The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,86
pregnant. My dad didn’t, though. When I was a teen, my dad drank and picked fights with me. I’d leave the house and meet up with friends to get wasted. But Sadie was always in the back of my mind. I knew, no matter how obliterated I wanted to get, I had to come home for my little sister. I didn’t want to leave her there alone, and she worried about me.”
“She kept you from going over the edge.” I glance at the flowers again. “Like Bell.”
He nods. “When Shana left, I just wanted to numb myself. Not going to lie, it wasn’t easy—raising a child, a girl no less, by myself while my heart was broken. Some nights, it got to be too much. I wanted to say fuck it, drop her off with a sitter, and go on a bender.”
“That’s understandable,” I say. “What matters is that you didn’t.”
“I got ‘the things I cannot change,’” he says, “because life doesn’t always go as planned, and that can be a good thing. There are things I can’t change, and it does me no good to try. I also got it to remind myself of what I avoided and how easy it is to go down that path.” He winks. “Plus, it hurt like a bitch. I made a deal with myself—if I ever get blackout drunk, I have to add a line the next day. Fortunately I don’t plan on it.”
“Aha. Pain therapy.” I smile and glance at the tattoo I’m most curious about—and most hesitant to learn about.
He squeezes my hand and lets go. “I got the rest before Bell. Stupid shit. Things I thought mattered.”
“Even this one?” I go to touch the illustration of an anatomically correct steel heart made of machine parts, like it’s the guts of a clock or car engine. Except that it’s a heart. He stops my hand. I look up at him. “What?”
He shakes his head a little. “I got that when Shana left.”
“So it’s not before Bell.”
“No.”
“What is it?”
“A hard heart. Steel. Can’t be broken.” He releases my hand, kisses my forehead, and gets out of the tub.
As he dries himself off and wraps the towel around his waist, I’m left standing there with most of my questions answered—yet somehow less informed. Steel casing seems appropriate right about now, considering I can’t seem to get through to him where Shana is concerned. I should leave it. We’ve been through a lot already. And yet, I’ve admitted to myself I care about him when I promised myself I wouldn’t. He made it clear he’s not emotionally available, and for the first time I wonder if it’s because he never wants to fall in love again, like he said, or if it’s because he’s still in it. “Andrew?”
He glances over his shoulder but doesn’t look at me. “Hmm?”
“Do you still love her?”
He pauses, but only for a second before he picks up his drink, downs the rest in one gulp, and then does the same with mine. “I don’t know. I did, but it’s been almost four years since I’ve seen her, so . . .”
Unfairly, my heart drops a little. I’ve been warned. I have no right to be upset if he still pines over his ex. I don’t understand it—I’ve never been tempted to give Reggie a second chance—but I don’t have to.
I realize I’m alone in the bathroom, standing knee-deep in cold water. I pull the stopper from the drain and change into a black cotton nightdress before I find him in the kitchen rinsing out the tumblers.
“What was she like?” I ask.
“Who?”
“Shana.”
“Oh.” He pauses. “Volatile.”
“And?”
He places a glass on the drying rack. “How specific do you want me to get? She’s a woman. Women have a lot of different person—” He stops, smartly so.
“What?” I ask tersely. “What were you going to say?”
“Nothing. They’re just complicated is all.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” I say. “Men are a fucking breeze.”
He wipes his hand on a dishtowel and turns to lean back against the counter. “Look, it’s really not worth getting into. I’m in a good place now. I don’t want to drudge up old shit.”
“Do you think it was easy for me to talk about Reggie?”
“No, but I’m glad you did. It’ll help the healing process. It’s better to be open about these things. I just can’t.”
I balk. “That’s unfair.”
“Maybe.”
That’s it. Maybe. “Why’d she leave?”
He crosses his arms. “How should I know? There was no note.”