Crazy Stupid Bromance

by Lyssa Kay Adams

“There’s no expiration date on the truth.”

  “How about humiliation?”

  Noah felt the first stirring of something he didn’t recognize. Something equal parts respect and longing. “I hope we’re talking about his. Because you have nothing to be humiliated about.”

  She looked away as if she didn’t believe him.

  “So, what’s next?” he asked.

  “I have no idea. I’ve been living with this secret for so long. I don’t even know what life looks like or feels like without it. I think I’m just ready for some peace.” She blinked then and studied him. “I have no idea why I’m dumping all this on you.”

  “Because I’m here?”

  She snorted. “Lucky you.”

  Little did he know then how lucky he truly was. In a million ways, Alexis was the best thing that had ever happened to him. And he had no idea how to tell her that without ruining it.

  The sound of crinkling paper brought him back to the present. Alexis leaned against the counter next to him and opened her second taco. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I needed this.”

  “I had a hunch that you would have forgotten to eat again.”

  “It’s been nuts in here today.”

  “The girl come back?”

  “Yes.” She said it with an annoyed groan.

  “What’s that noise mean?”

  Alexis swallowed. “It means she looked like she was finally going to talk to me but then Karen marched in.”

  Noah reached over and plucked a stray piece of cilantro from the corner of her mouth. “What’s she pissed about now?”

  Alexis launched into a story involving parking lots and a dead rat.

  “It couldn’t have been him,” she said of the part cat, part demon that was one hundred percent terrifying. “He’s been inside all day.”

  She gestured toward a cat tree by the front window. Beefcake flexed his paws, and Noah’s life flashed before his eyes. He’d never been high on the cat’s very short list of people he tolerated, but things had taken a turn for the worse a month ago. The vet put Beefcake on a diet, and now the cat stared at him like a platter of BBQ chicken. He had an unkempt, murderous look about him, as if he’d just gone a few rounds inside a clothes dryer and liked it. His hair stuck out at wild angles with spiky tufts atop each ear. Over his eyes was a unibrow of dark, unruly gray fur that gave him the look of a perpetually pissed-off cavalry man in old Civil War tintypes.

  “Anyway,” Alexis sighed with a stretch. “She said she was going to take this up with the city, and then she stormed out.”

  “What the hell does she think the city is going to do? Change parking ordinances? You’re not breaking any laws.”

  “I’m a dirty slut, remember? That’s the only law she cares about.”

  Noah stiffened. “She said that?”

  Alexis brushed a curl off her face. “Not in so many words. But her meaning was clear. We’re just a bunch of lying harlots.”

  Noah scowled. “I hate it when you say shit like that.”

  “Just repeating what everyone else is thinking.”

  “No one decent thinks that.”

  “I think you overestimate human nature.”

  Noah snorted. “I’ve definitely never been accused of that before.”

  Five years in the hacktivist community had left him with little hope for humanity. But she was also right. The months following the Royce incident had introduced him to a depth of human depravity he hadn’t known existed. His blood boiled just remembering some of the voice mails and emails Alexis had received from Royce’s fans. Even with a dozen credible accusations against him, his most rabid fans still refused to believe that their precious hero would do anything wrong. The women must have been lying. They were just disgruntled former employees or spurned lovers.

  Noah had helped Alexis set up a new email filtering system that blocked the worst of the messages, but he knew she still received some of them. She had gotten good at just deleting them, but sometimes she still shared the most egregious with him. She’d shrug and say she was used to it, but Noah could read her body language like a favorite book. Her lips would flatten, and she’d have to swallow before talking. It bothered her. A lot. But anytime he suggested she do more to fight back, she would say it wasn’t worth the time or effort. Her life was about finding peace now.

  Noah felt her gaze on him and glanced over. “What’s up?”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re staring at me. Do I have something on my face?”

  “Yeah, this,” she said, reaching over to scratch his beard. “What do you look like under all that scruff anyway?”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Wow. That bad, huh?”

  “No. That good. I have to scruff myself up, because the level of male beauty under all this is more than mere mortals can handle.”

  “So it’s a public service.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Alexis swallowed another bite. “Is Zoe going to be there tomorrow?”

  They were going to his mom’s house for dinner to celebrate his birthday. His sister was supposed to be there, but . . . He shrugged. “Who knows? It’s Zoe. She does what she wants.”

  “Marsh?” Alexis asked casually.

  “He’ll be there too.”

  She offered him a sympathetic smile, because she knew there was nothing else to be said. His relationship with his father’s old army friend, Pete Marshall—or Marsh, as everyone called him—was complicated. Noah wouldn’t be where he was today without Marsh’s help and guidance, but his support came with strings attached. The kind that were a constant reminder that Noah would never be the man his father once was.

  Noah stood and raised his arms in a stretch with a loud yawn. “Need any help cleaning up after yoga tonight?”

  One of the many things Alexis did for the women who came to her café seeking help and support was a monthly yoga class designed just for survivors of sexual violence. The class was tonight.

