Come What May: A Standalone Age Gap Romance Read online

  After he releases her, Cash turns to me. “I’m sorry for your loss, Seraphine. Dave’ll be missed.”

  “Thanks,” is all I can squeak out without breaking down again.

  “Why don’t we get you home?” Cash holds his hand out, presumably for my keys, which I pass him. He pockets them and extends his arm down again. I stare at it dumbly before Azalea clues me in.

  “He’s trying to help you up, girl.”

  “Oh.” I feel my cheeks heat to nuclear levels.

  I place my hand in his, and he hauls me to standing with ease. And, the gentleman that he is, Cash walks us out to Bertha, Myla’s mint-green Land Cruiser. He opens the passenger door for me before walking his wife around to the driver’s side.

  He presses his lips to hers in a completely-indecent-for-public kiss, breaking it only when a random catcall from across the street rings out. “I love you, darlin’. I’ll follow behind.”

  “Love you, too,” she replies breathlessly as she joins me in the cab.

  A wistful sigh escapes me as she cranks the engine. I hope the sound of the crankshaft turning and the pistons firing is enough to cover it, but luck’s not on my side.

  “What’s the sigh for?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing… everything?” I shrug and rest my head against the cool glass of the window.

  “Talk to me, Seraphine. It’s not healthy to hold it all in.”

  “It’s just… between the salon and taking care of Dad, I never really dated or anything. When Dad was healthy, the boys were all scared of him, and when he started getting ill, I just didn’t have the time for it. And now, it’s just… me.”

  God, could I sound any more pathetic?

  “I’m gonna give you a little tough love, ‘kay?”

  “Sure.”

  “I was your age when I got pregnant with Brody. I was single and alone and scared shitless. I remember sobbing when I saw those two pink lines. And then I did what Grams would’ve told me to do—I put on my big girl panties, pulled myself up by my bootstraps, and dealt with it.”

  “I remember.” I roll my head against the back of the seat to look at her. “But what does that have to do with me?”

  “You need to pull yourself up, sister. I know your daddy’s death is fresh and that you’re hurting something fierce. I get it—I do. But I also know Dave wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

  I turn back to the window, not wanting to hear her, even though she’s right. If Dad was here, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell me what an idiot I was being.

  “Look, I know you don’t wanna hear this. You’re hurting and angry, and you have every right to be.” She turns into my driveway and throws Bertha into park. “But you need to hear it all the same. It is okay to grieve, to mourn, to miss him. It is not okay to throw your life away. You said it yourself at his funeral, that your daddy always said ‘it’s what you do while you’re alive that matters.’ Well, Seraphine, you’re still alive—act like it.”

  In my heart of hearts, I know she is right and speaking from a place of love. Unfortunately, my brain and heart aren’t on the same page. “Thanks for the ride.”

  She sighs. “You’re welcome. Take the week off and we’ll go from there.”

  “Sure thing.” I unbuckle and throw open the door. “Bye.”

  Myla Rose gives me a long, sad look before backing out of the driveway so Cash can park my car. He drops my keys into my waiting hand before climbing into his wife’s car.

  They don’t drive away until I’m safely inside, alone once again.

  Chapter Two

  Seraphine

  “Five.” The pungent liquid splashes into my mouth, but I no longer taste it.

  “Six.” Another glug brings me that much closer to sweet oblivion.

  “Seven.” A bead of amber liquid drips down my chin with my final swallow—one for each day that’s passed since they lowered my dad’s body into the ground.

  Once Dad’s beer ran out, I started in on the liquor cabinet. Whatever’s in this bottle—I didn’t even bother to look—makes the beer seem like water. This is my first taste of straight-up alcohol; the first sip had me coughing and sputtering with tears in my eyes. But now, the bottle’s nearly empty, my taste buds are numb, and I’m all cried out.

  A painful mash-up of past memories and future wishes race through my foggy mind, out of control, swirling like angry white-water rapids.

