Aston.
“You? What the fuck is going on here?” Aston asked. I recognized the familiar flush on his cheeks, the dilated pupils. That was more and more common lately. I took a deep breath and reminded myself what all of this was for. Who all of this was for.
"Mr. Holder was leaving you his card.” I spoke the words slowly, through gritted teeth, already on edge.
"I'm the fucking computer nerd," Hammer said, his expression dark.
“And what were you doing?” Aston stepped forward, pulled me roughly by the wrist, his grip tight. “Spreading your legs for him?”
I tried to pull my arm from him but his grip was too tight.
And then Hammer intervened, positioning himself so that his body was wedged in between Aston and I. He didn't lay a hand on Aston or me, didn't need to. He just used the threat of his presence. "Get your fucking hands off her," Hammer said.
I smiled, the expression barely concealing my hatred of Aston. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Holder," I said. “If you would just leave us your business card, perhaps Aston could call you if he has any questions."
But Hammer didn't move, instead standing there protectively. I watched in disbelief as Aston stepped back from him. I'd never seen him concede to anyone before.
"Would you like to leave?" Hammer asked. I could see his eyes, imploring me to leave, to not stay with a man like Aston. He didn't understand the whole story.
I shook my head. "No," I said, my voice soft. "Now, please leave."
Hammer turned calmly. My heart raced as I wondered where Aston's private security was. I was surprised they weren't here already. I wanted Hammer out of here, before he got hurt. Before he made things worse for me.
"Get him the fuck out of here before I have him taken out of here in a body bag." Aston moved toward the bar, stumbling a little as he walked, pouring himself a drink. I wasn't sure if I was more nervous about what might happen to Hammer, or what was about to happen to me.
I followed Hammer to the door. He paused for a moment and looked at me with a mixture of pity and disappointment in his eyes. He thought I shouldn't be with Aston, that I was being abused. He thought I had traded myself for the trappings of luxury.
He had no idea.
"You should leave," he said, looking at me meaningfully.
"There's more to it than you think," I said. "You must not get involved."
I could see it, the inner turmoil inside him at my request to leave it alone. I could tell without knowing a thing about him that that wasn't the kind of man he was. He wasn’t the kind of man to stand by and watch someone get hurt.
"Wait," I said, my voice soft. I turned and glanced back into the penthouse. Aston had disappeared into the other room. I reached for my purse, and took out a pen and a slip of paper, writing on it before I handed it to him. "Here."
Hammer took it wordlessly, slid it into his bag. "If you need to get out of here…" His voice trailed off, his meaning implied clearly.
It was an invitation, one I could not take. I didn't know why I had given him my number, only that for some inexplicable reason, the thought of him leaving and me never seeing him again made me feel panicked inside.
I watched him walk away, my mind a whirl of activity. Then I closed the door gently, and turned back to the penthouse.
Later, when Aston had me face down on the bed, I thought the reality of my life was too difficult to accept.
I shook my head, trying to get her out of my thoughts after I left the penthouse. Meia. When that douchebag Aston had grabbed her, I had to keep myself from beating him to death. What someone like her was doing with someone like him was unfathomable.
Someone like her.
I had no fucking idea who she was. I needed to remind myself of that instead of getting distracted by what she looked like. Except it wasn’t just her looks. There was something else there, something about the way she carried herself. With purpose. Despite the bruises.
Whoever she was, it was none of my business. And whatever she had with that shithead, that was none of my business either. I just couldn't stop thinking about the bruises I'd seen, what that asshole might be doing to her. And why the fuck she was with him. Standing in between them, I wanted nothing more than to pick her up and fucking walk out of there with her. But something in her eyes stopped me. She had this panicked look, fearful, but it wasn't directed toward Aston. It was directed toward me. I didn't know why she was terrified at the thought that I'd get involved.
But I was going to find out.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she had looked at me when I took the picture from her. Or what I’d felt, arousal coursing through me, when her hand touched mine as she handed me the picture. And how shitty I felt even feeling that for someone other than April.
Even so, I took out the paper she'd written her number on; set it on the kitchen counter; and stole glances at it the rest of the day.
Days later, I couldn't get thoughts of her out of my head, yet I also couldn't bring myself to call her. The idea of a man like Aston, an asshole like him, treating her like that – hell, being with her like he was – made my blood boil. And the fact that I was so angered by who she was with made me concerned. What the fuck was wrong with me, that I gave a shit who this girl was with or what she was doing.
I needed to do something with all of the pent up anger, all of the rage and frustration I felt.