  “I think Jessica and I can handle it, but thanks.”

  “Damn. I was hoping to have an excuse for getting out of going to Colton’s.”

  “Why?”

  “He opened another phishing email and screwed up his entire system.”

  Alexis laughed sympathetically. “Want to start the LEGOs tomorrow night after we get back from your mom’s?”

  “Hell yes.” He held out his pinkie finger for her to grasp. It was their own secret handshake. “See you then,” he said, turning to leave.

  “Hey,” she said behind him.

  He turned around.

  “Ask your mom what I should bring for dinner tomorrow.”

  He walked backward as he spoke. “You know what she’ll say.”

  “‘Just yourselves.’”

  He grinned.

  “See you tomorrow,” she said.

  And the clock in his brain immediately started counting down the minutes until then.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “We’re going to run out of space soon,” Jessica said, tugging her hair into a ponytail several hours later.

  They stood by the counter to survey the room. Tables and chairs had been pushed to the side and stacked to make room for yoga mats and—if everyone who’d RSVP’d showed up tonight—the nearly twenty women looking to reclaim their lives through the power of mindful movement.

  “Maybe we should start looking for another place to host the class?” Jessica suggested.

  Alexis nodded absently, because she didn’t want to commit to that, if for no other reason than to not give Karen the satisfaction of thinking she’d driven the class and the survivors away.

  “We’ll figure something out,” Alexis finally said, crossing the room to hang a sign on the door that read CLOSED FOR PRIVATE EVEN
T. She shoved a wedge under the door, though, so women could still get in. She’d taken Beefcake home earlier, because two of the class regulars were allergic to cats.

  The instructor, Mariana Mendoza, arrived first. She greeted Alexis and Jessica with breezy air-kisses followed by fist bumps. The class had actually been Mariana’s idea. She’d approached Alexis at the café several months ago, and Alexis was sold immediately. Mariana was a licensed counselor as well as a certified yoga instructor. The concept she proposed wasn’t a new one; survivors had been using yoga to reclaim their lives and their bodies for a long time. But there wasn’t anything like it yet in Nashville, and Alexis knew she had to be the one to host the first.

  Their initial class four months ago had just three participants, including Alexis and Jessica. But once word spread, more and more women began to trickle in every week until they’d filled every inch of space. Jessica was right. They were going to need to find another location soon if they wished to allow as many women as possible in the class. Something else to add to her to-do list.

  While Alexis and Jessica changed into their yoga clothes, several women arrived and began stretching on their yoga mats.

  Mariana approached Alexis quietly near the front. “And how are we doing?” Mariana always spoke in the royal we.

  “Good,” Alexis said with a shrug. “Busy, but good.”

  “We look tired. Are we sleeping well?”

  “Yes,” Alexis said, but she must have said it with a bit too much gusto, because Mariana narrowed her eyes.

  “Anything you need to talk about?”

  “Nothing a good yoga session can’t work out,” Alexis said, carefully sidestepping both the question and the questioner. “I’m going to say hello to some people.”

  Alexis greeted a few of the regulars, introduced herself to the new ones, and then took her place on a mat in the front row. She always saved the last row for folks who weren’t yet ready to be fully seen. It took confidence just to show up sometimes, and even though the class was meant for yoga beginners of all fitness levels and all shapes, it could still be disconcerting to women who were there for the first time to practice a downward dog in front of a room full of strangers.

  It was still hard for Alexis sometimes. She felt exposed every day of her life. Not as much as when she first came forward with the truth about Royce, but the anxiety was still there. When she went to the grocery store. When she met new people. When strangers stared at her on the street. She’d catch someone looking at her as if trying to place her face, and her first instinct was to turn and hide from scrutiny. Holding your head up high was easier said than done when your face had been front-page news around the country.

  “Okay, friends, are we ready to reclaim our power?”

  The class answered her with a murmured yes, so Mariana repeated the question. This time, the women responded with a more resounding confirmation.

  “We have some new faces with us tonight. We welcome you in peace and healing.”

  A murmur of quiet greetings rose in response.

  “Let’s start in Sukhasana pose tonight as we state our affirmations.”

  The women matched her cross-legged pose on the floor, letting their hands drape across their knees.

  “I am strong,” Mariana said.

  The women repeated it.

  “Tonight, I reclaim my power . . . my body . . . my strength . . .”

  Alexis closed her eyes and repeated the words, needing them more than she had in a long time. Though she was used to Karen’s petty complaints, today’s visit was especially annoying because she had chased off Candi. But Alexis soon lost herself in the flow of body, the connection of mind and spirit. The healing power of stretching and pushing her body.

  Mariana led them through each pose with calm instructions and encouragement, stopping here and there to assist a newcomer with their body alignment, only putting her hands on them after asking permission to touch them. That was one of the most important aspects of the class—claiming ownership of their bodies once again. Taking back what was once stolen from them.

  There was no trauma competition in this room with these women. No one’s suffering measured against another’s for its devastation or its scope. Every person here had been violated and silenced, and every woman had made the decision to find their voice again.

