Spark

by Erin Noelle

  “So, beginning immediately,” he continues in a stern voice I’m not used to him using with me, “all we ask is that you join us for family dinners. He doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to, and you’re more than welcome to take him a plate like you’ve been doing, but I expect actual studying to be going on in that room in the meantime.”

  “Okay,” I concede, knowing there’s no point in arguing, “but I do have a special project plant I’m working on that I’d like to continue to monitor daily. If that’s all right?” I don’t mean for the last comment to come out as condescending as it sounds, but it does.

  Nodding, he exchanges an undecipherable look with my mom then swings his gaze back to me and smiles, sympathy blanketing his face. “Of course, that’s fine. We aren’t trying to be assholes, but we love you and we’re concerned.”

  The oven timer buzzes from the kitchen, marking the end of the conversation. “We’re having pork tenderloin with au gratin potatoes and green beans for dinner in about fifteen minutes,” Mel announces as she scuttles out of the room to tend to the food.

  I pivot around on my back foot and retreat to my room, unsure of which Crew I’m going to get when I enter. Opening the door, I find him sitting up in my bed, watching something football-related on TV. His wet hair and change into regular clothes indicates he’s at least gotten up to take a shower today, which I interpret as a good sign, but I’m still leery.

  “Hi! I’m home!” I announce my arrival a little too cheerfully, and immediately, I wish I could take it back. I’m trying my hardest not to treat him differently—one of the reasons why he says he doesn’t want to talk to anyone—but it’s pretty impossible, considering he’s acting like a completely different person, which given the circumstances is comprehensible. But it’s still hard.

  His face is completely void of expression when he looks over at me and announces, “I’m going to work tonight, so you can study and not worry about me.”

  Making my way toward my closet, my step hitches as I wonder for a split-second if he heard the conversation I just had with my parents, or if he remembered me mentioning my upcoming exams. “I can study with you here,” I respond, my voice quivering with emotion.

  Abruptly, he bounds up from the bed, grabbing his wallet and keys from the nightstand in the process. “Yeah, well, I’ve gotta get out of here. The walls are closing in.”

  “Are you coming back here afterward?”

  “It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.” He doesn’t even bother to make eye contact as he kneels to lace his shoes, the wrathful words ripping apart my insides.

  Then, he walks out of the room.

  No ‘I didn’t mean it that way’.

  No ‘I’ll see you later’.

  No ‘Bye, Hudson’.

  Just gone.

  You know when you agree to do something to help someone out, but you also know there’s no way in hell it’s going to work out as planned? Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel as I duck my head under the doorway of a local coffee shop, where I’m meeting Crew this late Monday afternoon, only he has no idea Mary is joining us as well. I’ve just finished my first two tests, which I’m certain I scored well on, and he’s on his way into his shift at the Half Pipe.

  It’s now been exactly a week he’s been back at work, and he’s worked every single day since then, making the time we’re around each other minimal. Not that he talks to me unless I ask him a direct question anyway. Other than when we’re fucking—and yes, I realize that’s all it is to him at this point—he’s either watching TV or doing something on his iPad, pretending I don’t exist.

  So when Mary called me in hysterics this weekend, the strange calmness surrounding her directly after Caleb’s death seemingly having worn off, and she pleaded with me to set up a meeting where she could talk to Crew, I figured I didn’t have much to lose. I empathize with his pain and suffering, but I can’t understand why he’s shut his mom out, and I hope a little push in the right direction will help. But I’m skeptical. I damn near had to beg him to meet me, and we share a bed every night.

  Not surprisingly, there’s no sign of him as I scan the java-inspired, overly decorated room with only a bunch of twenty-something hipsters huddled in one corner and a middle-aged couple make googly-eyes across the table in another. I choose a round bistro-style table as far away from everyone else as I can, thinking that maybe Crew won’t feel so cornered and be less defensive than if he was trapped in a booth. Then, I wait for them to show.

  About ten minutes later, Crew strolls inside, looking as gorgeous as ever in his faded jeans, red thermal top, and black and red striped beanie. His eyes, blank and impassive, find me immediately, and I swear I can hear the annoyed sigh pass through his lip from across the room.

