by C. A. Harms
I lift my beer to my lips and immediately feel disappointment that it’s empty.
“You know that you have people in your corner.” My head lolls to the side, and it takes me a few seconds to bring his face into focus. “You don’t have to always handle everything on your own.” A silence settles between us as he grips my shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze. “Just know, brother, that if you need me, all you have to do is call and I’m there. It doesn’t matter what it is.”
I know he means every single word he says, and it only causes the rawness I felt earlier to return.
“Well, fuck me.” Both Slate and I redirect our attention to Brock, who is standing a few feet away, his legs wide, his shoulders high, with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s staring at something across the dimly lit bar. I try not to laugh at his ridiculous Superman stance. The guy is one of those who has always acted as if he is much bigger and broader than he truly is. He has a little guy complex. Standing at five feet four inches, he’s always the runt of our crowd. But he never lets that faze him; he wears that shit like a badge of honor while the rest of us take every opportunity we get to remind him he isn’t all that tough.
“The night just got a whole lot better, men.” He lets a low whistle fall from his lips. Turning my body completely around, the entire room swirls from my quick movements. I am already regretting the last two shots I allowed Brock to buy me. I knew this shit was gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow.
“Damn,” Slate adds in his own mumble, and again I am trying my best to focus so that I can figure out what the fuck these douchebags are referring to. “Now that is a sight I’d love to drown in.”
I’m just about to ask them what in the hell they are looking at when it all finally becomes clear.
Long legs, disappearing beneath a tight fitted dress. The color of blood, silky, or so it appears from a distance. One side hanging off one shoulder, bringing more attention to the contour of her neck. Long golden curls fall down her back, and when she turns toward the woman behind her, I feel a little woozy from the impact it provides. The back of the dress is gone, as in nonexistent. One single strap, so thin it is almost invisible, runs from one side to the other near her shoulder blades, I’m certain to hold the material from sliding off her body. The open back dips and reveals the lowest part of her back, stopping just above her perfect ass.
An ass that, if I am being honest, I’ve checked out a time or two already as she was walking away from me after I’d managed to piss her off yet again.
“See something you like, Shane?” Slate chuckles, but I don’t take my eyes off of her. She sways to the music, her dress riding up a little more in the process. The heels she wears give her height and only manage to make her legs seem even longer.
“She’s my neighbor.” The laughter and arrogant chuckles around me stop, and I know if I look in the direction of my friends, I will likely find them gaping at me.
“Which one?”
“Red.” I continue to watch her, completely in awe of her relaxed, carefree state.
“Lucky bastard,” Brock adds, and the three of us watch my sassy neighbor and the two women with her. I recognize them as the ladies that were over at her house the day I stood in the shadows quietly watching her. The second time I made a complete ass of myself.
“Why don’t you introduce us to your friend?” Slate grabs the beers the bartender sets down and hands each of us one before taking the last one for himself. “Lead the way, but just so we’re clear, the one in white is mine.”
“No can do, boys.” I finally pull my stare aware from the three blonde women and rest my elbows on the bar top for some much needed stability.
“Why’s that?” Obnoxiously Brock nudges my shoulder, and if I were a fraction less drunk, I would have shoved him back. At this point, though, I am more than sure if I attempt it, I will fall flat on my ass.
“Let’s just say that she and I didn’t have the greatest first or second encounter.” Oh, and a third, but hey who’s counting? When neither of them say anything in response, I know they are still awaiting a better explanation. “She woke me up twice and—”
“You bit her fucking head off, didn’t you?”
I chuckle when I get a look at the mocked horror written all over Slate’s face.
“Are you fucking insane?” He looks between me and the girls, his eyes wide. “What you should have been doing is charming the panties off of her, not pissing her off.”
“Too late,” I mumble before taking another drink. “Damage is done, the impression has been made. There’s no going back now.”
“Wait.” I don’t turn around, choosing instead to enjoy the last beer before heading home. “Oh shit.” Slate chuckles before leaning against the bar and crossing one ankle over the other. “Dude, you’ve been spotted, and from the look on the little one’s face, I’d say you should fucking run for safety.”
Giving Slate a confused look, he motions in the direction of the girls just as I turn around to see what he’s looking at. The very second I do, I know my eyes grow wide in surprise to find not one, but all three of the ladies standing before me. The smallest one, the bombshell Slate had claimed was the closest of the three, is mere inches from me as she glares with her arms crossed over her chest.
“Ladies.” I dip my chin and try not to laugh. With a closer look, I have no doubt in my mind the three of them are related, cousins, sisters maybe, but most definitely sharing the same bloodline.
“Hey, asshole,” Tiny says with fire in her eyes, “you mind telling me why you’ve decide to be a world class dick to my sister?”
Sister, I knew it.
“Janie, enough.” The beauty in red tugs on her sister’s shoulder while doing her best to avoid my stare. “Just leave it alone.”
