dryer.

  Practically luxury!

  This meant no laundromats.

  I hadn’t been home to do my laundry since the last time my mother watched me fold my undies in their huge utility room, weighing me down with her disillusionment that I’d broken all of the dreams she’d had for her daughter.

  Mom and Dad’s utility room was the worst but laundromats sucked (almost) as much.

  Now it was like my whole life had changed. A little cleaning, pick up the mail, plenty of time to find a good place, to save up money and get my security deposit back.

  I didn’t know what to do with all this good fortune.

  “Their job is gonna run long,” Tony said when I didn’t reply. “’Least two weeks and the boss wants my bud to stay and do some finishing work. So you can move in when you want and you got nearly three months to find a new crib.”

  More good fortune.

  I stared up at him and took in those hazel eyes.

  Totally more good fortune.

  “So it good for you?” he prompted.

  “Totally.”

  He grinned. “Awesome. When do you wanna move in?”

  “My landlords said they’d give anyone a bonus of seventy-five bucks if they moved out by the end of next week.”

  “Then we’re movin’ you out on your first day off.”

  We were moving me out?

  “Uh . . . you don’t have to help,” I shared.

  Though I didn’t know who would. I didn’t want to ask Lonnie. Maria was not immune to working diligently at a fabulous hairstyle but not so much lugging furniture around, but to help me out she wouldn’t say no, she just wouldn’t like it. But with her came Lonnie and that was out.

  I had a daybed that was my couch and bed, a dresser, an end table, some kitchen and bathroom stuff and clothes, so it wasn’t going to take a mammoth U-Haul and an entire day of dragging crap around.

  But I couldn’t move myself.

  When I said what I said, Tony looked guarded. “Lonnie helping you?”

  I shook my head. “No . . . I haven’t even told them I have to move yet.”

  “So who’s gonna help you?” Tony pushed.

  I bit my lip and looked anywhere but him.

  “Cady,” he called.

  I forced myself to look at him.

  His eyes were shining. “Not like you got a mansion of shit to move, am I right? You said you live in a studio?”

  “All my stuff could probably fit in the back of your truck,” I admitted.

  “Then your next day off, we’re putting it in the back of the truck. Casey’s extra bedroom is empty, and if you need more space, we’ll use the basement. And you’re all good.”

  “You’ve already done so much,” I noted.

  “And I wouldn’t offer if I had a problem with doin’ more,” he returned.

  “Tony—”

  “Cady.”

  He cut me off saying my name but said no more.

  He really didn’t have to say any more.

  It wasn’t like Lonnie and Maria were my only friends (just my closest ones, and to be honest all the rest had grown distant—mostly because of Lonnie and Maria) but I had to work the next two weekends, my days off that week were Monday and Thursday, it was Tuesday. My other friends had real jobs and worked during the week. So unless I wanted to lose my shot at seventy-five bucks or ask for an extra day off, I had no choice but to lean again on Tony.

  “Pies,” I said. “Lots of ’em.”

  He reached out and touched my cheek, not a stroke, just touched the tip of his finger under the apple for not even a scant second. It was gone so quickly, it was like I imagined it.

  It still felt amazing.

  “So your next day off?” he asked.

  “Thursday,” I answered.

  He went into the kitchen, opened and closed some drawers and came out of one with a pad of paper and pen.

  He tossed them on the counter my way and said, “Address, Cady.”

  I moved to the counter and wrote down my address.

  “You are not gonna pay for that,” I declared what I thought was firmly.

  This I did before Tony handed twenty-five bucks to the pizza delivery guy and said to him, “Keep it.”

  “Thanks,” the guy muttered, didn’t even look at me and took off.

  Tony was holding the pizza and he was also closing the door.

  “Let me pay you back,” I said, wondering where my purse went.

  I didn’t have a lot of stuff but somewhere along the line my purse got lost in the shuffle of me getting moved in.

  That being me getting moved in with Tony’s help (this being me getting moved in with Tony doing most of the moving because he was bigger, stronger and super bossy, and part of that bossy was the clear indication he gave that he didn’t think women could do manual labor outside of standing around, pointing and saying, “I want that there”).

  “Don’t worry about it,” Tony replied as he moved the pizza box into the kitchen.

  “That’s your thank you for helping me move,” I told his back, following him. “So you can’t pay for it.”

  “Already did,” he told the kitchen, not looking back at me.

  “So let me pay you back.”

  “You paid me back by ordering it. I’m hungry and I hate calling to order. They put you on hold, like you got a year to order a pizza. We’re good,” he shared as he dumped the pizza on his friend’s kitchen table.

  “It’s not paying someone back to order a pizza, Tony.”

  His hazel eyes hit me. “It is when the person you’re paying back says it is.”

  With one look into those eyes I knew I was going to get nowhere with this argument.

  So I just whispered, “Tony.”

