Ambition

Chapter 7

Harry

I'm standing outside hidden beneath the wooden porch of the Red Moon as a blonde figure across the street steps into a cab and drives away. I can't help the huge stupid grin that's been plastered on my face since I first recognized her hazels eyes watching me on stage. Seeing her had encouraged me- daring me to sing louder and with more confidence than I had before and I was relishing in the idea of her coming back again.

I mentally pat myself on the back for being slick enough to remove the last few pages of the book before surrendering it to her. Even though she could always look it up or buy a new copy, I was praying that she'd be unsatisfied with the way tonight had ended and she'd call. The ball was completely in her court though, and I didn't really like it that way but now there was absolutely nothing to do but visit that book store every single day or hope she called.

I walk back inside to finish the night’s performances, hoping the lads hadn't figured I ditched to chase tail out the bar. They were just finishing another one of their cheesy country flukes and I climbed the stage. The night went on this way, singing and drinking until Skip waived us off, paying us each nicely for the night’s performances.

"I think ya'll work rather well together," he'd said, offering us all a job every Friday night for the next two weeks. As the rest of the guys left, Skip under his breath mentioned an empty solo performance Tuesdays that he claimed was mine if I was interested. I happily accepted, shaking the man’s hand and exited the bar to find my car.

Climbing into the familiar cream seats, I revved the engine and sped through the thriving downtown Dallas night.

The whole ride back all I could think about was Rosalie. I wish I'd known she needed a ride home- I would have killed for information as to where she lived, but I just couldn't find a non-stalkerish was of saying, oh yes I was watching you from across the street and noticed you didn't have a ride...

She had been so testy, and I loved it. Now that I could remember how I'd met her in the bookstore the night before, it only fueled me keep up the mysterious guy who couldn't keep away persona. But the thing was, I couldn't tell how she was taking it. Her expressions were vivid; how she was frustrated to the point of kicking me again when I couldn't hand over the book was- let’s face it, fucking adorable. But I really wanted to know what she was thinking.

Back home I thought I was fairly good at charming girls into making out with me in the alleys of the clubs, or letting me grope them from a dark corner of a bar. But nobody ever kept my attention like this- girls in England only satisfied a temporary thrill I was desiring to fulfill, nothing ever was meant to stick and I hadn't wanted it to.

The headlights flash the side of my building and I pull into the half empty lot across the street before killing the engine and climbing out. By now it’s well past one in the morning.

I take the stairs two at a time before reaching our flat, but when I get there something is different. On the door is a tiny wooden sign with the words Charles, Charlotte and Harry painted daintily in white lettering. My heart is fluttering wickedly and I reach for the sign, wanting to crack the top in half and throw it down the stair, watching it splinter amongst the cold cement floor. I hate this, my insides scream, I hate that she still hopes!

I slam my fists against the green door and rip the sign free from the metal hook. But before I can attempt to rip my father’s name of the fucking plank, I hear the handle to the door click and my mother emerges in I nightgown with a saddened expression that meets her eyes. 

 "Harry," her voice is thick with sleep, "Harry, please..."

"Mom no! What the hell?" I don't know whether to be sick or clinically depressed by her misused trust in a man who hasn't been here for us- not since all the shit happened. "What do you think? He'll just waltz back into our lives and everything will be the same? Wake up!"

I try to ignore the pained expression strung on her face as I slam the shitty piece of wood into the ground and push past the door, but careful not to touch her. No matter the anger I feel building up in my chest by her betrayal- I would never lay a hand on my mother. I have witnessed too many malevolent men prey upon the women who had once trusted them with such fierceness that they had sworn their lives to them. I would never join a rank of such maliciousness. 

The front door clicks after a minute and I hear my mother shuffle softly back to her room, all the while trying to ignore the muffled sobs that she is attempting to hide into her robe. Guilt instantly replaces the anger that had threaten to burst through my veins. My mother has been through too much- she doesn’t deserve another man in her life that only makes her cry.

Unlocking my door, I make my way through our dark flat and try not to think about how I've never had the courage to do this before, to be the first to apologize like this. What's getting into you Harry?

The lights are all off in my mother's room, but I know she's in no way capable of sleep yet. She sucks in a quick breath as I climb onto the other side of her bed and reach for her all bundled under the comforter. I'm not sure what she was expecting me to do, maybe scream at her more. That's what you usually do. But just this once, I grab her wrapped body and hug her tightly to my chest, just holding her in the silent flat. This is what she needs; not an apology- she already knows I'm sorry and that I never mean what say- though maybe I do in this case. So instead of saying the wrong thing, instead of risking her yelling and getting mad at me, I just hold her.

She reacts in no way I expect. She sobs viciously against my chest, letting out years of heart wrenching sorrow a cold son and torturing marriage have all build into the ruins that now stand as her life. She cries for the loss of her home in England, for the stress of having to build a new life here, for never being able to understand the one person she thought she'd always have in the world. 

My heart is amazed by the how exposed she has become in front of me- and how much trust she must be allowing herself to feel. I will never let it get this bad, I say to myself, I will never let her feel this pain again.

Because with every crushing sob that rolls through her body, I know now that she is also crying for a death. The death of a marriage that she had believed might not be over- that someday might find Its way back to her. 

...

When I am awake, before my eyes have even opened I can remember all that happened last night and sigh softly into my pillow. Last night was the beginning to a better relationship, and I was still hoping we were working with two different kinds of relationships instead of just one. 

The flat is in silence when I walk across the hall and into the bathroom. I strip off the clothes I had worn yesterday at the bar, and attempt to wash the smokey smell that's clung to my skin.  Dropping my head I allow the hot water to trickle over my neck and down my spine, just enjoying the feeling of being rinsed. 

When I emerge into the kitchen, I find a note from my mom indicating her formal she has until late tonight, with the words "let's grab dinner" written in near illegible writing in the corner, as if she wasn't sure if she'd wanted to suggest it. I'm beginning to believe she was unsure if last night had been the breaking point for both of us, or if she'd return home to the same cold son she'd always known but loved unconditionally anyway. 

I send her a text to tell me the time and place she wanted to eat, just so I wouldn't forget later. In the kitchen a pot of coffee is already brood, so I pour a cup and stare out the window. Because we've been living here on and off for the last few months I haven't exactly had a chance to really meet any people in the city aside from the guys I'd met in the pub yesterday and Skip. I usually didn't have this little to do, usually having to unpack or pickup the things we could'nt have brought with us, but today I was feeling the emptiness the city really held for me. 

There was actual time to think, and there wasn't much I wanted to think about besides my hopes of meeting Rosalie again. How many days would it take her to finish the book, I wondered. But even if she finished, she hadn't promised to call. I had no real guarantee of seeing her again, and that was depressing. 

My phone buzzes, showing an email from the counselor I'd met with a few days ago. I read over her message and she only repeats news I already know. Between my mom and I, we really didn't have the extra money to pay for summer classes here. If I were to bring this up to her, she'd probably do something stupid and selfless like take it out of her savings. In order to keep her out of this, I was gonna need to come up with the money all on my own.