12 - Never Ever Getting Rid of Me

The music at the bar was blaring some song he didn't recognise, the bass thumping through the floorboards and filling his chest in a way that brought attention to how empty it had been for the last several months. While he'd been able to focus on his training it hadn't been quite so obvious, but with training over and nothing but time on his hands before the real work began in a few days, the hollow space was troubling.

He was able to ignore it for the three days he'd spent at his parents' home. There were too many family members there demanding his time and his attention for him to have a moment to reflect on what - who - wasn't there.

But now?

A few times over the course of his training, Carlos had been pumped about a new achievement and a pang of desire, of longing for his best friend, shot through him. He wanted to share his wins with her now just as much as he had when she'd been two feet away. But that wasn't fair to her. She deserved a life where she could be in a relationship with a guy and not have him casting Carlos a side eye every other minute because he was suspicious of his intentions.

The break was as much for Steph's happiness as it was to escape the hurt he'd inflicted on himself by allowing himself to fall in love with her. He hoped she had been able to move on and was now living her life with all the enthusiasm that had first drawn him in. He hoped she was aware that even in his absence, he still loved her. He would always love her

But it was the love that had burned a hole in his chest, leaving a space for the cacophony currently pressing in on him to bounce around.

He rubbed his chest in a vain attempt to ease the sensation and the feelings it brought along with it, and focused back in on Tank. Over the course of their Basic Combat and Advanced Individual training, they'd gotten to know each other quite well, becoming firm friends and a formidable team no matter what they were up against. Some of Carlos's most notable achievements over their training period had been thanks, in part, to Tank's steady, calming presence, keeping him anchored in the present moment. As the weeks wore on, Carlos was able to clear his thoughts of Steph from his mind for himself more and more, but Tank always seemed to know when Carlos needed distraction.

Like right now.

He was in the middle of a yelled conversation with Smithy and Fredericks, two of their fellow recent graduates, when he flicked his gaze to his friend - in particular, where the heel of Carlos's palm pressed to the centre of his chest - and smoothly steered the conversation to fully encompass him in the interaction.

"You know what you need, Manoso?" he grinned, clapping his huge hands over Carlos's shoulder and squeezing to the point just shy of discomfort.

Carlos let out a slow and deliberate breath, focusing on the squeeze of Tank's hand and allowed a smile to tug one corner of his lips up. "What?"

"A distraction." Tank used his grip to turn Carlos around and leaned down close to his ear to add in what might have been a whisper if the noise in the bar allowed for such a thing, "A hot, curly-haired distraction."

Carlos's heart stuttered as he laid eyes on her. Long, pale, elegant limbs offset by a little black dress that shimmered when she shifted her weight on impossibly high heels. Her back was to him, but a riot of chestnut curls held his attention in a very familiar and distracting way as he pictured the tresses tangled around his hands as he guided her mouth to where he wanted it, just the right angle, just the right pressure. His jeans suddenly felt impossibly tight.

Smithy snorted and took a long pull from his beer. "Twenty bucks says she doesn't give him the time of day."

Visions of that final night back at college, and the party he'd shown up late for, flashed through Carlos's mind and he was almost inclined to say Smithy was right. Steph had given up plenty of her time to be with him over the years, but none of it in a romantic way. Not for him. Despite his ill feelings, though, he continued to stare at the woman across the bar until she turned and his rapture was broken. The silhouette was off. Nose too large. Cheeks too round. Chin jutting at just the wrong angle. And her eyes. The same insipid brownish grey of the dishwater at the end of mess duty.

It wasn't Steph. Not his Babe.

Carlos shook his head dismissively, reaching for his still full beer and downing it in three unhurried gulps. He turned back to the table to face the teaching Smithy and Fredericks were dishing out. Smirks were passed around, along with goadings, and implication for the state of his erectile function. He just stood there and took it as quietly as he had any other roasting his friends had thrown his way in the time he'd known them.

"Give him a minute," Tank finally said, his booming voice drowning out the others. "The night's still young. And you don't gain the trust of a skittish animal by grabbing hold too soon. Manoso needs time to work his magic."

