I cringe at her remorseful expression and shake my head in disappointment.
“I don’t know… maybe just one thing at a time. I’m trying here, doesn’t that count for something?”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me! Did I count for something for the last twenty years while I watched you drink and cheat your life away? Did I count when I was pegged in the fucking head with countless objects? Or how about when Dad killed himself and you went to the funeral drunk? When the fuck did I count?”
I watch her wipe the tears that run down her tired, beaten face as she sits there trembling. I don’t know if it’s what I said or the withdrawals that are causing her to shake, but I’ve seen enough. I want out of here.
“Where are you going?” she whimpers. “At least take this with you.”
I turn and stop to eye over the folder she has in her unsteady hand.
“Why? What is it?”
“Everything. His company, his house, his bank accounts, all of it. I’m giving it to you.”
“What the fuck? Why?”
“Because it’s the only way I know how to start over… and because he should have left it to you. I’ve made too many mistakes, and the truth is, underneath it all I loved your father, but I was also addicted to hurting him. I don’t know why, but when he took his life, he took everything I loved with him… except you.”
I understand it all too well, the addiction of wanting to hurt the person you love, and hearing her say it tells me I’m not much different then she is.
“I don’t want this stuff,” I say, handing her the folder. “I never wanted any of it. All I’ve ever wanted is to leave this place. Just get on the back of Pax’s bike and go.”
“Then at least take the money, Kirsten. Bless the world with your spirit and your compassion. Buy a seaside cottage somewhere and start a family with Pax, or open a bar that isn’t hidden in a shed.”
“Really?” I ask, both shocked by her genuine tone and the fact she knows about the Club.
“Yes, Kirsten, really… I want you to do what makes you happy.”
I laugh at the irony of her words.
“That’s just it, Mom… I already am, I have Pax. But maybe I’ll visit from time to time, and we can look back and laugh about the time I sucked Gabe’s dick.”
Her face goes cold and her jaw drops as she fumbles, reaching for her glass of water and I cover my head.
Some things will never change.
Twelve
Two Years Later…
The smell of the ocean is strong as I sit on the porch taking in the morning breeze.
Our house is small but it’s ours, it’s a fixer-upper because we wanted to build something, we could be proud of, that plus it has a wicked view. A sight that never fails to take my breath away.
“Put your arms out, hold them up like this, so you can catch the ball,” Pax babbles, showing Liv what he means.
Liv lifts her stubby arms above her head and giggles, not yet quite understanding what she’s supposed to do.
“Not up in the air, silly,” Pax laughs. “Like this, see, so Daddy can throw the ball to you.”
“She’s only two, Pax, maybe give it another year… I don’t think Olivia wants to be a football player just yet,” I point out.
“And why not?” he asks, now spinning her in the air. “This little monkey can be anything she wants, isn’t that right?” he finishes, now pretending to bite her porky little belly as she squeals in his arms.
I love watching them together, and I don’t think I’ve put the camera down once in the last year since we adopted Liv. She’s beautiful and full of life, reminds me of her daddy. Especially with the way he’s already got her little paws hooked on learning the ins and outs of the motorcycle.
The look on her pudgy face is priceless when her big blue eyes become all fascinated with the sound the bike makes when Pax starts it up. It’s the first thing she wants to explore in the morning, not that I blame her. She’s a thrill seeker. Like her momma.
I’m positive he’s only distracting her with the ball as a way to make sure today goes smoothly, no tantrums when he shuts the bike off.
“Okay, you two, times up!” I remind. “Help daddy put the deflated football away and hop in the van. We still have a forty-minute drive ahead of us.”
“Yes, Mommy!” Pax says in his sweetest Liv impression. “Grab the ball, monkey, that’s it,” he praises, making airplane sounds pretending she’s flying over the ball.
I load the last of the luggage into the trunk and slide the side door open for Pax. He has a slight obsession about making sure she’s properly strapped into her car seat.
I climb in the passenger side, laughing to myself about the conversation we had last year just before the adoption was finalized.
I’d come home from a shift one night from the beachside bar Pax and I opened when we first moved out here. It’s not far from our counsellors office in the center of town.
The bar has become a hotspot, and it’s so happening we ended up having to hire extra hands to help us maintain it on the weekends.
I could tell Pax was antsy one night, not quite into it, so he’d left early. I remember him mumbling something about wanting to make sure we had everything in place for the then one-year-old girl we’d fallen in love with at the local orphanage.
Needless to say, I walked home along the beach when my shift was over to find Pax growling
