The Dom vs. The Virgin Read online

  I looked around the group. Eliana, Holly, Katrina, and Whitney were all looking back at me with pleading eyes. Ace was smiling like the jackass he was. Kane, Todd, Calvin, and the other guys were grinning too.

  Finally, I looked down at Nana.

  The old lady batted her eyelashes. “Dying woman’s last wish.”

  Well, fuck.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Emery

  “Em-n-em! It’s so good to see you! Give your papa a hug.”

  I did, snuggling into the warmth while holding my breath against the smell of sweat and dirt that emanated off him in waves. The scent was oppressive yet so familiar, comforting in its own sick way.

  I loved my dad.

  Loved him as deeply as I hated the way he’d chosen to live.

  I guessed the word “chosen” wasn’t really fair. I’d researched the psychological aspects of hoarding and watched enough hoarding shows to come close to understanding this driving need my father had to insulate himself against the pain of the world in this way.

  But understanding and living with it were two completely different things.

  As Dad shoved the door back far enough for me to enter, memories slapped me in the face as harshly as Mrs. Steadman had done earlier.

  Stink-y Em-er-y.

  The painful embarrassment of not being clean.

  The isolation of never having friends over.

  The sores from the bug bites.

  The fear of being buried alive.

  The sudden terror that occurred if anyone dared knock on the front door.

  “I wasn’t expectin’ to see you today.”

  “I tried to call, but…” I raised a shoulder and glanced to the table where the phone had always sat. As I expected, it was broken, the push buttons half missing and the cord wound around the receiver.

  He followed my gaze. “Oh yeah, that damn thing bit the dust some time ago. Keep meaning to fix it, but…” He trailed off. “Here, honey, have a seat.”

  I looked around. Except for his ancient recliner, all other available surfaces were piled with stacks and stacks of trash and other “valuables” that were essential to my father’s life.

  With a soft voice, I asked, “Where?” I didn’t want to be angry. I didn’t want to shame him unnecessarily. I didn’t want to shame myself.

  Dad scratched his head. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

  I realized I’d been holding my breath because my answer came out on a burst of air. “Let’s go outside instead.” Without waiting, I headed toward the back of the house to where the covered deck was located. Turning sideways to get through the hallway, filled floor to ceiling with heaps of stuff, I did my best not to touch anything.

  Tears sprang to my eyes when I stepped into the kitchen. It was the worst I’d ever seen it. Stacks of garbage bags were piled in the corner. The table and chairs were completely covered, masses of newspapers and magazines reaching the water-damaged ceiling, from which fly traps dangled with their little fly corpses. Engine parts littered the floor. At least a half a dozen old radios that I could count. Old toasters and blenders lay amid the ant and cockroach traps scattered on the old linoleum.

  Then there was the sink. In stark contrast to the rest of the place, it was completely empty and sparkling clean. It was something I’d never understood... my dad’s priorities. If I explored the house further, I knew I’d find the sink in the bathroom just as clean. The toilet would be a hazardous waste zone. The shower practically unusable. But the sinks… I’d seen Dad stand for hours scrubbing them clean.

  Opening the door, I gulped in mouthfuls of clear, cold air as I stepped out on the back deck. Here too, only a small path was available, and I followed it to the railing, standing just far enough under the roof that the rain missed my feet.

  “It’s cold out here,” Dad complained behind me. I turned to see him pulling on a fleece-lined flannel jacket that was a couple sizes too big. “You sure you don’t want to sit at the table? I’ll make you some of that hot tea you like. Warm you right up.”

  I often wondered how Dad saw the world. In his mind right now, did he see us sitting comfortably around a sparkling table, pouring water into delicate cups, steam rising as the tea steeped? Did he simply not see the junk anymore? Simply not smell the accumulation of trash?

  I didn’t understand.

  “That’s okay. I grabbed something on the way in, after the memorial service.”

  Dad scratched his head again, and little flakes escaped to land on the deep blue of the flannel. My heart broke a little more.