Carlos disagreed. He wasn't planning on taking a woman home that night. Especially not some store-brand Stephanie Plum rip-off. Tank and the other guys could pick up all the women they wanted. Hell, they could take the curly-haired brunette home with them and he wouldn't have cared. He wasn't going to cheapen his feelings for Steph by sleeping with a poor substitute.

His determination was legendary among the group, and the set of his jaw had them trailing off and turning their attention back to the pool table they were gathered around instead. But by the end of the night, with perhaps a few too many drinks under his belt, Carlos's resolve had weakened and he no longer cared so much about honouring his best friend. After all, she was probably back home sharing the parts of herself that she'd never allowed Carlos to see with Dickie or whoever the fuck else she'd moved on to.

What was the point in keeping his chest hollowed out for her when she was seizing life by the horns and taking what she wanted. It was time for Carlos to take what he wanted.

Ignoring the way Smithy bumped against him as he was making out with the woman in his lap, Carlos travelled his gaze over the bar's occupants until he found her again. Despite his decision earlier, he'd found his gaze drawn to her throughout the evening, like a moth to a flame. He was ready to burn. To have his thoughts cleansed by the fire of a passionate moment.

He sucked in a breath, watching the woman bend over the table she and her friends were seated around to place a fresh drink in front of a sloppy-looking blonde that was clearly the centre of whatever celebration had driven them to the bar. The little black dress, almost too-short to begin with, rode up to reveal a scintillating glimpse of the curve of one plump ass cheek as she reached, and Carlos had to bite back a groan, his pants becoming uncomfortable.

Adjusting himself, he stood from the booth. Tank cut his attention away from where he was regaling Fredericks with the story of the time he found a stray cat and managed to hide it in his room for a month before his parents discovered it. Carlos just gave the big man a reassuring pat on the shoulder and jerked his head toward where the woman was in a fit of laughter with her friends, ass still in the air like an open invitation. How many times had he been tempted to caress Steph when she posed like that in front of him?

A vivid memory of their time at the beach flashed through his mind. He was sprawled on the sand, pretending to watch a group of young women around their age as they splashed in the shallow waves. But behind his dark sunglasses, his gaze was glued to Steph as she strode across the sand with two hot dogs from the stand on the edge of the boardwalk. She wore a tiny bikini, and after a summer spent outside as much as possible to counteract the long hours cooped up in lecture theatres and the library to study, her skin glowed with a healthy tan. She was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. And when she'd bent over right beside him, her barely-clothed ass directly in his field of vision, he almost had a heart attack.

When he focused back on the brown-eyed imitation, she turned to face him with a seductive smile on her too-thin lips. "Took you long enough," she crooned, leaning in close. Her perfume was too sickly sweet, but still visions of Steph danced in his head. He wasn't sure sleeping with this woman would get her out of his head, but he knew not sleeping with her wasn't fixing anything either.

*o*

The pot roast and all the sides were laid out on the dining table in exactly the same pattern they had always gone in since childhood. Meat at her father's end of the table, the vegetables, potatoes and anything else that was being served spread evenly along the rest of the length. There was an odd comfort that came with knowing that everything was in its place. There were a lot of things that she would change about her parents - her mother in particular - if she was ever given the opportunity, but the dish placement on the dinner table wasn't one of them.

Straightening from setting down the bowl of green beans, Steph turned toward the living room, a question for her father about his preferred beverage for the meal on the tip of her tongue. The doorbell's chime shattered the calm routine and Steph's heart skipped. Her mind raced, tallying possibilities, dismissing each as quickly as they came. No one visits unannounced. Not here. Not Now

This was the 'Burg. Dinner was served precisely at six o'clock every evening. No one in their right mind would be standing on someone else's doorstep, ringing the bell. They should be at home, preparing for their own meal or-

Her head whipped around to examine the table more closely. Four place settings. Her mother wouldn't accidentally put out an extra setting when it was just supposed to be the three of them, and she hadn't mentioned that anyone else would be joining them. That meant she was up to something.

