“How’s your pain level?”
“On a scale of ‘oh I stubbed my toe’ to ‘holy shit a bear is trying to tear me apart’ I think I’m at the bear level, possibly two bears at this point,” I admitted.
Nurses and healthcare workers make the worst patients, and I knew that from the years I’d been in the field, but in this instance, I was doing what was asked, and definitely taking the pain meds because holy fuck, did I hurt!
“Let me get you some more pain meds then. You’ve got another surgery scheduled in the morning.”
“Great. Can you hand me my phone, please?” I asked, trying hard to keep the sarcasm out of my tone. It wasn’t her fault I was here or injured; no, the blame lay solely at the feet of a bunch of terrorist fuckers who didn’t value any human life.
The nurse handed me the phone that had been just out of reach, and I checked my messages. Seeing one from Jonas, I took a deep breath.
Jonas: Sunday, you deserve more than I can give. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore.
Sunday: I’ll send the ring back with my folks.
Jonas: No, keep it. I’m sorry.
I took another deep breath, then another, while I chanted to myself to take the high road. I knew why he was breaking it off. My injuries would leave me permanently scarred, even with surgery, and he was all about the appearances. I knew that about him way back when, so part of the heartache I was feeling right now was on me.
Sunday: Take care of yourself. Please don’t come back.
Chapter One
Sunday
Present Day
“Sunday, c’mon, you gotta come with us tonight!” Bria pleads. “You haven’t really been out since you’ve been home. Cut loose a little.”
I look at my oldest friend and smile. “You know that’s not fair. I’ve spent most of the past two years having surgeries, and doing the recovery rehab work. Makes it hard to go out when your ass is covered in a protective bandage, and you’re wearing those ‘lovely’ compression garments. Besides, who the hell is going to want a freak like me? Even with all the surgeries, my left ass cheek, and thigh are horrible looking.”
“The right guy isn’t going to give a fuck,” Bria states. “Jonas was a pussy.”
Bria’s comment has me laughing out loud. “Oh my God. Tell me how you really feel,” I tease, the laughter evident in my tone.
“Well, he was! I mean, let’s get honest for a second, okay? If you had married him and stayed the course, eventually, shit would have started sagging and wrinkles would have formed. And if you had kids, you’d have that pooch thing going on with stretch marks, too. You might have gained weight or hell, I don’t know, lost a limb due to some obscure thing. He obviously didn’t have what it takes for the long haul, honey. I look at pictures of my grandparents when they got married, and they were both skinny and young. Now, my grandma is short and round, but my grandpa? He still worships the ground she walks on. He sees her inside, not the outside that doesn’t stay firm and youthful.”
“Fine, I’ll go, but only because it’ll get you off my ass.”
“We’re gonna have a blast and you know it,” Bria cheers, going to my closet. Thirty minutes later, I’m decked out in skinny jeans, an emerald green silky tank top, and my tan boots. Bria corralled my hair into a French braid, and I had applied a light coat of makeup. “Alright, you’re good to go, let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Bria advises. “If you get any prettier, I won’t have a shot at catching myself a man.”
“Whatever. You know you get your fair share of guys.”
“Not when you’re around, I don’t,” Bria retorts as we close and lock the doors, then head down to my car.
“Where are we going, anyhow?” I ask once we’re in the car, and buckled up.
“Ike’s.”
Shit, I like Ike’s, but sometimes, Jonas is there, and the last thing I want is to run into him. He married someone I knew from school, and now, lived in the same fucking town. If it weren’t for the fact I own my home outright, and my parents lived in the same town as well, I would have packed up and moved.
“What if… fuck… what if he’s there tonight?” I ask my friend.
“You ignore him, just like the other thousand times you’ve seen him around town.”
“It’s just that any time I do see him, it brings all of that pain back to the forefront.”
“I know…”
I cut my friend off, saying, “No, you have no fucking clue. I was lying in a hospital bed on my fucking stomach, my ass and leg pretty much open to the world when he came with my folks once they were notified. I saw the revulsion on his face. He looked like he wanted to puke. Then to break it off like he did? Yeah, no. No one knows how I fucking feel about him, or the situation. I know he probably wants to apologize, but I don’t want to hear it, or see him. Ever.”
Bria reaches her hand over and squeezes mine hard. “I’m sorry, Sunday. I don’t know about the physical pain you’ve endured, although I suspect it was far worse than what you’ve shared. I do know, though, that not all men are like him.”
“Let’s just have a great time, okay? Don’t think I’ll be meeting my Mr. Forever tonight, anyhow.”
“You never know,” she says, suggestively wiggling her eyebrows.
“From your mouth to God’s ear.”
Jett
Sitting at a table that's in the back, hidden in the shadows, I’m sipping a beer when she walks in. Fuck, she just gets more gorgeous with each passing year.
No way she’ll wanna get involved with you, asshole, you’re a single dad, and a loser.
Shaking my head at my negative thoughts, I raise my hand for another beer. I can still watch, and maybe, just maybe, get a dance or two from her to store in my memory banks.
Sunday Cross was a breath of fresh air in high school. Her outgoing personality, and kindness toward others even when they were mean, was admirable. I grimace remembering how Stacey used to treat and mock her. God, what a fuck-up that was, staying involved with Stacey for all those years.
I should have broken it off with her, and gone after the woman who still consumes my thoughts, still to this day.
Only, I was young and dumb. Now, I have a child and am a single father trying to make it on my own. What woman would want to be involved with someone like me? My baggage alone from all the shit Stacey pulled is enough to have anyone running away, screaming in fear.
Face it, Jett, Stacey sucked you dry in more ways than one, then left you holding the bag.
Growling at my inner voice, who hasn’t shut up since I saw Sunday walk in, I down the rest of my beer. If I keep this shit up, I’ll need to get a sober ride home. Dusty deserves one parent who gives a fuck about him. I smile, thinking of my tow-headed little guy. At nearly eleven now, he’s sturdy, like I was at that age, according to my mom, and so curious about everything. Raising my hand, I catch my waitress’s attention and once she comes over, I ask for a glass of water for myself, then tell her to get whatever the two women are drinking, and put it on my tab, once I point out Sunday and Bria to her. Hopefully, it’ll start a conversation.