  Not an ideal start.

  Faking a smile, a small piece of my heart splinters with each step he takes toward me. I feel like one of those pathetic girls who’s trying desperately to hang onto a doomed relationship, ridiculously grasping onto threads of hopelessness. But I can’t give up on him.

  I promised his mom.

  I promised myself.

  Standing up to hug and kiss him when he reaches the table, I’m grateful he doesn’t brush me off in public. A hit to my pride could possibly be the proverbial straw to break the camel that’s never been broken. And damn, I’m tired of feeling like a camel.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” I murmur as our lips break part from the most unemotional kiss we’ve ever shared.

  He plops down on the chair to my left with a single nod. “You were annoyingly insistent, so I’m here. What’s going on?”

  “I…uh, I just haven’t seen you much lately, and uh, with your working so much and my studying,” I stumble over my half-lie, “I thought it’d be nice to do something outside the house for a change.”

  Right about the time he gives me the I’m-not-buying-your-bullshit look, Mary barrels through the door along with a gust of wind, drawing everyone’s attention to her, including Crew’s. Snapping his head in my direction, his expression instantly morphs from detached to downright pissed off, his blazing eyes boring straight through me.

  “You invited my mother? Why would you do that to me?” he hisses through clenched teeth, venom spurting out with his words.

  I don’t answer as Mary cautiously draws near to the table. She can no doubt read the fury etched in Crew’s face, and by the time she reaches us, the tears are already gushing from her eyes.

  “Honey, don’t blame Hudson for this,” she begins, hiccupping through her sobs. “She didn’t want to do this, but I begged her. I need to talk to you, and you won’t return my calls or texts.”

  Banging his fists on the table, his brow furrows into one straight, angry line. “I don’t call you back, because I don’t want to talk to you. There’s nothing left to discuss. Leaving your epileptic kid at home alone, because you wanted to watch a movie with your boyfriend, prioritizing your life like you’re thirteen instead of forty-three, you may as well have cracked his skull yourself!”

  “Crew!” I snap, stupefied at the way he’s speaking. “A little respect? We’re all hurting here, and you know we all thought Caleb’s health had improved enough to stay home for a little while by himself. We talked about it!”

  “Fuck respect, and fuck you,” he sneers at me with an evil laugh as he rests back in his chair. “Oh wait, I already do…it’s the only reason I keep you around. And you’re so fucking blinded by your ‘Hudson the Hippie Healer’ act, you’re too naïve to realize when you’re being used like a whore.”

  I begin to tremble uncontrollably as a myriad of emotions—namely hatred, humiliation, and heartbreak—take my entire body hostage. Any pieces of my heart that were still intact before his last outburst are now smashed beyond recognition.

  “Newsflash,” he continues, overflowing with rage. “I. Hate. You. If you hadn’t shown up to spy on me at work that night, I would’ve never had to follow your stupid ass and make sure your feelings weren
’t hurt, and I would’ve gone home. Caleb’s death is just as much on you as it is on me and Mom. So enjoy living with that bit of knowledge for the rest of your life.”

  The few remaining threads I’ve been clutching to so tightly finally slip through my fingers, and I realize that to preserve my own self, I have to let him go. Standing up in a state of numbness, my mind can’t even process the verbal spars he and Mary are trading. I grab my things and stagger out the glass door to my car, leaving behind the two of them, a cup of coffee, and my shattered heart.

  I don’t remember driving home. I don’t remember taking a shower. And I don’t remember getting in bed.

  But when I wake up alone the following morning, I know the hollow emptiness I feel inside is something I’ll never forget.

  Of all the fucking nights for Half Pipe to be slow, of course it’d be the night I really need a distraction from my shitty ass life. That’s par for the motherfucking course these days. Anything that can possibly go wrong, most definitely will.

  For the first hour, I brood around behind the bar, slamming shit down and grumbling under my breath. After I break my third glass—none of them on purpose—Brody appears from the office, looking more than a little perturbed.