“No.” Damn, the little one was feisty. “I want to know why he feels the need to continue to make you feel bad for living your life. Why he continues to face off with you every single time you make a little bit of noise. A noise that he feels is a bit too loud, but any normal person would call it being alive. I would also like to know why one minute you’re staring at her like you’re about to tackle her and devour her and the next you’re glaring at her like she’s your biggest enemy.”
Chapter Six
Janelle
Ground, please open up and swallow me whole.
“A little help, please,” I practically beg my oldest sister for some assistance. Janie took one look across the bar and spotted my less than welcoming neighbor, and that was all it took. She was off like a woman on a mission and now stood nose to nose with the devil himself.
“Hell with that, this is fun.” Jackie, my levelheaded sister, the one that I can always count on to help me keep the peace, is instead encouraging Janie.
A crowd is forming while my pint-size sister refuses to give in and walk away. I am afraid to release my hold on her. Assault will look terrible on her permanent record. Suddenly I regret telling my sisters about my most recent encounter with this man. I knew the second I shared the story Janie was out for blood.
She gets a little more aggressive when she has a few drinks in her. The mention of castration, disembowelment, and roasting his nuts over an open flame made us laugh during dinner, yes, but now I am honestly a little afraid for the guy.
“You’re a bully.” Reaching out, she pokes him in the center of his chest, and I watch as he looks down at her finger. “I have half a mind to find a big guy, one twice the size as you, and pay him to beat your ass. Hell, I would sell tickets just to watch you cry like a little bitch for picking on a girl.”
The two guys flanking my neighbor stand with wide grins as if watching their friend get roasted by a petite woman is the greatest thing they’d ever witnessed.
“Let me be clear of one thing: this is not a threat; it is a promise.” Janie leans in a little closer, ensuring she has his full focus. “Corner her one more time, say one fucking word to make her feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable, and
being woken up by music or hammering will be the least of your worries.” He watches my sister with an arched brow. “No, the next time you’re woken up, it will be from me standing over your bed with a knife in one hand and your tiny pecker in the other. What kind of man targets a single woman to relieve all his frustrations on? Get some fucking sound-blocking earbuds, you prick.” She pushes against his chest once more before spinning on her heels and walking off with her shoulders held high. She didn’t even flinch during the entire rampage. Part of me is embarrassed, but an even bigger part of me is proud to call this little fireball my sister.
When I give my suddenly quiet neighbor a glance, I find him staring at me. The look on his face isn’t one of irritation, but one of humor. “Your sister, huh?”
There it is, that flare of interest. I want to throat punch him. Not only is he an asshole, but a perv too. He so got off on her anger.
Then I am hit with a completely different emotion: jealousy.
Chapter Seven
Shane
I roll to the side and grip my head in my hands. The pain is excruciating. That nagging ache in the center of my forehead, the deep hammering sound in my ears. Every single thing, the soft hum of the refrigerator, the continuous dripping of water hitting what sounds like a pan in the sink, it is all so loud. Only I know it isn’t truly. This is all the aftermath of my night out with the guys. My attempt to let loose and forget my troubles.
Epic fail, because it is all still there, only now it’s front and center with the mother of all hangovers.
“Fuck, Brock, you asshole.” I hear Slate’s low grumble and lift my head enough to see him roll along the floor to gain some distance. A deep chuckle, coming from Brock as his shoulders shake, sounds more like a jackhammer going off in my brain.
I’m just about to tell them both to shut the fuck up when I’m met with the same aroma that made Slate roll away.
“Seriously, you prick.” I use my dangling foot to kick him and make a direct connect with his shoulder. A groan drowns out the laughter before he begins to scramble in hopes of missing the next swing of my foot.
The guy is nasty. No wonder he’s single and still living in his parents’ basement. No sane female would willingly shack up with a smelly fucker like him.
The way I’m feeling at this very second is the exact reason why I don’t get stumbling drunk or hardly drink at all. I hate the way I feel the next day. I don’t really remember much past the first few beers and shots.
Crawling off the couch, I make my way to the kitchen on my hands and knees. I hear the rustle of paper, the opening and closing of cabinets, and as I stand I see Slate has already taken it upon himself to start a pot of coffee.
Finding the nearest chair, I climb up and have a seat before bringing my head to rest on the cool tabletop. Closing my eyes, I will away the beating pulse feeling in my head.
“So is that where the blonde lives?” It takes me a few seconds to register his words before I open one eye and peek through it to find Slate peering out the side window that overlooks the driveway next door.
“What blonde?” My stomach is already twisting because I have a feeling whatever happened, it can’t be good.
“The one from last night.” Turning around to face me, he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the sink behind him. “Though there was more than just one, and I’m not sure exactly which one you’re actually interested in at this point.”
“I’m not interested in any blonde.” She’s more of a pain in the ass than someone I want to spend a lengthy amount of time with.
“Could’ve fooled me.” Chuckling, he pushes off the counter and gathers three coffee cups before placing them on the counter near the pot.