  I sink farther into the couch as wave after wave of should-haves crash over me. My dad should have lived long enough to see me married. He should have had a whole gaggle of grandbabies to call him Papa. He should have just… been here—too bad all of these should-haves were stolen from me with a mouthful of pills.

  My eyelids droop as I give up fighting the current of my thoughts. I’m nearly down for the night when my phone starts vibrating in my back pocket with a notification. I’m half tempted to ignore it—but I don’t.

  Lord knows, if it’s one of the girls from the salon, and I ignore them, they’ll call in the calvary to deal with me. I’ve done my best to avoid the concerned trio—evading them with texts full of emojis that hopefully mask the self-destructive path I’m on.

  Truly, I’m a mess. A sad, sloppy, angry mess.

  Lucky for me, it’s no one. Just a calendar notification. I move to swipe it away, but draw up short at the words on the screen.

  No… surely not. I squint and move my phone closer to make sure I’m reading it right.

  “Fuck, how could I…” I mumble to myself as I try to sit upright. Clumsily, I double-check the date. But my phone is right. The fair starts tonight, and for the past eighteen years, Dad and I have gone to the opening night.

  It’s our little tradition. We’d walk the block to the fairground, kick off the night with a corn dog, ride all of the rides, and end it with cotton candy.

  Before I can think better of it, I’m up from the couch, shoving my feet into the first shoes I see, and stumbling out the door.

  Looks like tonight, I’ll be carrying out our tradition on my own.

  The lights and sounds of the fair wrap around me, the familiarity a much-needed comfort. Even the smells—fried food, cow manure, and bad decisions—put me a little more at ease.

  I wander around, taking it all in before finding the courage to kick off the first of what will surely be my new normal—aloneness.

  On unsteady feet, with my newly acquired foot-long corn dog in hand, I make my way over to the small food tent. I claim a rickety plastic table and dig in, ready to make the best of things, except the golden-fried goodness tastes like ash in my mouth without Dad here to enjoy it with me.

  Instead of arguing over which condiment is supreme, I’m eating in silence, wondering how in the hell it’s possible for the world to keep spinning without Dad here.

  My whole life, he’s been this larger-than-life persona. That he’s no longer here is unfathomable. The fact that he left of his own volition—it’s nearly debilitating.

  I’m dragging my corn dog through my ketchup and mustard mixture when a shadow falls over my table. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone?”

  I glance up to find not one but two guys standing over my table. They’re nearly interchangeable in looks—tall, fit, fishing shorts, button-downs, and university-affiliated ball caps. The only discernable difference is their hair color—one blond and one brunette.

  “Eating?” My reply comes out as a question.

  “Mind if me and my buddy here join you? All of the other tables are full.”

  A quick look around confirms the dark-haired man’s statement. “Sure.”

  The two men sandwich me in. “Thanks. We got one more joining us.”

  “Okay,” I say. In truth, I feel a little on edge with them here, but at the same time, it’s so nice to be around people—people who don’t know about the death of my dad. People who won’t look at me with pity.

  “A lady of few words, huh?” the blond asks.

  I shrug.
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br />   “I’m Jason,” the first man says.

  “And I’m Allen.”

  “Seraphine,” I say, my lips tipping up in a small grin.

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” Jason says right as another man joins us. He’s another carbon copy of his friends, except he’s rocking a five-o’clock shadow and has his hat turned around backward.

  “I brought beer!” the newcomer hollers before claiming the chair across from me.

  “Manners,” Allen chides, reaching for one of the plastic cups in the middle of the table.

  “Well, hello there,” he says in a voice that can only be described as a purr. “I’m lucky.”

  “That’s your name?”

  “No, Cliff’s the name; I’m lucky because I get to spend my night with a beautiful woman such as yourself.”

  Despite the fall chill in the air, warmth blossoms across my cheeks.

  “You want a drink?” Jason asks.

