“I know,” she says, rubbing her leg. “I wish I could let it go.”
“You can,” I tell her. “I’ve had to let go of a lot of my past because dwelling on it was only hurting me more. The now is what we can influence, and the future. We have to focus on that.”
“I want to ask Tyler about what happened,” she says.
“Don’t.” The word flies out of my mouth too quickly, and she flinches. “I just mean, if he wants to, he’ll talk to you, but don’t ask him. Don’t risk opening an old wound.”
“There you go, trying to protect someone you love,” she says eventually. “But what happens when protecting Tyler hurts me?”
“Then we’re all in a fucked-up situation,” I say.
“Maybe we are.” She sips her coffee again. “Can we listen to the radio?”
“Sure. Anything in particular?”
“Nah. Just put what you like.”
The station I choose plays country music, but I make sure it’s upbeat. Neither of us needs some old-timer singing about his woes.
Thinking over what she said, I know I need to challenge her black-and-white view. Spending time with Sandy today must help her see the potential in this relationship. I don’t want to be the one to fracture the fragile progress.
It’s not often that I feel I have life lessons to share, but right now, I do and as hard as it might be for me to open up, I have to try. “You know, Sandy. Sometimes the people we love hurt us, and sometimes we have to accept that they decided to do what was best for them at the time, like my brother. I practically raised that kid. I did everything I could to keep him safe. I fought for us to stay together, and I helped him to do well enough at school that he could have gone to college, but he chose to join the army, and now he’s overseas, risking his life. I was mad as hell at his decision. He’s the only blood family I have, and he made a decision that could end his life. But I can’t hate him for it. I can’t take that decision and turn it on myself. I have to see that it’s something he needs. In the end, we are all our own people. We can think about our impact on others, but we can’t always sacrifice what we need even if it’s going to hurt someone else.”
“I guess,” she says, staring out of the window. I don’t know if she believes what I’ve said or if she’s just avoiding getting too deep into the subject.
By the time we get to the mall, Sandy has finished her breakfast, and we’ve both had a chance to decompress from the serious conversation.
“You ready to hold some bags?” Sandy asks me, smiling in a way that feels like an apology. Not that she has anything to apologize for.
“Yes, ma’am.” I give her a mock salute that makes her laugh. God, I’d do anything to hear that again.
Sandy’s right. This is a fucked-up situation, but I’m going to try my best to make things right for everyone. The time has come to make Tyler realizes that if he really wants this beautiful girl, he’s going to need to tell her everything.
22
SANDY
Damien is a gentle giant. A man filled with more wisdom than I ever would have guessed—wisdom that is hard to hear, but I appreciate anyway.
As we make our way into the first store, I can tell he's uncomfortable being in the women's underwear section, and it makes me want to laugh and punch his shoulder for being so ridiculously cute. Instead, he's inspired my naughty side.
"What do you think of these?" I ask him, holding up a barely-there, sheer red thong with a row of diamantes at the back. They're tacky as hell, but probably most men's wet dream.
"Uh…" Damien's cheeks end up almost matching the underwear.
"Or this," I say, grabbing a black bralette and pantie set of delicate lace.
"Whatever you like," he stammers.
"How about you tell me what you like?" I say.
Damien shifts on his feet, his eyes darting, panicked around the racks like I've asked him to search for a single diamond in the Grand Canyon. I expect him to dodge my suggestion as he shoves his hands into his dark jeans, pulling the fabric across his tree-thick legs. I never asked him what position he played, but it must have been something in defense. With a body like that, he'd have been like facing a brick wall on the field.
I'm about to tell him I'm only joking when he notices something and makes his way across the store. I follow, fascinated when he picks up a cream satin bra and pantie set with just a simple bow to decorate them. It's plain but classy, something I would have chosen for myself. "This one," he says. "If you like it, that is."