Reckless: A Bad Boy Musicians Romance Read online

  ‘So why New York?’ I ask.

  ‘I wanted somewhere big. Somewhere famous, you know? Bright lights, big city. Somewhere I might be able to make a name for myself, dumb as it sounds. And besides, the ticket to New York cost less than the ticket to LA. It was all I could afford.’

  I can’t imagine doing that. It was hard enough to imagine going to college in-state, just a couple of hours’ drive from Eden, but the idea of uprooting myself on a whim and moving to be alone in a city like New York… I’m not sure I could have done it, even if I didn’t have Mom and the diner.

  A fresh start. It sounds so tempting, until you realise just what it involves, and just what you have to give up along the way.

  ~~~

  An hour later, the last of the bags has found its new forever home in the municipal landfill just outside Hogarth. Hale dusts off his hands as the truck is finally unloaded.

  ‘All done?’ I ask.

  He grins at me. ‘All done. I almost can’t believe it’s really over. All I need to do now is sort out selling the trailer, and that’s it. I’m officially free.’

  I do wish he didn’t sound so happy about it, but there’s not a lot I can do about that. I can’t begrudge him a little joy at finally putting his demons to rest. It’s what he wanted all those years ago, what he’s always wanted: a way out. A new life.

  ‘So,’ he says as he lets himself into the passenger seat of the truck, ‘how am I supposed to thank you for this?’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Helping me out. Letting me use your truck.’

  ‘Pete’s truck. And seriously, don’t mention it.’

  ‘Dinner?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Let me take you out to dinner. You know, while I’m still in town. We can catch up properly, and I can say thanks for your help.’

  I shrug. ‘You really don’t need to…’

  ‘I know I don’t need to. I want to. Come on, Carrie… when was the last time you went out to eat? An actual meal? Somewhere you don’t own, and with tables that aren’t made out of formica?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with –’

  He shoots his hands up like I just pulled a gun on him. ‘I know, I know. It’s all good. I just want to take you out to say thanks for helping me. Properly. Over dinner. Just the two of us. Are you going to let me, or are we going to have a fight about it?’

  I smile. ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘I mean, if you absolutely must.’

  ‘Tonight? Say, eight?’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  That’s the last it’s mentioned until I drop Hale off at the trailer – I don’t want to jinx it by talking about it, in case he changes his mind – but as soon as I’m on the long straight road back to Eden, I roll down the window, crank up the volume, and enjoy the ride.

  2006

  My parents are awake when I get home from the Stop ‘n’ Shop, my father in boxers and a t-shirt, my mother in a nightdress. When I saw the light on in the living room, I had braced myself for a complete shitstorm, but the frosty reception I got was even worse. I could have dealt with them being angry, but what I got instead was just unbearable.

  They barely look at me.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ I say, ‘and I didn’t mean to worry you. I didn’t think you’d wake up.’ Somehow, I get the feeling that’s not going to earn me any prizes, but at least it has the benefit of being the truth. They deserve that much.

  There’s a long, awkward silence, and then my Mom speaks first. ‘Are you hurt?’ she asks.

  I look down, and see the large red splotch on my shirt: Hale’s blood. It looks like I’ve been stabbed in the kidneys. ‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m not hurt.’

  ‘It was that boy, wasn’t it?’ she asks. ‘That Hale boy.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘The troublemaker.’

  ‘He’s not a troublemaker.’

  ‘Oh really? Because it sure doesn’t look like that from where I’m sitting.’

  ‘He needed help, Mom,’ I say. ‘What was I supposed to do?’

  She doesn’t reply, instead just shaking her head sadly. ‘I’m going to bed, Walt,’ she says, bypassing my question altogether. ‘You deal with this. I can’t even look at her tonight.’

  Mom walks out of the living room and up the stairs like a ghost. Even at her angriest at me, I’ve never been the victim of the silent treatment before. If anything, it’s even worse than the shouting. It still doesn’t happen often, the yelling, but at least over the years I’ve managed to build up some tolerance to it.