  “Cady,” he replied, giving me a crooked grin that stated plainly he liked winning and it made big, bad, possibly felonious Tony Wilson look boyish and cute, something that made me, pathological fuckup Cady Webster, an even bigger moron because I could live just for the promise of another of those grins.

  “I don’t even have beer,” I sniffed huffily, deciding to glare at him rather than think about how much I’d like to jump him (this an endeavor I’d been working at all day, we could just say Tony carting boxes and furniture was not hard to watch).

  “You got Coke in any of that shit I lugged around today?” he asked.

  I didn’t.

  Damn!

  He knew my answer without me having to verbalize it, grabbed the pizza to toss it in the oven and muttered while snatching up my hand (snatching up my hand), “Let’s go get some beer.”

  “I’m buying the beer,” I proclaimed, and on doing so he stopped dragging me to the door and looked down at me.

  “Which part about this aren’t you getting?” he asked.

  “Uh . . . what?” I asked back, apparently not getting any part of it.

  “Cady, I’m doin’ you a solid,” he shared. “Shit goes bad for you, you end up soused and alone in the Trench at Wild Bill’s fightin’ off two assholes then sittin’ on my tailgate bawlin’ your eyes out, and t
hen layin’ a load of shit on me that life saw fit to land on you. First, guys don’t like to see women fighting off assholes. Second, guys do not like it when life lands a load of shit on sweet girls who are just tryin’ to make a go of things. And last, and this one might be almost as important as the fighting off assholes thing, guys do not like women crying. Gonna share somethin’ about the brotherhood that might get me a demerit since I’m breaking the code and blabbing one of our secrets, but guys have no fuckin’ clue what to do when women cry even a little bit. They’re completely lost when a woman loses it and bawls herself sick. So if I gotta buy a pizza and a six-pack so you can stay on the right path and no other shit will hit where I gotta consider carrying a handkerchief, please, God, let me.”

  I wanted to kiss him.

  He was being funny to hide how sweet he was actually being and I liked both enough to lay a hot and heavy one right on him.

  But I couldn’t kiss him.

  So I glared at him again. “I’m not a crier.”

  His brows shot up over amused eyes. “Are you seriously laying that bull on me?”

  “Things were extreme,” I explained.

  “Yeah, I know, split the skin on one of my knuckles landing my fist in that guy’s face. So that didn’t really escape me,” he retorted.

  Again with the funny but also mingled with me feeling bad he split the skin of one of his knuckles for me.

  I did not remark on that.

  I stated, “And I didn’t bawl myself sick.”

  “It was close.”

  I arched a brow and put my free hand on my hip. “Are we getting beer or what?”

  That got me the crooked grin (yep, that grin made the world turn), a tug on my hand, and when he was dragging me to the front door, he answered, “We’re definitely getting beer.”

  I shouldn’t go get beer with Tony Wilson.

  I should serve him tap water with the pizza he bought, and as soon as he looked done with eating, shuffle him out the door and do my best never to see him again.

  But I went to get beer with Tony Wilson.

  I did this because it was coming clearer with each moment I spent with him that my life would never be the same if I never saw Tony Wilson again.

  I was not ready for that to happen.

  And something else far more alarming was coming clearer too.

  This being the feeling that I probably never would be.

  “So I’ll pick you up at nine.”

  It was after pizza and beer and get-to-know-you talk with a lot of banter and Tony’s teasing.

  Tony and I were standing at the door to my temporary new condo when he said that, confusing me.

  “Sorry?” I asked.

  “Saturday. Lars’s party. Pick you up here at nine.”

  I stared up at him.

  Was he asking me on a date?

  Tony stared back but his confusion was not the same as mine, I knew, when he asked, “Didn’t Maria tell you about it?”

  She’d called, left a message, but what with packing and avoiding her and all, I hadn’t had time to call her back. And she’d certainly call to invite me to a party.

  “Well . . . no,” I answered.

  “Right,” Tony stated. “Lars is havin’ a party. Saturday night. You said you worked seven to three thirty Saturday, three thirty to midnight Sunday. So you’re good to hit it and I’ll pick you up at nine so we can do that.”

  I tipped my head to the side, deciding to explore this concept but do it carefully. “So in your quest to make certain I don’t burst into tears again, you’re not only acting as a house hunter, mover and pizza buyer, you’re also my self-appointed chauffer?”

  To that, he had no response but to give me a lazy smile, lift a hand, touch the tip of his finger under the apple of my cheek, take his finger away nearly before he touched me and turn to open the door.

  He walked out of it, caught my eyes over his shoulder and said, “Saturday. Nine.”

  I guess that was that.

  And I honestly didn’t have any problem with that (outside of Lars and maybe seeing Lonnie and Maria, and there was of course the problem of Tony perhaps not being a guy I should allow myself to fall for).

  “Can I thank you for helping me move?” I asked as he started to turn and walk away.

  My question didn’t stop him from turning and walking away, but he responded, “Yup.”

  “Then thank you. Now can I thank you for finding this awesome pad for me?” I called to his departing back.

