“And we did. Had my fill of spoiled little rich girl, Amy, and none of them were near as well-off as you. They grew up and some are still around, and not one of ’em has it in ’em to learn a fuckin’ thing except to think they’re entitled to have what they want and do whatever they wanna do and they don’t give that first fuck if it’s right or wrong or hurts anybody.”
“I—” I started but stopped when his arms got extra tight and he dipped his face so it was close to mine.
“You stumbled,” he stated firmly. “Then you picked your ass up, opened your eyes and saw what was important and started fightin’ for it. So you fucked up. Now you’re makin’ it right. And that’s the only thing that means anything.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Do you…really think that?” I asked.
“Fuck yeah,” he answered. “The mistakes we make in life don’t define us, Amy. The way we handle ’em after makin’ ’em do. You made a mistake. Now you’re handling it and doing it the right way and that’s who you are. A mother who wants to heal her family and make them safe and healthy. So really, you got that strength in you, that’s all you ever were. Your ex tripped you up and you weren’t expecting it and you didn’t handle it right. But that’s over, so you gotta find the strength to keep handling it right now.”
“I…it’s hard to get over the making the mistake part.”
He lifted his head away, but not far. “Yeah, what you lost makin’ yours, I get that. But the root of this issue is not your burden to bear. I understand how it went down, but a cheater manipulating a bad situation he created, gettin’ the upper hand with his kids and continuing to beat down the wife he fucked over.” He shook his head. “No. You get that now, I’m seeing. But I’ll repeat…no. You’re right. You know it and I don’t have to say it, but your kids shouldn’t have seen that. But what I saw is this guy who shared your bed for sixteen years then tore your family apart and sent you reeling up in your face at your front door without you buyin’ that shit at all, just movin’ to be close to your kids. He’s a motherfucking asshole, Amy, and in all this, whatever you served up to him, he bought that and deserved every second of the shit you shoved down his throat. So that…you let go. Because that’s not on you.”
“I shouldn’t have licked my wounds, kept them fresh, torn at them more, Mickey,” I told him. “I should have taken my licks, sorted myself out and moved on.”
“Rhiannon was passed out every night before I could make love to her and that shit went on for months,” he declared.
I stared.
But he wasn’t done.
“Seein’ my wife like that, sloppy drunk before she was unconscious, half the time she got to that point, she still had a wineglass in her hand. So many stains on the carpet, I had to put new in when she moved out because the carpet was a mess but more, to erase those memories for my kids and for me. So I didn’t have it in me to go for it when she was sober. A man needs to fuck, Amy, and I was dry for eight months when I had a wife in my bed and I still never even considered steppin’ out on her. She was my wife. Good or bad, you do not do that shit. It’s bad, you end it and then you find ass to tap.”
“Conrad made love to me the night before he told me he was leaving me,” I whispered and watched Mickey’s jaw go hard.
“Fuck, he’s a motherfucking asshole,” he bit out.
I curled my hands tight on his biceps and asked, “Does all I’ve admitted honestly not cause you alarm?”
“That you’re human?” he asked back.
And again, Lawr was right.
“I guess,” I said quietly.
“Anyone can find themselves in a place they don’t wanna be, and even knowin’ they don’t wanna be there, they can’t get out. It’s findin’ it in you to get out that says it all about you, Amy. So no. I’m not alarmed you’re human. In fact, knowin’ this shit, I went from likin’ you to likin’ you a fuckuva lot more.”
I couldn’t believe that either.
I wanted to believe but it seemed too easy.
“Really?” I asked, my voice pitched higher.
His face again dipped lower as did his voice. “Yeah, baby.”
“It was ugly,” I reiterated.
“Life isn’t always beauty,” he returned. “Most of the time it’s shit. But you keep fightin’ to turn it around, that says it all about you. And you’re fightin’. As a fighter too, I fuckin’ love that in you.”
Oh God.
It was that easy.
My voice dipped lower too when I said, “I love it that you understand.”
“I love it that you had the courage to give that to me,” he replied.
Oh God!
I was going to start crying.
In case that happened, I ducked my head and shoved my face in his chest.
Mickey started stroking my back with one hand as he said into the top of my hair, “You got your face in my chest, we can’t make out on the wharf for the five minutes we got left before we gotta go get my boy.”
I instantly took my face out of his chest, but even though I wanted a kiss, that wasn’t why I did it.
I did it to beg, “Don’t go home and think on this, Mickey, think on it and decide differently. Decide I’m some whackjob, psycho, crazy lady you’re worried about starting something with, worried about her being around your kids. Because I might not have known who I was before I moved to Maine, but I’ve spent a lot of time figuring it out once I got here, and that is not me.”
He stopped stroking my back and used that hand to cup my cheek. “Good I got your assurance on that, but don’t need it. I’m thinkin’ I knew who you were before you knew, and you’re worried about something that’s just not gonna happen.”
“Okay,” I said shakily as the vision of him started getting misty. “Now I like you a fuckuva lot more.”
I got his misty smile before he dipped his head and then I got his warm lips.
He kissed me.
It wasn’t wild and hard and amazing.
It was slow and sweet and amazing.
And apparently it lasted five minutes, because when he ended it, he lifted his head and whispered, “Gotta go pick up Cill, darlin’.”
I held on because I had to (slow and sweet also did a number on me) and I nodded.
He gently pulled away but held my hand as he walked me down the wharf and to his truck. He put me in. He got in. He backed out. I took deep breaths.
Then I let all that settle inside me.
I’d fretted.
I’d worried.
And Mickey made it easy.
That was when I smiled.
We drove and got Cillian, who hefted himself into the backseat, crying, “Hey, Amy!” then took up the entire conversation babbling all the way home.
Mickey didn’t drive to his driveway. He drove to mine.
Then he turned in his seat and said to his son, “You can get out and run home or you can hang and I’ll drive you there, but not makin’ Amy walk in her shoes.”
“Wiped so I’ll hang,” Cillian said to his dad and looked to me. “See you later, Amy.”
I turned in my seat too. “Later, kiddo.”
I got Cillian’s grin, which also brought relief since the last time I saw him he was far from grinning.
Then Mickey and I got out and he again held my hand, right in front of his son, as he walked me to my front door.
When we got there and I got it open, he surprised me by stepping in with me.