  And then there’s Dad, still sitting on the couch. Biding his time. Waiting for me to explain myself.

  ‘Dad, I…’ I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry? Well, I’m not – not really, anyway. I’m sorry for worrying them, and I’m sorry for sneaking out, but… well, what was the alternative? Leave him there?

  ‘Don’t try and get around me tonight, kiddo,’ he says. ‘I’m on her side on this one. Completely.’

  ‘Are you mad?’

  He pauses for a second, thinking it over now the relief of having me back safe has had a chance to sink in. ‘Honestly? Yes. I’m downright furious. I’m mad at you for sneaking out in the middle of the night, and I’m mad at him for asking you to. But I could deal with being mad. Most of all – worst of all – I’m disappointed in you, Bug.’ All of a sudden his voice is heavy, as though he’s tired from something a lot worse than the lateness of the hour. ‘I thought you knew better than this. You worried me and your mother half to death, and then you come home covered in blood? What are we supposed to think, eh?’

  ‘It wasn’t like I planned it.’

  ‘Well, maybe you should have.’

  ‘I left a note.’

  ‘I know. I saw. That’s the only reason we didn’t have the police out looking for you. But it doesn’t make what you did OK, Carrie.’

  ‘Dad, please,’ I say. ‘Tell me. What was I supposed to do? What would you have done if it was Mom who called up asking for help? Would you have just let her stay there all by herself?’

  Dad doesn’t speak for a while; I can tell that he’s digesting what I’ve said, turning it over and over in his mind, trying to see if it’s a decent argument. Maybe it is. Maybe the realisation that if he was in the same situation he would have done just what I did has hit home.

  Maybe, maybe.

  ‘We can talk about this in the morning,’ he says softly, eventually.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Kiddo, I don’t think you’re in much of a position to be making demands.’

  ‘You’re only saying that because you know I’ve got a point. I want to talk about it now. I want an answer. What would you have done in that situation, if you were sixteen and you got a call that Mom was in trouble?’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You know why.’

  ‘Because I’m a girl?’

  ‘Carrie…’

  ‘That’s it, isn’t it? Because I’m a girl, you think I’m not capable of taking care of myself, and that’s just… shit, Dad. I know. Language. But it is. You remember when I was little, and you told me I could do anything that the boys at school could do, and twice as well as them?’

  ‘Yeah, I remember.’

  ‘Well, there you go. Someone needed me.’ I point to the blood stains on my shirt for proof. ‘It’s not like I snuck away to make out with him. He was hurt, and he had nowhere else to go. I helped patch him up, and then I took him home.’

  His brow furrows immediately, his furry eyebrows suddenly looking like two caterpillars squaring up for battle.

  ‘You went to the Grove? At night?’

  ‘Mostly.’ Hale wouldn’t let me take him all the way. About a quarter of a mile down the road, he told me to stop and said he’d walk the rest of the distance by himself. I tried to fight him on it, but he was adamant. I explain all of that to Dad, which helps a little, but
I can tell it’s not enough to put his mind at ease.

  ‘Jesus, Carrie… what if something had happened to you?’

  ‘What if something had happened to him?’ I say. ‘Something worse than what already did? What would I have done then? How guilty would I have felt?’

  Dad lets out a long sigh, and for better or worse I know that means I’ve got through to him. ‘You really like this boy, don’t you?’ he asks.

  ‘Yeah. I really do.’

  ‘Even after all this?’

  ‘Even after all this.’

  Neither one of us says anything for a while after that. He just sits there on the couch, occasionally running a hand over his face; a day’s worth of stubble, prickly under his fingers. When I was a kid and he hadn’t shaved for a day, I used to refuse to let him give me a goodnight kiss sometimes, and he’d grab me shrieking with laughter from under the covers and rub his chin against my cheeks. The Cheese Grater, he called it, and I was the cheese. His Swiss Miss. His Little Gorgonzola. His Darling Provolone.

  You know. Back when things were simpler. Back before I grew up.

