Beard With Me: Winston Brothers

by Penny Reid

  Going up there, reinforcing the facts—that I was all on my own—it might work. Then again, it might not.

  And then you’d be trapped. Who knows for how long this time.

  I shuddered, suddenly breathing hard. I was going to be sick; I was sure of it. My stomach was rolling, I was sweating, and that old library smell I usually loved tasted like furniture polish and mold on my tongue.

  What am I gunna do?

  Drumming my fingers on the computer desk, I stared at the blinking curser on the blank page. I stared and stared. I stared so long the blinking line became two lines, then four, then ten.

  “Scarlet.”

  I jumped, sucking in a breath, my hand flying to my chest.

  “Whoa,” a kind voice said just before a soft, warm hand came to rest on my shoulder. “Hey now, you okay?”

  I turned, looking up at Mrs. Winston’s kind hazel eyes, and I nodded. “Just fine, ma’am. Is my time up?”

  She stared at me for a moment, then set a mug down on the desk in front of me. “Hot chocolate, four jumbo marshmallows, just how you like.”

  My gaze strayed to the cup and I had to blink at the sudden rush of dampness and sting of tears behind my eyes.

  No. No, you will not get worked up over a cup of hot chocolate. It’s just a little thing. It means nothing.

  I forced a smile, submerging the reckless, desperate longing under plain gratitude.

  I sat straight and said quietly, “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.” Mrs. Winston’s voice was so nice. Like an angel. All sweet and earnest and patient. I could see why Darrell Winston was so proud of her and liked rubbing it in everyone’s faces that he’d got the best one. She’d given him six sons and one gorgeous baby girl, and he claimed Bethany Winston always knew her place.

  Never mind the fact she’d kicked him out over four years ago and they were now separated. He pretended like that didn’t figure.

  The computer adjacent to mine was out of service. Unexpectedly, she took the empty seat, leaning her elbow on the desk. She pushed the cup of hot chocolate closer to my fingers.

  “Go on. Just looking at you makes me cold.”

  I smiled at that. She sounded like how Billy did last week.

  Obediently, I wrapped my (cold) fingers around the mug and brought it to my lips, taking a sip. It tasted like heat and sweet, and usually I’d scarf it down in three gulps. But not today.

  What am I gunna do?

  “What’s on your mind, Scarlet?”

  I shook my head, forcing another smile. “Oh, nothing. Just tired I guess.”

  Mrs. Winston shifted in her seat. “You get prettier and prettier every time I see you.” The ways she said the words, they didn’t sound like a compliment so much as a forlorn discovery, or a statement of sympathy.

  “Thank you. That’s kind of you.”

  “We both know it’s not,” she muttered, sounding sad. After a minute, in my peripheral vision I saw her look from the computer screen to me.

  “I have notes,” I rushed to explain. “I was planning to come back tomorrow too. I just need to type them up.”

  “It’s fine.” She waved off my statement. “Stay as long as you need. What’s the paper on?”

  “Divine right monarchs.”

  “European history? As a freshman?”

  “I’m a sophomore this year, Mrs. Winston.”

  “Scarlet, you call me Bethany. Or Beth, if you prefer. And, I’m sorry. I keep forgetting you’re a sophomore.” She said this thoughtfully, pinching her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes on me.

  She kept forgetting because I shouldn’t have been a sophomore, I should’ve been a freshman. See now, I wasn’t one of those kids who was so smart that they skip a grade. I was one of those kids whose parents lied about their age to get them into school earlier. My momma told the elementary school I was five when I was four. She was tired of having me around the club, getting into trouble.

  But hey. I did all right. I wasn’t a straight-A student, but I’d gotten myself into honors courses, which was why I was taking physics as a sophomore. I’d struggled with bigger concept stuff until just this last year—especially in science—but things were finally clicking into place for me. I loved school.

  “You and Ash are so close in age, three months I think, it muddles me.”

  “When’s her birthday?” I took another sip of the hot chocolate and then pushed a big marshmallow under the surface with my index finger, fighting a flare of jealousy.