  “Yeah. Sorry I didn’t go. Watched it on the TV. Damned reporters stickin’ their noses in other people’s private business.” His eyes flicked away from mine. “Saw you on the TV too. You and Ryan’s mama.”

  So, he had known I was in town.

  Swallowing the hurt, I asked, “Did it look bad?”

  “Well, they probably only showed the worst parts. Her slapping ya and all that. I wanted to pull on my coat and go slap her back for ya.”

  Why didn’t you?

  I clamped my lips together before the words in my head could escape. I knew why. He couldn’t leave this house. Not even for me.

  When I was sixteen, my ancient little Civic had hit a patch of black ice, and I’d slid into a ditch. I’d been so scared and had run to the closest house and used their phone to call Dad, thinking he could use his old truck to pull me out and guide me home.

  He wouldn’t.

  Couldn’t?

  I still wasn’t sure if there was a difference between those two words.

  I’d instead called Ryan, and he’d come for me. He’d snuck me into his house and wrapped me in a blanket, holding me the entire night while I cried.

  A pang of longing went through me. While what Ryan and I had together was never sexual, it was intimate in a way I still craved. He was so big and strong, and I’d felt safe with him. Loved.

  Swallowing hard, I turned back to look out at the rain.

  The trees were now barren, and the normally lush countryside had grown brown in the encroaching winter. With the rain, everything just looked sad and dirty, and even Mother Nature couldn’t wash it clean, as hard as she was now trying.

  “Dad, I think I’ll need to move back here for a while.”

  I’d practiced saying those words on the drive here, but they still came out shaky and unsure.

  “What did ya say, honey?”

  I faced him and licked my dry lips. “I need to move home for a while. Is that okay?”

  The eyes, so much like mine, lit up. “Well, sure. Of course that’s okay. Stay as long as you like.” He frowned. “What happened? I thought things were going so well for you in the city. Are you still depressed about that boy?”

  I met Dad’s hazel eyes. They were more brownish-yellow right now than anything else, bloodshot and rheumy. “Yeah, Dad. Depressed.”

  A tear leaked down his cheek. “I understand, honey.”

  I knew he did. He’d mourned the loss of my mother since the day I was born. The day she died. I closed my eyes as taunts swept me back to the school playground.

  Moth-er kill-er.

  It doesn’t matter if Emery steps on a crack, she’s already killed her mom. Ha ha ha ha ha.

  A headache began to form behind my left eye, and I pressed my finger into the place where my eye socket met the bridge of my nose.

  Dad had been a strong man once. A successful mechanic. I knew because I’d seen pictures of who he’d once been. But his grief and the responsibility of raising two girls on his own had been too much to bear, and he’d broken under the pressure of it all.

  “You can live here for as long as you need.”

  I looked down at the car engine sitting at my feet. “How…” I cleared my throat. “How’s my room look?”

  The flash of guilt in his eyes told me everything I needed to know.

  Within the chaos of the house, I’d always kept things in my bedroom meticulously clean. Every week, I’d poured Borax along the baseboards of the room, like some people would pour salt to hold evil spirits at bay. I’d spent hours scrubbing the floors and the walls, keeping things neat and ordered. It had been my haven from the rest of the house, the only place I could think and breathe.

  Unless I was with Ryan.

  My heart squeezed at his loss.

  Pulling my shoulders back, I took a step forward. I needed to see the room for myself. See how bad it was. See if living at home was even an option at all.

  “Where ya goin’?” Dad asked. “Ready for that cup of tea?”

  I edged around him, nearly toppling over when the metal of an old window screen snagged my dress. He reached out and steadied me, and I gave him a grateful smile.

  “Thanks.”

  “Anything for my girl.”

  Another delusion.

  Back in the kitchen, cockroaches scattered as the light from the open door pushed them back to the shadows. Shuddering hard, I didn’t let them stop me. I had to see.

  “Honey, why don’t ya stay down at the Rise-n-Shine tonight, and I’ll get that all cleaned up come mornin’, then you can move right on in when it’s clean as a whistle.”

  I didn’t stop.

  Turning sideways, I inched down the hall to the door with the kitten poster still tacked into the wood. Taking a deep breath, I turned the knob and pushed.

