Wrecking Ball (Hard to Love 1)

“I said, I’m not promising anything.”

“Right. See you soon.” He’s speeding away before I can argue further.

Chapter Four

“Oh, this is a good one,” Amber announces cheerfully. She pulls a Law of Attraction book off the shelf and holds it up for my edification.

I was all set to put on my ‘no chance in hell I’m getting laid’ sweatpants and spend the day in bed feeling sorry for myself…and then I answered the phone. Mistake. Huge mistake. It took Amber all of five minutes to talk me into meeting her in the city for brunch.

After drowning my sorrows in a large order of French toast and two mimosas, I’m feeling marginally more optimistic. That’s why we decide to hit up the bookstore on our way back to her place. I’m in desperate need of guidance on how to resurrect my life from the ashes it’s presently in, and at this point I’m ready to try anything.

I’m busy scanning various titles when Amber hands me a book. I read the title out loud, “How To Reclaim Your Life And Your Orgasm.” If only that was my problem.

“I’m not looking for sexy times, dude. Look for a book titled ‘Your Husband Was A Crook, Your Life Is In The Shitter, This Is How You Fix It’.”

When I try to hand it back to her, my outstretched hand goes ignored. She pulls another book out by the spine. “I don’t have this one. How do I not have this one?”

My part bloodhound/ part Italian nose picks up a scent. “Ambs, you haven’t heard from Parker, have you?” Parker Ulysses Gregory, all around POS. Also her ex-fiancé, but that’s not my story to tell.

“Nope,” she answers without looking at me.

The orgasm book goes right back on the shelf. “If you have all of these, why don’t I just borrow them from you?” At the silence I’m met with, I glance her way.

“Have you officially lost your mind? If you end up losing or forget to return one, it will damage our friendship beyond repair…nope, can’t chance it.”

“Have I ever told you how weird you are?”

“All the time.”

Arms loaded with my new books, we get in line to pay. A middle aged woman with spiky red hair and dark burgundy lips struts by. She comes to a sudden stop and turns to face me.

“I know you.” The woman’s voice is loud enough that it garners the attention of everyone else waiting in front of us. Anxiety swamps me, a film of cold sweat breaking out over every square inch of my skin. I’m frozen in place while Amber starts inching closer. “You should go to hell for what you did.” I rear back as spittle flies out of the woman’s mouth. My face is suddenly on fire. She points a painted black nail at me. “Stealing all that money from those poor people––shame on you.”

Amber grabs the stack of books from me and plunks them down on a display table. Then she laces her fingers through mine. “Yeah? Why don’t you save us a seat when you get there, you decrepit bitch.” Then she takes my hand and drags me out of the store, empty handed but with a heavy heart.

“How do you feel?” A week later and Amber’s still wringing her hands and watching me with concern in her big eyes.

“Victimized––what else is new.” We grab our coats out of the employee lockers in the back.

“You want to crash at my place tonight?”

“No. I’m taking the ferry. I have Angelina’s Camry.”

“How is Ange?”

“Earning an Oscar nod for martyr, I mean mother of the year,” I reply with a sly grin. Amber chuckles because I don’t need to elaborate. She knows my mother well; she practically grew up in my house.

I don’t know when it started, this friction between my mother and me. Maybe it was when my father started spending all his free time following my softball career, maybe it was always there and steadily grew over the years. Regardless, my mother has always had a stealthy, passive aggressive gift for making me feel like I’m at fault for something, like I seem to constantly come up just short of her expectations.

“The bawls on him.”

I know exactly what she’s referring to. “Yeah, didn’t see that coming.”

Shaw actually looked remorseful the other night. These days I’ll take every single microscopic bit of satisfaction where I can get it. Watching that well developed ass squirm in discomfort was like early Christmas. We walk out the employee entrance and huddle closer, a blast of unusually cold March air chilling us to the bone.

“Aren’t you a little tempted?” Her hazel eyes are all over me, patient and kind.

I come from a long line of women that take stoicism to a whole other level. My parents never got to see how bad things really were for me. I tried as best I could to shield them from the worst of it. For them, I kept it together, while my deepest anguish, I reserved for Amber. She’s the only one that knows the magnitude of the damage inflicted. She’s the only one that knows about the anger and guilt I still carry around.