  Bethany’s daughter Ashley was a freshman at Green Valley High and was gorgeous and that’s all I knew about her. We hadn’t played together growing up because her daddy treated her like a princess. He didn’t like her around us other MC kids—said we were too rough—so she was hardly ever at any picnics and such, always staying home with her maternal grandmother.

  Darrell’s sons? Whatever. He wanted them to grow up tough. But his daughter? His baby girl as he called her, she was too good for everybody as far as he was concerned.

  “Ash was an August baby. She just made the cutoff for school by fifteen days. I wanted to keep her home and wait, but she begged me to let her go to kindergarten, so I did. No matter—” Bethany chuckled lightly “—I liked having her home, and it would’ve been a treat to have her for another year, but she’s always had wings that ached to fly.”

  I batted away jealousy, but I gave Mrs. Winston a tight smile. I was so irritated with myself for the gloomy, pointless direction of my thoughts.

  “You know, she still believed in fairies until she was near eleven. That makes me feel like I did something right.”

  Nodding, but having nothing to say, I sipped my drink. I exhaled silently. I pushed the marshmallow down again. It came back up wrinkled and coated in a thin layer of brown. Once they melted enough—but not too much—I’d eat the marshmallows whole. Something to look forward to.

  “Speaking of fairies, my son Billy told me the oddest story last Friday.”

  I stilled. Shit.

  My mind working, I managed to croak out, "Oh. He did?"

  "He sure did. Do you want to know what it was?"

  "Ah, that's okay.” I picked up my notebook and reached for my bag, dread and stomach acid rising up my esophagus to the back of my mouth.

  Stupid Billy! All he had to do was not say anything. I knew he hated me! I just knew it! I wasn’t even on their dumb land. Now I’d have to find another place along with everything else, and I couldn’t move all that stuff by mys—

  "He told me there was a fairy living in our backyard, past the tree line."

  My eyes swung to hers. "He what?"

  "That's right.” She smiled, her gaze traveling over my face. “A beautiful fairy, with a campsite, and a blue tent, and one of my momma’s blankets."

  A beautiful fairy?

  “I—I—he what? Mrs. Winston, I—”

  “Call me Bethany. And you know what I asked him?”

  "What?" I barely got the word out.

  I could hardly believe my ears. Billy Winston wanted to help me? He told his momma about me because he wanted to help? I was shocked. So shocked. So epically, enormously shocked.

  "I asked him what he thought the fairy's favorite food is."

  "Why would you ask that?" I stared at her, bewildered, trying to catch up. You misjudged him. He’s not heartless. He might be gruff and formal, but underneath he’s kind. So kind.

  "Because a fairy's got to eat, right? Roscoe and his friend Simone Payton think fairies like to eat cotton candy, but I think that's nonsense. I think fairies like mashed potatoes with gravy, and meatloaf. Or maybe roasted chicken and dumplings? What do you think?"

  My mouth caught up with what she was saying before my mind and began watering at the word gravy. I’d been surviving on protein bars and school lunches since September. The lunch lady, Ms. Dee, always gave me two extra rolls and bagged food on Friday. "Mrs. Winston, you and Billy—"
<
br />   "Bethany."

  "Ms. Bethany, I am so sorry I camped back there without asking. I app—I can’t tell you how much—” I rubbed my forehead, not knowing what to say first. “Jethro gave me the blanket and the tent. He showed me where to camp in the back. I thought if he—"

  "Don’t be sorry. Don't you believe in fairies?"

  We stared at each other. Her eyes were so kind, I didn’t want to disappoint her. But I didn’t have it in me to lie or pretend today. So I shook my head.

  "No, ma’am. I do not."

  "Well then, I’ll have to show you. In fact, Simone said the same thing, said she was too old for fairies, and I’ll show her too. I'll prove they exist.” She hit her hand lightly on the desk. “See here, we'll leave a plate of food for our fairy, right next to the forest by the woodshed. You know where that is? We’ll leave it under a crate so the critters don’t get it, along with more blankets, and maybe some clothes, soap, a tooth brush, a regular brush, and the like.”