  “You can do that too,” he returned, not even glancing over his shoulder.

  “Then thank you again. Now can I warn you that I’m totally gonna find a way to give payback?” Now I had to kinda shout.

  He lifted his hand and flicked it out at the side.

  I didn’t know what to make of that and I had no chance to make anything of it.

  The evening shadows beyond his friend’s little courtyard swallowed Tony up and I lost sight of him.

  I still stood in the door, staring into the night after Tony, trying to talk some sense into myself and I did this for so long, the motion sensor light that illuminated the courtyard went out.

  I closed the door thinking of nothing but the fact I did none of the heavy lifting that day, I didn’t pay for the pizza or the beer, Tony was picking me up on Saturday at nine and I could still feel the touch of his finger on my cheek.

  In other words, I didn’t talk any sense into myself.

  Instead, I wondered how important it was in life to be sensible.

  And with Tony on my mind, I was coming to the conclusion the answer was . . . not much.

  “So what’s up with that?”

  I turned from openly watching Tony from my place planted in a spot in Lars’s living room, where I could see him standing talking to Lars in the kitchen, and I looked at Maria.

  “What’s up with what?” I asked but I knew.

  She hadn’t missed that Tony and I showed together and she really hadn’t missed that he was holding my hand when we walked in the front door.

  Now she was watching me closely in a way that didn’t say girlfriend-ticked-her-best-friend-didn’t-share-about-a-hot-guy. Instead, the way she was watching me made me feel funny, not with guilt that I hadn’t shared, in a way that was strangely scary.

  “When did you two become an item? And while we’re at it, how did you two become an item?” she pressed. “You’ve been living in a world of Sip and Save ambition, not around long enough to say hello much less find time to flirt with shady characters.”

  I found it odd that Maria would describe Tony as a “shady character” when, okay, he kinda was with the company he kept, but he was a super nice guy outside of that. And anyway, it seemed she dug hanging out with Lars and if there was a shady character to beat all shady characters, Lars was that.

  I lifted a shoulder, trying to shake the feeling I was getting from her. “We had a thing and I think he feels sorry for me.”

  “What kind of thing?” she asked.

  I licked my lips and rubbed them together, sliding my glance away.

  I hadn’t shared about Tony, which meant I hadn’t shared about The Trench either.

  “Cady,” she prompted impatiently.

  I looked back at her. “I got in a situation in The Trench when you guys were hanging with the Chaos guys. It wasn’t good. Tony showed and helped me out. I kinda lost it on him because my parents were being my parents, my landlord evicted me, my car was acting up, then that happened in The Trench and I was just done. I needed to unload and he was the closest one so he got it dumped on him. And now . . . well now . . .” I glanced back down the hall. “Well, now I think he’s worried I’ll fall off the deep end if he doesn’t look out for me.”

  “He wants in your pants.”

  My eyes shot back to her and I felt my heart start racing. “He doesn’t want in my pants. He’s just a nice guy.”

  “He’s not a nice guy, Cady. I don’t know what he is but he’s not a
nice guy,” she stated. “But first, you got evicted?”

  I gave her a stretched-mouth eek look, which pretty much was my way of putting my hands up and saying caught in the best-friend-not-sharing gig.

  “Babe, what the fuck?” she snapped.

  “I need to look out for myself,” I defended. “Shit is always going wrong for me. You and Lonnie have been there loads but I have to learn that I can’t lean on other people all the time.”

  “Wait, let me get this straight,” she started sarcastically. “You lookin’ out for yourself and not telling your best girl you got fuckin’ evicted is you leanin’ on some dude you don’t even know?”

  I moved closer to her and lowered my voice. “Maria, in The Trench he dropped two guys who were being seriously uncool with me.”

  “Good,” she shot back. “I’m glad. I’ll buy him a beer some day for helpin’ my girl out, a girl I’ll say right now didn’t share any of that shit with me. Her best friend. But just because he shows he might be one of the few decent ones who has a dick doesn’t mean you should trust some dude you barely know.”

  “He found me a place to stay while I’m sorting out my home situation.”

  She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, mumbling, “Totally wants in your pants.”

  “I don’t know what kind of guy he is really,” I admitted, and her eyes rolled back to me. “I just know he’s nice to me and it isn’t like what you think. He hasn’t made a move. He may hold my hand and a couple of times he’s touched my cheek but he’s not into me. He just, I think he’s just one of those guys who’s protective of chicks. Maybe he has a little sister or something and I remind him of her.”

  Though I was a little sister and my brother never held my hand and not only because he was an arrogant ass.

  “You know, you really need to clue in,” she returned, a flash in her eyes that seemed catty but it looked like it was chased with some kind of pain and that made my stomach lurch. “He wants to fuck you. Period. Dot. The end. And if you want that, then cool. Go for it. I bet he’s good. But, babe, you need to get with the program. I don’t know where your head is at half the time, but shit is happening all around you and if you don’t start lookin’ out for yourself better, Cady, I don’t see good things.”