  Nothing. Well, almost nothing. The door gave a couple inches before it stopped.

  I heard Dad shuffle up behind me. “What’s the problem?”

  My voice sounded as dead as I felt. “I can’t get in.”

  He frowned. “Of course you can get in.” He waved me away, and I edged back as far as I could. I bumped a stack of boxes, almost creating an avalanche before I stopped everything from toppling over.

  Dad pushed against the door, then turned to add his shoulder to the effort. My composure crumbled as I watched him trying to force it open. My face burned, and my throat grew tight as tears spilled, making a hot trail down my cheeks. I started to wipe them away but looked at my hands first. They were covered with dirt and dust, and I was forced to use the inside of my coat to stem the flow. I couldn’t break down. Not here.

  “The wood must be swollen from the cold,” he said, pushing again. “Or somethin’ might have fallen over and blocked it.” The door gave another inch, just enough for me to see the bags and bags of junk sitting on my old bed. Only a spot or two of the purple comforter peeked out from under the mess.

  “It’s okay, Dad.”

  “No...” he shoved again, the door opening a bit wider. “I’ll get it. Don’t you worry, Em-n-em. I’ll have this opened in no time.” He slammed his shoulder again, and a bead of sweat slid down his temple. “All I gotta do is put fresh sheets on the bed, and it’ll be good as new.”

  I reached out and touched his arm. “Dad, it’s okay. I’ll stay in the motel, and we’ll get a dumpster brought out. I’ll help you get everything cleaned up.”

  He looked startled. “A dumpster? No need in that. I just need to reorganize a bit, that’s all.”

  As he began talking about how he’d move things from here to there, I tuned him out. “Bought me an old computer and fixin’ it up so I can sell a few things on that Craigslist place people talk about.”

  My heart ripped as additional sorrow burrowed its way inside. I just couldn’t understand this form of mental illness, even though hoarding was more prevalent than many realized.

  “Do you have any trash bags?” I asked him. “If you don’t, I brought some with me.”

  His eyes widened, fear blowing his pupils wide. “Now here, young lady, whatcha plan on throwin’ away? No need for that. I’ll take care of it, honey. You don’t worry bout a thing.”

  My head began to pound, and I was on the verge of screaming. I couldn’t mutter a sound because if I did, I’d never stop.

  I looked at the stack of magazines behind me. Picking one out of the pile, it fell apart in my hands. “We could throw this away. It’s too brittle to even read, and see…” I pointed at the print, “everything has faded.”

  He snatched it away and held it to his chest. “I’m sure there’s an important article in there I’ve been savin’.”

  I picked up an empty pizza box from a huge stack of empty pizza boxes. “What about this?”

  His eyes blinked rapidly. “Been thinking about building something out of those.” He snatched it away. “Something important, mind you.”

  I couldn’t do this now.

  I couldn’t face the fight over each little piece of trash. The tug-of-war over his precious possessions.

  “I’ll come back tomorrow, okay?”

  He looked unsure now, but also very relieved as he hugged his treasures tighter. “Well, okay.”

  I wanted to kiss him on the cheek. I wanted to bury my face in his neck. I wanted him to hold me and tell me everything would be okay, that he’d sacrifice his junk for me. That I mattered more to him than a pizza box and old magazines.

  But I was afraid of the answer.

  Instead of going down that well-worn path of discussion, I lifted a hand. “See ya tomorrow.”

  “Bye, honey.”

  I left him in the hallway, his attention on the door, trying to figure out how to fit me back in his life. If I’d ever really been in his life at all.

  Head ducked against the downpour, I rushed to my car and flung myself in, for once not caring that my boots tracked mud onto the floor mats. Not caring about anything at all.

  It was too much.

  Glancing back at the house, I knew I couldn’t live there. I didn’t even know if I could step inside it again.

  I burst into tears. And with them, a rolling anger swelled like lava searching for an escape.

  “Why did you have to die!?!” I screamed, pounding my fists on the steering wheel. “Why were you taken away from me!?”