  Do not get worked up over this. Do not expect it. Do not want it. Say thank you and move on. If it happens, fine. If not, no biggie.

  “You don’t have to do that.” The words just above a scrape of a whisper. I pressed my lips together. I also averted my eyes because—dammit—I was going to cry. I was overwhelmed.

  Billy Winston . . . I still couldn’t believe it. Seriously, I couldn’t. Sometimes selflessness came from the strangest, most unexpected places.

  “But I do have to do it.” Her tone grew impossibly gentle and I sensed her lean forward. She smelled so good, like honeysuckle and tea. “Because I want Simone and Roscoe and Ashley and the twins to believe in magic for as long as possible. And you too, Scarlet.” She reached for my hands, covered them with her own, and whispered conspiratorially, “I want you to believe in magic too.”

  I sniffled, blinking furiously. Dammit.

  Why’d she have to be so special and nice? Why’d Billy have to turn out to be such an amazingly good person?

  “So here’s how it’s gunna work.” She cupped my face, forcing my head back and gave me a warm smile. “If fairies don't exist, then our pile of offerings won't move, right? They'll just stay there and waste. But if fairies do exist, and I hope they do, then every morning, when we send Roscoe out to the edge of the forest, he’ll come back with an empty plate, and that’s it.”

  "That's so generous of y’all,” I mouthed because I’d lost the ability to speak without bursting into tears.

  "I don't think so, sweetheart.” Her eyes moved between mine, all gentle and concerned. Compassionate. “I think it's an even trade. We feed a fairy, and she keeps all of us believing in the magic of possibility."

  Chapter Five

  *Billy*

  “And then everything was in the hands of gravity, which has never had much love for the terminally stupid.”

  Mira Grant, Feed: The Newsflesh Trilogy

  “Why’re you in a mood? You won, didn’t you?” Samantha pressed me against the door of my truck, lifted on her tiptoes, and covered my face with kisses. I let her, placing my hands on her waist and waiting for her to be done.

  . . . And waited.

  “Samantha,” I sighed after a time, pushing her away a little. “I’m all sweaty.”

  Someone shouted behind her, snagging my attention. Most of the team and cheerleaders were taking the bus to campus and there was a festive ruckus coming from the adjacent parking lot as they piled in. I had special approval from the coach to drive on my own to and from away games. Sometimes I was coming from work and couldn’t make the bus on time.

  “I don’t mind you sweaty. I love it.” Samantha wagged her dark eyebrows, flashing me a big grin, looking cute and sinister at the same time. Leaning in close again, she whispered against my ear, “Why don’t I skip the bus. You drive me back and we’ll stop by Cooper’s Field on the way? I’ll be your reward for winning.”

  I grimaced. Luckily, she didn’t see it.

  Yeah. We’d won, but it wasn’t a good game. The other team’s fate had basically been sealed by the beginning of the second quarter. After our second touchdown, their offense had a fumble and we recovered it for another touchdown. The score was 21 to 0, our kicker had made each of the field goals.

  Once that happened, it was like they’d lost their spirit. Coach pulled me and most of the starters out halfway through the third quarter so our second string could get some practice playing an away game. Our second string scored two more touchdowns. I watched the remainder with knots in my stomach.

  It’s not that I didn’t like to win. I did, especially since I knew there were college scouts in the bleachers. But I didn’t like to see anyone lose by so much, and on their home turf. Didn’t seem right.

  “Sam . . .” I pushed her away again, gently, my gaze flicking beyond her to the bus. “Another time. I need to get home.”

  She caught my eye, her forehead wrinkled. “Hey. What’s going on?”

  “It’s been a long week and—” I started, closed my eyes for a second, and then tried again. This time with no excuses, just the truth. “I’m not into it, okay? You’re great. It’s not you.”

  Sam leaned back, her hands still on my shoulders, her blue gaze growing concerned. “What is it then? If it’s not me?”

  I struggled, trying to pinpoint the reason why I didn’t want to have sex with my hot girlfriend. She’d been my first, but I hadn’t been hers. That didn’t bother me any, and I really liked how enthusiastic and up for anything she always seemed to be. For the first few months, we’d do it all the time, several times a day if we could, and she never got tired.