  ‘You know, it’s the damnedest thing,’ he says at last. ‘When I found out your mom was pregnant with you, I was terrified. Never been more scared of anything in my life.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. I guess because for the first time I really had to worry about someone other than myself. I mean, I worried about your mom, obviously, but that was different. She’s always been fierce. She could always look after herself. But when I found out I was having a little girl – and I knew you were going to be a little girl, somehow; don’t ask me how – I just got this horrible feeling that I was going to have to constantly be on the lookout for things that might hurt you. That that was going to be the rest of my life from then on.’ He pauses. ‘Not that I regret it, of course. Seeing you grow up has given me some of the happiest moments in my life. And when you were a kid, you were a real peach. Never caused any trouble, never made a fuss. Always worked hard, got good grades. I got to thinking that maybe I’d been worrying over nothing.’

  ‘Dad…’

  ‘No, Bug. Hear me out. You know, they don’t give you an instruction manual when you become a father. No one tells you just what you’re supposed to do and how you’re supposed to do it. You just sort of… muddle through, best you can. Even when it’s hard. Even when you don’t really know what you’re doing. And I thought, for a couple of years, that I had a pretty good grasp on things. I thought I was doing OK.’

  ‘You were. You are.’

  He smiles. ‘Nah, kiddo. I was doing OK. But somewhere along the way, I stopped being the father to a little girl, and I started being the father to a young woman. A woman who’s got her own risks to take, and her own mistakes to make. It’s a whole new ballgame, it really is. You’re going to have to give me some time to get used to that. Your mother, too.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But don’t think you’re getting off lightly from this, kiddo. Just ‘cause I don’t think you were completely in the wrong, it doesn’t mean you get a pass.’

  ‘So… what happens now?’ I ask.

  ‘No more sneaking out,’ he says. ‘You’ve got to promise me that.’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘If something like this comes up, you come and tell me. Even if you have to wake me up. But you don’t go out after midnight by yourself, no matter what. No exceptions. Got it?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And you’re grounded for a week.’

  ‘Dad…’

  ‘Don’t Dad me. You might have done it with good intentions, but you still broke the rules, and there’s got to be some pushback for that. I think a week is fair, don’t you? Given how much worse it could have been?’

  I nod. I’m not happy, but I can live with that.

  ‘And you invite him and his folks over sometime. I want to meet them both.’

  I pause. ‘That’s… I don’t think I can do that.’

  ‘And why’s that?’

  So I tell him. I tell him all of the stories Hale told me, of the way his dad treats him. The cigarette burns. The belt-whippings. Every bruise, every scratch, every scar. I try not to embellish it, but I don’t feel like I have to; the truth of it is bad enough. Now I’ve seen it for myself.

  Dad doesn’t react much while I tell him everything. He just sits there on the couch, one hand at his mouth, taking it all in. ‘Jesus,’ he says at last, once I’m finished. ‘This boy of yours has had kind of a tough run of it, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah, he has.’

  ‘OK,’ he says. ‘So maybe we don’t need to meet his dad. But we sure as hell need to meet him if you’re going to go running off like this. Invite him over for dinner on Sunday.’

  ‘What’s Mom going to say?’

  He smiles. ‘Probably nothing that’s fit for your young ears, but don’t worry about that. I’ll get her to give him a chance.’ Dad stops for a second, and suddenly his eyes get all serious. ‘But it’s just a chance,’ he says. ‘From both of us, not just her. This isn’t me giving my approval, and he’s still got a long way to make up for tonight. But everyone deserves a decent shot at a first impression.’

  The idea of Hale meeting my parents – especially over one of my Mom’s homecooked dinners – is nuts to me. He’s always had that wild, untamed, bad-influence vibe about him that drives me crazy, but… well, it’s a little difficult to picture him asking Mom to pass the mashed potatoes. It’s even harder to imagine her not glaring at him while she does it.

  Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe when my parents meet Hale, they’ll see him the way I see him. Sweet. Kind. Charming. Sure, maybe he’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s Hale, for God’s sake. How could anyone not love him?

  Then again, how could anyone bear to do to him what he says Aaron Scanlon and his boys did in the parking lot of the Stop ‘n’ Shop?