So I did what I’d been thinking about, what I’d been telling myself would just be unhealthy for me. Fuck it, I thought. Fuck healthy. Nothing I did was healthy now anyway. Not since April died.
I did the only thing I knew to do with all the rage. I called the club, and asked them to set me up with another fight.
The next week, I was starting to feel like I was spiraling downward, my anger was starting to consume me. Now that MacKenzie had gone back to Puerto Rico, I had no buffer against those feelings, that reminder from a child that there could still be good in the world.
The club was going to give me another fight, more than happy to have me beat someone's ass into the ground again. They were giving me a wide berth, not even broaching the subject of whether or not I would come out of retirement. But the fight wouldn't happen for a week, and I was feeling more and more pent-up inside.
And then MacKenzie called.
"How are you doing, daddy?" she asked. "Are you okay?" I felt unbearably guilty that she was asking how I was doing, when she's the one who had been depressed.
It was inexcusable.
"I miss you, baby," I told her. I should be there, I thought. I should move back with her, relocate to Puerto Rico permanently. It's what a good father would do. A good father wouldn't let his kid go back there, someplace so far away, without him, even if it was with April's family. Even if it was temporary. I should go back to Puerto Rico, and take care of MacKenzie. I should man up.
Except that there was that nagging thought in the back of my mind that if I went to Puerto Rico, I would only make things worse.
That's what the doctors had basically said, hadn't they? She needed to go back there, where she had a "supportive network of family," as they called it. She didn't need me around, not until she got better. She was seeing her old shrink, who was giving her positive progress reports.
She was doing great there without me. Amazingly, in fact.
"Daddy, I had so much fun today," she said, her enthusiasm bubbling up from within her, the way it used to when we lived there. I hadn't heard her like that, not in a long time.
"Tell me all the things you did," I said. "I want to hear about it."
"It was amazing, daddy," she said. "We rode horses this morning, out on the beach. Jenny is going to give me riding lessons. Did Grandma tell you that? It's going to be great."
As she talked, my thoughts drifted back a couple of months, to before all this had happened, before MacKenzie had talked about killing herself. She had begged me for a horse, and I'd told her no. She'd been obsessed with them, ever since we'd b
een out in Colorado. The therapist's explanation was because it was associated with her mom, probably the last thing she remembered. The whole time we were out in Puerto Rico, her grandmother had encouraged her fascination, said it would help her grieve.
Then I had moved her to Las Vegas and taken all of that away from her.
~ ~ ~
“Come on, daddy,” MacKenzie pleaded, batting her big blue eyes dramatically as she gripped my arm.
“No,” I said. “We just can't. Vegas isn't the kind of place where you can have a horse, Mac."
“But we could stable it someplace outside the city," MacKenzie said. “I'll take care of a horse. On the weekends, we can go out and you can watch me ride."
Martina, MacKenzie’s nanny, shook her head, tsk-tsking under her breath. “Mr. Holder, I can already see that look in your eyes. Who is going to take care of a horse? You work some weekends too." She snapped the ends off green beans and dropped them in a bowl. “I do not think this is a good idea.”
I looked at MacKenzie. “Martina has a point. Maybe we could start with something smaller, like a fish."
“Fish are not the same at all," MacKenzie said.
"No, they aren't," I agreed. "But you have to start small to learn responsibility. A horse is a major responsibility. More even than a puppy. We can't just buy a horse and then abandon it if you don't like doing all the things that come with taking care of it."
“Aww,” MacKenzie whined. “Come on.”
"Something smaller first," I said. "We can't just go get a horse. Besides, what will happen to a horse when you go back to visit grandma for the summer?"
"You'll take care of it," MacKenzie said. "Or Martina will."
Martina pulled a pan of lasagna from the oven. “I take care of children, not animals, I’m afraid. Besides, I won't stay during the summer when you go back to visit your grandmother. I have my own grandchildren I'll be visiting when they're out of school." Martina turned to me. “Are you sure you don’t have time to eat? You need to take care of yourself, Mr. Holder.”
“It smells good, Martina. And I’m really tempted. But I’m going to be late for work if I’m not careful.”
“Who’s going to keep you company when I’m gone?” MacKenzie asked. “You’re going to be all alone.”
"What are you talking about, MacKenzie?" I squatted down in front of her. "Where is this coming from, talking about when you're gone? The summer is a long way away."
MacKenzie shrugged, averted her gaze. "I don't know," she said.
I put my hands on her arms. "I promise I'll think about a horse," I said. "But we only just moved here and got settled in. I know you've been having a hard time adjusting to Vegas, and it might seem like getting a horse will make everything easier, but I don't know that it will. We need to get adjusted before we think about anything like that."