  In fact, it seemed like the more we had sex, the more she expected me to disrupt my study time, ditch school, work, practice, and family to have sex. Maybe that would’ve been fine for most guys my age, maybe they would’ve loved it.

  Maybe I would’ve loved it too, if things were different.

  “It’s the game,” I finally said with more certainty than I felt.

  “You won.” She sounded and looked perplexed. “You’re upset ’cause you won?”

  “No. It was hard to watch, don’t you think? Seeing folks lose like that.”

  “Oh. I see.” She gave me a smile, the worry easing from her eyes, becoming something warm and sweet instead. “You and your big heart, feeling bad for winning.” Her hand trailed down my front.

  I caught her fingers. “I don’t feel bad for winning.”

  “You do feel bad.” She shook me off and twisted her arms around my neck, pressed her body to mine. “But we haven’t done anything in two weeks, and I need you. You can feel bad all you want, Billy, just so long as you make me feel good.”

  I didn’t grimace this time, catching the expression in the nick of time. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

  “Another time. I promise.” I gave her a quick kiss and, as gently as I could, tucked her under my arm to escort her to the bus. She huffed, but fell into step next to me, though it felt like she was dragging her feet.

  If she didn’t get on the bus, then I would have to drive her home. And if I drove her home, I’d be fighting off her hands the entire way. And then I’d have to walk her up to her door and listen to her dad. I liked her dad fine, but that man loved to talk at folks about his high school football days, and I’d already given him four hours of my time last Sunday when I helped him with his hobby car.

  It would’ve been one thing if instead of sex in my truck she’d offered to go out for pie at Daisy’s Nut House. Then we could talk. Samantha was clever, funny, sweet, made me laugh. She was interesting and cool. But she never wanted to do that with me. And besides, I want to get home, check on Roscoe, Momma and Ash, the twins.

  Samantha wouldn’t quite meet my eyes as I loaded her on the bus, and she didn’t return my goodbye kiss either. She was upset and wanted to make sure I knew it. I drove away from her with a heaviness in my stomach but was able to set it aside without much work.

  Family came first. Always.


  “All I’m saying is that the Road Runner is the best muscle car ever made. That’s all I’m saying.” Duane’s proclamation reached my ears as soon as I walked in the door. I knew it was his voice because it was surly.

  “How is it the best?” Beau’s cheerful question followed. From the sound of it, the twins were in the family room.

  I kicked off my shoes by the door, letting my bag fall next to them, and reminding myself to wash everything tomorrow. Otherwise, it’d stink.

  “I don’t need to explain myself,” Duane argued. “It just is.”

  I walked into the room just as Beau asked good naturedly, “Well, is it the fastest?” He then turned around and shot me a big grin with a lot of teeth too big for his head. “Oh, hey there, Billy. Did you win?”

  I nodded.

  “All right!” Beau stood and lifted his hand for a high five.

  I gave it to him. “Did you finish your homework?”

  “It’s Friday, Billy.” He shot me a look like I was crazy, scratching the red hair above his temple. “Why would I be doing homework on a Friday?”

  Duane gave me an eye squint in greeting, and that’s it. “The Road Runner could be the fastest, with the right driver.”

  “Hm.” Beau rubbed his chin. “What do you think, Cletus?”

  I glanced around, finding Cletus in the far corner of the room. I hadn’t noticed him when I walked in. He was skulking, looking troubled, his hands shoved deep in his overall pockets. And he was standing, not sitting. Just standing there.

  He glanced up at Beau’s question and I saw his eyes were cloudy. “Everyone knows it’s the Pontiac GTO,” he mumbled, distracted like.

  Uh-oh.

  I left Duane and Beau to argue over cars and approached Cletus. He’d dropped his eyes again. I tried to snag them.

  “Hey. What’s going on?” Just as I asked this, the front door slammed.

  Cletus shook his head. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”

  “What do I look like? A genie?” I glanced between Cletus and the entryway. “I didn’t ask what you wish. Tell me what’s going on.”