  It wasn’t fair and completely selfish, but I wanted Ryan back.

  I wanted the stability and comfort he offered.

  The friendship.

  The laughter.

  Taking a deep breath, I started the car and headed back down the gravel road, still shaking from the cold and surge of emotion. Checking into the motel, I handed over the cash, worry clawing at my psyche at how little was left.

  I shouldn’t have bought the junk food. It was a revengeful act that had cost me more than I could spare.

  The room was depressing, but I hadn’t expected anything better. Dragging in my suitcase, I also grabbed two bottles of the disinfectant spray. Inside, I pulled down the blanket and sheet, giving it a good soaking before spraying the carpet, sink, toilet, and tub. I was still cold and wet, the skirt of my dress clinging to my trembling legs, but I wasn’t taking off my boots or touching anything until I fumigated the entire room first.

  I coughed through the fumes of the spray and snatched my journal from my bag before stepping back out onto the narrow balcony to watch the rain while the room became less toxic. Breathing in deep lungfuls of the cold air, I forced myself to calm, going into that Zen space that always quieted my brain.

  As did writing down my thoughts. Hence, the journal. Pulling the little pen from its slot, I began to write down the events of the day, letting the sadness flow from my soul and onto the page.

  I was so absorbed with scribbling furiously that I almost didn’t hear my phone, and when I did, I almost didn’t answer it. It was probably a reporter wanting the inside scoop about my altercation at the graveyard.

  It rang one more time before I stepped inside and snatched it out of my purse. It was a New York area code. “Hello.”

  “Miss Rose?” The voice had the clipped, efficient tone I already missed.

  “Yes.”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Rose. This is Alicia Sanders from Infinity Productions.”

  I perked up. “Good afternoon, Ms. Sanders. How can I help you?”

  The woman offered a small laugh. “I’m hoping you can help me, actually. You see, Infinity Productions has been gifted with the opportunity to produce a brand-new reality show that we believe will draw huge ratings. The only problem is that we need to begin production immediately, and we’re scrambling for staff and crew.”

  Hope leaped inside my chest, but I bit back my screams of hire me, hire me. “Sounds very interesting.”

  “Oh, it is. I’m not sure if you follow baseball at all, but the New York Beasts won the World Series this year, and Rhett Hamilton, the team’s owner, was just named the city’s most eligible bachelor.”

  Pain squeezed my heart. I’d gone to a couple games with Ryan when the team first came to town.

  “Anyway, we have an idea for a reality show called ‘The Biggest Catch,’ and Mr. Hamilton has agreed to be our first bachelor in the series. There will be nine contestants vying for his attention…”

  I inwardly groaned. A shitty biggest-boobs-wins reality show?

  “Instead of getting engaged at the end, the lucky winner will receive one hundred thousand dollars, and then she and Rhett will fly off for a two-week romantic vacation to see if their budding relationship can grow into something stronger.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” I asked, curious in spite of myself.

  Alicia laughed. “Who cares! If it does or doesn’t, we’ll still gain enormous media exposure. We’ll decide on the next ‘Biggest Catch’ bachelor and start the process all over again.”

  “So this could turn into a long term gig?”

  “We certainly hope so. The only problem, like I said, is timing. Due to Mr. Hamilton’s schedule, we need to begin preproduction… um, now.”

  My heart was thumping hard as hope fluttered in my stomach. “And you’d like me to interview for a crew position?”

  “No.”

  The hope disappeared as disappointment punched me in the gut. “Oh.”

  “I’ve already chatted with your manager at ‘A Taste Above,’ and they’ve assured me that you did a wonderful job while they were shooting for the food channel. Based on her recommendation, I’m prepared to hire you via phone as the assistant to the associate producer. Preproduction begins tomorrow, then filming will take place over nine days with postproduction estimated to last for an additional two weeks. Your lodging and food will be taken care of in a beautiful estate on Long Island. You’ll receive forty-five hundred dollars for the assignment, which is higher than normal pay scale due to the rushed nature of the position. In addition, a five-hundred-dollar bonus will be provided upfront to cover essentials. Do you find that satisfactory?”