You're to Blame(61)

She swings open the door, anticipating my arrival, and slugs me in the arm. I follow her inside.

“Your dick practically pants and drools in her lap every time she comes around, so why am I not surprised you’re bent out of shape at the news?”

At the mention of my dick, I wince.

“What were you thinking?” She bangs her palm against her forehead, disappointed in me.

“What am I thinking? Well, I’m thinking the girl is pretty spectacular, and perhaps I’ve gotten a little over my head.”

“You think?” Randy says, swaggering down the hallway.

“Oh, so this is a thing?” I glance between them.

“We aren’t talking about him and me.” She looks to Randy with tender eyes before addressing me. “How did you find yourself in this situation? Why couldn’t you just screw her and get it out of your system? Not fall for the girl.”

“I can tell you how. The girl looks like every kindergarten teacher in America. You’ve seen Coyote Ugly. Every red-blooded male has a toddler in his pocket,” Randy explains, sitting on the arm of the couch. He pulls out his pocket knife and fidgets with the end of the blade.

“You are a walking contradiction.” I shake my head. “But he has a point. It’s like I want to take care of her. Protect her.”

“You’re disgusting and a little insulting.” Lydia shakes her head. “A girl like Charlotte can take care of herself. She doesn’t need your ass to swoop in and fix everything for her.”

“Relax, babe.” Randy places a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think that’s what he means.”

“What I mean is, from the moment I laid eyes on her, she’s kept me captivated. Is it a crime?” I hiss.

“When it’s your pal’s girl, yeah, kind of.” Randy’s brow slants, disapproving of my actions.

I shove him in the chest. “Fuck you.”

Randy holds his hands up. He steps into Lydia’s side and wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her in the rest of the way. “I’m just saying you should have steered clear of this girl.”

“The second you looked at her at the bar, I knew this was going to be a train wreck.” Lydia shrugs. “But what’s done is done, and now you need to pull up your big boy panties and fix this shit.” She hugs me and ushers me to the door.

“You kicking me out?” I ask, stunned.

“Yes, I am.” She laughs. “I don’t give a shit where you go, but you aren’t staying here.” The door swings open, and I’m shoved out. “We’ll see you later,” Lydia shouts through the closed door.

What the actual fuck? So much for them helping me.

*****

The buzz of the gate echoes down the long driveway. This is a sound I’ll never forget, but never grow accustomed to. It’s the sound of control. Beyond the tall, black fence is my own personal hell I’m only willing to cross into when I really need a pick-me-up. I need a reminder of where I’ve been and where I’m still headed.

The crazy reality is, the place I am most out of control is also the place where I find my confidence in the choices I’ve made since I’ve left.

“Come here, my pretty little boy,” Dee shouts from the front door. She doesn’t step out but waves her hands for me to hurry inside. When I’m finally in front of her, she kisses both of my cheeks and holds me at arm’s length. “Aren’t they feeding you at that college? You’re too skinny. Eat a cheeseburger every now and then.”

Dee is my nanny. Well, technically, she’s no longer my nanny, but that isn’t something I’d say to her face. She’s in her late sixties, and funny as hell. When I was younger, she used to remind me, no matter how old I got, she would always be my nanny. She loves me like I’m her son. Growing up, hers was the only love I got.

“You do realize who you’re talking to, right?” I laugh, resting my arm across Dee’s shoulders. I know the drill and follow her into the kitchen.

“Now sit down, and I’ll make you lunch while you tell me why you came all the way out here.”

All I can do is laugh because, of course, she’s caught on to my motives. “It’s complicated,” I explain, resting my head on the cool marble countertop.

“Well, then, I guess I’ll be making my world-famous mac ‘n’ cheese, huh?” Dee pulls ingredients from the fridge. A soft chuckle escapes her mouth.

“Who in the world has tasted your cooking besides the people in this house?” I tease, thankful to be sitting in front of her.

“This isn’t the time to grow an attitude. You trekked your ass up here for advice. Now, shut up about my cooking, and explain to me what’s going on,” Dee demands.

I start from the beginning. No detail is spared, even the less than desirable parts.

“Wait, now, let me get this straight.” Dee pauses, slowly stirring the contents in the saucepan. “You went through all this drama for this girl?”

I nod and laugh. “Essentially.”

Dee’s left eyebrow lifts. “And you slept with her because you’re you, and you can’t help yourself. You’re like a damn dog with a bone.” Her boisterous laugh echoes through the kitchen, but I’m unmoved, knowing damn well the lady who spent every night of my childhood tucking me into bed, can smell my apprehension from across the island. “Well, I’ll be damned.” She shakes her head, placing a dish in the oven.