  “I think Rory can handle it tonight. We’re pretty light, so why don’t you take a night to get your shit together and try again tomorrow? At this rate, you’re gonna cost me more in glassware than we’ll profit tonight.”

  His tone is lighthearted, but it doesn’t mask the concern flickering in his eyes. I know he, along with everyone else, is waiting with bated breath for my big post-death explosion. The day where I decide I’m tired of being numb and face the reality that my little brother is dead, gone forever, and I start throwing shit while dropping f-bombs every other word.

  Hudson and my mom pushed me close to the tipping point earlier with their little sneak attack, but I was able to reel it back in before I fully gave in to the emotion. Thankfully, Hudson didn’t stick around long, because if she would’ve called me on the bullshit I was spewing at her, I probably would’ve broken down in tears and admitted that I hate how much I love her, and how she’s the only flicker of light left in my life. Instead, I hurt her with my vicious words, which almost feels as good as it does bad.

  Not that any of that makes any sense…I’m fucking worthless.

  “I can stay, man. I promise I’ll be fine,” I implore, hoping he magically develops ESP and realizes I have nowhere to go if he makes me leave.

  But he doesn’t. “Seriously, Crew. Go ahead and clock out, and grab a beer or something. Just chill for a while. No worries.”

  A beer. Yeah, a beer sounds good.

  And a shot. Yes, definitely a shot too. Maybe a few.

  “Sure thing, man.” I nod and stride over to the computer, signing off with my employee passcode before taking a seat on the opposite side of the bar—the drinking side—and motioning for Rory to bring me a cold beer. A little alcohol should help push this afternoon’s memories a little farther to the back of my mind, and then I can figure out where I’m crashing tonight. Yeah, great plan.

  “So you gonna tell me what happened, or you just gonna let me assume something terrible?” Rory cocks his eyebrow as he sets the green Dos Equis bottle and three tequila-filled shot glasses in front of me.

  I snicker crossly and lift the cold glass to my lips, taking a long drink of the refreshing beer. “If your assuming something terrible includes being ganged up on by your mom and ex-girlfriend two weeks after your little brother died a preventable death, I’d go with that option.”

  He blinks hard. Then does it again. “Wow, man. Sorry to hear that. What happened with you and Hudson? I thought you were staying with her?”

  “I was.” Tossing all three shots back, one right after the other, I shake my head as I revel in the burning sensation left in my chest and gut. “Pretty sure I’m a free man now.”

  Stealing a glimpse at whoever just slinked up next to me, female based on scent alone, Rory groans and pushes back away from the bar like the Grim Reaper just joined our conversation. Which, based on my luck lately, wouldn’t surprise me one fucking bit.

  “Did I just hear you say you’re single?” Tasha’s undeniable voice breathes heavily into my neck, the bridge of her nose skimming the shell of my ear. “‘Cause tonight just got a helluva lot better if you did.”

  Ignoring her, I take another lengthy pull from my beer and chuckle to myself. She couldn’t have timed her approach any better, and I can’t decide if I really care that she knows Hudson and I are through. ‘Cause I know there’s no way she’d stay with me after the shit I said to her this afternoon. I shrug. What the fuck ever.

  Caleb’s not replaceable. But she sure as shit is.

  “What are you doing on this side of the bar tonight? Shouldn’t you be working?” She attempts to make conversation again as she slides onto the empty barstool to my right, relentless in her pursuit.

  “It was dead, so Rory’s handling the bar while I relax and enjoy a beer. What about you? Why are you up here on your night off?” I finally twist my neck to look over at her, not surprised at all to see her non-work attire shows just as much cleavage as the tops she wears while on duty. Shit, her neckline plunges so low, I could probably motorboat her right here at the bar, and she wouldn’t have to adjust the sweater at all. My cock stirs under my zipper.

  “I was bored at home. Beckham’s studying for finals and not being any fun, so I thought I’d see what kind of trouble I could find.” She flips her curly hair over her shoulder, giving me a better vantage point to the exposed skin on her chest, and licks her lips. “It looks like I hit the jackpot.”