  He says, I correct myself. Of course they did it. I saw the damage they did. I cleaned his wounds, felt his bones pop back into place. I’ve known Aaron since I was little, went to grade school with him. He’s always been mean, but that’s a new level of cruelty.

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ I say. I’m surprised by just how much I mean it. Before I can stop myself, I’ve wrapped my arms around him and given him a hug in a way I haven’t since I was a little girl.

  ‘What was that for?’ he asks when I finally let him go. ‘Not that I’m complaining, obviously.’

  ‘Just… you know. For giving him a chance.’

  He smiles. ‘Well, I’m no fool, kiddo. I know if I didn’t you’d just want to see him all the more. This way, at least I can try and manage things a bit. Keep you safe and on the straight and narrow for as long as I can.’

  ‘And you’ll talk to Mom?’

  ‘I’ll do my best. No promises.’ He stretches, and then stands up. ‘That’s enough excitement for me tonight. I’m going to bed. And you should too.’

  ‘I will. And really… thanks, Dad. I think you’re going to really like Hale. He’s a good guy, no matter what it might look like.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he says, just before he closes the door behind him. ‘But that’s the thing you’ve got to ask yourself, Bug. He might seem like that now, but a year from now is this Hale boy be a good deal still, or is he going to be a mistake that you should have seen coming?’

  He doesn’t wait for my answer, which is convenient, because for the first time since I met Hale I don’t know what my answer would be.

  Chapter Twelve

  The evening seemed to take forever to arrive.

  I couldn’t ever remember being so impatient for a day to pass by; by the time he made it from his bike to my front door I was already there and waiting for him. I was just as pleased to see that he’d dressed up for the occasion, just as I had. I was wearing just about the only nice dress I owned – a cute little navy blue number I’d just about been able to afford, back in
the days when the restaurant was still doing OK. I was surprised I still fit into it. It wasn’t that I’d put on weight – it was hard to, running around like a madwoman in the diner, no matter how greasy and carb-laden the food was – but it had been a long time since I’d last had an opportunity to dress up. It was a shame. I looked good, I had to admit. The only thing that remotely spoiled the whole look was the small blue band aid on my palm, but somehow I got the feeling he wouldn’t object to that too much. If my dress was doing its job properly – and a look in the mirror told me that it most definitely was – then he’d barely even notice.

  But he almost managed to outdo me.

  I could never have imagined Hale at sixteen looking quite so at ease in a button-down shirt and slacks – thinking back to it, it was hard to imagine him wearing anything dressier than that old, ratty leather jacket – but the figure outside my door looks like he’s just escaped from the pages of a luxury menswear catalogue.

  ‘Wow,’ he says when he sees me, which is always a good sign. ‘I mean, really, wow. Carrie, you look…’

  I give him a twirl in the doorway and follow it up with a goofy smile. ‘It’s OK, you can say it,’ I say. ‘Magnificent? Ravishing?’

  ‘Beautiful. You look beautiful.’

  And suddenly, just for a second, the smile on my face isn’t so goofy after all.

  ‘You’re not doing badly yourself, Mister. You even ditched the jacket.’

  He grins. ‘Wanted to make a good impression. How do I look?’

  ‘Oh, it’s working. A solid B-plus.’

  ‘I’ll take it. Ready to go?’

  ‘You bet.’

  There aren’t really a lot of options for fine dining in Eden – if anything, the Red Rose Diner is one of the classiest options – so I’m not surprised when Hale announces that we’ll be spending the evening at Isabella’s, the closest thing Eden has to a fancy restaurant. Isabella’s is a real local institution: run by an old Polish couple, it’s about as far from a genuine Italian as Dallas is from Rome, but its red-and-white chequered tablecloths and corny wine bottle candles have made it stand out on the corner of Cypress and Penbrook for almost forty years. Isabella’s has seen more celebrations and sadnesses than just about any building in town, with the possible exception of the church, but even that would probably be a close call. When my parents got engaged, it was over a plate of Wilma Zielinski’s fettucine.