  Warning bells—albeit very distant ones—sound, telling me not to take the drink. And yet, I find myself nodding and bringing the cup to my lips. My face screws up at the first sip, making them all laugh. There’s nothing worse than cheap beer, and after seven days of drinking Dad’s alcohol, the difference in quality has never been more apparent.

  Still, these three and their booze may just prove to be the perfect distraction.

  “One more!” Jason says, his cheeks ruddy from the nip in the air and the previous two rounds of drinks. I open my mouth to protest, but he’s faster. “Just one more round and then we can check out the rides.”

  My initial protest dies on my lips when I see the pleading looks on my new friends’ faces. “Okay, fine.” A chorus of cheers ring out. “But only one!”

  “You heard the lady,” Allen whoops, sending Jason off to the drink tent.

  The three of us talk—well, they talk, I listen—about a whole lot of nothing while we wait on Jason to return. About ten minutes later, he does, and we all throw our drinks back before tossing the cups and heading out toward the rides.

  “Shiiiiit,” I slur, swaying like a reed as we walk toward the Ferris wheel. “Those—” I stumble, and the pretty blond one catches me. “Thanks… y-yeah.”

  His lips are quirked up in a sinful smile. “I’ve got you.” He hauls me back to standing but doesn’t release me. “We’ve all got you.”

  I try to smile, but something about his words, even through the alco-haze, seems off. “St-strong.”

  He flexes a little. “I am.”

  “Strong d-drinks.” My tongue feels fat—like it’s too big for my mouth.

  Blondie replies, but his voice is nothing more than a warble, as if he’s on dry land and I’m underwater.

  “Huh?” I murmur, wondering when my three new friends doubled to six.

  The three—or six—men talk as they corral me to whatever destination they have in mind.

  The sound of someone calling my name tickles my ears, but I’m too busy floating… too busy flying to reply.

  Ser-a-phine. My name reaches me again, this time louder. I twirl in a circle, searching out the shouter of the syllables. The move sends both me and my blond man-friend flying to a heap on the ground.

  He grumbles beneath me, but it’s feminine hands that reach down to help me up.

  Her mouth moves, but her words barely penetrate the haze around me—that is until she grabs me by the front of my shirt and forcibly pulls me to standing.

  “Whoa!” I giggle at the sensation of falling upward. “Again!” I try and collapse back down, but someone supports me from behind. I try to turn to see who’s at my back, but my newest friend isn’t having it.

  “Seraphine!” she yells, turning my face back to hers.

  “Des-Desi?” I ask. “You g-got some splainin’ to do!”

  Her face pinches and mine falls. I think she’s mad at me. “Are you m-mad at me?”

  “Are you high?” she asks. Her voice sounds like a mom—or at least how I think a mom would sound—and not a high schooler. Like a teen mom… I crack up at my own joke. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

  “I’m good.” My head rolls back, landing with a thump on what has to be a man chest. A quick glance to the upper-right confirms it—my dark-haired friend is at my back. “Gooder than good. I’m grrrreat!”

  She scoffs. “You sound blitzed, Tony the Tiger. Who are the dude-bros?”

  I pinch my eyes closed as a wave of dizziness overtakes me. Jason starts rubbing his fingers over my exposed arms, and I shiver. “Uhhh. Friends?”

  She mutters something under her breath and then Cliff steps in. “We were headed to the Ferris wheel, if you don’t mind—”

  “I do mind,” Desi says, standing taller.

  “Look, we don’t want any trouble.” Jason leans in and kisses my neck. “We just wanna take the lady for a ride.”

  The two other men snigger while I sag farther into his hold. My limbs feel like jelly and I think… no, I know if he keeps rubbing on me, I might just orgasm. My skin feels like there’s a live-wire plugged into it and even the barest of touches is electric.

  “I don’t think—”

  One of the guys cuts her off. “Listen, kid, this doesn’t involve you.”

  A few more words are exchanged, but I’m too busy watching all of the bright, pretty lights to listen. “Ooh! The funhouse!” I try to bounce on my feet, but the ground moves under me. Luckily, Jason catches me.