“Wait.” I narrow my eyes, doing my very best to remember what took place last night, but I continue to come up blank. “What are you talking about?”
“The blonde from last night.” Tossing a donut hole in his mouth, he chews before continuing on. “The one you said you’ve been being a complete dick to. Man, did her little sister let you have it.”
My stomach only manages to coil more with tension. What the fuck did I do?
“Start talking.” And he did.
***
I walk through the door of Evergreen Estates and look around. Visitors fill the halls, the large sitting room in front, and even the small lunch area that I pass on the way to my mother’s room. Guilt fills every fiber of my body for not being here with her last night or even earlier today. By this time, I’ve usually been here to visit her before going into the shop to grab as many hours as I can for extra cash.
When I reach my mother’s room, her door is gaped open just a small fraction, and I can hear voices filtering out. I pause, leaning in closer and listening.
“He is a good man.” The voice is low but definitely a female. “Every day he’s here, and I know he’d be here more if he could, but then he wouldn’t be able to work overtime or a second job to afford this place. All he wants is to do right by his mother. Everything he chooses to do somehow revolves around her and her care. It is admirable.” I push open the door, unable to stop myself any longer, and find Martha standing near the window with her phone pressed against her ear. She seems stalled at first before quickly recovering and offering that same sweet smile she has given me so many times before.
“I need to end this call now. I have a very handsome man standing before me.” She didn’t even take the time to wait for whoever it is on the other end of the line to say goodbye before she disconnects the call and tucks the phone into her pocket.
“Everything okay?” I nod toward the space she placed her phone. “Sounded like a pretty serious conversation.”
“I was just bragging about a certain man I know.” Stepping in my direction, she wraps her arms around me like she has so many times before and pulls me in for a hug. “How are you doing today?”
“Good.” She doesn’t need to hear how I feel like I’ve been beat up. That shit is all my own fault.
Letting go, we turn to face my mother, and I allow myself to scan over her sleeping form. I’m not sure exactly what I’m looking for, a sign maybe that she’s different somehow. But everything appears the same, she is the same, and once again I feel disappointment.
I guess a huge part of me still holds on to hope that one day she’ll miraculously get better without any true medical explanation. Like she just checked out for a few years but is now back.
“There were no more seizures after Dr. Carlton got her dosage upped and regulated.” I nod. Pushing past the lump that feels as though it has formed in my throat is difficult. “You’ve got to have someone you can share things with, Shane, anyone.”
Ignoring her words, I step closer to my mother’s bed and sit on the edge. Nothing, no movement besides the slow rise and fall of her chest.
“A cousin, a close friend, anyone?”
“It’s just me.” My grandparents passed when I was young, and my mother is an only child. There are a few relatives on my father’s side, but I think every one of them were about as reliable as my father. They didn’t care; none of them cared. Not once has any of them come to see her, called to ask about her. They are all out there living their lives, not caring about the struggles that are going on here daily.
“I wanna help you.” I can’t look at her. I feel if I do, I may fall apart. “Please forgive me if I am stepping past some imaginary line, but over the last three years, I feel like the two of you have become more than a resident and her son. I feel a connection with you both, and I hate to see you drowning every day, Shane. You are young, strong, and you deserve a life.”
“What about what she deserves?” The words are raspy but clear.
“More than a life like this, that’s for sure, but sweetheart, we both know that no amount of praying or sadness will ever change the current state she’s in. I may not have known either of you prior to this, but I don’t think it takes a genius to figure out that the two of
you were close. I can also safely assume that she wouldn’t want you burying yourself, living with all this guilt and worry.”
“I won’t let her rot away in some pathetic excuse of a facility. At least here I know she’s cared for, not harmed or mistreated. I have to do what’s right, and that’s ensuring she is with people who actually care. With people who do not treat her like she is a burden.”
“There are programs—”
“No.” I shake my head. Those programs are not what I want for my mother.
“Shane,” Martha places her hand on my arm, “I meant programs for funding. Just something to help even a small fraction. The last thing I want is for Nora to be moved from here. I love you two like you are my family, dear, and you leaving would be like losing one of my own.”
Her words are kind, and I’d known Martha long enough and had gotten close enough to realize that she wouldn’t say these things if she didn’t mean them. Never once has she ever told me anything just because it is what I wanted to hear; she has always been straight forward, even if the truth hurt.
“Why don’t you let me call in a few favors, get some social workers here to talk to you and see what help we can get?” The idea of any kind of charity makes my stomach sour. “For Nora.” Those are the magic words, because I’d do anything for my mother, even if it means taking a hit to my own pride.
Chapter Eight
Janelle
“You are an angel.” I stand behind Ms. Walters, staring at her reflection in the mirror before us. She turns her head from side to side, admiring the cut and color that I have spent hours perfecting. “An angel, I tell you,” she repeats with a smile. “You’ve managed to take this old woman and make her feel young again.”
Her smile is infectious.