"Mom!?" she called, hurrying out into the hall, just as Helen emerged from the kitchen, her apron removed, hair fluffed, lipstick freshly reapplied.

"What are you yelling about now?" she demanded.

Steph pointed with a stiff arm at the door and the unseen person waiting on the other side. "Who's at the door?" Her heart was pounding and she felt manic, but her mother was developing a pattern and it was one that she absolutely could not abide.

Helen tsked, laying down the tea towel she'd used to dry her hands and stepping forward. She reached for that one stubborn curl that she had been battling for Steph's entire life, pinning, spraying, gelling it into submission only for it to spring free again within minutes, never to be contained. "I wish you'd taken my advice and gone to see Mr. Alexander today. Your hair is so-"

"My hair is fine, Mom." Steph batted her mother's hand away. In fact, her hair was in the best condition it had ever been in thanks to Deb's influence. "Just tell me who you invited to dinner."

A pleasant smile spread across her mother's lips that caused Steph's stomach to sink a couple of inches. Nothing good ever followed that smile. "I was at the supermarket this morning and you'll never guess who I ran into! It was serendipity. There I was reaching for the good cereal on the top shelf, and who should come along to help, but that nice man of yours."

A sudden chill encompassed Steph, filling every space inside her with dread, making her feel sick. "I don't have a man." Unless you counted Deb. Which Steph wouldn't. He was more like one of the girls. Besides, Deb was back at college, utterly consumed by the spicy romance novel he'd picked up as a reward for finishing his latest assignment. Steph had the messages filled with photos of passages he wanted her to read accompanied by fire and chili emojis to prove it. After the first message that had come through while she was out at the curb, chatting with her Dad while he checked her car, she'd decided to leave the photos untouched until she was alone. She was lucky her dad had his head under the hood when the blush bloomed on her cheeks, otherwise there might have been questions, the answers to which she did not want to voice in front of the man who raised her.

Helen tried her darndest to get the curl to stay, but inevitably had to admit defeat. "Of course you do," she said, moving on to fix how Steph's t-shirt hung from her shoulders. "You introduced us to Dickie when we came to visit last month!"

Why does she do this? Steph's thoughts churned as hot as the anger in her chest. Doesn't she see? Doesn't she care? Each word from her mother's lips felt like a twist of a knife, not in her back, but in her heart.

While Steph stood there in shock, her mother strode to the door and opened it, graciously accepted the flowers the Dick Weasel handed her and ushered him into the house. The bastard had a smug smile on his face when he spotted her. As he approached, a cold resolve settled over her. No more, she vowed silently. I won't be a pawn in anyone's game. He leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek and Steph took the opportunity to set the record straight.

Her knee moved almost of its own accord, a physical manifestation of her mental stand. His eyes bugged out, mouth straining wide around a choked sound as his whole body seemed to crumple in on itself, collapsing to the central point where she'd connected with her most precious jewels.

She cut her eyes from her ex-boyfriend to her mother, a fiery anger swirling in her chest and making it difficult to stand still. She needed movement. She needed to be out of this house. But first, she needed to draw a line in the sand.

"I don't know what you think you're playing at, but I'm not going to tolerate it." Steph speared her mother with a steely-eyed glare. "Dickie and I broke up three weeks ago, and I know you know because I told you when you called to ask if I would be bringing him with me this weekend."

Dickie managed to drag himself back into an upright position, shuffling a few feet away with a mixture of pain and wariness on his face. Steph didn't let it temper her tirade, though. Instead, she turned her attention to him, releasing all the anger she'd been too shocked to show last time she saw him.

"We are never getting back together. You don't value my thoughts or feelings. You certainly don't respect our relationship since you were sleeping around behind my back the entire time. And evidently, you don't respect my boundaries either, since you've coerced my mother into inviting you to dinner tonight."

"I didn't-" he tried to protest, but Steph held up a hand, cutting him off.

"I don't care. I'm done." She stomped up the stairs, her mother's admonishments nipping at her heels. It was a familiar act. She'd performed it many times over the years. It had been an almost daily experience throughout the last few years of school. And now, here she was, almost twenty years old and still being driven to anger and frustration by her mother's inability to listen and understand.