  “Seraphine—”

  Now I’m the one cutting her off. “Have a fun time, Desi!”

  The guys guide me away from Desi and toward the funhouse, murmuring to themselves all the while. It takes two of them to keep me upright. “Strong… drinks…” I murmur, nausea churning in my gut as they guide us into the line for the attraction. “So strong.”

  “She’s good, man,” one of them says.

  “Mmm,” the one at my back rumbles his agreement.

  “G-good for what?” I ask, my teeth chattering, even though I’m sweating.

  “Everything, baby girl, everything.”

  Chapter Three

  Mateo

  I’ve got the house to myself, a bowl of frijoles charros—leftovers sent home from my mamá—an ice-cold beer, and a rerun of Bitchin’ Rides playing on the flat screen.

  Tonight’s a rare night alone and the house is quiet. Too quiet. Without my motormouth here, flapping her gums. I joke that I’d pay her to be quiet, even for only five minutes, and yet with her being out with her friends, I find myself missing her incessant chatter.

  The kid keeps our house lively and fills the void and without it, I feel… almost empty. Shockingly, at sixteen, she still enjoys spending time with her old man, but I know my days are numbered. Soon enough, the allure of boys and parties and things of that nature will all far surpass dear old dad.

  With a few hours to myself, I was tempted to hit up a bar—to seek out some companionship for the evening—but chasing tail is a younger man’s game, and it’s not like I’m going to bring a woman back here. Not when Desi will be home in a few short hours. I would never let her see me disrespect her mother that way—God rest her soul.

  I’m four episodes in when my phone rings, blasting out some stupid pop song Desi picked out. I swipe to answer, and my daughter’s worried voice fills my ear. “Dad…”

  “¿Qué pasa?” I ask. What’s up?

  When she doesn’t answer right away, I’m instantly alert.

  “Pollito, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, but Seraphine—Mr. McAllister’s whatever—is here, and she…”

  My heart slows when Desi says she’s okay but revs right back up at the mention of the dark-haired beauty. “What about her?”

  “I don’t know. She seems… off. Like she’s high or something, and she’s with these three guys and they seemed shady. Up to no good. Like, Dad, they literally had to support her, because she couldn’t stand. I tried saying hi and checking on her, but she just sort of looked right through me, and when she d
id answer me, she sounded loca. I think… I think she needs help, Dad.”

  I scrub a hand over my face, proud of Desi’s compassion—she gets it from her mama. Seraphine isn’t my responsibility, but I know Dave would check on my daughter in a heartbeat if the roles were reversed—at least that’s the motivation I’m going with.

  “I’m on my way.” I stand and shove my feet into my boots and grab my keys from the counter. “And, Dez, keep an eye on her, but do not engage.”

  “Okay.”

  The drive to the fairgrounds is a quick one, but I know too fucking well that things can go south in a matter of seconds.

  Thankfully the opening-day-rush is over, and I don’t have to wait in line to park or purchase a ticket. I call Desi back once I pass the gates. “¿Dónde estás?” I ask the second the call connects.

  This urge I have to get to Seraphine is both foreign and familiar all at once. For most of the time I’ve known her, she’s just been Dave’s daughter.

  Then about two years ago, when my GTO beat Dave’s at Barbeque and Bumpers—a semi-local car show—she decided to give me an earful about how her dad’s car was twenty times better than mine, claiming I won on a technicality.

  It was then, while she chewed me up one side and down the other, that my fascination with the little spitfire started. But that’s a secret I’ll be taking to my grave. I’m almost old enough to be her father.

  “I’m next to the spaceship. Dad, you gotta hurry. They’re almost to the front of the line for the funhouse.”

  “On my way.”

  “Okay,” she says on a shuddery exhale. “But, Dad, hurry.” The worry in her voice ratchets up my own. Any other teen, and I’d assume they were worried over missing out on time with friends, but not my Desi. While she’s got a wild hair about her, she’s got a heart of gold, and I know her concern is genuine and warranted.