  I hiss in a sharp breath at the mention of both Beckham and finals as my thoughts immediately fill with images of Hudson’s smiling face and the soothing sound of her laugh. What is it with that girl? I can’t even talk to another chick—an incredibly hot one, who’s all but verbally offering a no-strings attached fuckfest—without her screwing with my mind. God, it’s so damn infuriating.

  I forcibly push her from my mind, filling my eyes with Tasha’s huge tits instead. They’re bigger than Hudson’s, and I wonder if it’s possible for them to feel softer than hers. I shake my head hard. Hudson’s gone; by my choice, she’s no longer my girl. No longer my anything. Tasha’s warm body is right here for the taking, and I’m not feeling picky.

  “Looks like you did.” I curl the edge of my mouth up in my signature cocky smirk that never fails me. “What do you think the payout is?”

  Without a second of hesitation, she drops her arm to my lap and cups my crotch through my jeans, all while keeping her flirtatious gaze locked on mine. “I’m hoping for the grand prize.”

  “Greedy girl.” I do nothing to remove her hand while pretending not to feel the freshly-sharpened daggers Rory’s launching in my direction every five seconds.

  She leans in closer, lust radiating from every inch of her. “You’ve got no fucking clue, baby.”

  Consider my tipsy interest piqued, my shaft firmly at attention under her stroking fingers. Shifting my attention back to Rory, I angle my head toward Tasha and call out, “T and I each need a couple of shots, Rors. I’m on a hunt for a clue, and I think Mr. Patron can help me find it.”

  He snarls at me, making no attempt to hide his disapproval, but pours the tequila anyway, placing two in front of both her and me. “That’s all I can serve ya, man. Don’t need you getting pulled over for drunk driving or anything worse.”

  “Don’t worry, Boring Roring,” Tasha insists, lifting one of the shots in the air while keeping her stare fixed on me. “He’s going home with me tonight. I’ll make sure he gets there safely.”

  I nod my head without thinking, amused at her presumptuous statement. “I am?” Glad someone has a plan for me.

  She clinks her small glass into the side of mine then throws her head back, guzzling the liquid with one swallow. “You are,” she confirms as she lifts her finger up to her lips, s
wiping away a tiny drop from the corner of her mouth. Then, drawing the digit between her teeth, she sucks on it in a way that has my cock pulsing.

  As I down the drinks sitting in front of me, I run through my options for places to go other than Tasha’s. I come up fucking blank. Hudson’s is out. As is mom’s boyfriend’s, and our old place. I’m never going back there fucking again. So it’s pretty much a no-brainer at this point. I know the bulge in my boxers will be thrilled at my decision. Maybe Rory’s wrong about Tasha. Maybe’s he’s just jealous that he doesn’t get a piece, because his brother banged her first. Maybe I just don’t fucking care anymore.

  Pulling out my wallet from the back pocket of my jeans, I toss a few twenties down on the bar as I stand up. I glance down at her with a wicked grin and tilt my head toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  “Fuck yes! That’s it! Fuck me harder, Crew!”

  Tasha hasn’t shut up since I stuck my dick inside her—wrapped up nice and tight, ‘cause I may be drunk, but I’m not that fucking stupid—and it’s really annoying the shit out of me. I’ve already flipped her over on her hands and knees so I don’t have to watch the ridiculous faces she makes, and I’m seriously contemplating a gag at this point.

  Sure, her pussy feels good. It’s warm and wet and all that shit, but there’s just something missing. And as I’m driving into her with every ounce of strength I have, my eyelids squeezed closed, I can’t put my finger on it exactly.

  “I’m gonna come….don’t stop that…yes, just like that! Oh, yessssssssss! Oh my God, Crew!”

  Her body suddenly collapses into the mattress, and I have to make a quick withdrawal before she contorts my shaft into some abnormal position. Stepping back away from her bed a few feet, I stand with my cock in my hand staring at her motionless body. I guess she came, though I didn’t feel anything different when she did, or maybe she just passed out? Both? I can’t tell for sure.