She really was done with it.

Upstairs in her bedroom, the same one from her childhood that she came back to over the summer vacation period, she scooped up her purse, her overnight bag, and the dress bag she'd carefully hung up when she'd arrived, and made an about face, stomping back down the stairs.

Predictably, Helen and Dickie were still there and attempted to plead with her, begging her to see reason as she strode resolutely for the door.

Steph's hand trembled on the doorknob, her resolve warring with years of ingrained obedience. She hesitated for the barest moment before Carlos's voice drifted through her head, the reminder she needed in that moment. You're more than her expectations. More than her disappointments. Deb's voice followed close behind. You're you, and if she can't accept that then she can go choke on a dick.

Sucking in a deep, calming breath, Steph maintained eye contact with the door as she offered a quiet goodbye. "I'll see you at the engagement party tomorrow."

This, more than anything else she'd said or done in the last five minutes, set her mother off. She'd never been one to accept a dismissal. All niceties forgotten, she started screeching commands like she had even an inkling of control over her daughter. The same daughter she'd spent a lifetime criticising. A lifetime failing to show the love and affection she shared so readily with her first born. "Stephanie Plum, don't you dare walk out that door!"

Steph could hear the desperation in her mother's voice, the need to control the narrative that made it past that door, and when she turned to face her once more, her face was the wretched shade of puce she was all too familiar with. The fury in her eyes was mirrored in Stephs as steel strengthened her spine.

"I. Am. An. Adult," she bit out. "You do not have the power to keep me here. I will be leaving, and I won't be returning until I'm sure you're capable of comprehending what I tell you and respecting the decision I make about my life." Helen opened her mouth to say something, but Steph kept talking. "Don't worry, mother. I know how important tomorrow is for Val. I will be there, and I will be pleasant and personable. For Valerie. Because she has learned to listen to what I say and supports me."

Turning back to the door, she opened it and stepped out. The cool evening air filled her lungs. She hoped the neighbours were watching. She hoped they'd heard her yelling and were now watching her stalk to her car with her luggage. Right at dinner time. And mere hours after she'd arrived. The Burg gossip mill would be rife with news of a ruined meal and a daughter beyond her mother's control. She could almost hear the whispers behind closed curtains, the clucking of tongues that would weave the tale of her dramatic exit into the fabric of Burg lore.

Good.

As the car door slammed shut, a shiver ran through her, the feel of the steering wheel in her clenched fists grounding her as she fought the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm her senses. Even with her resolve, tears sprang to her eyes, a well of grief and guilt opening up to swallow the flames of rage that had ignited at the first sight of Dickie Orr when she'd made it clear that she never wanted to see him again. Not after she caught him balls deep in some blonde in the backseat of his car while he was waiting for her to get out of class.

She'd decided to skip out early that day, eager to see her charming boyfriend and get started on the promises he'd made over the phone the previous night. As it turned out, though, Dickie had started on them without her. With someone else.

Swiping angrily at her tears, she cranked the engine, dug her phone out of her pocket, dialed Deb and hooked it up to the speaker. Ringing filled the car as she pulled away from the curb outside her parents' house.

"This better be good, Honey," Deb drawled into the phone a moment later. "I was just about to get to third base with my book boyfriend."

She hated that she had to give a wet sniff before she could articulate anything, but Deb had seen her in much worse states than a little teary. "I'm coming home," she said flatly.

"Oh, Honey. What did that bitch do now?" Deb's tone was transformed from bored and uninterested to caring and sympathetic. His full attention on the phone call

"That bitch," she enunciated the curse word with vigour. "Invited Dickie-Fucking-Orr to dinner after I explicitly told her that we'd broken up and I never wanted to see his face again."

"Alright," Deb said resolutely, and Steph could hear the rustle of fabric in the background as he shifted and settled into a new position. She pictured him sitting on the sofa in his living room, one leg crossed over the other, giving the phone the same spill the tea look he'd cast her when she'd opened her dorm room door to him the morning after the breakup. "Forget the book. You're my main plot now. Tell me everything."