MacKenzie sighed. "I don't want you to be sad again."
Shit.
That was the last fucking thing MacKenzie needed to worry about, at her age. After all the shit she had already had to deal with, with losing her mom.
I squatted down in front of her, my face close to hers. “MacKenzie,” I said. “You don’t need to worry about your old man. The summer is a long way off, and I'll be just fine here when you're visiting grandma. Horse or no horse."
"Are you sure you're going to be okay when I'm gone?" she asked.
"Kiddo, I am going to miss you like crazy. But I’m going to be just fine,” I lied. I didn't want to think about her leaving for the summer. It hurt to think about it, her going back to Puerto Rico, but I knew she missed her grandmother immensely. I knew she was having a hard time adjusting. We'd started seeing a therapist, and the therapist said it was normal to have difficulty, but that MacKenzie was exhibiting signs of depression.
I made a mental note to ask the therapist if she thought the horse would help her. I'd do whatever it took to help her adjust. Hell, if I needed to buy a horse to do it, I'd buy that kid a horse. She'd been through too much already.
And then, on top of all the shit that had happened, to have her mention that she was worried about me and whether or not I'd be okay next summer...that just killed me. It wasn't right. It sure as shit wasn't normal that a kid would have to be worried about whether or not her dad was okay.
"Enough worrying about your old man, kid,” I said. “I miss your mom like crazy, and I know you do too. But I’m not sad like I was before. Okay? You don’t have to worry about me.”
I kept my voice calm, bright.
Reassuring.
At least I hoped I sounded more assured than I felt.
Because, the truth was, I sure as shit didn't feel calm or bright. Things weren't the same without April. For MacKenzie or for me.
I looked up to see Martina studying me carefully, her lips pursed and her brow furrowed. She obviously wasn’t sure about me either. I couldn’t exactly blame her. I tried to keep shit together, but I think sometimes she saw through the cracks in the facade.
“Okay, dad,” MacKenzie said. “We can talk about a horse later. Can I watch TV now?"
I smiled. Conversation over. Crisis averted.
“After your homework is done,” I said. “For an hour.”
“My homework is totally done already! So I can watch TV, right?” She raced toward the living room without waiting for a response.
“No!” I yelled, as I turned to leave. “Martina will check your homework first!”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Holder, I’ve got her,” Martina said.
“Thank you, Martina,” I said. “This shouldn’t take that long anyway.” I called out to MacKenzie as I walked into the garage. “Love you, Mac!”
“Yeah, dad,” she said, dismissing me.
The door closed behind me, and I let out a sigh. She didn't want me to be sad again. I made a mental note to tell the therapist about that. I needed to earn her confidence in me as a father. I made a vow that, above anything else, I would do that. I would her feel safe. I would make her feel confident in me.
~ ~ ~
MacKenzie's voice shook me back to reality, and I tried to shake off the memory. Instead, it sat with me, weighty on my mind, even as MacKenzie talked about how well school was going.
"Okay, daddy," she said. "I have to go. It's time for dinner."
"I love you, MacKenzie," I said. "Always."
"Totally, dad," she said. Then she paused. "Thanks for letting me come here."
"You're welcome, baby." I said the words, even as it gutted me to hear that from her. I wanted her happy, but hearing her so happy to be away from me, it just made me feel more and more like a failure as a father.
"Love you daddy," she said. "Got to go."
She hung up before I could say the words back to her, but I spoke them to the empty house as I heard the call end. "I love you, too."
Later, much later, I sat in the bedroom, wallowing in my bullshit guilt and rage. I'd replayed things over and over in my head, convinced that at some point I could have changed things, done things differently, made it so that April hadn't have been killed.
All of the "if only" thoughts, they would kill me.
I felt the heavy burden of guilt. Guilt for my failures as a father. And above all else, guilt for April's murder. All of it was my fault. April had been too good for someone like me. She never deserved my brand of shit.
April had stood by me when I went to the federal pen for embezzlement, because I got stupid and cocky enough to steal from my employer. Well, stupid enough to get caught anyway. I was young and foolish. I was a helluva lot better at what I did now. And now, I was doing the same shit on the right side of the law. I was trying to make up for lost time, trying to redeem myself for all the wrongs I'd done, the things that resulted in April's death.
I knew all of these things, felt deeply guilty for them. And yet...when I'd visited the club, there was a part of me that missed it. Part of me wanted to tell the club I was back and out of retirement, ready to do what was needed
. There was a dark part of