  About ten minutes before the end of the class, the soft scuff of the door against the floor drew Alexis’s gaze over her shoulder. She stumbled in her tree pose. Candi stood wide-eyed and red-cheeked in the door as twenty faces turned to look at her.

  “I’m sorry . . .” she stammered, hugging a large black bag to her side. “I didn’t know this was . . . I’m sorry.”

  “No apologies, love,” Mariana said. “Please join us. Everyone is welcome.”

  “I’ll come back,” Candi said, stumbling backward.

  Alexis tiptoed out of her line. “Please stay,” she said in an urgent hush. “We can talk in my office, if you’d like.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Candi whispered. “I didn’t know you were having a class tonight.”

  “It’s okay. We’re almost done.” Alexis darted another glance at the class, which had clearly lost its collective concentration. “Let’s go in my office.”

  Candi worried her bottom lip with her teeth but finally nodded. She walked with her head down like a kid being marched to the principal’s office as she followed Alexis through the café, behind the counter, and into the kitchen. The thwap-thwap of the swinging door was as loud as a firecracker in the otherwise quiet room.

  Alexis led her to her closet-size office and motioned to the chair wedged against the wall. “It’s small, I know. But would you like to sit?”

  Candi stood indecisively in the minuscule space between the desk and the door. Finally, she dropped into the chair but remained perched on the edge, one knee bopping up and down as she gnawed at her lower lip. “That’s really cool. The yoga class.”

  Alexis nodded, sitting in her own chair. “It’s been very successful.”

  “So all those women were, I mean, are—”

  “Survivors of sexual violence or harassment, yes.”

  “Wow. That’s terrible.”

  Alexis heard that refrain a lot, and she had the same response every time. “It’s terrible what was done to them, but what they’re doing tonight is a wonderful way to take back their power.”

  Candi swallowed hard.

  “You’re not alone, Candi.”

  “I— no.” Candi shook her head. She opened and closed her mouth twice before finally letting out a frustrated breath. “I’m not here about that. I mean, I’m not a . . . a—”

  “A survivor?”

  “Right. I’m not here to talk to you about that.”

  Alexis tilted her head, struck again with the fleeting sense of familiarity. “Are you sure we’ve never met before?”

  “You said it’s my eyes,” Candi said. “My eyes look familiar.”

  Alexis looked more closely. She was right. They shared the same golden, green-flecked irises rimmed by a darker brown. Inside her, the fleeting sense of familiarity gave way to a more urgent surge of alarm. Alexis had always been told how unique the colors of her eyes were, but this was like suddenly looking into a mirror. How had she failed to notice it before?

  “You see it, don’t you?” Candi asked, breathless now. “The similarity. I noticed it the first time I saw you at the counter. That’s how I knew it was true.”

  Alarm became a near-panic. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about—”

  “We’re sisters.”

  Alexis heard the words, but their meaning was so ridiculous that her brain blocked them from registering. She puffed out a small, desperate laugh. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Candi’s face took on the soft sympathy that Alexis was used to
projecting at other women, and when she spoke, Candi’s voice now carried the same keep-it-light quality that Alexis had just employed against her. “You never knew your father, did you?”

  Alexis stood so abruptly that she shook her desk and sent her pencil cup spilling across the floor. “I’m sorry. Y-You’re mistaken. I don’t have any siblings.”

  “None that you’ve ever met.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  Except it wasn’t. Not entirely. Candi was right; Alexis had never known her father. So the chances that the mystery man had gone on to produce other children after abandoning her mother were high. She’d wondered about it—him—from time to time over the years, but she’d never pursued it because why bother? What good would it do to know? He’d never been part of her life and never would. Her mother had been enough.

  “My father’s name is Elliott Vanderpool,” Candi said.

  Alexis backed up until her desk chair collided with the wall.

  “You know that name, don’t you?”

  “No,” Alexis lied, stepping over the rungs of the chair. Her shoelace caught, and she stumbled. She grabbed the edge of her desk to steady herself.

  “He’s your father too,” Candi said.

  “No, I—I don’t think that’s possible,” Alexis said in a voice she barely recognized. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing. It’s a mistake.”

  “I know this is a shock.”

  A shock? Alexis would have laughed at the understatement of the century if she could process any other emotion besides numbness. She wanted to run away—not just from Candi but from the rising panic in the back of her mind telling her to escape. But her feet wouldn’t move. She was rooted as firmly as the creeping vine out front. At least the vine had something to cling to.

  “I have the DNA to prove it,” Candi said.

  Alexis focused her gaze. “How do you have my DNA?”

  “You took one of those ancestry test things a couple of years ago.”

  Oh, God. Alexis covered her mouth with her hand and turned around. It had been an impulsive act. A weak moment while her mother was sick. A fleeting urge to connect with her roots before her one and only anchor to the Earth was gone. But when the results came back, she learned nothing she hadn’t already known—that she was one hundred percent Eastern European and zero percent descended from anyone historically significant. She’d shoved the results in a drawer and never looked at them again.